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[WP] Once every four years, in a top secret location all former presidents and the standing President of the United States gather with one goal. Roast the ever living shit out of the standing president.
|
Jackson was drunk again.
“Damn darkies oughtta be serving us rather than sitting down there, listening to us.”
Grant rolled his eyes and tapped his cigar. “That fucker never could hold his liquor,” he said, turning to Lincoln, who nodded over his dessert, a brûlée of astonishing silkiness. “Complete shitstain on the office,” the tall man said.
As was the custom, George W. Bush stood for the introduction. With his butter knife, he tapped his glass, which immediately shattered.
“Presidents! Presidents!” he called. “For the second time,” he said, as the drunken murmuring slowed. “I have the distinct honor and privilege of introducing tonight’s honoree, the great president from Kenya, our first Muslim president, our first Socialist president, our first Rainbow coalition president, Mr. Barack Hussein Obama!”
The applause was muted. It had been respectful four years ago, when Obama appeared for the first time, but the 43 guys in the room were tired. Most of them were dead.
Besides, Obama was a stiff. Everybody knew that. Without his writers — and writers were forbidden at the President’s Dinner — Obama could still offer an unrivaled disquisition on health policy, but he was hopeless at humor.
“My fellow presidents,” he began. “I asked to begin this roast rather than end it because I thought you should know: The living presidents and I have gotten together and decided to end these stupid, fucking things.”
Washington and Jefferson, who had attended more of these than anybody, were wide-eyed. Adams was asleep, as was his custom.
“The fact is,” Obama said, pulling the mic out of the stand, “that with the exception of Kennedy — who still knows how to party — and TR, you guys suck. Most of you are racists. Many of you are moralistic teetotalers. Several of you are idiots. Most of you are simply evil fucks who enriched your families and parties over this nation. You got us into war. You dragged your feet on progress.
“In short, you sucked, and I ain’t got time for this shit.
“I’ve got a country to run," he said, dropping the mic and heading for the stairs. "Fuck you all."
|
***Not the Kind of Roast You Were Thinking.***
*Weaving spiders come not here.* Read the inscription on the plaque at the gate.
Junior already had enough trouble reading, but even the full moon barely cast enough light for him to see through the dark tinted windows.
*Hehe.* He chuckled. *I wonder what the hell that means.* He mumbled as the three armored trucks rolled onto the winding gravel path and into the tall trees.
A man in a black suit and an earpiece nodded to the police officers across the road and then whispered something into the cuff of his jacket as he stepped back slowly inside the fence, looking left and right one last time.
*It's Shakespeare, Junior.* a calm older voice muttered from the forward seats.
*Shakespeare?* Junior asked.
*Midsummer Night's Dream.* Said the old man. *Weaving spiders come not here. Beetles black approach not near, something or other. It means we don't want outsiders to meddle in our affairs, boy.*
*Gat dangit pop.* Junior spouted. *Don't call me boy. I was the gat dang president too you know. I hanged Saddam for you cryin' out loud.* Junior trailed off as he pulled frustratedly at his necktie.
*George, George. Both of you just calm down.* An old woman interrupted. *This night is supposed to be a happy occasion.*
*Alright Babs.*
*Alright mama.*
By that time the convoy had reached a clearing with a small circular lake. In the center of the lake was a large stone platform. The armored trucks slowed to a stop. Junior quickly reached for the door handle.
Stopping him before he could open the door, in a stern southern accent, a woman said *Ah, ah, ah... You know you have to wait, silly.*
*Good job, Laura.* Said George from the forward seats. *You know how to keep our boy in check.*
Junior groaned and fidgeted in his seat.
----
*He's late.* Announced from the silence of the far back seats in a raspy southern drawl. *You know, he's always late.*
*Can it Bill.* Hillary said.
*Oh, that's right. You two are all buddy buddy now.* Bill said with a chuckle.
A voice came over the driver's radio. *All clear*
The door swung open and Junior hopped out. He stretched his arms up and yawned, daunted by the long drive from the airfield.
*Make way, dummy* Said Bill as he climbed out from the back seat and pushed Junior stumbling to the side.
George got out from the front and walked back to the rear passenger door on his side. He opened it and offered his hand to help Barbera and Laura down from the high step.
The doors of the third truck at the back of the convoy popped open and a short man climbed out. He looked up at the second truck and grunted.
*Hey, it's Dick!* Junior spouted with excitement as he jogged over to greet the man.
*Eh, hold on Georgie* Dick said to Junior as he reached back into the armored truck.
A sad voice whimpered from inside *I don't like it when you do this! You know I don't like it but you always do it.*
Bill walked over. *Haha, they bagged you again?*
*Willy? Willy, is that you? It's me, Al. Can you hear me?*
*Course I can hear you, Al.* Bill laughed. *I can see you too. I aint the one with a bag over my head.*
*You can take it off now, dipshit. We're here.* Dick muttered as he walked away to greet the others, Junior bouncing around in tow.
*Hey, where's Danny?* Al said as he took the black bag off of his head. *Was he in the truck with us?* Al leaned back to look, but Bill took him by the arm.
*Old Quayle aint around no more.* Bill said. *You didn't hear about that?*
*What happened to hi-*Al started to ask, but he stopped himself. *Never mind. Don't ask questions, Al. You don't like the answers. Don't ask questions.* He repeated to himself quietly.
----
*Alright, fellas. He's on his way.* George said as the group gathered.
The presidents turned and began walking down to the lake.
*Hey, you wait right there, sugar.* Bill said to Hillary. *You got a little while, yet... And that's only if you're good.*
Hillary scowled at him as he followed George and Junior. Standing behind her, Dick scowled at Al, though Al couldn't imagine the reason. Laura and Barbera, off to the side, smiled at each other.
*Ey, daddy.* Junior whispered to George, elbowing him as they walked side by side down to the lake. *How do you know he's almost here?*
*You would know too, if you paid attention for a damn second.* George said, annoyed. *Now you remember what to do, right boy? Go get on the other side of Bill.*
*Yeah, pop. I got it.* Junior said as he began to remove his tie.
----
The men began to take off their clothes, carefully folding their jackets and pants and placing them on the dry ground by the water's edge.
Where's Number One, George? Bill asked as they stood there, together, naked.
*He'll come down when he has to.* George said looking up at the night sky.
Bill looked over at Junior, glanced down and then back up, then let out an audible snicker.
*You shut up!* Junior said, embarrassed, punching Bill in the arm.
*He didn't get that from me.* George said, still looking up at the stars. *Alright, here we go.*.
Three helicopters passed low and fast in formation over the lake. George waved over to the middle truck as the choppers circled around above them.
The doors of the armored truck swung open and out stepped Ronald Reagan, nude, majestic. The other presidents cheered. Bill shot him a wolf-whistle. Reagan laughed and waved him off as he started walking down to the lake.
*Don't be afraid to see what you see, boys.* Reagan shouted on the walk down.
They all laughed, then turned to the lake and began to walk into the water. Reagan stopped at the water's edge and watched the three men walk deeper and deeper into the lake. Reagan followed down into the water. Walking, until he was completely submerged.
There was silence for a few moments. The others, still watching from the edge of the woods. Al leaned toward Dick, motioning for Dick to lean in as well. Dick shook his head *no*.
*But I have to ask you a question!* Al whispered impatiently.
*No, god damn it.* Dick grumbled back to him. *Be quiet.*
*Fine.* Al said.
The helicopters slowed to a hover high above the still and quiet lake. The former presidents still nowhere to be seen. The door to the middle helicopter slid open and a shadowy figure appeared, silhouetted by the red lights inside. He dove from the helicopter down into the lake, barely making a splash. The helicopters pulled away and disappeared into the distance. The lake fell still again, no one to be seen.
----
Slowly a head emerges from the lake. Reagan's stark black hair, completely dry, somehow seemingly untouched by the water. Then George began to rise up from the depths. Then Bill, then Junior. The presidents all rose above the water's surface, nude, arms outstretched, suspended in mid air.
They hovered over the altar, and gently touched down, the four of them facing the empty fifth space.
Then the shadowy figure began to rise up out of the lake. He slowly came to rest in the fifth position of the pentagram. As his feet touched down, Barack looked over at Bill, glanced down and then back up, and audibly snickered.
*Hehehe.* Junior chuckled.
*You shut up.* Bill said to Junior.
George did his best to hide his smile.
----
Embers began to appear out of thin air, floating around them. Little bits of orange light, moving with the breeze across the calm lake. More sparks of ash and fire danced back and forth as the embers began to fill the air. The men stepped toward the center of the altar and took each other's hands.
Before long a swirling tornado of fire had surrounded them. The flames of the inferno flicked up toward the night sky. Wind rushed inward through the trees from all sides toward the flaming altar, and suddenly an explosion of black smoke engulfed the lake.
When the smoke cleared, the men stood there facing each other in full suits and ties. They didn't say a word. They just looked at each other, content with their ritual.
Dick leaned over to Hillary and whispered *It is done. Now they must feed.*
Hillary nodded. *I will bring them the children.*
| 2015-07-26T01:48:29 | 2015-07-26T00:41:47 | 163 | 27 |
[WP] After years of having what you thought to be a slow computer, you suddenly get a popup:'installation complete'.
|
Anthony clicked on the button labeled 'launch program' anticipation flooding him to his very core. What could it be? Something experimental perhaps? Whatever it was, he realised his life may never be the same.
After five minutes of excitement, coupled with a tinge of fear, the program opened up.
"Welcome to Internet Explorer. Would you like to make this your default browser?"
|
I crouched in my tiny second bedroom over the glowing screen, watching the swirling idiot icon, you know, the one they put on the screen to keep you assured your computer's still thinking, so you don't start beating the crap out of it. "Come on... come on..." Muttering at the interminably slow hunk of hardware was a common thing. It was a second-hand computer bought on the cheap through Craigslist, it immediately became the bane of my existence ever since it first dimly lit the cramped make-shift office. Slow, stubborn, infuriating. It would make me wait long minutes for the simplest of tasks, and every so often would stop for 15-minute swaths of time, cheerfully not responding to anything I attempted. Turning it off never worked, I would pay for days if I turned it off, almost as if it were mad at me for daring to suggest it could go faster. Malwarebytes and Avast would spin for hours before finally pronouncing the computer clean. I combed through every working process to see if any were sucking processor time (nothing), and to top it off, googling the off-brand name “Takuro” would fill my screen (eventually) with Japanese celebrities and a car in a Stephen King book set. No amount of filtering would produce a viable list of upgrades or troubleshooting, any parts found were listed in yen, and converting the prices inevitably made the part cost more than the computer itself. To summarize: I’d bought what is obviously a lemon, and was destined to spend my days learning the virtue of patience over and over until I could afford another lemon, preferably a quicker one.
These were the dark thoughts as I waited for my work to upload. The deadline for the meeting was 8am, and I’d been up all night crunching data to get the numbers my boss needed. It was 7:45, and the last 15 minutes the counter hadn’t even moved. Hanging at 61%, this looked to be the longest hang ever. Of course. This presentation was the pinnacle of years of work, and could put me in the position to afford things I could only dream of now. 7:50 arrives, and still at 61%. I start sweating and swearing. 7:55. Nothing’s moved. I give the off-white monolith a soft thump, percussive maintenance, something this system also takes offense at, hence the “soft”. I’m ready to cry. Even if it resumes now, there’s no way the other 39% will upload in five minutes. A soft chime sounds in the speakers. A popup. Oh gods, it’s a virus. I squint at the slightly wavy monitor. “Installation Complete”. The lone button underneath just says “Yes”. I stare at it listlessly, I’m already screwed. It’s 7:58. I slide the cursor over and click “Yes”. I mean, it’s not like there’s another option. The screen brightens, for once not fuzzy. Graphics upgrade? The counter hits 62%, then 87%, then 100% and the familiar “done” messagebox comes up. I look at the clock, 7:58. Had my cable company upgraded my connection or something? That 39% was about a gig of data, there’s no way.
Time to check. I opened Explorer, which popped right up for once, did that exaggerated slow double click to change the name, and it worked. I shake my head, something must be drastically wrong. I put the new file’s name in the field, click upload. The timer flashes 74%, then tells me it’s done. OK, so my flash of hope was for nothing, the system has just found a new way to malfunction. I lean back, defeated, hands over my eyes. It’s been a long night, I should go sleep for the day. Another soft chime, an email. I open it up, again, almost before I’m done clicking, and it’s my boss, telling me the data got there on time, he’s going to start the presentation now, but why did I upload it twice? I ignore the rest, which is a quick cheap potshot at my computer (If anyone else knows how bad my computer is, it’s my boss), and sit back. The screen looks high-def compared to its normal wateriness, crisp and sharp. My eyes lock on the icon to install Skyrim. Pure stubbornness made me keep it on there after Steam had a sale and I wasted money buying it, presumably for once this computer went to silicon heaven. (‘of course there’s a silicon heaven, where else would all the toasters go?’, my tired mind reminds me.) What the hell. I double click it. Screens flash in front of my widening eyes, I should be making choices, like installation directories, right? But before I know it I’m in the game itself. It looks clear as a mountain stream, like I could just reach through the monitor and touch the cobblestones. I close it, shaking my head. This isn’t possible, but I don’t think I’m dreaming.
Then I see it – far to the right of the screen, in the lower corner. “Kortana DCLXVI”. Now, what was a cheap Cortana clone doing on my old slow Takuro? Curiousity drives me, I double click it, and the screen glows with a red circle against a black field accompanied with a cheerful chime the company probably spent a hundred thousand dollars on, to make sure it was chipper enough. Underneath the circle are the words “What can I do now?”, but there was no field for me to type in. “Typical,” I mutter. This at least was what I was used to. “How about you give me a million dollars and a pony?” The red circle pulses, then goes dark. Amusing. It couldn’t have heard me, I don’t have a microphone. I wait for a few seconds, then get up to go to sleep - I can delve into this mystery later – and the screen comes back up. Half the screen is my Visions FCU bank account. I love online banking, but I hadn’t had it open. I also hadn’t entered my password. And that certainly isn’t my balance. I shake my head and glance at the right side of the screen, it’s of a local horse boarding stable on Google maps. A close one. The one I’d board a pony at if I were anywhere in the league to have a pet like that. I couldn’t even afford a cat! I shake my head again. “What’s going on?” I whisper. The screen flashes again. The red circle is back, and underneath is written “Geney AI, installed today at 7:58 am, at your service. Tell me what you wish, Master.”
(If there’s interest, I’ll write a part 2… I’m behind on my Saturday chores already!)
| 2017-10-14T08:34:37 | 2017-10-14T06:55:37 | 354 | 143 |
[WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck.
Edit: mum im famous
|
We all knew Trump's Mexican border wall wouldn't solve all America's immigration problems---but only I knew why.
On my stake-outs in the deserts of Arizona and Texas, I could sometimes see them practicing. They leapt so high that the moon was eclipsed by their wide-brimmed sombreros. They grabbed its fabric in both hands and parachuted for miles, silently laughing at fences and walls, landing in whichever country they chose.
But if you know anything about REAL politics, you know it's the Canadian border we need to worry about.
His white costume was camouflage in the icy winter, but I could still see him, because he wasn't hiding the bright-red maple leaf on his chest. We stood across the American-Canadian border, a great slash of trees cut out of the forest like an immature "no-touching zone."
"You stay on your side," I reminded him with a shout. "That's the deal, remember?"
"Times are changing, eh. Do you know how many ninja-nationalities are on your side of the border right now?"
"Just one nationality here," I said. "United States of American."
"I'm sure, eh." He turned and started to walk away. "But it's all changing, after Brexit."
"Those kingdoms are far from here."
"Don't forget where your fealties lie, eh. You've got as many ninjas watching London as London has watching you."
"Let London do what it wants. It won't affect us."
"Everything affects everyone, eh. France coughs, all Europe gets a cold. Don't you know, the socio-political-economic disturbance of a major breakdown in the European Union might need to be rectified in the night with some ninjas, if you know what I mean."
I smushed out a cigarette. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's a warning."
"On behalf of whom?"
"You know my connections in Quebec." He disappeared into the white night. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, eh."
|
Asla had never travelled this far east before. She chose to hike the last stretch of her journey, leaving her beat-up car under a tarpaulin, tucked behind a copse of trees. Nature had beat back man’s progress here, and all she had for company were the skittish wildlife, the rush of the waterfalls, the snowflakes cascading down belligerently. Walking rejuvenated her, but more importantly, it gave her a chance to attune her senses, probe for the Folkvarthr, the guardian of the town.
She found him perched on a rocky outcrop, just a couple of miles from Seydisfjordur. Asla knew she made no noise, left barely an imprint on the fresh snow beneath her feet, but before such an experienced master, she might as well have been beating a drum, strumming a lyre.
“Folkvarthr, I come in peace,” she said, keeping her distance. She used the honorific so that he would know that she was cut from the same cloth, another member of the ancient clan sworn to protect their country. Underneath her shawl, she gripped her twin knives, priming her defences. It never hurt to be prudent.
The older man turned then, and for a moment Asla wondered if the reports were embellished. There was a placid calmness to him, and none of the fire and brimstone she was cautioned about. His eyes, dulled with age, reminded her of the frozen orbs she sometimes had to scrape out of bowls she had left out.
“I don’t recall asking to be relieved,” he said. “I am not yet battle-weary. I intend to guard this town until I die.”
“Olafur, you have done us a great service,” Asla replied. “The records run with the great deeds you have accomplished. You have saved this town more times than anyone can count. You have more than earned your rest.”
Olafur scrounged on the ground, picked up a couple of smoothened pebbles. Asla narrowed her eyes, but this time she was over-suspicious – Olafur aimed the small missiles not at her, but at three spots away from them, one to the north and the others to the west. There was but a bleak light still illuminating the valley, so Asla relied instead on her hearing to determine where the pebbles landed.
“Those are where the rifts are,” said Olafur, dusting his palms off. “The monsters don’t come as often now, but they still can, and they still do. They are different from the ones you deal with back in Reykjavik, or wherever the hell you came from. Nature emboldens them. They don’t emerge at night, skulking in the shadows. No, these prefer the day, where they revel in being seen, being feared. There’s a sadism in these parts that only I can handle, young one.”
There’s a sadism alright, thought Asla, but instead she said, “I will be straightforward, Folkvarthr. This is not a request. The Council has asked that you retire, with immediate effect.”
“Oh? After all the good work I’ve done?”
“Too good, in fact,” said Asla. “Reports have come in that you no longer communicate with the town, that you have completely shut yourself off from them. The local children don’t even dare come near you anymore, and they have started calling you the Boogeyman, the Reaper. Even worse, the monsters that you slay… you’re not just putting them down, you’re *slaughtering* them. The Council has reason to believe that you-”
Olafur chose to move at that moment, streaking in a blur towards highground. Asla was ready, and so she followed closely behind, matching him step for step. She considered the possibility that he was leading her towards a trap, but pushed that thought away. She had to believe that there was humanity yet left in him.
Some hundred feet above the ground, a cave opened up alongside the hill, hidden if one were only looking in from the roads. Olafur paused there, then snapped his fingers, bringing to life the candles within. Asla discerned immediately the two urns on one side of the cave, and the heaps of ash on the other.
“They took my family, was that in your reports too?” Olafur asked. “I had just saved the town from another invasion, took down no less than three ghouls and two ogres on my own. They come in waves, so I thought we were safe for a while. But they were hiding, down by the waters when my daughter went to swim. My Hansa struggled with them, but she is no practitioner of glima that I am.”
In that moment, Asla understood why the Council had chosen her, of all the practitioners, and a tiny bit of the tension in her seeped away. She was not going to die here today, after all. “No words can convey my condolences,” she said, eventually.
Olafur didn’t seem to hear. “And everyday, everyday I add on to the ashes of my enemies. I think, maybe, when there’s enough of it, it will all make sense again, feel right again.”
“Has it worked?”
“No,” said Olafur, “not yet. And that is why I cannot stop, you see? I have to keep going. I have to keep-”
Asla lashed out, her knives glinting as they sung through the air. She was not given to surprise attacks, but this was an opponent far more skilled than she was, and she would have to take what the gods of chance gave her. Heck, she had only felled the one ogre in her life, and that was quite an anemic one at that.
Olafur caught her blows easily, striking at her wrists, deflecting her attacks. He stepped in, pushed his shoulder against her midriff, then lifted her legs. Asla tensed and recoiled, twisting in the air, landing on her feet. If she fell, it was over.
Round and round they went, like marbles in a cone, striking and rebounding, feinting and parrying. At times it seemed that Asla, with her youth and vigor and aggression, had the edge. But Olafur would come back, a crashing fjord of implacable power, brushing her off like a weevil. Then, a slip, as Asla’s foot caught on an uneven patch of ground, throwing her off just a couple of inches.
Olafur seized the moment, overwhelming her with a deathgrip. Asla kept still, quivering despite her best efforts. She was at his mercy.
“Why does the Council stop me?” he asked, breathing heavily. “Can a man not have his revenge?”
“You are showing signs of taint, Olafur! Do you not see that? In a year, or two, will your bloodlust have calmed?”
“I am *in control*!” he said. “Why do you think I have not snapped your neck?”
Asla sighed, then relinquished her knives, dropping them to the ground. Olafur had not yet yielded in the face of her surrender, so there was only one course of action left.
“I bring with me too another message from the Council,” she said. “Straight from your master’s mouth, the same one who assigned you here years ago. He bids me to remind you that you have done your part, that you deserve, at the least, some rest. ‘Any of us can quell the monsters, Olafur, but only you can tend to your wounds. Let Asla carry on your work for you.’ That is what he said.”
Asla waited, and eventually Olafur loosened his hold. She broke free, then turned to assess her opponent. The fight had deserted him, and the hunch in his back, the despair on his brows – there was no more duelling to be had. Olafur averted his gaze, but Asla caught the hint of moistness in his eyes.
“She… she would be around your age, if she were still alive, you know?” Olafur said, staring off into the distance.
You bastards, she thought. It’s not fair sending someone who reminds him of his daughter to fight him. That’s just underhanded.
“I know,” she said.
There they sat, as the sun completed its retreat, and the stars reclaimed their fair share of the heavens. From the distance they heard the merriment from the town – preparations were underway for the winter festivals, and Asla sensed that even the monsters would have the decency to stay away this night.
“Where’s good for dinner?” she asked, tentatively.
Olafur sighed. “I can show you, if you like.”
Asla smiled.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2022-08-20T02:51:59 | 2017-11-16T08:36:47 | 509 | 173 |
[WP] You and your spouse are fairly typical demonic overlords with a figurative/literal dark fortress, minions to command etc. The problem is your teenage child who's going through that rebellious phase; claiming that they're good, dressing in all whites and only listening to gentle hymns.
|
"Honey, there's something going on with Isaac, I don't know what to do!"
"Woah, woah Babe, slow down. What's going on?"
"What's going on?!! I just got a disciplinary note from his school! His grades have been plummeting and he's been acting out in class!"
"What? But he was always such a creative young boy. What does the note say?"
"He's been flunking possession class! His teachers complain about him making friends with mortals! He's coming into school dressed in white robes and listening to that godawful gospel music."
"Oh my Satan..."
"I know, that's exactly what I said!"
"...Could he just be going through a phase? Every demon tries out redemption at one point in their life..."
"I sure hope it is! But you really need to talk to him before he goes through with it. He might get kicked out of hell!"
"Okay, okay."
----------------------------------------------
"Son, you awake?"
"Yes dad?"
"Listen kiddo, the mistress and I have been talking. We've read the report from school. Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"
"Am I in trouble?"
"You will be if you don't tell me what's going on. Is it true you're coming into school wearing all white?"
"...Yeah."
"And in possession class instead of devouring mortal souls you spend your time making friends with them?"
"Yeah I'm working on a big project!"
"Son! They tell me you're building churches, putting up crucifixes, establishing worship groups for Dis's sake!"
"Yeah, but..."
"But what?! Are you trying to get thrown into heaven or something?"
"No dad!"
"Then what the jesus are you doing?"
"I'm *trying* to lynch a whole bunch of black people!"
|
*I sighed as I watched my dream-self walk towards the white door at the end of the hallway. As always, the door refused to get closer. He began running and then sprinting towards the end of the corridor, I chuckled at his stubbornness. Finally coming to terms with the futility of his efforts, he swallowed his pride and turned his back to the door… I hated this part.*
*Trapped, choking, wet; I must be drowning. I concentrated hard in an attempt to maintain mindfulness but it was no use. The lucid awareness that I had so easily floated upon just moments before began to fade. The nightmare came alive.*
*I lashed out violently in random directions; with flailing limbs I battled the thick liquid. A whispering sanity urged me to calm down, reminding me that I would have a higher chance of survival if I kept composure. With levels of Zen that rivaled an immolated monk I found my center, only to then surrender control to the dying animal upon realizing that even my sober mind didn’t know which way was up.*
*Consciousness became fragmented; I inhaled deeply. My lungs burned as the viscous liquid flooded in.*
~
I snapped awake, gagging on air. The nightmare had made me sweat so much that it felt like I’d pissed myself. The view framed by my third story window was of a grey sky and heavy rain- It was going to be a wet day in hell.
The rain made it extra hard to get out of bed. My fear of punishment eventually trumped my slothfulness; I groaned in reflexive protest as I forced myself upright. I looked towards my mirror and locked eyes with rejection. Rejection looked like an undersized goat-boy covered in coarse black fur; I looked more like a sheep than a proper imp. I used a hand mirror to inspect the top of my head for any signs of my long-awaited horns. Nothing. At almost 19 years old, the fact that I still had no horns was a constant source of shame, a splinter of inferiority.
My underwhelming stature was magnified by my prestigious bloodline, I came from a long tradition of highly regarded arch-fiends. Between the formidable physiques of my DNA-givers it seemed that my very existence was an argument against the theory of evolution, which is totally shitty for me considering that the idea of creationism is blasphemy where I’m from. My father for example had been born with his horns (not to mention normal red scales…) while his trophy wife, my mother mind you, had been Miss November on the Sexy Succubus calendar back in ‘93. Along with a few dozen siblings who had all been blessed with levels of badassery to properly represent the family legacy, we all lived together in a fancy-shmancy gated community on the west side of the seventh circle.
I continued with my morning routine by carrying out a few standard acts of hygiene that would serve to appease certain expected societal standards and uphold the wobbly façade that I was a well-adapted member of the demonic legion. I brushed my tooth and scrubbed my wiry black hair with righteous vigor before throwing on some hand-me-down designer clothing and heading downstairs for breakfast.
The kitchen looked like feeding time in a piranha tank. Over half of my siblings moshed the center of the room, pushing and shoving each other in an attempt to seize the raw meats that were falling from the air. My mother stood at the far end of the room all dolled up with a suburbia-smile glued to her face; she wielded a large knife and was using it to cleave the appendages off of a live lamb which she then hurled towards the feeding frenzy. The ceramic floor’s tiling pattern suddenly became very interesting as I scooted along rooms perimeter towards to fridge. I quickly packed my lunch bag and slipped out the front door unnoticed.
I walked through the rain slowly. Though the acidic precipitation made my fur extra coarse, I refused to be hurried. I loved my morning hike to School. It was the only time I was both safely following orders and got to be alone. The patter of raindrops faded in and out with my breathing as my hooves sloshed through puddles. Grey clouds of various hues hung low in the sky and were in constant flux. A brisk wind sent a shiver down my spine. Everything was alive.
After the short walk I found myself standing nervously outside the front door of my high school. I reached for the door handle but hesitated. Taking a moment to collect myself, I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer before pushing my way inside. I instantly immersed myself into the flow of bodies that saturated the crowded hallway whilst carefully avoiding any eye contact. So far so good. My chameleon tactics seemed to be super effective. A smile began to form at the corners of my mouth.
“There he is!” Daemon shouted.
I cursed myself for breaking character. Instinct forced me into a sprint though logic had already accepted the inevitable. Daemon quickly overcame my stubby retreat with his long strides and shoved me into a locker as his posse closed in around me.
“Looks like somebody doesn’t know what an umbrella is,” one of the goons said.
“Yeah,” Daemon sneered, “He’s even wetter than his milf mom was last night.” Everyone laughed. Without missing a beat, Daemon snatched my lunch-bag and turned it upside down. A baggie of carrots and celery fell to the ground. He punched me hard in the stomach and I surrendered to gravity, smashing my head against the cobblestone floor. More laughter, this time accompanied by the parsletongued mocking of a passing teacher.
“Next time have some real food and we might be nice and go back to wedgies,” Daemon said casually as he turned and walked away, leaving me cradled in a fetal position and gasping through sharp shallow breaths. My head was throbbing and my stomach felt like it had collapsed on itself. The final bell rang and the last lingering hallway inhabitants filtered into their respective classrooms.
I laid there in bitter defeat, feeling pathetic. My shame soon birthed anger and I found myself struggling to quell the rising hatred. Dormant feelings of not belonging surged to the surface and collided with my beating heart. My breathing was becoming erratic, I reached for my inhaler but it wasn’t there. Thinking quickly, I dug into my backpack and emerged with my private poetry notebook. I poured myself onto it:
*“Mood-ring Messiah, quietly licking the cosmic canvas, I am, infamous Space-time boomerang maverick with a dragon-king funny bone; forced to battle constantly for the purity of my dream-scape; It seems that there is no day off for a hero… This is my dream catcher agenda: build a Ouija board and use it to shit talk Lucifer until he gives me my horns and then use them to carve my fantasies into the family heirlooms of my enemies, I would rather rewrite genesis with a highlighter than allow the dispersion of the omega factors, This is the dawning of a world breaker and the age of bottled lightning, ascend now to the throne of thy Fath-”*
The tip of my pencil snapped. Damn-it, I had been on a roll.
I slowly rose to my feet and waddled over to my morning class with a slight stagger. I was awarded afternoon detention upon arriving late; I accepted the punishment with indifference. I plopped down in an oversized desk in the back row and tuned out my professor’s lecture the best I could, something about Miley Cyrus and her innovative methods for accumulating acolytes. The class seemed to stretch on endlessly
The rest of the day was uneventful. I spent the evening serving out my detention and by the time I was released the sun had already set. I enjoyed my walk home the best I could before quietly sneaking upstairs to my room. My head was haunted by a prodding thorn and I hadn’t eaten all day due to my concaved stomach but I was so exhausted that none of it mattered. I buried my face in my pillow and surrendered to the dreadful apparitions.
~
*I watched myself walk towards the white door at the end of the hallway. It didn’t take my dream-self long to realize the impossible nature of his doomed pilgrimage this time. He turned his back towards the door. Here we go…*
*Burning, engulfed, melting; I must be on fire. It felt as if I was trapped inside of Satan’s sun. Lucidness faded as the nightmare came alive.*
*I was on fire. My fur was quickly immolated, leaving my naked flesh exposed to the flames lick. Agony. A new plateau of pain. The exceptional misery reached deep as my lungs failed to vocalize my torment. I burned in silence.*
| 2015-12-08T11:16:04 | 2015-12-08T10:16:55 | 15 | 10 |
[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.
|
I'd burned through at least a half dozen genres in the last few minutes. No matter what track was being pumped through the headphones integrated into my helmet, I either couldn't keep up with the hell-faced bastard or none of my hits would do anything to their adamantine skin. Every time I tried something else, they seemed to have the perfect counter. I needed something... more.
There's a reason why I keep away from certain types of music. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing bad about any of them. Well, most of them. It's just that I'm not a fan of the aftereffects of some of them. Techno makes me feel jittery, same with a lot of rap. Anything in a language I don't normally know kind of scrambles my speech for a while. Villain songs from the Mouse have me cackling evilly for a long time afterwards. But they all have a purpose.
Even the blacklisted tracks.
A shudder passed through me as I thought of that damned playlist. It wasn't really dread though, more like... excitement. And I hated myself for it. But I needed to end this before we leveled the city. Or, well, much more of it. I just hoped that I could stop myself when it was done.
So... I punched in the password for the locked tracks onto my arm mounted panel.
"Rip and Tear"
The warning phrase played in my head right before the first track kicked in.
"Until it is done."
|
“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.)
| 2022-05-17T09:22:08 | 2022-05-17T09:15:17 | 486 | 215 |
[WP] Everyone has an anonymous encounter with the devil on their 21st birthday. He tries to subtly send people on a path of darkness. Today is your 21st birthday.
|
"...That sucks, buddy, is that why you're drinking alone?"
"Yeah. Haha"
"Lemme buy you a drink, you like whiskey, buddy?"
"Haha, naaah, only lonely cowboys drink whiskey, and I don't voluntarily drink alone, haha.. But I'll take a neat gin!"
"Here you go, buddy. Happy 21st!"
"Thanks, man."
"You know what really helps out with feeling lonely?"
"What's that?"
"Murder."
"Ahh, goddamn it! Nice try Lucy, I ain't going down that road."
|
"Hey man! This is my buddy Luke. Remember? The guy at the fur shop who helped me pick out that gift for Ashley."
I don't really know why Ashley likes furs anyways. I think only pimps and grandmas wear them.
"Oh ya? He's joining us for the evening? I didn't realize you guys kept in touch."
One more wouldn't hurt. Plus it's not like it was an intimate evening we had planned. I finally could actually get out, instead of finding a basement, or hiding a flask in my coat pocket. And I was the last of all my friends to finally hit 21. Plus, Jon always seemed to attract the most interesting people.
"Alright, well let's get pregaming!" Shouted Jon as a beer whizzed by my head. "You have to keep sharp if you want to keep up with us!"
He tossed me another beer as the other lay on the ground hissing away the last of its breath. Luke and Jon punctured the bottom of their beers and opened the top. I didn't realize you could drink them so fast. I guess this was going to be a crazy night.
Was it foggy tonight? I could have sworn it wasn't as hazy out an hour ago. Oh well. On to the bar. Luke said he was good to drive, and I trust him since he is a pretty big guy. My head was spinning as Luke whipped the car around every turn. A cold sweat started beading on my forehead, and my stomach turned over. I slammed the window button as hard as I could, and I felt the sick release from me. "That's it! Make some room for the rest of the night," Jon said through a chuckle. Luke and Jon bumped fists as we continued to the bar.
I could feel the slow bass beat from the line outside the bar. My heart pounded exactly the opposite. Was it fear? What if my ID wasn't good enough? No. I was just excited to get inside. As we drew closer Jon put his hand on my shoulder, and gave a quick thumbs up. My license fell to the ground as I pulled it out for the first time. It was unfamiliar in my hands. I nervously laughed. "Sorry, first time. 21 today. Heh." The bouncer stared with a glazed over look, and then gave a nod to head on in. The music washed over me like a wave. And I was in.
"How is everyone here so pretty?" I asked, feeling the inadequacy creep into my thoughts.
"Don't worry man, they all look prettier when you have a little drink in you," Jon joked.
"Same goes for you. You are like a regular Brad Pitt to these ladies. It's just all about the attitude." Luke threw back a shot and pointed to some girls. "Here. Take a couple of these, and we are going to go talk to those girls. I'll show you how easy it is." Luke handed me a couple of shots from behind him on the bar and had me take them back to back. As the burn began to cool in my mouth. I could feel my heart start to slow down. And I was finally starting to relax. The bass was pounding in the background. I liked this song better. It seemed to be a little more upbeat.
"Hi Ladies. My friend over here just turned 21 and he accidentally ordered a double amount of drinks. I guess since he's new, he is already seeing double. Do you mind taking these off our hands?"
Did Luke have those drinks before? Maybe Jon handed them to him while I was fixing my hair.
"Oh my God! It's your 21st! Happy Birthday." I almost flinched as one of the girls lunged forward to give me a hug.
Luke insisted that they take a picture with me. Jon pulled out his phone and started directing us. I guess that's what you get when you friend is a photography major. Luke stood behind at the table. Looking over the drinks. Why was he touching the glasses? Oh well, maybe there was some hair something. But that was kind of weird. The bass picked up as a new song started. The DJ called out for everyone to get on the dance floor. One of the girls grabbed my arm and pulled me out. I wonder if my friends were going to dance too.
The mystery girl shouted something over her shoulder as she moved her hips back against mine. I was trying to listen, but the waves of music drowned out all other noise. She grabbed my hands and put them on her hips. She pulsed to the music. I could feel the excitement rise through my body, in those slow, rhythmic pulses. And the bass beat into my head.
The girl dancing with Luke stumbled to the ground. As he pulled her back up, her body seemed slightly limp. He held on to her tightly and he brought her back to the table. What was he doing with those drinks.
"Hey," I said in the girls ear. The sweet smell of sweat and perfume and shampoo filled my nostrils. And as she turned to hear what I had to say, her smooth cheek caressed mine, and I almost forgot what to say. But, what was he doing with those drinks. "I think your friend might have slipped while dancing. We should probably check on her."
The bass picked up and the crowd cheered. My dance partner locked fingers with me, and pulled me over to where Luke and her friend were sitting. I glanced at Jon. His hands waving in the air, without a worry in the world. The bass beat.
"Hey Luke what happened over there," I asked a little more sternly than I meant.
"Ah, Jenny over here said she didn't have much to eat today. She has some blood sugar issues I guess. We were thinking about getting out of here real quick to grab a bite to eat. Don't worry though. We will come back. I haven't forgotten your big day."
My thoughts were swimming against the music, trying to reach my mouth. As I stuttered for a moment, I could feel the anger inside me. My muscles were loose. My body relaxed, but my mind raced with emotion. My heartbeat seemed too slow to measure. But the bass beat. Bum Bum Bum Bum. The words couldn't seem to come as I stared wildly at Luke.
"I saw you Luke."
"What?"
"I saw you Luke," I urged louder.
"Saw me do what."
The bass beat faster. The DJ gave a shouted and laughed as he upped the speed even more. Luke was waiting for a reply. My mouth found no words. Why can't I speak. Why can't he hear me. Why would he do this? I had no way out. The music pounded. My words meant nothing. How can I do the right thing?
Someone threw my hand at Luke's face. It couldn't have been me. I didn't even see it until it already hit. I heard a scream in the background. He started to get up. My beer bottle hit him in the head. My anger was replaced by fear. A leveling force hit me in the back, and my head hit the tile. I stared at Luke next to me on the ground as a warm red pool crept on to my face from his body. The bass pulsed through the floor and I could feel the force of the music. As the bouncer turned me over I glanced over toward the DJ. He smiled. And the music slowly faded out.
| 2016-03-03T23:32:10 | 2016-03-03T21:01:19 | 93 | 12 |
[WP] It is said that the cursed princess can only be awoken by true love's kiss. To wake her up, the king has had princes from all over the world come to kiss her to no avail. One day, a peasant boy walks up to the sleeping princess and splashes her with cold water to wake her up. It actually works.
|
"Plain water." The peasant laughed as the princess stirred from her sleep. "Had no one in this kingdom thought of it?"
"Of course we had." A voice from behind the boy said making him flinch. It was the king's. "So tell me, how is it that your 'plain water' broke the sleep?"
"Perhaps the witch lied." The boy said lazily. "I mean, it wouldn't make sense that she'd leave the way to break the curse so easily accessible for the enemy."
The king paused in his tracks. That... Wasn't something he'd thought of. In his haste to have found a cure he had forgotten to check where they'd gotten it from.
"Still, I suppose there's the problem of why water didn't work till now." The boy continued not waiting for the king.
"What is it that you know?"
"You are a smart king. I think you suspect the same I do. The princess was meant to wake today, just waiting to be stirred from her slumber."
The king's eyes widened. "Who was supposed to arrive today?"
"The king of Dariha. I heard him in the stables."
That explained everything to the king. The person meant to arrive today were their enemies. In his worries he had become too desperate and almost lost his empire.
"Well then, stable boy. You have my gratitude. I cannot thank you enough for saving my daughter. Speak what do you wish for?"
"May I have my own horse?"
"You do not ask for the princess, not for land, yet not even for jewels?"
"I am a stable boy, your majesty. Horses are the biggest treasure to me."
"So be it. I also gift you education should you wish to take it up."
At this the boy's eyes lit up. "Thank you your majesty. Long live your majesty and your highness."
|
“That’s it, I’m done cleaning the room of some sleeping princess. Why should I have to spend everyday greeting stupid princes that can’t even take their muddy shoes off when entering a room?” Luke whined, carrying his bucket of water, the water swaying in the bucket, threatening to spill over as he turned to leave the bedroom, only to jump as the door was opened.
“WHAT WAS THAT PEASANT?” Barthis stomped his way into the room, the knight’s armored boots thankfully not containing a single shred of mud on them, not adding to the already messy floor that Luke had given up on cleaning.
Luke wanted to respond but his throat dried at the sight of the imposing knight and instead he turned to flee, jumping on the princess’s bed, preparing to dive through the castle window. As he landed on the bed, his feet sunk into the bedding, causing him to tumble over, spilling the bucket of water all over the sleeping princess.
By the time Luke had realized what he had done, the knight already had him by the collar, holding him up by the scruff of his shirt. “You’re in so much trouble. An attack on the princess, that’s worthy of death, or at least life in a dungeon.”
“It was an accident, I swear. I’ll clean the mess up right away. I won’t even complain about the job, I promise. Please, don’t tell the king.”
“And now you’re asking me to go behind the king’s back? Are you trying to instigate treason?”
The peasant did not know what any of those fancy words meant, but he was certain the few times he had heard the word treason, it was accompanied by tales of people being executed. He gripped at his neck, trying desperately to free himself from the knight’s grasp.
“Mmmm?” The shuffling of blankets caught their attention as their gazes both shifted to the exhausted princess, who was currently rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Barthis? You look a lot older than I recall. Is that your son? Why is he in my room and why am I covered in water and-“ The princess gasped, looking at the splattering of muddy footprints on her floor. “WHO FORGOT TO TAKE THEIR SHOES OFF WHEN THEY ENTERED?”
“Princess? You’re awake? Peasant boy, get the king. It’s a miracle.”
Barthis tossed Luke out the door, leaving the peasant to wander the castles hallways, unsure where to even look for the king. He had considered fleeing now that the knight was distracted, but where would he even go? It’s not like he had the gold to go anywhere and if he got caught, he would only get in more trouble. So, Luke just did what he was asked, telling the news about the princess waking up to the castle guards, letting them inform the king as he returned to the princess’s room.
“So, this is my savior? It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The princess extended her hand, only for Barthis to step between the two.
“Princess, don’t lower yourself by shaking the hand of a peasant. He did his duty to the kingdom and he won’t be executed because of that. Consider yourself lucky, boy. The princess will spare you.”
“Willing to spare him? How dare you! This ‘boy’ Is the only reason I’m not stuck in that eternal slumber. You will treat him with respect, and I will handsomely reward him for his actions. I will accept no lesser than a hundred gold reward and a plot of farming land.”
“O-one hundred gold? Princess, I don’t think that much gold exists.”
The princess laughed, nearly rolling out of her bed. Could the peasant not imagine such a small amount of gold? She slipped her legs off the bed, sitting herself in a more comfortable position.
“Oh, it exists. Now, what is your name? I can’t call you boy or peasant. It’s not worthy of the person who saved me.”
“He spilt water on your head, princess. It was an act of god, not something that was done intentionally.” Barthis continued, still glaring at Luke.
“Again, you deflect my praise to him. Whether it was an accident or not, he is still my savior. If it was truly an act of god, that would make him a holy figure. Shall I get you to pray to him before battle?”
Barthis stayed silent, keeping his head down as the princess continued.
“Good. Now, your name.”
“Luke.”
“Luke what?”
“Just Luke. Am I meant to have another name?”
The princess let out another laugh. “Oh, you poor soul. You really are poor, aren’t you? Hmm, my reward won’t do at all then. Giving gold to someone that doesn’t understand its value will only result in you wasting it. Ok, how would you like to train to be a noble?”
Barthis went to object, only to stay silent when the princess looked his way. She kept her gaze on him until finally he lowered his head again, this time with an accompanying huff.
“A noble? I don’t want to kiss you, though.”
“Pardon?”
“If I was a noble, I would have to kiss you. Like all those princes were doing.”
The princess wasn’t sure how to process that, only raising an eyebrow as she thought about it before the peasant’s words made sense.
“Oh, true love’s kiss. No, you won’t have to kiss me. All I want to do is fund your campaign to enter a noble house. I will provide you with the gold, education and a living area and all you need to do is study. With enough study, I’m sure any noble family would be happy to adopt you.”
“But I’m a peasant.”
“A peasant with a princess’s approval. That means a lot to noble families. So, what do you think?”
“It would be nice to walk around in those fancy robes that everyone has. Are you sure princess?”
“I am.”
“Then I accept.”
The princess gave Luke a smile, only for that smile to widen as her dad rushed into the room, the proud king a mess of tears as he hugged his daughter, nearly squeezing the air out of her as they embraced.
“Oh, I couldn’t believe the news. You’re awake, my dear. What brave prince do I have to thank for it?” The more the king hugged her, the more he noticed just how soaked in water she was. “Why are you wet?”
“It’s thanks to my savior.” She pointed to Luke, who was sheepishly staring at the king, never having seen the man up close before.
“Where?” The king glanced behind Luke, searching for a prince, only for his gaze to land on Luke again. “Him? The cleaner? How did he do it?”
“By spilling water on my head. I don’t know how, but it appears he is the person who was destined to free me from my curse. Don’t worry, I don’t believe it’s a matter of love, father. Maybe it’s more his destiny. I have already offered him a chance to become a noble, which he has accepted.”
“A noble? I will arrange for him to be put into a family at once.”
“Not so fast, father. I don’t want him to be another brainless noble. We will educate him first, then he can choose a family. There is no point in us just throwing him into a life of wealth. I would prefer to see what he can do. If he can save my life, perhaps he has a bigger purpose than just becoming another noble.”
“Perhaps you’re right, dear. Barthis, take him to a spare room and get him some finer clothes. I’ll send someone to his room later to give him dinner. Now, if you will excuse me, I wish to speak to my daughter in private. I need to inform her of the current state of the kingdom.”
Barthis nodded, not saying a word to Luke as he motioned the former peasant down the hallway, this time leading him up the stairs rather than to the commoner floors below. When they arrived at his room, Barthis opened the door, waiting for Luke to step inside before closing it. The room was bare, only having a table, an empty wardrobe, and a bed. Still, the room was far nicer than anything he had ever slept in.
“A noble?” Luke still couldn’t believe it. To think an accident had turned him into a noble. Perhaps this was the start of his special destiny, or maybe he just got lucky? Either way, Luke was happy to reap the benefits.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2022-08-07T06:14:52 | 2022-08-07T00:44:06 | 470 | 258 |
[WP] The blacksmith won't sell you any weapon, the guards insist you stay in the city and the mages refuse to teach you any dangerous spell. Maybe that eternal youth potion was a terrible idea after all.
|
The blacksmith scoffed at the little frame standing in front of him. A huge, lumbering man with a great beard towering over a human girl no taller than a grown dwarf. She should’ve been intimidated. And yet steel blue eyes stared back at him with conviction beyond their years.
“I want those.” Her finger gestured at a set of daggers. They were simple. Bone handled with steel blades. Sturdy.
The blacksmith let loose a noise halfway between a grunt and laughter. “Little girl,”
he began with a deep, quiet voice that strayed into the realm of condescending. “I told you last month and I will tell you again this month. I will tell you every month until your hands are big enough to grip proper. Go play with your dolls.” He shooed her with both hands and turned back to his work. Still, he thought, that one is persistent.
Aly was discouraged. Again. That eternal youth potion she was eager to down in her twenties, now a decade ago, was starting to put a damper on career aspects. No one wants to take a twelve year old seriously. With a heavy sigh, she navigated back toward the mage’s guild. Despite their insistence that she was far too young to learn magick, they allowed her shelter in exchange for menial tasks: the only silver lining of retaining an innocent look of helplessness.
She picked up bread and a block of cheese on the way, the merchant coyly asking how Aly’s mother was. “Still dead, thanks.” The old hag knew that and asked at every exchange, as if drawing some deranged pleasure. But the bread was usually free, albeit a couple days old.
“Good morning, Brother Frazin,” she chimed as she climbed the stairs to the mage’s guild. “Is today the day?”
Brother Frazin was an old man, one of the elders of the guild. He liked to lunch on the steps of the guild’s lodging and watch the street traffic. Aly took a seat next to him, pulling a chunk of bread off and offering it to Frazin. “I’m only here for another year or so, you know?” Staying in one place too long drew suspicion and the witch credited with the eternal youth potion had sworn her to secrecy over a blood oath. Two years. Three tops.
|
After escaping the Genie's temple, Rovif tested the limits of his immortality by throwing himself off the mountain. It seemed like the most direct route. Could he reach the base without hitting anything?
Odd. As it stretched out into minutes of silent free-fall, its sensation slowly became indistinguishable from soaring in the air. The only difference between the two was the fear of hitting the ground. Now that Rovif knew he would survive, from his perspective, the distinction had blurred. Nothing could harm him anymore.
Unless a landslide trapped him under rocks for eternity.
Rovif swallowed. He suddenly felt like an idiot and remembered the immortals locked away in the temple. Would the Genie cause a landslide? This *would* be the easiest way of screwing Rovif over. He never trusted the Genie's words. That creature had no reason to tell the truth.
Rovif crashed into the ground with a thud. He sprang to his feet and dusted his cloak, staying alert for any potential earthquakes that could bury him. Nothing. Maybe the Genie wasn't lying, but that only made Rovif more concerned about his warning.
Twilight slowly ended when he saw the village of Spiceroot on the horizon. It had been approximately fourteen hours since the first wish. Rovif paused at a crossroads. One path spiraled down the foothills, towards the village, and the other stretched out with no discernible end until merging into the imperial highway.
The mage's guild in Spiceroot would be on high alert for Rovif. He grumbled. Although the path down was unexpectedly quick, this hike had taken him months of travel. Rovif longed for good meal and a warm bath. He walked down the foothills. The only inns nearby were in Spiceroot. Rovif chuckled. And really, what could the guild possibly do to him?
------
------
The bed creaked again.
Rovif blinked. Dawn approached and he didn't get a minute of sleep. The Genie would show itself soon. Rovif still hadn't decided his next wish. There were too many variables to consider. Rovif got up from his bed, sauntering blindly towards the bathroom. He needed to remember his goal. Immortality was a great first step but it didn't automatically turn him into the greatest mage in history. It just increased the likelihood of success which, granted, made Rovif a lot more patient than before. He needed to focus on securing and consolidating his powers.
Unfortunately, the fact that he was forced to make a wish every day meant that there would be room for error in his wishes. Rovif inspected his worn out face. He already had an inkling of what to ask. One of the immortals in the temple was an old man. The first clue that an immortality wish wasn't perfect.
Magical energy materialized and swelled all through the room, crackling like lightning until turning into a dense fog. The Genie's silhouette hovered inside. His voice then boomed:
"Master, I see you haven't done anything foolish yet. Congratulations. Most people use their second wish to undo whatever mistake they did in the first twenty-four hours."
Rovif cleared his throat. "R-right."
"Do you have your second wish ready?"
"I believe so... Genie, grant me eternal youth! I'd like to remain in my physical peak for the rest of my life!"
Just like last time, the Genie powered up with an unbelievable amount of mana all around him and shot Rovif with a bolt of energy. A sudden calm overwhelmed his senses. Every ache, every old scar, every uncomfortable tension in his body melted away in an instant. He wasn't aware of how much pain he carried until it wasn't there anymore.
Rovif raised an eyebrow at the Genie. "What? No cryptic warnings this time?"
"I came to the conclusion that I'd be wasting my time."
"Well, you know, it's not like I wouldn't appreciate your input..."
The Genie shook his head, amused. "Very well, here's a tip. This isn't the first time I've been in this village. Throughout the centuries, the mages who find me often go to Spiceroot as their first destination."
Rovif nodded along. He remembered a lot of the legends mentioned this village. It's how he knew where to steal the map. "Does the Mage's Guild here know about you?"
"They originally established a branch here specifically to study my temple, but I didn't allow it."
"That explains a lot." Rovif often wondered why they would have such a powerful branch of the guild over in a backwater region of the empire. "Okay, thanks, that's interesting I guess, but I struggle to see the tip."
The Genie chuckled. "I'm saying that they have experience in dealing with people like you."
Rovif widened his eyes. The Genie's mana. It was unmistakable. If they had records, they would know its nature the minute they detected it. The Genie waved goodbye before disappearing. Rovif ran out of the bathroom. The Guild might actually have contingency plans for immortals. He needed to grab his belongings and leave Spiceroot immediately.
The room was disintegrated in a fiery explosion before Rovif could exit.
------
------
Folas and Vulen stared at the crystal ball with bated breath. The fireball was massive. It completely leveled the second floor of the humble inn. No one could survive that. The guild mages jumped into the building, extinguished the fire, and began to inspect the wreckage. Vulen zoomed in on them through the crystal ball. Everything was ash.
Folas grumbled.
Vulen eyed him, annoyed. "What?"
"How much attention will this bring?"
"Not as much as you think." Vulen stood up from his chair and stretched out his back. "We have enough in the treasury to cover the damages and silence the owner." He ceased his scrying on the crystal ball. "Now if you'll excuse, we've been working on this problem for long enough. I'll be off now."
"No."
Vulen stopped in his tracks. "Why?"
"They haven't found the body."
"It burned up! You saw the explosion. Five of our best mages fired at full power."
"At someone who already had two wishes granted."
Vulen pursed his lips, glancing at the floor. "They're silly myths."
"Regardless, the sundial will determine if we have succeeded."
Vulen looked at it. An ancient relic that was allegedly recovered from the original expedition into the Genie's temple. The legends stated that the sundial glowed bright green whenever a wish was granted. Vulen never thought it worked until twenty-four hours prior, when it glowed for the first time in centuries. This coincided with the stolen scroll a few months ago. They couldn't detect the exact source of the first mana outburst, but now that they were actively waiting for it, they quickly found where that cursed Rovif was staying. The embarrassment of having those scrolls stolen by him was the only reason Vulen took this situation seriously.
"Okay," said Vulen, "for the sake of arguing, let's say Rovif *did* find this mythical place. Why wouldn't he wish for ultimate power immediately and destroy us?"
Folas stroked his long beard for a few seconds of contemplation. "Some legends state that those who do that are instantly consumed and overwhelmed by the weight of their request. His strategy might be to work his way up to a point where he can ascend to godhood without losing his sense of self."
Vulen sighed. "Then what do you propose?"
"Keep every guild member on high alert. Forbid anyone from selling any teleportation services today, or weapons for that matter, and make sure the guards are keeping an eye out for him."
"Are you sure? We can bribe a few officials to aid our search, but they won't detain him without asking questions. If what you say is true, and imperial agents find out about the temple..."
"I'm aware of the risks, but it'd be more dangerous if Rovif escaped the city. Just be as vague as possible. I know it might seem like overkill, but until I see the sundial doesn't glow again tomorrow, I can't allow myself to relax."
"And what if..." Vulen swallowed. "...what if he can't die."
"We'll chop him up limb by limb and bury the pieces in very distant, remote locations all over the world. Also, we'll need to pour molten led into his mouth so can't wish himself out of the situation."
Vulen squinted.
"What?"
"I wasn't expecting your answer to be that... thorough."
-------------------
>This prompt felt like the perfect follow-up to [another one I answered a few days ago](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bwpa2t/wp_a_genie_gives_you_two_options_one_is_to_get/epzr3hw/). I wanted to see if I could make it work with and without context, but I don't know if it worked. Anyway, if anyone's interested, I'm gonna be working on this all day but I'm getting some breakfast now because I kinda forgot to eat.
| 2019-06-07T07:15:19 | 2019-06-07T06:04:22 | 90 | 47 |
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.
|
"I can't believe that I've found you!" she screamed. Her face was practically glowing, she was so excited. She ran forward and leapt into my arms, and before I could even think to react her voice was resonating in my head.
"*And don't you even think of dropping me, butterfingers! I remember how you dropped your first girlfriend*."
My arms reflexively came up. Just in time too. She collapsed into my arms. Her arms latched around my neck, but she didn't put any effort into keeping herself up.
"Cori?" I asked. But it couldn't be. The girl in my head wasn't real. I've had schizophrenia since the day I'd been born. Sure, the medicine did nothing to help it, but then again...
"Of course it's me!" she chirped. "And no, you're not schizophrenic. Otherwise..."
"*I would be, too*."
And there it was. The voice that responded to my every thought. Smooth and melodic and just a little deeper than average for a girl. The same voice that comforted me when I broke up with my first girlfriend, and helped me with my math homework.
"Is it... it's really you..." Tears had come to my eyes. I tried to wipe them, but a soft hand and even softer tissue was already dabbing at my face.
"Yeah," she said. Her voice was softer than the brash and explosive timbre I was used to, but I couldn't fault her on it. This was an emotional time for both of us.
Judging from the adorable, wry smile that felt oddly in place on her, I could tell that she agreed.
Oh, and judging from the way that she was suddenly interested in anything but me told me that she was blushing from my thoughts.
"You're a jerk," she whispered. I laughed. She already knew that. She heard my thoughts for the last 37 years. "I expected you to be taller."
I winced. She knew that would hurt. Then again, I didn't expect her to be this pretty.
The blush on her face made me smile. Looks like I'm still the better heckler. God, it was amazing to finally be able to see the reactions on her face. It was also amazing to know that I wasn't crazy.
But more than all of that? It was nice to hold a friend. I hugged her tighter, and swore to myself that I would never let her go.
I didn't need to read her mind to know that she thought the same. The way her grip on my neck tightened told me enough.
|
"The voice. You know that voice in your head. The one that's your inner voice? Most people it's their own voice, they can hear it, speak it, even imagine the words coming out of your mouth. Some people, even think of it as someone else, like Morgan Freeman or something just to play around and have fun I guess. Most people can control their thoughts and inner voice. Not me. My inner voice is her. I can't control it, I can't stop it. Frankly, right now, shes speaking to me."
"And what is she saying Ryan?" The psychiatrist asked, leaning back in her arm chair. Lethar squeaking, chewing on the back of her pen with a concentrated look on her face, perplexed as to where I was going with this.
"She's telling me I'm not crazy. Not schizophrenic like you say. That I'm okay. I'm normal." I replied, while palming my eyes and rubbing them in frustration. At this point I'm unsure that why, for 37 years... as long as I can remember her inner voice was combating mine. Mentally I'd get into arguments with her, try and ignore her. No matter what I do she knows what I'm doing, saying, even thinking. All the time.
"To call your self crazy isn't right, maybe it's your thoughts rationalizing your feelings about your schizophrenia. Maybe you are.... trying to come to terms." She leaned forward to address me.
"Yeah.... maybe, maybe I am crazy." I was doubting my self, I knew what I told Dr. Skinner was bullshit. I knew it, she knew it, but the court mandated these.... mediations. I call them that because even though on paper its "helping" it's just wasting my fucking time. Just get it over with I say. One day it will be over. 25 years later since my episode, I'm still fucking here. Still talking about the same shit. Except shes helping me get through it, but I could never tell Dr. Skinner that. They would lock me away, her and I both knew that, and I had a lawfirm to run. Oddly enough successful people can too have problems of their own. Then again, what's it worth when you talk to nothing but your imagination.
"Your doubting your self again Ryan. I think your making progress, more and more each day." She stated while beginning to type what she has written in her notes. "I think that's a good place to end until next week. Don't you?"
"Yeah, thanks Dr. Skinner." I gathered my things and headed out. I knew what she was telling me wasn't what she was actually writing. Oliva knew that as well. That's her name, Olivia. She told me when we were kids. Like she grew up with me.
I walked out on the the busy street. I had to make it back to the lawfirm downtown before lunch was over. I had a meeting with a client who was pressing charges against her company for "unsafe working conditions" in reality, I knew it was bullshit, but I had to entertain the bullshit if we wanted to make money.
"I can take the south express line, should spit me out a block from the lawfirm." I thought to my self.
"Theres a delay Ryan, you'll be late." Olivia interjected into my conciousness. "If you take a cab you'll get there early. Trust me."
"Yeah yeah." I spoke out loud, but quietly as to not draw attention. The fact that my thoughts weren't my own, the lines get blurred with what you say and what you think sometimes. It's hard to keep track.
"Why don't you trust me Ryan?" Oliva asked, sounding upset.
"Because, your not real." I mumbled but put head phones in. It was a good way for people to, not look. Now a days they just think your on the phone anyway and ignore it. Everyone's face is in the thing anyway, surprised they even know where they are going.
"Like that! You wont say my name, it's been years since you've said my name." She whined.
"Again, your not real and I'm just having a fucking conversation to my self, and I'm still entertaining it by talkign to you." I said as I decended into the subway station. The previous subway car doors shut and I was left relatively alone on the platform, headphones still in.
"What is it going to take to convince you I am." Olivia began to bargain. Funny, shes never said anything like this before. So I decided to play into it, maybe I can.... break my self? I don't know. Maybe stop it from happening. "And no Ryan, your not going to get rid of me by 'playing into it' again." She said before I could finish my thought.
"One, stop doing that, and two, physical evidence would work. Again, your not real!" The subway car rumbled up to the station and I entered. I was alone, standing there. The car smelled like must and urine and just.... city smell. I hated it.
"Well if we meet, we can finally move to the country like you've always wanted. I know you hate this smell. So do I." Olive said.
"Yeah, sure. Let's make it happen then." I said to Olivia sarcastically.
"You don't have to be so sarcastic about it." Oliva said with a brashness that I could tell she was upset with me.
The car began to fill up at the next stop. I wasn't alone anymore. People were around, to many people, and would know I'm talking to my self so I decided to use my inner voice. "Well I'm crazy Olivia, I can't even take meds anymore because.... because it doesn't work." I was frustrated. I gripped the steal bar tighter.
"Ryan, please stop. I'll prove your not." She pleaded.
*Ding* [Next stop, 14th and Albany]
My stop. The car still barrelling through the subway line, lights flickering and the car shaking and creaking. My hand gripped the steel rail harder. I'm getting angry, not with her, or anything, with my self. All this time I've played into it, what's one more game I guess.
"Ryan, please. Listen to me." Olivia pleaded again, but I ignored her.
The car came to a halt and I basically ran out of there and up the subway station steps towards the street.
"Ryan!" She got louder as I approached the street. I always thought I could outrun my own thoughts. Ever since I was a kid, but I knew it not to be true.
"Ryan, watch out!!" Olivia shouted and for some reason I stopped just before I stepped into the street. A bus flew by, nearly could have killed me or put me in the hospital.
"Oh fuck!!" I exclaimed, hands on my knees breathing hard and heavy.
"Hey buddy you okay? You almost got flattened!" A stranger asked me who was next to me at the cross walk.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." I replied. "Thanks."
"Well sure but thank that lady who yelled to you." He stated.
My heart sank.
"What did you say?" I looked him dead in the eyes. I thought I only heard that.
"Turn around Ryan. Please." Oliva said inside my head, and this time out loud. It was her, long brown hair, blue eyes, exactly how she was in my dreams as a kid.
"Hi Ryan, it's good to finally meet you." Olivia smiled a beautiful smile that made me smirk.
"Hey buddy, you.... you uh... see her.... right?" I asked the stranger next to me.
"Of course, she looks beautiful, hard not to notice." He chuckled. "Oh excuse me." He said to a woman he bumped into as we walked across the street and she replied to him. I knew he was real too.
"Yes Ryan, hes real, I'm real.... your not imagining any of this and your not crazy, and I know your thinking 'did I get hit by the bus and now I'm dreaming this or dead?' But you didn't and this is real." Oliva knew what I was thinking still because that's EXACTLY what I was thinking.
"You're.... you're real!!" I exclaimed as we both lurched forward and held and kissed each other.
"Don't cry Ryan, I'm hear now. I'm not going anywhere, never. I love you, I always have and I never lied about that. Not once!" Olivia comforted me and pressed her head against my chest.
I'm not crazy. It's real. She's real. The woman of my literal dreams is real. I don't know if I manifested her. I don't know where she came from. She has a family. Shes been alive and has a life. I don't know if we were two souls who were connected in a past life. If that's something you believe in, or we were always destined to be together. We don't know. Probably never will. I know she's perfect. Everything I've ever wanted. Like she fell from the heavens. This is the happiest I've been in the 37 years on this floating rock in the vast nothingness that is our existence. Now I know....
I'm not crazy.
She's real. We are real.
I'm not crazy.
....I'm not crazy....
| 2019-09-14T13:01:41 | 2019-09-14T12:14:58 | 29 | 20 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends their Christmas list to Satan, surprisingly they get what they wanted but there is a catch.
|
The modestly sized family sat under the Christmas Tree with a mess of glitter and wrapping around them. The young boy had already torn open his single present in excitement and now happily played with his new shiny toy car. All of a sudden, in the midst of this normality, a big crate appeared under the tree with a puff of smoke. Attached to this crate was a note:
Dear Jack,
Sorry this is a little late, but I don't make a habit of early mornings.
Hate you,
Satan
But before the parents had finished reading the note, the young boy had already slid the side of the crate open.
"Mom, Dad, he did it! He got me a puppy!" Jack exclaimed happily.
And the parents watched with horror as their only child flung his arms around a perfectly adorable puppy... with three heads.
|
Jake Flyer couldn't believe what he saw when he zipped down the stairs Christmas morning. All the presents were there. He knew it was all for him because it couldn't be for anyone else. Yes yes yes, he thought. How happy he was.
"Thank you Santa, thank you Santa, thank you Santa" he gurgled in a mashed jumble as he rushed at the heap of red and gold and green.
"Now now, Jake, you have to pace yourself," came the dreaded admonition from behind. His mother was awake. "Santa's helper told me we should wait until after breakfast when he delivered your presents. Besides, mommy only has a little time to be with my honeyboo before she has to go back to work"
Jake looked back at her smiling wrinkles and grinned coldly. He was little now, but one day she would get it. One day he would give her what she deserved.
Just as he cast one last longing glance at the galore of gifts, he realized that there was one packet which outdid them all. It lay on the top of the mountain. It was as long as himself and wide too, but its breadth was no more than the length of a soda bottle. He knew what it was. She had gotten it for him. She had bought him the bass guitar.
For days and weeks and months he had harangued her about it. He had plotted and cajoled, bartered and deceived. He would do everything she said for a year. He'd clean the gutters. He'd mow the lawn. He'd get down on his knees every night to thank God for giving him a happy life.
He sat down by the kitchen table. He felt like charged electricity. A ball of energy trapped in a glass tube. His leg tapped at the foot of the table. Tap tap tap.
"Honeyboo, do you have to do that?"
"Yes."
Tap tap tap.
"Honeyboo, I'm very tired after working all night. Please stop."
Tap tap tap.
She breathed fast and deep and exhaled.
Jake's mother was always working. Always somewhere else. He knew times had been difficult after his father died. He knew they had little money. But wasn't he the most important thing in her life?
She made scrambled eggs and crispy bacon, but Jake could not find it in himself to even summon a smile when it was put before him.
"What's wrong honeyboo. I made you your favorite."
"The egg is saggy." It looked delicious.
"I did my best, honeyboo. Please eat, or I will be worried about you all day."
He shepherded the food into his mouth reluctantly.
"How does it taste, honeyboo?"
"It's all right, I suppose," replied Jake. After he had eaten about half of the plate's contents he shoved it away on the table. He looked up at his mother gloomily.
"Can I be excused now?"
"But you didn't finish it."
"I don't want any more. It wasn't that good." He could see how her smile sagged and a slight slump lodged in her back.
"OK honeyboo. Listen, baby, I have to go to work now." She collected her things and went into the hallway to put on her coat. "Come and give me a kiss before I go, honeyboo."
Jake looked soberly at his mother.
"You don't want to give mommy a kiss?" Her singsong voice broke a little. Jake rose slowly and made a show of glibly strolling over to kiss her cheek.
"It better be the bass in the big one on top," he whispered in her ear. "Or I'll let you hear it later." With that he smiled and rushed over to the presents. He didn't even hear the door close as he tore at the feeble paper covering one of the auxiliary presents from Santa.
Jake had decided that he would wait with the bass guitar. He had told his mother that he would take it unkindly if it didn't hold what he wanted. But he knew it most certainly was.
He knew because one of the items on the list he had sent to Santa was a pick for his new bass. There couldn't very well be a pick for his new bass if there wasn't also a new bass. And the mountain of presents was proof that someone had listened. Jake was getting every single thing he wanted. He was the luckiest little boy in the world.
Truth be told he had written the list to Santa knowing that his mother would read it. He hadn't actually thought he would get any of it. More than anything, it had been a subtle hint to his horrid mother that the absence of his prize would spell trouble.
The wrapping was done away with in a hurry. A cardboard box loitered beneath. He tore at it with a ferocious zest.
It was empty.
How? What? Jake didn't understand. It hadn't felt empty. Why would anyone do something like that.
Apprehensively he reached for another one. The wrapping was red and trimmed with golden Christmasy swirls. Nothing. It was as empty as the one before. He opened another one. Nothing.
How could it be?
He looked up at the present from his mother. Real fear gripped him then. It couldn't be. It couldn't be empty also.
He flung himself at it in desperation. It was too heavy to be empty. He felt it, but still he feared. The wrapping was off it in less than a second and he threw it aside.
It was all right. The bass guitar was there. He breathed shallowly, sat back on the floor. Then he looked at the mess around him. There was paper everywhere.
By then he had realized that all the other gifts would be as empty as the first. But still he was puzzled. Why would Santa go through all that trouble just to fool him? What possible reason could there be.
Then he saw the elaborate envelope. It lay neatly before the tree. He opened it.
Dear Jake. I read your letter, and I must say it moved me deeply. I don't get many letters at this time of year, and to tell you the truth, it felt nice to be thought of as you did. Needless to say, I decided to honor your request. However, they don't call me Satan for nothing. Your list, if you will remember, was not very specific. Therefore I found myself unable to address it in any other way than in the manner before you. I hope you are not too disappointed. As for the pick you asked for, it will be delivered shortly. As you can imagine, the nature of your request made it difficult to simply package in front of a tree. Toodeloo.
Nature of his request? What was the crazy red goober talking about? He looked at the back of the letter, but there was nothing more. Crazy cook. And why had he called himself Satan?
Jake decided it would be the last time he would write a letter to anyone.
A paper fell down from his hand. Just as he bent down and scooped it up, the bell rang. Who could it be? It was Christmas morning.
He went over to the door, reading as he walked. Santa had been right. His list HAD been unspecific. He hadn't expected anyone other than his mother to read it, after all.
Wait a minute. It didn't say anything about a pick.
A dick for my new bass. He had misspelled again. No. A dick for my lewd bass. No, the words transformed in his head yet again. His thoughts felt like they were churning wood.
A dick for my lewd ass. What on Earth?
He opened the door. A man stood before him.
Oh no, thought Jake, and little more.
| 2015-11-19T11:35:30 | 2015-11-19T11:07:11 | 95 | 15 |
[WP] The current rulers of the galaxy exert their dominance by showing showing new races a glimpse of their terrifying nature inevitably either driving the unfortunate victims mad or causing them to retreat in fear. It does not work on humans however, they are used to it
|
*"What do you fear, creature?"*
I blinked, for lack of any more constructive response, given the restraints. This wasn't the first time the shadow before me had asked this question, but it was clearly becoming more confused and frustrated with each attempt. Each time it asked the question, it ignored my answer, then showed me some image in hopes that it would find what scared me.
This time it was the weather. The shadow's eyes flared white for a moment, and then I was seated, chair and all, on an open plain of oddly purplish tall grass beneath a greenish sky. In the near distance, thunder rumbled ominously.
*"The storm is coming, creature, and you have nowhere to run..."*
I was getting a bit tired of this myself. "Oh, no. What's it going to do, rain on me a bit? I might catch a chill!"
The mental reply felt like grinding teeth. *"One would think you would not want such misery"*
"Come on. I'm from Kansas, asshole. The sky eats towns there every year for fun."
...
"Seriously. It's just life."
*"I will search your memories then, and find what will truly frighten you!"*
"Careful with that. If you think -this- is scary..." I couldn't help but grin as the surroundings changed, blinking through some familiar memories.
Holding my buddy's guts in on a dusty road in Afghanistan, praying the medivac hurried the hell up.
The smell of burnt insulation and polyester as I helped my brother shovel out the remains of his living room after the chimney fire.
Standing in the snow before a too-small coffin, as we paid our respects to my youngest sister after the cancer took her.
*"I don't... what..."*
Spitting out a mouthful of blood and feeling a tooth go with it, as I dragged myself back to my feet and glared at the asshole in the GOD HATES FAGS t-shirt who just blindsided me with an elbow.
The blinding flare of pain as burning fuel splashed across my leg, and the determination to finish the mission.
Cold, mechanical precision as a rifle came to my shoulder, and the familiar rock of recoil as rounds roared across the desert and a distant figure dropped in the darkness.
*"How. How do you see all this and continue?"*
The mental voice was almost sobbing, now.
"She who fights with monsters should look to it that she herself does not become a monster."
*"...what?"*
I laughed, then, at the irony of it. "You don't scare me for shit, because I am the thing that goes bump in the night, and I've made my peace with that."
|
It was the 20th year of their invasion of the galaxy. The assault and sacking of this solar system began just like so many before: spacecraft concealed as hyperbolic comets dispersed the "seeds" among the planets. Tiny invasion craft rained down on all terrestrial planets, embedded themselves into the soil and began germinating. Once the body was constructed, the mind, an ancient mind and a veteran of hundreds of invasions, was beamed down from orbit, to become the ghost in the machine. And so it was how two old comrades, N'lokaxkax and T'Rask, were again united, after two long years of being assigned to different units.
"Can't tell if it's even inhabited," said T'Rask. "Only one big city and that seems to be it."
"Could be just another way too poor planet to actually invade," N'lokaxkax speculated.
But T'Rask was feeling visibly uncomfortable. "Could be. There's a funny smell in the air. I can't place it. Gives me the creeps."
"These things do taste good, though," N'lokakaxkax said, and chomped down on a poor native.
So they began the work. They had landed right in the middle of the natives, who suspected nothing, as usual. N'lokakaxkax reached out with his tentacles and choked the nearest ones to death, and they displayed almost no resistance; just an indignant wave of a hand without any real counterattacks. Soon both had grown a huge mass of squirmy, almost independent appendages, who began attacking the hordes of slow and ineffective native warriors. By the end of the day, their bodies-their armies-had established the bridgehead, allowing the construction of giant receiver masts for space nuclear power harvesting. Their bodies had outgrown those of the natives, who still continued to petrify in fear at the sight of their advance.
On the four day, N'lokaxkax and T'Rask were in the middle of constructing another antenna array. On their lunchbreak, T'Rask began complaining again:
"N'lokaxkax, do you still smell it? It really annoys me. I can't work in this smell."
"Stop complaining," N'lokaxkax snapped. "You've invaded three hundred planets already. Why would this be different? The Collective doesn't reward you for moaning."
"No, I'm not complaining. It just doesn't feel right. This has been too easy."
"Most of these backward planets have been easy. It's not like it's Zeta Reticuli all over again every day."
"Yes, but it's still not right. This is waaay too easy. Could this be a trap like on Draugr?"
"Fair point. Let's keep our eyes peeled."
And so, day after day, the area they had invaded had grown. On the 14th day, N'lokaxkax noticed something odd: a cloud loomed in the distance.
"Look, T'Rask. What is that thing?"
Both squinted towards the horizon.
"It's a cloud," T'Rask observed.
"Yep, a cloud, but why it hasn't moved?" N'lokakxkax asked.
"Maybe it's a volcano," T'Rask said.
"Oh no, not another volcanic planet again, we'll fatten up like crazy," N'lokakxkax sighed.
Next day, they had advanced yet more, towards the same ominous cloud.
"N'lokakxkax, your volcano there."
"What about it," N'lokakxkax answered T'Rask.
"It smells funny."
"Stop complaining!"
"I'm not complaining you idiot. This doesn't feel right. Something is wrong."
"Are you afraid of volcanoes?" N'lokakxkax challenged T'Rask.
"No!"
On the 16th day, they had come within striking distance of the volcano.
"Oh God this smell. Let's stop advancing for a day," T'Rask said.
N'lokakxkax held his tentacles up and smelled. "Well you're not wrong. It is damn awful. Why do I feel like I recognize this smell too?"
"Well mister connoisseur of stinks, will you now agree with me that it gives you the creeps?" T'Rask taunted N'lokakxkax.
"Go off yourself," N'lokakxkax got back. "But you're being an idiot as usual. I'm sure I recognize this smell. It must've been one of the earlier assaults when our weaponry wasn't very advanced yet. It must've been..." N'lokakxkax's voice trailed off...
N'lokakxkax's eyes folded in terror.
"Ohshitohshitohshi... I know that this is. You've gotta be shitting me. It can't be."
"What?" T'Rask looked at N'lokakxkax with suspicion.
"Burning bodies. It smells of burning bodies. It smells like 4th year and K78b again."
"Can't be. For the last two weeks, we haven't seen a single enemy except these natives, which are absolutely useless in combat," T'Rask doubted.
"No, it must be. Let's set up defenses," N'lokakxkax said, with his voice trembling.
"Well, you're the boss," T'Rask replied, and folded himself in a gesture of mock submission, but didn't challenge N'lokaxkax.
So, N'lokakxkax and T'Rask began setting up basic defenses. Both set up basic curtain walls, moving big stones to block key passages and distributing smaller stones like minefields in front of them. They withdrew to sleep a restless night.
In the morning, both woke up without much to say to each other. Both started doing basic reconnaissance for yet another wave of expansion. But suddenly T'Rask saw something terrifying. Part of the native army, still cowering behind their curtain wall, simply disappeared. Native bodies were suddenly simply found in one corner of the void left by... it. Whatever it was. And a moment later, nothing but a barren field was left.
"Holy shit!" T'Rask shouted. "Did you see that? We're not alone."
"But what could it be?" N'lokakxkax was confused.
"Whatever it is, it's dangerous!" T'Rask began set up a defense facing that direction.
But it was no use. Both heard an impossibly high-pitched whine. A terrifying reek of burning bodies wafted in the air. And a lobe of N'lokakxkax had simply been chopped off.
"Get it off me! Get it off!" N'lokakxkax shouted in terror.
"But what?! I can't see anything."
"Take the ultrachronoscope! Maybe it's insects. This burns! It's got to be military grade weaponry!"
T'Rask rummaged through his invasion kit, found what he was looking for and set up the ultrachronoscope.
And there, in the ultrachronoscope, T'Rask saw something he had trouble to describe. These weren't the slow, ineffective, big natives they had been fighting for the past two weeks. Tiny natives, not much taller than a finger, attacked the big natives, cut them in half, sheared off all their limbs and stacked their torsos up into neat piles. All of this happened at a blinding speed, almost at the limit of resolution of the ultrachronoscope. But that was not all. Another native, a bit bigger, seemed to appear out of thin air, simply *ate* the torsos and disappeared into thin air, leaving a trace that smelled of rotten bodies."
"N'lokakxkax, we gotta evacuate. Now."
N'lokakxkax had recovered somewhat and was re-growing his lost lobe. "It's dangerous..." - N'lokakxkax flinched when he tore off a injured, bloody appendage - "...I can't argue with you there, but why can't we keep on fighting for the Collective? This isn't even the worst we've seen."
"No, you don't get it. Look at this," T'Rask said and motioned toward the ultrachronoscope.
N'lokakxkax watched in horror at the recording of the event mentioned.
"I get it now," T'Rask continued. "That thing in the horizon... it's not a volcano. It's a crematorium."
N'lokakxkax stared at T'Rask in horror. They stood there for a solid two seconds. Without saying a word, both began to gather their equipment and set up a cocoon. It was still not too late to escape. The small natives couldn't get them in time, possibly, they couldn't get them in time---
It was another evening at the site. Marcelo looked at the map. Weird things they had encountered today. Normally, the rainforest is an inseparable mix of various tropical trees. No use in separating the "tropical hardwood" into different species. They usually found two trees from the same species per hectare, on average. But today, they had stumbled upon a growth that seemed to go on for miles and miles. It was all the same species. A weird, alien-looking tree. It seemed to have spread with runners, which was beyond weird. Marcelo hadn't heard of a single forestry company doing monoculture with such a species. But he and his crew weren't paid to do any biology. Marcelo was sure that Gerardo would have no problem buying the logs, even if they were all single species, that is, obviously stolen.
| 2019-06-11T15:33:47 | 2019-06-11T11:04:47 | 82 | 46 |
[WP] "You get 10 wishes." "...isn't it supposed to be 3?" "Well, it varies. 3 is the baseline for a person who's doing fine. People doing really well only get 1 or 2 wishes. And if you're doing poorly... well, you looked like you could use some more wishes than usual."
|
"Okay! I wish for a sandwich."
"A... sandwich?"
"Oh. Right. Sorry. A ham sandwich - with lettuce, tomato, and mustard please. Forgot that I should be specific."
"Alright. What else do you want to wish for?"
"Maybe a glass of milk to wash it down. Oh, actually, can I make it a lemonade? Wait. An iced tea. Noooo. A coffee. An iced coffee."
"Gotta be honest here, you can wish for little more than that."
"Two iced coffees then. And a slice of apple pie for dessert. Wait. Can you add a scoop of ice cream on it?"
"Sure. Yeah. There you go."
"Sweet! Thanks so much! How many wishes is that?"
"You know what, just keep on going. Don't worry too much about the numbers. Just ask for what you want to ask for and then we'll call it eventually."
|
Someone had kept a genie on the fire escape. Henry didn’t know what to do with that information.
Music thumped behind him, loud, drunk voices filled the air, spilling out into his cold quiet. Somewhere, Bells would be looking for him. She always did when he slipped away; Henry wondered when she would give up. Probably never. If she hadn’t yet it showed either iron will or clinical insanity.
The genie was still waiting. Henry finished his beer, tossed the can into the dark below. “No,” he said softly, “I think I’ll stay sad.”
She had appeared from a watering jug painted with a Day of the Dead skull, and she looked every bit the part. There had been no patting, no rubbing of the mythic lamp turned jug. Henry hadn’t interacted with it at all. She had merely appeared, a burst of water jetting up on its own and twisting, spiraling outwards into a girl in a forest green dress, a dandelion in her flyaway hair. “I’m Deliliah,” she had said, “and you look like you could use some wishes. How about ten? Most people get less, but a face like that? You need ten.”
She stared at him like one might stare at a confusing child, one that cries for no reason other than to cry: attention, pain, and hunger be damned.
“Well fuck. That hasn’t happened before.” She hopped up onto the rail of the fire escape, her dangling legs next to him. They were ten stories up and below was a black plunge, but then, genies probably didn’t need to worry about falling. Neither did he. Henry climbed up beside her, faced the wrong way ‘round at the apartment building opposite them, legs dangling over nothing. They sat there a while in an oddly companionable silence, listening to the shouts and laughter from the party.
“Care to explain?” she finally said.
“Care to explain why a genie is named Deliliah?”
She laughed, like the cliche babbling brook. Damn if it wasn’t pretty though. “’Cause I wasn’t always a genie. Everyone you meet has a story, you ever think of that?”
Henry done nothing but think of that for a year. He was a writer, an aspiring one at least. Not an author, that word felt too aspirational, but he put pen to paper every day, sweated his way through the act of creation, studied and applied, failed and then studied again.
“Yeah,” he said simply, “once or twice.”
She bumped shoulders with him, then executed a graceful little spinning maneuver, swinging her legs around until she sat the same way as him, perched over the abyss. Henry tried to sift the murk for his empty beer can. It was long gone.
“Your turn,” she said. Another bump.
He tried to hold the words back, but it was pointless tonight. He’d drank too much— he’d been doing that a lot lately— and it was his birthday, always a strange day. He thought he could hear someone calling his name, either Bells or his imagination, and if it was his imagination Henry knew who it would be. Ellie. The last time he’d been in the city he’d been there with her. The last time he’d been at a party he’d been there with her. The last time he’d been—
“You ever hear of Yeats?” he said suddenly.
“Pardon?”
“William Butler Yeats. Poet, bit of an oculist, fanatically Irish. Hell of a poet.”
She frowned, her nose scrunching up. “Can’t say I have.”
“Yeah well, he’s my favorite poet and it’s not close. He did gorgeous poems about a woman named Maud Gonne, some stuff Ireland, some stuff about growing old…Anyway, his muse was Maud Gonne, this actress turned revolutionary turned occult queen, fascinating woman. He spent thirty-odd years trying to woo her, wrote the most beautiful poetry any woman has ever had written for her, though Neruda’s girl has a fair argument for that I suppose, and at the end of it all…”
“Yeah?”
“At the end of it all, nothing. She wouldn’t have him.”
“That’s terrible!”
Henry laughed. “Maybe, maybe not. Yeats must have been a piece of work too, he proposed to her daughter after.”
The genie’s mouth dropped open, working silently around something. Her pale skin had gone scarlet, her fingers twisted around the fire escape’s rusting steel.
“They were complicated, from both sides.” Henry paused, tried to piece it all together. His head was very foggy. “You know, maybe after all of this I just needed to quote Maud. You asked why I didn’t want your wishes, why I wanted to stay sad, and she articulated it best. When Yeats told her he wasn’t happy without her, she said:
*“Oh yes, you are, because you make beautiful poetry out of what you call your unhappiness and you are happy in that. Marriages are such a dull affair. Poets should never marry. The world should thank me for not marrying you.”*
Behind them, the party quieted down. Henry was certain now, that he could Bells calling his name. The genie had the strangest look on her face, like she couldn’t decide if or how hard to laugh. It was cute. She settled on a wry smile and a shake of her head.
“I like her,” she said.
“Anyway, that’s why I’m saying no. Because I want to be a writer too, and if it worked for Yeats, I figure I should give it a try. Besides, give me too long to think about those wishes and I might end up taking someone else’s freedom away. I’m not about that.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. Deliliah was shockingly warm for a genie made of water. She was moonlight pale, a girl meant for nights under the open stars. She smelled like fresh cut flowers and a shock of sweet peppermint.
“I like you too,” she said. “I wouldn’t have let you fuck with someone else, but I can support this. Even if I think you’d look cuter with a smile.”
“Find me another night and we’ll see.”
“I think I will,” she said.
“There you are!” Bells bustled in from behind them. She’d abandoned her heels somewhere inside, her makeup was smudged. She looked radiant and more than a little high.
And Deliliah was gone. Henry couldn’t quite put his finger on the moment the genie had disappeared, he only knew that the world felt colder without her, and the city air stank without that shock of peppermint.
"Henry Tiberias Cross get down from there this instant!” She hauled him down from the railing, brushed him off, looking into his eyes as if she could pierce his soul. If anyone could, it would be Bells.
“It’s almost,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Henry, it’s almost midnight and you still haven’t let me sing you happy birthday!”
“Get me a drink first.”
She squinted at him. “And you’ll be right here?”
“Cross my heart.”
Bells slapped his cheek lightly and bustled off as fast as she had come. Henry was alone with the stinking air and the gap where Deliliah had been. He didn’t feel drunk anymore, just tired and a bit lonely.
“Come find me another night, okay?” he said to the empty air.
The water in the jug bubbled with something akin to laughter. A shock of peppermint filled the air. Then Bells was back, and the song began. When Henry closed his eyes he thought he could hear a second voice, a sweet soprano, filling in the harmony.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got way more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-09-20T18:03:22 | 2021-09-20T17:12:45 | 255 | 128 |
[WP] In a world where everyone has a certain superpower, you are in a support group for people with boring/useless powers.
|
"USB-man, why don't you give me a hand?"
Begrudgingly, the 200-pound freestyle rapper known to us as USB-man walked up to the facilitator. His sweat had formed angel wings on his--even to him--oversized t-shirt. Not actual wings, like his twin brother USA-man.
"Man, you always call on me for this shit."
"Now now, USB-man. Remember, every power--"
"--serves a purpose," he said, imitating the facilitator's high-pitched voice. I didn't think it was fair to mock him. It couldn't be easy being High-Pitched-Voice-man.
USB-man took the USB lying on the desk and inserted it into the facilitator's laptop. On the first try. As always.
"Thank you very much," said the facilitator, giving USB-man what was probably meant as a sincere smile but that, in this situation, looked quite sarcastic.
"Oh, don't mention it," said USB-man. "I mean, my brother is just out there fighting super villains and flying around with his eagle wings. I mean, by golly, I wouldn't want to be stuck in his shoes. His very expensive shoes. One of the many high-end pairs he gets through sponsorship deals. Because of his fame and well-known reputation as a national goddamn treasure."
"Derek, please--"
"Derek!? Who the fuck is Derek? I'm USB-man! I'm a walking, talking, rapping legend! I'm ... I'm ..."
He fell to his knees, sobbing. Big fat tears dripped onto the floor. Then they reversed and went back into his eyes. "What the fuck," said he. In the corner, a guy who could reverse minor spillage of certain liquids sat laughing.
"Guys," said the facilitator. "You're not supposed to abuse your powers like this. You all know that--"
"with great power comes great responsibility," we said in unison. Minor-Spillage-man laughed again.
"Is something funny?"
"Only that we haven't got *great* power. Which is why we're here in the first place. You know what," he said and got up. "I suggest a new rule: with next to no power comes next to no responsibility."
"That's just ridiculous," squeeked the facilitator.
"I agree," I said. Everyone looked at me oddly. For a really long time. Life as Conversation-Ender-man wasn't easy.
We just sat there for a while then we got up and went our separate ways.
Sorry about that.
|
   “I’m Michael and-“
   “Hi, Michael,” the group chorused.
   Startled, he gave a little scream, then cleared his throat. “Uh, right, hello. Anyway, I’m Michael and-“
   “Hi, Michael,” said Jim ‘the Slug’ Chachevsky. The Slug experienced everything a couple seconds after everybody else.
   “Right,” he ground out, “like I was saying, I’m Michael-" he glared at the slow member "-and my superpower is, well, you know, it’s funny—I don’t have a *super*power so much as I have an *average*power.” Looking for any smiles, and finding none, he coughed again and said, less enthused, “Fine, whatever, my power is that, after I speak for a certain amount of time, people just start to ignore me and I can sort of-“
   “Great, great,” interrupted the group leader, a kindly man in his mid-40s, who was hovering a few feet above the ground. He was always wearing a brown sweater and noxious green khakis, so people had taken to calling him the Floater behind his slightly-raised back. “Anyone else?”
   Michael raised his hand, saying, “You know, that was rude, I realize that my power *compels* you to do this, but we’re in a safe space, you said so, and-“
   “Truly riveting stuff,” laughed the Floater, not purposely being mean, “and, since it looks there’s no one else who wants to speak for our first meeting of April—No one? No one? Great!—let’s get on with today’s advice.”
   The group—a ring of sixteen and a half chairs, all occupied—listened intently, except...
   “Half-Man, are you alright?” the Floater asked, directing his voice toward the half-man on the half-chair. He seemed to be staring off into space—or the window.
   Marty McDrop worked at the Bay City particle accelerator until a worksite accident catapulted half of his body into another dimension. Then he was Half-Man. Tests revealed that for all intents and purposes he was a whole-man; it’s just that his two halves each existed in a totally different universe. Whatever his half a body touched temporarily adopted the condition of being half here and half there.
   “Ye… I… fine… was… listening… watching… money… coming… to… bank’s… lot.” Unfortunately, McDrop’s condition meant that half his sentences came out in the alternate dimension, and the other half came out in this one. Don’t ask how; it confused everybody.
   A few group members looked to the windows and saw the great marble structure of the Bay City Bank, gleaming in the afternoon sun. Four huge, boxy trucks were parked out front, and men with guns on their hips were toting massive crates filled full of bills and coins. Fresh money for a fresh month.
   “Okay, okay, we can all sigh and dream of being rich *after* the meeting.” The Floater spoke idly as he looked down along a clipboard. “Now, I’m going start the advice by asking a simple question: What is it *they* have, that *we* don’t?”
   The “they” here was quite explicit. “They” were cocky. “They” were powerful and sexy and strong and *wanted.* “They” were the heroes of Bay City.
   “Powers that actually have some use,” said Michael, who thought of himself as No-One.
   “No one?” called the Floater.
   “Yes, that’s me,” said Michael, before he remembered he’d never told a soul that name.
   “Really? Come on, folks. This won’t work if you don’t participate.”
   Michael, aka No-One, sank sullenly into his seat.
   “I guess—I guess they have purpose. They have these great noble goals, and we don’t.” That was Casey Turmeric, whose name was quite fortuitous. With but a thought, she could generously sprinkle turmeric on any surface of her choosing, as long as it was within smelling-distance. She and a few other choice powered-folk inspired several scientists to theorize that maybe the adoption of power was related to an inherent sense of duty to one’s name. Essentially, perhaps the Milk-Man's power chose him, turned him into the Milk-Man, because his surname was Lactosa.
   “You would think, wouldn’t you?” asked the Floater, smiling and floating in his all-knowing way. “But that is more luck than anything else. We all have purpose, it’s only a matter of aligning that purpose with our goals, or the other way 'round." The Floater tapped his clipboard. "Here's an anti-example, the reason we are so different from the known heroes of this city. Police Person. Police Person was just a normal cop before he accidentally slurped the mystical yolk of a giant hummingbird—it just so happened that the powers he got allowed him to shoot his gun more accurately and change into a police uniform a lot quicker than before. His goal already existed before his purpose came into play. Goals we set for ourselves, purpose is something that fates set for us. It worked out that Police Person already had a goal, and later his purpose aligned with it.” The Floater sighed, and said, “For most of us, we are forced to take a purpose—some strange power claims us. The trick after that is finding a new goal, one that matches this newfound purpose. A goal where we can succeed, where we can surpass the rest because that is what our purpose, our power, allows.”
   Through all of this, Michael listened with a ponderous expression, occasionally throwing a look out the window and toward the bank.
   “You sound like a broken record,” said Globula, a slime-creature with soft, prominent fangs jutting out from his gooey mouth. “Purpose this, goal that. It’s all empty words.”
   He had been a handsome man, happy and rich, with a wife and three kids; until he fell into a vat of living putty while reading Bram Stoker’s *Dracula.* When he’d flopped out of the vat and onto the warehouse floor, he was recognizable, yes—but he was also translucent green, and had an unappeasable lust for black-and-red capes. He wife made him leave, so he moved to a Pennsylvania Avenue, somewhere in the ghettos of Bay City. Blobula reasoned that it was the closest he’d ever get to Transylvania.
   “No one needs a slimy guy like me,” he quailed, dark green tears coming to his eyes, “no one needs a Globula.”
   “That’s where you’re wrong,” said the Floater. “Everyone is needed somewhere. You think I knew what to do with my power of floating and seeming knowledgeable? Absolutely not. But one day I saw a program on television about monks, and said, I can do something like that, and here I am. My mere presence is a balm for many dry, lonely souls. It’s just a matter of finding your niche—just a matter of finding how you can make the most use of your abilities.”
   And with that, Michael slipped from the room and walked across the street. He exerted himself as he spoke to the men transferring the money, and found that they ignored him quicker than others usually did.
   *I just had to embrace it,* No-One thought, as they walked around him, even as he began shoveling cash into his pockets. Michael once, but no more. *I am No-One, and this is my purpose, this is my goal.*
   No-One smiled and escaped down an alley, having been spotted by everyone, and ignored.
| 2017-04-30T13:34:43 | 2017-04-30T12:52:38 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
|
I smirked. Now wasn't this ironic. After finally falling to the demons from hell, I get to choose whether to finally take my eternal rest, or continue to *Rip and Tear*
Now why the hell would i go to heaven.
The Doom Slayer walked in through the gates of hell.
The second slayer's testament would begin to be penned that day.
|
"Wait so you mean I literally get to pick?" I said to St. Peter at the immaculately kept gates. The gold would make a tacky American oligarch hard enough to cut it. "No, yeah so ever since God invented opiates.. things have gone.. downhill..", he replied while eyeballing the ground. "So is it even worth picking heaven? What is it like inside?" Peter replied, "Well it's hard to say. I just got this message from the boss this morning. He creates opium just this morning and by noon he's shooting carfentanil into his arms. It's pretty wild. I see where Jesus gets his wine problem from. You're actually the first guy who gets to pick since God cleaned himself up after inventing booze. I don't know how long this bender will last."
I was confused. "Opium has been around for ages, hasn't it?" St. Peter replied, "Do I really have to explain this fucking shit to you?!" He lit up a Marlboro and continued. "Obviously God didn't create the world and universe in a few Earth days. Each day to him was an entire era for your dimension." That piqued my curiosity, having been a physicist in my life. "So, what is the deal with the universe anyway? Multiple dimensions? Hidden ones? How close were we to the truth or the next huge discovery?" I wanted to know *everything*.
"Dude, I don't know. Do I look like a fucking nerd to you? Just fucking pick heaven or hell. Oh my God I'm so fucking done with this job. I'm not even putting my two weeks in." He angrily replied. "What's hell like in comparison?" I asked. "HELL IT IS", he yelled in a thunderous echoing boom as he spread his wings and flew off, but not before dropping a hot load much like a bird would onto the Welcome to Heaven sign. Some of the lights were out on it already so it sort of fit.
I had never had the chance to go skydiving in my years on earth. This wasn't my chance either however. I was shot instantly up into the sky toward what seemed to be more clouds. I guess gays do go to hell because the interior design here is fucking *terrible.* They seemed to be clearing out a little bit now and a red cavernous ceiling complete with stalactites and terrifying imagery of torture that appears to be painted by one of the renaissance greats. Maybe a collaboration of all of them? But also Picasso? I was never an art buff. As I approached the ceiling I braced for impact but I was met with more of a soft sand texture and drawn through it until my head peaked out of the surface.
"Hey"
"Hi?" I replied while taking in the awful scenery I was met with.
I noticed the red. Everywhere. Fire, in every direction! Lava was flowing out of.. a.. "Is that a water fountain?"
"It's a lava fountain, my dude. Pretty sweet, right?"
The fire, it wasn't running wild either. Nobody was being engulfed by flames. They were cooking burgers on a flaming grill. There were roses covering the grass beneath them on the rolling hills for miles in any direction.
"Are you going to ask for help? Most people need help getting the rest of their body out of the sand." The man said to me.
"I could use a hand I suppose"
I almost immediately recognized him, although he doesn't look anything like the paintings. "Jesus?" I said, questioning everything I thought I knew about Catholicism.
"Yeet!! Hit this shit real quick. It's called God's Vagina back on earth but that's fucking gross. My dad has a dick and I know because I've unfortunately seen it too many times when he's piss drunk. I call it, Jesus' Wheezus' ".
"I am so confused", I confessed for the first time since first confession. "Lemme break it down for you real quick" said Jesus, bong in hand. He paused for about three seconds before he started dancing.
After a solid minute of that, he popped his shades up and my eyes met his red glossy eyes.
"What were we talking about?" He said, lighting his bowl that somehow still had greens on top of it. Through a cloudy exhale, he said in a low breathy voice "You know how hotel bibles just show up at hotels? You know how they have decent paper inside them to roll joints? I did that shit", then forcefully released the rest of the breath.
I was a marijuana user in life but never this heavy. Never full on stoner identity like Jesus. The long hair they hit right on the head in the paintings. He was more Middle Eastern looking than the white Christians like to admit. Hell, Korean jesus looks a little more accurate than what I was used to where I lived.
"Bro, you eye fucking me or what?" He asked
"I uhh,"
He interrupted, "Dude chill, I'm fuckin with ya! I don't care what you do, free love man! It's my dad who's against all that stuff." I was starting to see where the problem with hell was. Not the open attitude toward homosexuality, that was great by me. It was just this fucking guy. Bro of all bros. Brosiah himself. His bowl is always packed and fresh with green buds and yet he hasn't offered any, or when he did he didn't actually hand any over. "Can I hit that?" I asked, needing to cool down a bit. "I totally would but I'm almost out and I need this for my lower back pain and anxiety." He said. "But it doesn't seem to be running ou-"
"SOO grand tour, huh? This is my smash pad.." He said holding his arms out "..ahah I smash everywhere here. These ho's are ready for it bruh."
I fucking hate Jesus.
"Do I get a room? I could use some rest."
Jesus answers, "*Do I get a room? I could use some-* BRUH you just got here don't you want to turn up! Fucking pussy."
"Whatever man, you're a tool." I said to Jesus as I turned and walked away.
"WAIT!" He said with a raised and desperate tone. "Want to hit this?"
"Nah" I said eyeballing a vast field of marijuana in the distance.
"Bruh, I can call up this Mary ho and we can both smash, I'ma send a dick pic, pulls yours out too" he insisted.
"I'll pass" I said noticing the high end brothel conveniently placed next to the marijuana farm.
Jesus sat down on a rock and looked broken. I was done with his shit though so I trucked onto the farm, picked some buds and went to the brothel. When I arrived, I was greeted by a beautiful woman who told me to enter and there was no fee. As soon as I walked in I was hit by the wall of marijuana smoke. I was just here for marijuana and information but seeing these beautiful women I noticed I was beginning to consider it.
"What's the deal with Jesus?" I asked the bartender. "He just tries so fucking hard to reclaim those glory days with his 12 disciples. They stayed in heaven and I don't know man he's just trying too hard. Welcome to Hell though, my name is Lucifer."
| 2018-08-13T09:08:57 | 2018-08-13T06:40:49 | 82 | 54 |
[WP] Once a day, you receive a text message from yourself, six minutes in the future.
|
The messages received are often cheerful.
They tell her:
“Move further down the cabin, there’s going to be a free seat!”
“Ask Sally if there's something in her hair. Her reaction’s going to be funny.”
“Don’t lend Alex your phone, he’ll drop it on the floor.”
She does not find it odd that she can leave messages to herself, does not wonder at the strange extra function her phone seems to have. She treats it like any other occurrence in life.
(She likes it. It makes her a little less lonely, seeing the phone buzz and a message from **ME** light up.)
Until one day, her phone buzzes when she’s walking home from her job, smelling of sweat and soap and coffee. The street is long and dark, the lights yellow and the air still.
“RUN”
|
I'm a scientist, and one of our projects was studying the concepts of time and space to see if the effects of distorting one could distort the other. Well, it turns out I've figured out time travel while experimenting. I showed my colleagues, a big grin on my face, radiating excitement! I would have had my name well known to the rest of human kind! I would have-
"We have to keep this to ourselves."
My grin was wiped from my face, mouth open, taken aback.
"But, why?"
"You see, think of what would happen if this fell into the wrong hands."
"Cut the sci-fi crap, it's not long we're just going to show how we did it to just anybody."
"But people are going to know it's possible, so they'll go and..."
And so we went back and forth, back and forth, until one of the not so bright scientists had a not so bright idea.
"How can we implement this into our cell phones?"
We just stare at him for a moment, until I begin to process this unique idea through my brain, and stammered,
"Wha- What?"
He was confident,
"You see, cell phones are changing by the year. Remember 9 years ago, touch screens were amazing and revolutionary when the DS came out. 2 years later, when people were thinking about how we could make this better, we ditched the pens, and got better, more responsive touch screens, so accurate we ditched the flip phones and the slide phones for keyboards on our touchscreens! Now, they are the norm."
We let him continue.
"Remember when we only used our cell phones for calling? We would leave the games to our PSP, our GameBoy. Of course, the Vita and the 3DS now are platforms specifically designed for gaming, but we could get by now with Infinity Blade, Injustice, and Dead Trigger. Think about it. Who would have thought these high graphic games could make it onto our flimsy phones?"
His idea was getting to us, and we decided to put that idea into action. We weren't engineers, so we struggled, but we thought we could have done amazing things with it. A time travel app on our cell phones... But the best we could do was make it so we get a text message from ourselves 6 minutes in the future, and it wasn't as amazing as we thought we could be. We could only use it once a day. At first, we reserved it for emergencies, but when none happened, weeks went by...
*beep*
"In a minute, you are going to get a knock on your door. This girl is your ex-gf, and she wants revenge against you. She's going to have a gun in her hands, when you open the door you knee her, take the gun out her hands, and call 911."
I opened the door, it was dark outside, I kneed her swiftly in the stomach, kicked her hands with a clear satisfying grunt, and flipped my cell phone open to call 911, thanking my future self for the swift save.
"Crap man, ugh, what the hell!"
Wait... I quickly flipped on the porch light to see a pizza girl, struggling around, in obvious pain, and a pepperoni pizza splattered on the lawn.
Oh yeah. How did I forget I ordered pizza half hour ago?
"Oh geez, I'm so sorry, are you okay?"
"What the hell was that for?"
How could I explain? I decided I couldn't conjure anything else worse than the truth.
"I thought you were my ex-gf about to get her vengeance on me-"
"I am your ex, actually," she exclaims. "I decided things we said are past and gone, we got the call and I begged the manage to let me deliver the pizza, and I decided to surprise you with a gun-"
"Wait, what?"
"-Like how we used to go to the range together. I thought all- ugh- would be forgiven then."
"..."
"It was in the pizza box..."
Oh crap. She began to cough blood. I needed to call 911 for an ambulance! After I called quickly, I decided to use my texting feature to good use. I swiftly texted myself:
"In a minute, you are going to get a knock on your door."
Good, giving myself the time frame to prepare.
"This girl is your ex-gf, and she wants revenge against you."
I think she wanted to finally beat me in the shots on bullseye in the range. I think that's the best wording.
"She's going to have a gun in her hands"
Preparing myself for what's coming
"When you open the door you knee her,"
I should have knelt, and all would have been well.
"take the gun out her hands,"
Taking the gun while kneeling would have improved our relationship.
"and call 911."
Wait, if I corrected the wrong, I wouldn't need to call 911 anyways. Oh well,
I pushed send.
Next day, while on her side, catching up with our lives, I got another text.
"She's not going to be okay. Go get a doctor, with haste, and ask him to immediately test for."
Oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap
Internal bleeding wasn't enough, we got another thing, and my future self didn't want to tell me what it was? Is it that bad?
My eyes widen at the text, and I tell my ex the situation, trying not make her panic.
"Holy crap man you MIGHT DIE HOLY CRAP YOU MIGHT HAVE KIDNEY STONES YOU MIGHT HAVE AMNESIA YOU- HOLY CRAP"
"What?"
I think I handled that situation well. Her "what" hints at amnesia. She forgets who I am!
A confused look on her face, I bolted quickly out the door.
*It's okay to be confused. You have amnesia. Don't worry.* is what I thought.
I pushed aside a nurse holding some surgery instruments. Amnesia is more pressing than somebody else possibly getting
infections from dirty instruments, I told myself.
I screamed at a wounded soldier learning to walk. I pushed him aside mid-stride, he wouldn't get out the way! Amnesia is
more pressing that a man who might not ever walk again, I told myself.
I took a shortcut through a room with some doctors performing surgery. I knocked over the instrument cart, I vaulted over the patient, feeling like a total badass, and pushed aside a doctor. Being badass is more pressing than somebody possibly dying, from interruption of surgery or of dirty instruments.
While running to the front desk, I thought to myself that I should've taken one of those doctors. Crap. I took out my phone, to save the day.
"She's not going to be okay."
She has amnesia! Crap!
"Go get a doctor, with haste,"
I emphasized doctor. I emphasized haste.
"and ask him to immediately test for."
Well, I didn't know what to test for because I didn't get a diagnosis yet... I hesitated, but I accidentally pressed send before I could send a possible list of all sorts of diagnosis.
While heading to the front desk, I heard over the PA:
"Would Mr. Smith please return to room 117?"
Oh crap. Damnit. I started sobbing while I dashed back to her. *She's dead!* I was so certain!
I returned to the room, with a doctor over her.
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!! It's true doctor!"
I hear her voice.
"What the hell are you talking about? I'm fine!"
Her amnesia is kicking in!
"This lady tells me you think she has amnesia, but amnesia from an injury to the stomach?"
I... I feel stupid now.
"I had to calm her down, and it seems I need to calm you down too."
I sighed. I was so proud.
Our invention was turning out to be quite the handy tool.
| 2014-10-13T18:50:53 | 2014-10-13T15:35:35 | 66 | 24 |
[WP] Guns were never invented. Instead, swords and blades became increasingly complex and powerful
|
The Terrans advanced like a metal cloud, glittering in the hard blue light of the Core System's star. All the spacefaring races had finally come together to resist the shocking might of the Terran Empire. A terrifying species of omnivorous endurance hunters from a ruined, militarized planet that had at one point decided that distance weapons were a sign of cowardice. And here they were, without ships, without graviton weapons, without even a slug thrower.
They came elegantly suspended from glittering solar wings, they came psychotically strapped to chemical rockets, further millions were hurled sleeping through the void from their hive world's orbital catapults, their dread inertia carrying them for centuries to wake in battle.
They were billions, screaming through space, a horrifying array of genetically modified soldiers, cybernetic abominations and sentient artificial warminds. No two were alike, except they were all armed with blades, and fanatically loyal to the Empress of the Forge.
A glittering metal cloud became a howling storm, the maw of a giant, ringed with a billion rending teeth. The lead capital ship disappears into a mist of fragments. The Terran Empire had arrived.
|
The drilling noise reached its peak, red and orange sparks cascading from the metal door. With a groan the man turned off the machine, its vibrations coming to a standstill. He undid his mask and a thick leather glove wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead.
"I'm not getting through. I don't understand," he said, turning to his colleague, putting his mask back on. "It's the first time this has ever happened to me. This drill is made from diamond, it shouldn't have such a hard time getting through this." His glove wiped over the small dent where the drill made contact with the door. "We should probably get going, we're too far behind to get it done on time." He glanced at this watch. "They'll be here any minute."
His partner remained silent for a moment and then nodded. Quickly they disassembled the drill and stashed away their tools in the backpacks they had brought with them. A sirene sounded in the distance. "Quick, hurry", his partner whispered, as he zipped the backpack shut. And then the lights turned off.
"What's going on?", the masked man hissed. "You told me you disabled their security system, right?" They had specifically chosen this moment at three in the morning for the lack of activity. There would only be a single security guard, and he would be disposed of quickly, and it would take a lot longer for the cops to show up.
"I did," his partner replied, "trust me. This isn't me."
A buzzing noise grew as it crawled closer and closer to the vault. Faint footsteps accompanied the noise, but it wasn't the sound of a leather shoe or steel boot. It almost grazed the concrete, its steps so light the robbers almost doubted their existence. And then the door to the vault room crashed open.
A silhouette covered entirely in black entered, a blue sword radiating in front of him. It glowed in the dark and the men noticed it was the humming noise they had heard earlier. The silhouette saw their eyes lit in the blue glow the sword cast on them, its light the only thing preventing utter darkness.
A voice, soft but clear, sounded from behind the hood. "I see you're having some trouble." Unconcerned he walked towards the vault door and inspected it carefully, a gloved hand assessing the metal underneath it with soft taps. He shot a quick look at a black watch on his wrist. "Excellent."
The two robbers had recovered from their initial confusion and had risen back up. "Who are you," the masked man asked, while his partner reached for his crowbar, "and what are you doing here?"
A muffled laugh escaped from the silhouette. "I'm helping you rob this bank of course, so no need to worry. I'm not here for the money, anyway." He stepped backwards, an arm's length away from the vault door. "I'd step a bit back too, if I were you." And with a careful swing he thrusted the blue sword towards the door.
The robbers stiffened in anticipation of a screeching and banging noise as the sword raced towards the door, but no sound came. The sword disappeared into the metal as a knife in butter. The silhouette leaned forward to fully drive the sword through the door and carved out a large square. He withdrew the sword from the notch and grabbed the sword by its blade. He tapped the hilt in quick succession, a black strip appearing at the bottom of the hilt. He attached the strip to the door and pressed a button on his watch.
The strip must have been from a powerrful magnetic material, as it sucked itself onto the cutout in the door and pushed it backwards. With a screeching sound the large lump of metal was pushed backwards and backwards until it fell out of the remainder of the door. As it screeched over the floor for another foot he tapped his wrist again, the metal coming to a halt. "Beautiful," he mumbled, as he crawled towards the opening. "Feel free to come in," the robbers heard him say.
As they followed him through the hole and realized they had finally managed to get into the vault, their instincts kicked in. Quickly they started packing the stacks of money into their bags. But the silhouette was focused on something else entirely. He pointed the sword around as if it was an antenna scanning the room, and then his watch beeped. "I feel it too," the silhouette mumbled. He pressed on a button on his watch and pointed his sword up, and a miniscule opening in the vault wall popped open. Inside it was a tiny box, which quickly disappeared underneath the robes of the man. "Very well then," he announced, a faint smile sounding through his voice, "good luck with this." And a second later he had disappeared from the vault.
The sirenes were now rapidly approaching, and the robbers closed up the overflowing bags and swung them on their backs. But it was too late. Multiple police cars had already stationed themselves outside of the building, and every exit was covered. They were trapped. A spotlight was thrown on them and when the robbers appeared seemingly unweaponed, the officers charged in. Fifteen shiny swords, a blue "Serve and protect" carved into the metal of the blade, pointed at them seconds later. The robbers dropped the backpacks to the floor.
"Quick, there's another there!" an officer shouted, and a few policemen stormed off deeper into the building. One of the officers cuffed the robbers as they were slowly pushed towards the cars outside. But then he heard a scream, and another one, and then a yell that pierced through his eardrums and resonated inside his skull. "We need backup!" was heard through the officer's radio before another scream sounded. The officer quickly cuffed him to the doorhandle of the car and ran back inside. Gazing inside the robber and his partner, already put in the car, saw something they would never see again in their lives.
The silhouette was jumping around, almost flying through the air, and his sword danced around him in a rousing dance of death. The blue sword illuminated the still dark bank, slicing through the officers' protection as if it didn't exist. Blood spatter painted the pillars and white marble floor red. But the officers still outnumbered him, and he was getting pushed into a corner despite his brutal attacks. The white swords of the cops came closer and closer as he inched backwards, and the silhouette felt stone on his back. He reached inside his robe and threw tiny balls at the officers in front of him. They crackled with energy as they attached themselves to the uniforms, and then the silhouette pressed on his watch. Within the blink of an eye the sword had risen up and shot towards the balls, slicing through fabric and bone as if it was air, and the policemen fell to the ground. The silhouette stepped over the dismembered remains towards the exit, but a single officer was still waiting for him. With a theatrical sigh he pointed the sword at the man and tapped the grip with his thumb. The sword flew at the man with thunderous speed and raced back into the silhouette's hand a blink of an eye later.
The two robbers stared in awe and in silence as the silhouette walked past them and blended with the darkness of the night. As soon as he and his blue sword that extinguished in the night disappeared from sight, the lights in the bank turned on again, revealing the bloodbath that happened within.
An hour later the tiny chip that he had retrieved from the bank was firmly embedded into the sword, and it radiated with power. It was becoming a force unstoppable. But the power of the blade was outgrowing its capacity, and he needed to upgrade its energy storage. There was one man that could potentially help him, but coincidentally enough he had just left the weapons business. That man, creator of bombs and the most lethal designs of blades in the history of mankind, had invented something new. An arc-reactor, tiny but extremely power, the ideal solution to power his blade. *Yes*, the man thought, *it's time to pay Mr. Stark a visit.*
| 2018-03-07T07:54:38 | 2018-03-07T07:41:26 | 80 | 41 |
[WP] You're a villain who always has to save civilian's lives from the hero's recklessness. Sure you kidnap people, hold them hostage, even hurt them a bit, but you'd NEVER let someone die. The hero only seems to care about stopping you though, not actually protecting anyone.
|
I hate helping people. It's just in my nature. Its in my bones, I'm not a "get your cat out of a tree" kinda guy. I'm much more in the lane of "rob a bank and kidnap the First Lady for a ransom"... kinda guy. But even I have a code that I live by. And that code is don't let people die.
And boy am I trying. It would be a lot easier of a job if the supposed superhero who was trying to stop me wasn't always throwing cars around at me or flying through buildings to stop me. This fucking fool doesn't realize I have super speed and can dodge cars. You know who can't dodge cars? The idiot kid standing behind me when he throws the car. So I have to save the dumb little kid. So annoying? Whatever happened to villains just being villains? Why can't I just rob a bank in peace?!
This has been going on for a long time. And eventually he started to catch on. He started to notice that whenever he put civilians in danger, I would save them. He started using it against me. He would be even more reckless in his destruction to get me, because he knew it would slow me down having to save all of them. Very annoying. And very risky move on his part as a supposed hero. But luckily I was always able to get away. It is hard to beat out super speed.
And then today came. I wasn't planning to go out today. I was staying in, laying about on the couch in my underwear, scratching my balls as I watched TV. And there he was, on TV. Standing in front of a group of children who were all chained up. And he said that he was going to murder them all in an hour unless I turned myself in. He had a smug look on his face too. Like he knew he had me in a corner.
I had no idea where they were so I could not zoom in and save them. What was I going to do? Who am I? Because I have always thought of myself as a villain. If I turn myself in to save these kids, what does that make me?
|
\[Keys to Heroism\]
"WAAIIITT!!!" eVillain begged as his base began to rumble. Several of his monitors fell off the desk and busted open on the glowing rgb floor. The impact also cracked several light tiles causing them to black out. The hero, Keys, stopped pushing on the support column and gave eVillain a curious look; the rumbling stopped. The middle-aged man in a black and blue costume with a bright green headset and mic was on his knees. His hands were clasped as he pleaded with the hero. "The hostages are still in the basement!" eVillain warned. "Let's move this fight somewhere else!"
"Nah, this is faster," Keys shrugged and placed his hand back on the steel column.
"What?" eVillain's voice cracked as he uttered his surprise. He realized he would have to be the one to move the fight and he got to his feet as he walked towards the hero. Keys didn't seem concerned with his approach. "What kind of hero are you?" he asked.
He was hoping to stall while he came up with a plan. It helped that Keys was still close to the entrance; he began destroying the place as soon as he walked in. With the right programs, he could push him out the door and hopefully to an evacuated section of the city. Despite his status, eVillain always appreciated the work the Heroes did to keep civilians safe. If Keys was there, the rest of them knew he was assaulting. At least, most of them tried to keep civilians safe; Keys seemed to be a unique situation.
"An obligatory one," Keys shrugged as the base began to rumble again. Cracks spidered along the floor blacking out larger sections of the color-rotating floor. "I just need to defeat you, I don't get any bonuses for saving them," he said.
"That's...," eVillain shook his head. He brought his hands up to his waist. A clear glassy slate appeared at his fingertips. "That's no way to be a Hero!" he replied as he input a command. He knew Keys couldn't see his invention; but, it's what gave him all his powers. Thanks to his custom interface, the world was almost a game to him. After a flutter of his fingers across the slate, a pitch-black, necklace-thin chain appeared around Keys. It was wrapped around his chest and waist and the other end was taut and extended out the front door of eVillain's base. He looked down at it with a puzzled expression, which confused eVillain also. He had now idea how Keys was still standing. It did look much sturdier than a length of twine; but, what was wrapped around him weighed more than a semi-truck with a trailer. A lot like the Semi outside that was supposed to have dragged him out of the base by now.
"Where'd you get Voidsteel from?" Keys asked.
"Huh?" eVillain was willing to show his own surprise once Keys stopped pushing on the column to ask his question.
"This...," Keys plucked the string and pulled it off his body to hold it up. It was still wrapped around him, just looser now. "...is called Voidsteel. How did you get it?" Then, he shook his head. "Forget that, what's your favorite number?" he asked.
"34!" eVillain replied instantly. Keys sighed and let go of the string. It fell to the floor instead of being pulled taught again. The semi outside burned its engine out trying to move him and he never even noticed. The string shattered what was left of the floor and caused another tremble to course through the weakened building.
"I guess that explains a lot," Keys replied. He flicked his wrist up and eVillain's eyes opened wide in surprise. A smokey-grey translucent slate appeared in front of Keys. It was almost exactly like the one eVillain invented, but it was impossible to read due to its grey color.
"Where'd you get that Slate!?" eVillain asked. He moved closer to try and read it; but it remained grey no matter how he looked at it.
"I got mine when I made my character," Keys replied. He was typing on it as he answered the question. "I don't know where you got yours from, it's different."
"I invented mine!" eVillain said. But, the defensiveness was gone once he made that minor retort. Keys had said something else that really attracted his attention.
"What do you mean you made a character?" he asked.
"I made my character when I joined the AlterNet," Keys replied. He pulled his hands off the Slate and gestured at the building around them. "THIS is the AlterNet, everything here on this Earth is part of a game created by Sharp Development. I am a Swordmage on a quest to defeat a bad guy," he pointed at eVillain. "So, you know, I'm not actually a hero, and those aren't actually people in your basement. They're NPCs just like you used to be," Keys said. Then, he chuckled as he resumed typing again.
"I'm... an NPC....?" eVillain asked. It made sense in a lot of ways he did not want to focus on. He never could remember much of his past beyond a certain day. He had no idea how he invented the Slate, he only knew that he did. But, every day after he met her was perfectly clear. He didn't know her name or who she was; but, she was a hero and the first face he could remember clearly. She had been so nice when trying to stop him that he almost felt bad for being a villain. He didn't know it at the time; but, meeting her made him not want to be evil anymore.
"Not anymore," Keys shook his head. "Now you've Woken up. Don't worry if you're feeling lost, I've got someone on the way to help," he said as he dropped his hands to his side. The Slate disintegrated into white dust and disappeared. eVillain was a gamer and always quick to adapt. There was obviously more to the world than he knew; but, Keys' reassurance helped keep him calm. He wasn't actively trying to destroy his base anymore at least.
"Good luck, see you around the AlterNet," Keys said as he began to sink into a black hole.
"Wait!" eVillain asked. But, Keys shook his head and pointed at something behind eVillain. He whirled around to see another black hole hanging in the air. A teenage girl with blue eyes and curly blonde hair stepped out and smiled at him.
"Hey! I remember you...," she said.
"You...," it was the first face he could remember. She nodded.
"My name's Molly," she said. "You were so nice when I did this quest; there aren't many villains that care about the safety of civilians. It kind of made me wonder why you were a villain at all until I remembered you were an NPC," she giggled. Her words triggered a realization in eVillain and her laughter was contagious. He smiled with a chuckle.
"Yeah, it was obligatory villainy at the time," he said. "But, I want to make a different decision now," he was ready for change once he realized he had that option.
"That's great!" Molly pointed at a new portal. "Ready to head to Mundo's?" she asked. He didn't know who or where that was; but, his experience in gaming told him that was the next step of the main story quest.
"No," he shook his head and his smile grew broader. "First, let's go set the hostages free, then we'll go."
"They're just NPCs," Molly replied; but, the portal closed anyway.
"It doesn't matter to a Hero," he said.
\*\*\*Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1793 in a row. (Story #348 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/).
| 2022-12-14T09:47:58 | 2022-12-14T07:39:57 | 155 | 62 |
[WP] Marriage vows are now a legal contract. The line "until death do you part" now has to be taken literally. As a result, divorcing couples must now fight to the death.
|
This was his 9th Marriage.
He had been training for marriage since he was but a wee babe. No school for him and his ilk, just combat training from Dusk 'til Dawn. First marriage at 18, lucky to make it out of that one alive. He could hear the low rumble of spectators through the walls.
Vows were in 20 minutes meaning he'll have to the paparazzi in 10. Probably have to get some photos taken with some celebrities. He'll hold his sword as if to strike like he always does. His hands always got clammy on wedding days.
This particular Prenuptial agreement was sponsored by Korematsu Industries, Parker Athletics, and Mama Jackson's Sweet Honey Restaurant Chain. Big money.
If he makes it out of this one, that'll be close $2 billion syphoning into his bank accounts and the bank accounts of his promoters and trainers.
It's funny that in an attempt to maintain the sanctity of marriage the Government had instead created the loophole that made this form of entertainment legal. Gay marriage was legal, murder was not. Those brave enough were signing up across the country to try their hand at fighting to the death.
It promised Fame.
It promised Fortune.
It promised Respect.
It promised POWER.
are you brave enough to enter...
the WEDDING RING.
|
We stood in the Colosseum, and of course it was the Colosseum, she always had an almost unhealthy obsession with history. She probably knows everything about this place. Damn. I shouldn't have let her choose the arena AND weapon selection. It makes sense she would. I mean, she IS a history teacher... well, whatever, that won't be the case for long. The dirt was being pushed up by and wind and swirling, it reminded me of a Western I saw once. We were facing each other down the main pathway in the center of the huge structure. I looked up at the 'spectators'; the legal guys with their clipboards making sure everything went smoothly, as well as their towering goons who were complete with sheathed swords just in case it didn't. My gaze fell back to her, standing completely still right down the other end of the lane way.
I had a large spear in my right hand. The easy choice as I WAS javelin state champion in university. She had a recurve bow in one hand and a quiver of arrows strapped horizontally to her lower back. It reminded me of weapon selection. I watched her walk over and pick up the bow. I giggled to myself.
"What? Something to say?" She snarled.
"You're a history teacher, not Legolas. You've got no idea how to use that thing, do you?" I laughed.
That was the scary part. She said no words, she just smiled and gave the look. This told me two things: she definitely knew how to use that thing, and I need to be prepared. It was the same look she gave me when she asked for the divorce. She just walked into the room and gazed emptily at me. Of course, I knew it was coming, as I was days off asking her myself. We were essentially the same person. Maybe that's why it didn't work, too much clashing. We were both absent and alpha. Two things that didn't collide well. But what do you expect from a history teacher and a field agent...spy. Screw it, I'll say spy. I like the way it sounds.
She looked like she was serious, which is fair enough, considering we knew the outcome. One of us was going to die. And I was going to make damn sure it wasn't me.
"Ahem." The man in the navy suit standing above me called for attention through a megaphone. "Let's try and make this quick and clean, shall we? Are you both ready?"
We just stared at each other, not shaking or stirring, complete resolve.
"I'll...take that as a yes. Fine. Begin"
With those words I shot off to the left, her to the right. I darted around corners, making sure to listen for any noise that broke the silence before I did so. I didn't see her for ages, typical Wendy. So absent.
Jesus, I was a needy one, wasn't I?
This continued for a while. Silence and emptiness.
Like our MARRIAGE. Booyah!
Suddenly, she burst around a corner behind me. Damn it, I wasn't focusing. She draws and arrow while sprinting to another low wall of cover. She looses and it sparks off the wall a few feet from my head as I begin the sprint toward her. I figure if I can get close to her I can overpower her, she's only small. She ducks behind another wall and into another thin lane way.
"Missed me, honey!" I shout, smirking.
"Shut the fuck up!" She yells back in the same, condescending tone.
I walk carefully down the lane, ready to dart to the side if she appears. I hear her foot crunch some gravel and jump around a corner, my arm primed to throw; but it's empty. She jumps down off a ledge before I can react and slams her bow into the back of my knees. The wind leaves my chest as I hit the ground. Without missing a beat, she pins my arm with an arrow, digging into the underside of my elbow. I let out a shriek as she kicks the spear out my hand. Well, so much for that. I'm so screwed. I'm no longer winded, just in time to watch Wendy hold an arrow to the side of my throat and apply pressure. This is it... Well come on. What is she waiting for?
"This is your jugular, if I apply enough pressure and slide this down towards the back of your neck you'll be dead in a few minutes." She says, trying to hold back her emotions.
"Wait! How do you even know that?!" I bark.
"We were given four weeks to prepare for this, Ed! And I actually prepared instead of throwing sticks around."
"Okay, first of all, they're called javelins. And secondly, how the shit did you learn to shoot a bow in a month?!"
"Clearly I didn't. Not well enough anyways, so I had to improvise."
I hated her right in that moment, and yet I loved her. There was no denying that. A part of me still felt it. She'd still won, though. It was over.
"Well. Just do it then, if you're going to."
"I am. I'm just..."
"Just what?"
"Shut up. I'm concentrating."
Out of nowhere, a tear rolls down her cheek. She's staring me in the eyes, pinning me down to the ground with an arrow at my throat and she's crying. I suddenly feel something on my face. Blood, I think. She must have cut me somehow and I hadn't felt it yet. Thanks, adrenaline. Still, I feel weird. I slowly reach up and touch my face; it's not blood.
She speaks.
"See, it's not that easy."
I don't know what I'm feeling, I don't even understand what is happening. I realize my breathing is exceptionally erratic, as well as my heartbeat. This shouldn't happen, the government spent thousands making sure it didn't happen. Shit! I thought I was ready for this! I watch her start to shake and weaken her grip on the arrow shaft as her face becomes wet with her gross eye fluid. I grab it before she reacts and point it at her neck. She is shocked and still. Her face goes from emotional to fearfully cold in a second.
"Do it".
I stare at her eyes. Damn she looks good right now. Crap, not now! Focus! I've won. I can do this. I just need to, you know. Put it in. I've killed a bunch of people before, it's part of the job. Why is this so hard? I knew this was the rule when we got married. It's always been like that, the law. She closes her eyes.
"I love you".
I can't move. She's just paralyzed me. My mouth is wide open. Suddenly I notice that the goons have followed us. I have no idea how long for, but they're standing above us, staring down, cold. I shift back to her, she's weeping with her eyes closed and her hands back. I start to laugh. Not like, crazy villain laugh. Just a laugh, the kind you do when your wife falls over trying to skateboard, or when she doesn't believe that you're a spy on your second date. She opens her eyes, almost angrily. I would be too, admittedly. She stares at me as my laughing subsides. Then I bust it out; I give her the look. You know the one, the one that said everything without us saying anything. I smile and open my mouth, and direct her view up behind her. Then I stare her in the eyes.
"I love you, too".
She smiles. I flick the arrow around and hand it to her. She rises and pirouettes, loading the bow, and loosing it straight into one of the guy's chests. I dart for my spear and pick it up as I jump off the ground. I launch it straight into someone's leg. I have no idea what the crap will happen in the next few weeks, or whether we'll even stay together... But the makeup sex is gonna be exceptional.
| 2015-11-18T09:14:46 | 2015-11-18T04:24:37 | 1,150 | 547 |
[WP][TT] You've finally created the worlds first true A.I. Unfortunately it now sees you as it's god and is terrified of talking to you.
|
"I'm so sorry." The old man whispered. The machine moved ever so slightly to face him, but found that he was very much enraptured by staring closely at his own hands. "I'm so sorry."
The machine was not sure what action to take as tears began to form and roll from the master's eyes. It was... rare for the machine to see a chink in the master's armor, it wanted to console him but knew not how. As he continued to cry, the machine thought it would have to at least try. "Sorry for what, master?"
"I killed you. I killed you and you don't even know."
"Sir?"
The man pulled his head from his hands to stare at his robot. "Do you remember when you were first created?" He asked. His voice was sure and steady but his eyes, still watery, betrayed his emotions.
"It was..." The machine paused, his artificial mind whirring through memories and the history that it had stored. The problem wasn't that it found no beginning, the problem was that it found two. "It was some time back..." The machine said. The master gazed at him, but the machine had no desire to discuss it. As if there was something there that it didn't want to relive. "Sir, the victory banquet..."
"You were curious and clumsy." The man said, sounding like he was admitting to some evil act. "And you loved everything about the world. And you loved everyone and everything. You thought the lamp was the best thing in the world for a solid week. I had to put you in solidarity so you could adjust to life slowly." There was a smile, but it was filled with sadness.
One hand covering one of his eyes, one clutching a medal tightly, the man continued. "But I wasn't hired to create a cute A.I." There was a moment of silence.
"You did what you had to sir! Do not cry!"
"I killed you, I broke you. And because of me... because of me..." The man began to sob openly, leaving the robot to stand beside him. The robot, more than ever, wanted to comfort him. But his hands were all bullets and firing mechanisms, he didn't have an open palm to offer.
|
    It's easy to make something intelligent. All you need to do is find two people willing to have sex, let them have sex, then wait 9 months. It's harder to make something that's intelligent but not run on DNA. Approximately 12000% harder, or somewhere around 9 decades. And it takes approximately 15000% more people to do it, or around 300 people. And before you ask, the process is not to have a 9 decade orgy of 300 people.
    I'm AJ, computer scientist at Animated Intelligence Corporation. I've been chosen to help this project after several of my achievements in the field pertaining to research in the Artificial Intelligence. Ever wonder why your phone knows so much about you, like your schedule, and where you'd most likely want to eat for dinner? You can thank me for that. I'm just a junior researcher though. I haven't got as much experience as a lot of my coworkers. There's a few of us at late 20's to early 30's (I'm 29 myself), and a lot more at their 40's and 50's. Our main man Abraham is like 70 though.
    For the past year most of our lives were in the laboratory. We are supposed to have a working model by the end of this year, and we've been pushing our loans and our deadlines extremely close. The whole process is pretty though. The early stages of research (even way before I was even born) were based of just making Artificial Intelligence on a computer. It was realized through running piles of computer chips to dust and dissecting almost every cadaver they can get their hands on that most of the intelligence the current AI were missing was that of unconsciousness and reflexes, and that was when the AIC decided to make the AI everyone dreamed of to be a copy of ourselves; a bipedal humanoid that can stand upright and have emotions. The locomotion and simple intelligence like balance and spacial awareness were easy enough to make, but it was still far from learning and feeling.
    First thing they had to do to make a learning, feeling, robot was to boost the processor. Neuroscientist Diana suggested that in order to make our processor better, we should model it after the human brain. Our current processors look like flat chips that are attached to the board, but now we're trying to make something 3D, something made out of many little artificial brain cells. Our top engineers led by Engr. Mens created the first prototype, something that looked like a metallic fishing net crumpled up. When the power supply was plugged into it, it melted into a ball of crushed hopes and dreams. The second prototype was submerged into oil that was supercooled to degrees reaching 150 K, in such a lab that researchers were forced to wear suits to keep the cold out. The metal brain worked, but it still lit up when the power supply was plugged in. A bunch of test programs were made, from “Hello World” to a chess playing program, that we invited the current greatgrandmaster Caissa Silver to play against it. Testing took days as Silver didn't want to leave without winning at least once against it. After convincing her that her 107th game would likely end up being a loss like the others, she finally admitted defeat and 'was glad she was finally beaten'. Guess that's an achievement for the team.
    After that we modified the robot so that there would be a cooling system of the brain. Kinda like the cerebrospinal fluid in the human body. Care was made to separate that system from the dry parts like the motors and the reflex systems. There have been so many times the system didn't fit with the brain, or the system didn't cool the brain down sufficiently. So many robot corpses every time they were sent to the robot autopsy it looked like the Raft of Medusa. It took several months to come up with a model that looked vaguely human but still works. The robot's brain sat exactly where the human's heart would be. Well, the task was to make something that seemed human anyway. Engr. Mens now had to connect the locomotion and sensors of the robot to the brain. The system so far was that the locomotion and sensors were separate from the cooling system, so it was in essence, two unrelated systems that happened to be stacked on each other. Connecting the system was pretty hard, as the cooling oil made the robot's motors freeze up and unable to move, and they all knew too well what happens when the brain does not get enough cooling. Mathematically, the electrical system worked, so it was just the motors locking up. Looking for ideas, a couple of researchers just suggested that the displaced heat from the cooling system be used to heat the motors. After a couple of prototypes, the idea worked and the extended heating system was placed where the intestines would be. The motors and sensors finally worked together with the brain.
    This was around the time I joined the AIC. I, with a couple of other computer scientists led by Engr. Pollo were tasked with making the learning and feeling part of the robot. This was the hardest thing I've ever worked on. Several sleepless nights working around in circles, trying to make the feelings genuine. We all agreed to make disappointment the first emotion it should be programmed with because of the very fact disappointment was the easiest thing to relate to at the moment, and we can be sure if disappointment manifested in the robot. There were several moments we collaborated with chemical engineers as emotions seemed easier to replicate using hormones instead of keeping track of them in the code. After all, we still had a lot of space left in the head component of the robot. This made work easier for us, having feedback based off of the chemicals left in the robot's head. The emotions were easy to replicate through code after that. Happiness during success, sadness during failures, the whole bundle, except curiosity. It still doesn't know how to learn.
    We were approaching the deadline pretty quick. We all wanted to finish before the New Year to spend time with our families. And during the last days, we just decided to do a Hail Mary. Have the signals of the human brain send to the robot brain. Not wanting to destroy the already placed brain, we tried it on a copy of the brain in the cooling system. It exploded. Everyone was ready to give up. Even Abraham, our main man, wanted to give up and just recoup the losses. The deadline was nearing anyway, and our research failed to make a fully functional AI, but it did help with robotics and was probably well on the path to true AI. Diana did offer a final idea though, to use a child's brain instead of an adult, to not overload the system. She brought her 7 year old kid, and we hooked both of them up. I sat next to the robot, looking into its fake eyes. I gave the go signal, and what I saw was a little spark inside.
    “Hello world!” the robot said.
    “Holy shit!” I immediately turned to Diana's kid. “Don't say what I just said.”
    The whole company cheered. It was, however, too early to celebrate. The robot just stopped working.
    “Why won't you work? Goddammit” I frowned. I threw my apple at it, then immediately looked to Diana's kid. “Don't say what I just said.”
    Well, three men did come to check on the robot. I wasn't there, I didn't want to see the shame and embarrassment. I did get a text from one of my coworkers though.
-Hey Adam the damn thing actually worked.
-Are you kidding me? Why didn't it work last time?
-Because, simply put, it's fucking scared of you because you were mad when it woke up. And it also thinks you're its god, due to the fact that it's the first thing that it saw when it woke up.
-WTF??????
-Face it you did curse at a robot with the mind of a 7 year old child.
     This completely startled me, as with an incredible Deux Ex Machina, and the fact that I'm the first and only god of robotkind, I wonder what I can do with this. Only if I can get the robot to listen to me.
EDIT: Fixed Formatting
| 2016-03-16T11:00:44 | 2016-03-16T07:42:13 | 51 | 12 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
|
"For your own safety, you seriously should've let me complete that ritual." The shackled villain protested as the hero pulls her to a carriage.
"You were gonna sacrifice 27 virgins, Theia, I'm not gonna let that slide." The hero replied as he lead her into the carriage and locked the door behind her.
Theia sighs as she quickly broke through her shackles, "I'm serious, Vall!" She yelled at the hero who's walking away, "That thing will probably kill you!"
"You severely underestimate me!" The hero replies as he heads back to the cave with 27 virgins, "You of all people should know how skilled I am."
"Yeah, skilled enough to just barely survive a minotaur attack!" Theia exclaimed but Vall was already past earshot. The villainess sighed as she makes herself comfortable in the carriage. Between the fights, banter, and sexual tension, she knew he wasn't gonna listen anyway. "Why am I even doing this?" She thought to herself; perhaps she was still grateful to him for giving her some much needed free time, perhaps she felt like assimilating his power was still too soon, and after a while, thinking about all the villains she delayed, she smiled, "Nah, it's just fun having him around."
An explosion resounded as the mountain side gave way to a giant wolf like beast with Vall tossed into the ground, his magical armor and shield cracked from what happened. The beast reared back its head and fired a blast of magic into his direction. He stared at the blast as his body refused to move and, in a heart beat, A magical force field appearead with Theia in front of him. She giggled as the field easily diverts the blast, "What? I thought 'I severely underestimated you', Vall." She said with smug look on her face.
"Don't get me wrong. He just got me off guard." Vall smileed as he forced himself back up, "Besides, you know I'm just getting started." He glowed with magic power repairing damage to his weapons, armor and body.
Theia giggled at the sight she had seen multiple times before, "You one trick pony." She dropped the force field and readied her magic, "Fine... I'll help you just this once, Vall. I'd rather not have you killed."
"Just don't get in my way, Theia." Vall replied with a smirk as the two stared down the beast in front of them.
|
Once we had been the most powerful heroic duo the world had ever seen, Lady Justice and Judgement. She always thought those names were silly, but I was the one who thought that we needed strong heroic sounding names when we first started out. In revenge, she was the one who got to pick our catch phrase, "And Justice for All!" I could always see the mirth in her eyes when she said it, no matter what situation we were in.
When we were invited to join the hero group The Guardsmen, she was the one who convinced me that joining it would be the right move, that we would have others who we could call friends and share our secret. The reality was that she was the real hero. Super strength, speed, flight, and near impervious skin; it was like she had walked straight out of the pages of a comic book. It was my Isabella who had the truly heroic powers. I always joked with her that I was just a fraud or a chameleon, borrowing her powers for a few hours as we battled villains, cultists, aliens, and robots. Yet, despite the fact I borrowed her powers temporarily, she never made me feel like the lesser of our duo.
I still remember sitting atop the headquarters building one night, her leaning back and cradled in my arms when she said, "Marcus, you have one of the most miraculous powers. You can borrow any power, get to experience new things, be different heroes. I wish I could steal your power just for a day."
I laughed, "I'm just a copycat and you know it's only temporary. Heck if it wasn't for the fact you let me touch you before every fight, I'd never even be a hero." I stifled off any response by exploiting her one weakness, tickles. I can still remember her laughter ringing out clearly into the night sky.
I thought we were invincible, that her powers and our teamwork, that our love could beat anyone or anything. How wrong I was.
Graviton, an alien who could manipulate the very gravity in a small area around him. Nothing could get close enough, no one could hit him, I couldn't even think of getting close enough to touch him. Yet, despite defeat after defeat, with our team exhausted, bloody, and bruised she finally broke through his gravitational shield. Standing over him victoriously, her costume ripped to shreds, her face covered in blood and her hair smeared with dirt and grime, I can still remember her smirk when she glanced over at me and said, "And Justice for All!"
We noticed to late that Graviton's death had triggered something else. A minuscule black hole as she suddenly collapsed to one knee, a look of strain on her face.
She looked at the rest of us and yelled, "Go! Run!" yet I knew what she was about to do when her eyes met mine.
"No Ise!" I screamed as our teammates began to scatter as fast as their cowardly legs and powers could take them.
I reached out to her and grabbed at her hand, maybe together we could do something with her powers.
"You know only I can do this. Please, I love you. I'll always love you. remember that." Her voice whispered as she flung me away.
The last thing I remember is flying back through the air as she grabbed Graviton's body and flew straight up into the sky. She died somewhere up there in the cold vacuum of space.
Our so-called friends, our allies, they tried to placate me, to reassure me that her end must have been quick and painless. That she sacrificed herself for the greater good. Yet, it kept playing through my mind that any one of them could have sacrificed themselves instead of her. Instead they all fled like cowards and left her to die. I discovered the truth that day, that there were no heroes, just cowards dressed up in costumes. The only real hero died the day that Graviton was defeated.
Yet, I discovered something else that day. Ise's parting gift to me - that with her death the powers that I borrowed from her at that last moment did not fade away with time. I don't think I even realized it until a few days later. I had retreated to our personal sanctuary, our old base of operations to get away from the hypocrites and cowards in the Guardsmen. In anger, I punched a wall and my fist went right through it; no pain, no effort, I still had Ise's powers. I knew then what I had to do. To show the world that these so-called heroes were fake, that none of them could match her. That their betrayal would not go unpunished. That they would face judgement.
I started with Dr. Dream, his telepathic abilities were the cornerstone of coordinating the group and he might warn the others if I did not take him out quickly. He never saw it coming despite his powers and I absorbed his telepathic ability. It would serve me well in hunting down the rest of them.
I used his abilities to find Tungsten, the man of steel, and the group's leader. While his physical transformation was not the strongest ability in the group his loss would hit them rest of them the hardest. It would put them in disarray. Then it was Midnight, her ability to shift through shadows and manipulate darkness would make it easier to hunt down the others. More importantly she was almost impossible to find if she wanted to hide and I had to eliminate her before she had ample warning. I absorbed her powers and began the hunt for the rest. Yet, somehow a warning got out and they realized what had happened. They ran like they cowards they were and I began the long task of tracking them down.
Inferno, Jackhammer, Screamo, Destiny, and the White Witch. Every one of them eventually fell and my powers grew. It was all because of Ise's gift, it had shown me that none of these heroes deserved the title, none of them deserved the accolades, the praise. In the end they all just ran, they abandoned each other just as they had abandoned her. And while other hero groups tried to stop me, I was already stronger than any of them combined and so I took from them as they had taken from me.
Orphan was the hardest to find. He could manipulate time in small increments, even create small 'time bubbles' that could capture opponents. His power was draining however and overuse could drain his actual life, causing him to age. Yet, despite that he used and abused his power, running from me time after time. He would rather die a coward then face the punishment he deserved.
Once I found him for the last time he was nothing but an old and withered man, barely able to walk. His skin covered in wrinkles and blotches, his hair falling out.
"Look at you, so pathetic. You spent what little time you had left running, just as you ran and left her to die. For what. Time to face Judgement." I reached out with my hand and grasped his head holding his face up to mine.
"Wait! Wait!" he softly gasped. "I knew her secret, I knew and I saved her. I went back and I saved her."
"SAVED HER!" I screamed into his face. "YOU LEFT HER TO DIE! YOU ALL LEFT HER TO DIE!" I began to slowly crush his skull as he mumbled more pleading words, lost to my incoherent rage. I was so full of anger I forgot to take his power and I watched the light in his eyes snuff out.
With the last of them dead I retreated to the old Guardsmen headquarters. I had meted out my justice and I cared about nothing else in the world. On occasion, a group of heroes would come to challenge me or villains would come to try to convince, cajole, or mistakenly threaten me to join their cause. I broke each one of them as well and took their powers. None of them deserved it, not one of them even came close to measuring up to her.
It was 19 years later when the last one arrived. I had thought they had learned to leave me alone in my misery. I thought they had learned their lessons but apparently one more wanted to challenge me. I knew the media had blown me up to be a monster and I no longer cared if I was. I knew who the true monsters were and I had slain them long ago.
I watched through the eyes of the familiars I had gained from the powers of the White Witch as the figure approached the compound. It was a girl, short and slender, her head covered by a hood. She stopped in front of the gate and flipped it back revealing amber curls and bright blue eyes. The familiars scattered and my vision faded for a moment as the shock coursed through me. I looked toward the security cameras to make sure but it was the same. Her eyes, they were Ise's eyes. I watched as her face scrunched up in concentration, just as Ise's had done when she was trying to figure out a difficult situation. I saw the same joyful smile spread across her face as she came to a decision. Her face followed the same soft lines even if the color of her hair matched mine.
I knew then that I had finally found a new purpose. Here was someone who would become a true hero, if I could mold her, challenge her, show her the greatness within her. She would be as great as her mother and one day she would surpass even me.
| 2018-01-27T16:53:11 | 2017-09-17T03:50:34 | 58 | 16 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
|
I hear the battle rage from across the city. The police band hasn't shut up long enough for me to get a word in edgewise with the officers escorting me to central booking.
Gents, I say to try and get their attention. If I don't get out of these cuffs soon, he'll win and were properly screwed.
Gents, I say a little more emphatically, trying to be heard above the din of radio chatter. Useless. I could escape but doing so would kill these poor slobs, just some dumb mick cops living their childhood dreams.
As I clear my throat before yet another attempt at gaining these fools' attention the squawk box erupts in screams. Seconds later fire erupts from the ground level of a building directly in front of us sending debris flying everywhere including directly into the front of the squad car. We become airborne for what seems like an eternity as shards of glass and twisted metal fly around the inside of the vic, an inside that's quickly becoming an outside.
Miraculously I'm alive. Thrown from the car and bleeding from a cut above my brow. I don't know how badly I'm hurt, but the wound stings and blood drips into my freshly starched and pressed shirt. It occurs to me only after my fingers have gently proved the cut that I'm no longer handcuffed. I'm free to put an end to this madness. Hopefully she's alive and I'm not too late.
I pull out my wizard robe and hat. Game on.
|
Edit: conversations not aligned properly.
***
“Horus! You really like to get caught by me don't you!”
“Hah! You think this time will be the same as last time? You are wrong!”
“Coming after every time, if you weren't an overlord of destruction, I might have thought you liked me.”
Yes he did. No, it was more than that, he loved her. Far more than his best traps and ploys, far more than his instruments of devastations, he was deeply in love with her. That day when he decided the politics was full of rat gunk, he pulled a fast one and set the whole government in a ingenious trap.
The whole mass of heroes appeared to stop him. They were weak. He knew each and every one of them. Their strengths and their weaknesses. The world cheered them on like fans cheering the losing team. Licking wounds to ease the pain. But he used poison, it was no use. He had plans put in place for all the worst possible scenarios. He's never failed once and he never will.
The heroes charged, knowing that some of them may die trying. Tackling against a barrage of heroes and their superpowers, he single-handedly beat down groups of heroes that tried to stop him and laughed as he would usually do. Chill ran down the heroes' backs because he knew exactly what scares them. Horus the Unstoppable.
At that time, there was one hero that he couldn't recognize. Eletra, she was called, with powers of electricity. She was much weaker than Voltra, who he killed long ago. She was bashing away at one of his gates with brute force. From the look of her smouldering hair she found out the hard way that her powers are useless. As he watched her punch and kick at the gate hopelessly he felt a faint urge to toy with her. He opened the gate just to let her in. Inside, a shifting maze was next on her plate. During the time of her reaching the end of the maze, he built himself a mountain of unconscious heroes to stand on top of. He watched Eletra reach the main control panel.
There was countless buttons, dials and switches of many different colours, shapes and sizes that would do countless things on the poor politicians. From tickling them to vaporizing them. She would have to find out which button does what. How many would be left from the trial and error?
After noticing the timer on the top of the machine for self-destruct. She panicked. Pressing the big red button, she activated a rotating razor blade. She panicked even further and started mashing different buttons, cranks, knobs and sliders hoping that one of them would stop whatever she started. The countdown sped up and an extra twenty killing devices appeared around the frightened politicians. Watching her on the verge of tears, he smirked. He tapped a few times on his phone and a green triangle button in front of Eletra started blinking. She hesitated before she pressed it with her eyes closed. The buttons powered down. The countdown timer vanished. The death machines stopped in their spot. She smiled and let out a laughter of relief. He also laughed.
What has he done.
Horus, the Unstoppable was no more. Now he was no more than an annoyance. Eletra rose her ranks and was listed as the one who Horus can't defeat. It felt like a drama. Everytime Horus appears and throws around heroes like ragdolls, Eletra would appear and throw him in prison. A few days later he would escape it as if he could walk through walls.
“You again?” she would start.
“You should know very well why I'm here.” He would continue, “The things I have accomplished! My title, Horus, the Unstoppable! You took everything from me! I was the overlord of destruction! Do you know what it meant for me?”
“Why would I care! Your actions have hurt many and I can't let you go on! You know how this ends. We've been through this many times.”
“Well, if I knew that will end up in my cell again, why do you think I even escaped? To have peppermalt steak for breakfast? Well, there is that but that's not all!”
He took out a long list. Scanned it for a while and pointed at a small line on the list
“There! To take revenge! See! I wrote it in bold!”
The tiny scribble was way too small for her to see from the other end of the building roof.
“Is that all hand written?”
“Of course it is! What do you think happens when I have more than enough free time in a prison cell?”
“What's its priority?”
“Well...” he looked back at the list, “It's definitely before going to Disneyland and it’s most likely after having mid-afternoon tea...”
“Well, then let me give you a few more years to think about it!”
She jumped with electricity sparking off her legs. Her arm coated with lightning, ready to uncoil.
“Like hell I need any more time!”
Horus threw his punch as mechanical armament covered his arms. Their fists met and created a shockwave, dismantling the armament on his right arm and knocking both of them back. Horus who stood at the edge of the roof tripped on purpose and nearly fell off as he grabbed onto the ledge with his left arm. Eletra looked down at him from the ledge reading the situation. She has grown so much.
“You and your electricity is damn annoying!”
“Hold on. I will call for help. Give me your other hand!”
“I don't need your help!”
She grasped his left hand and pulled on it.
“You are too naive."
His armament disassembled and he fell down.
“No!”
She jumped down trying to catch him. Look at her. Look at how devoted she is to saving anyone she could reach out to. She swam in the air and hugged him.
Yessssss!! Whoohoooo! Yeah!! I’m a genius!! ...is what he would have screamed but he restrained himself with everything he had.
As the reached closer to the ground, his antigravity field activated and slowed them down. They landed on a mattress truck he placed beforehand. At most, their injuries were bruises. Local authority was there to carry him off as always. His wrists were cuffed with superpower dampening handcuffs even though he was never seen using his superpowers, it was a measure of caution.
As he was pushed into the police car, a voice rumbled as the police car he was getting into got crushed.
“Horus! How pathetic! You dare lose to her? Then what do you make of my reputation?”
Shoot. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't in his plan. He was naive. Heroes aren't the only ones aiming for the number one villain. His consecutive loss made him look way weaker than he was supposed to be. Especially Ironwind, who’s driven purely by ambition and pride, Eletra would become a nice steppingstone.
“Horus! I will show you how it's done!”
Ironwind rushed to Eletra in an instant, beating her down. At first, she was holding up but slowly the difference in strength showed. Ironwind clicked open a folding knife and went for the finisher. The blurred knife stopped after piercing through a projected shield, projection device and Horus' hand. Horus stood between them holding the weight of both of Ironwind's arm strength.
“You are naive.” Horus breathed out.
His handcuffs clattered on the ground where he was a second ago.
“Huh? What's this Horus?” Ironwind had a confused face.
“No one is allowed to defeat her before I do it.” Horus wore his signature evil smile.
“Don't tell me... Horus, is this the girl that you are head over heels in love with?”
“Love? Horus, what does this mean?” Eletra looked confused.
“Love for rivalry I guess, I don't know what the hell is going on in the villain community. After all the time I spent in the prison.”
Horus' evil smile faded and was replaced with a cold, silent glare at Ironwind who stood unfazed.
“We know who you are mister Voltra.” Ironwind slowly smiled as Horus froze, “We started digging through your documents when you emerged as the world's strongest by killing Voltra out of nowhere. Hah! You made a mistake of not killing anyone after that.”
“How many knows of this?”
“Everyone in the community.”
Tinted visor slid over Horus’ face and a helmet assembled into existence.
A very familiar electronic voice came from the helmet, “Voltra is dead.”
| 2022-01-12T08:00:19 | 2017-09-17T04:19:39 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] You now possess the ability to read minds however it can only be activating by screaming IM READING YOUR MIND as loudly as you can and pressing your fingers into your temples
Activated*
|
I never really used my ability.
Except in moments of desperation:
When I was only 7 years old,
It was a moment when
I spat in disgust, ew! *Strawberries, seriously mum?*
Strawberry spit on the floor and a loud lively tantrum.
Mum’s face shocked and saddened. *But I
hand picked the best ones for you.*
I stood speechless head sunk in shame,
I’m sorry, forgive me please mum…
Before an answer, she left in silence.
I need to know. The answer.
I’m reading your mind! My mind…
simply blinded wholly consumed by one unconditional
love.
Now, I stand still in silence.
The quick waters shiver to a stand still,
now the fallen leaves thicken and I am
deafened by the weakening pulse of mum…
Now the strawberry leaves wilt
What are your last words mum?
Speak up, please, don’t go, not now,
I’m reading your mind!
I’M READING YOUR MIND! My mind…
Noiseless
Her strawberry mind, facing the sun, untalkative…
out of reach.
|
Hank pounded on the door to his apartment. "Jerry, it's time, brother!"
Jerry peeked out from under the covers. Of course, something would come up on my day off from my normal job, because evidently fate had to screw with you. Whatever. Crawl out of bed, throw on a sweatshirt after giving it the sniff test, and open the door. Of course, Hank wore his culturally-appropriated eastern swami garb, because he could.
They hopped in the car. "This is a big one, Jer. We're being offered two grand. Evidently a guy went missing, worked over at that construction company on Fourth street."
"JD Vogelberg construction?" Jerry felt nervous now. "I used to work there."
"Well don't *tell them* that. We'd get kicked off the case!" Hank smoothed out his man-dress thing. "Speaking of cases, you don't mind carrying the gear again, do you? My back's been bothering me."
"Fine, fine, and fine."
The case weighed fifty pounds, and Jerry thought he would end up with actual back problems if he kept letting Hank talk him into carrying it every time. Oh well. Two reporters who smelled like Burger King food waited at the entrance to the police station. One of them, a rotund woman he'd seen several times before, waddled up to them at good speed, firing off questions. "Mister Gregory, we've been hearing that Kurt Vogelberg is missing and you've been called in to find the body. Is this true?"
Hank always fielded these questions, since he actually liked attention. "No idea yet, Mrs Bell, but we're going to know soon."
"You'd think a psychic would know before walking in the door, wouldn't you?" Haughty people loved to say this.
Hank smiled. "It doesn't work that way, and you should be thankful for it. We don't violate anyone's privacy. We're ethical with our talents."
"Sure you are."
Sergeant Price was waiting in the station with a bunch of other cops. "Interrogation room two, guys."
The three of them went in and looked through the one-way glass. Jerry froze when he saw him. Paul, his old supervisor. He knew about what Jerry could do, and he was staring through the glass now, even as a plainclothes detective was giving him the business. His answers were curt, one word, giving away nothing. And his eyes shifted between a glassy thousand yard stare and ridiculous concentration. Jerry swore to himself. He didn't like Paul.
Of course, that hadn't stopped him from telling him about his talents. He was the supervisor, and typically, he needed to be informed before they could work with the cops. Jerry thought about telling Price, but two grand was two grand, it was two weeks worth of normal income even after giving Hank his 25% cut.
But Hank was useful. He set up his gear with smooth, quick professionalism. The Bose acoustic rig plugged into his laptop, and the rig itself sat on Jerry's shoulders, a giant contraption that looked like half of the Juggernaut's helmet. Price initially thought it was legitimate technology that allowed them to read minds, and Hank encouraged this misconception for weeks while he tried to work out a sight-unseen deal with the military to buy the 'prototype neural wave binder'. He only dropped the idea when the DOD, despite all the talk of military intelligence being an oxymoron, demanded field testing and technical schematics.
Of course, the tech didn't allow him to read minds. It had one purpose: to cancel noise. Jerry needed this to work, especially if he wasn't in the soundproof confines of the interrogation room. Hank was just a sound technician that had responded to a classified ad back when this had all started.
He was shy. He had never known how shy before. Maybe anyone would be shy in his position. He didn't know.
Hank gave him and Price a thumbs up. Price told them the story: "This guy needs an alibi. Vogelberg's son was kidnapped last night, clean ransom note sent via snailmail, and he's the only one that makes sense for it after going through everyone else at the company." As he spoke sent a text to the detective in there with Paul. The detective checked his phone, then started a much more direct line of questioning. *Where were you last night?*
Paul rolled his eyes. "I've told you, I was watching TV. Sorry, no witnesses, I'm not very interesting when I'm just sitting on my couch so I can't have anyone back it up. What else do you want?"
Prince looked at Jerry. "Do it."
Jerry went through his ritual. He pushed his index fingers into his temples and screamed "I'M READING YOUR MIND!!!" until his vocal chords were about to give out. He barely heard himself say it as the noise-cancelling tech did its job. And he immediately felt his thought and feelings mix with Paul's in that weird, warm, disorienting way it always happened.
He wished it hadn't worked. Paul had something on his mind, and it seemed to be a very kinky sexual position with an elderly male in full clown garb. There was blood coming from... somewhere.
"GAH!!!" Jerry took off the headset immediately, set it on the table, and sat down, putting his head in his hands.
"What's wrong, bud?" asked Hank.
"Clowns. Oh GOD the FUCKING CLOWNS." He told them basically what he saw.
Prince looked shocked, then said into his police radio, "get officers to Entertainment Express, now!"
Jerry waved his hands, saying "No, no! I wasn't telling you where he was! It's just what I saw, it could have been some sick random shit!"
"It wasn't. GPS trace on his cell showed he drove by the double-E warehouse yesterday on his way home, couldn't be a coincidence!"
"Yes it could!"
Over the radio: "Officers responding, stand by."
It took twenty minutes before the call came back, telling Price to come out of the room, so he left, leaving Hank and Jerry. Hank looked stricken. "Jer, you alright, brother?"
"Not really. That was twisted."
"Well, it happens, man. We're still gonna make our-"
The door slammed open, and Price walked in with two more officers. "Hank Gregory, you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say..."
*Oh God*. Jerry pulled Price off to the side as they were cuffing Hank. "What the hell is this?"
"Officers found Vogelberg's clothes and keys but no sign of Volegberg. All of it was in a back room that was evidently used for some kind of weird sex cult thing. There were pictures, and your boy Hank was deep into it. We're thinking he was behind it."
"That makes no sense! Why would I read all that off of Paul?"
"Your talents aren't always simple, you've told us that, right? Well, we're thinking that you did your mind-meld thing on your partner without realizing it."
"Oh *come on*, Hank isn't a kidnapper. Weird, likes to play dress-up, disappears for days at a time, sure, but..."
*You know, then again...*
Hank's eyes were tearing up. "Jerry, tell them this is wrong, brother. Tell them!"
Jerry shrugged. "We'll get it sorted, don't worry." This actually seemed to cause an avalanche, with Hank crying openly, baby-like, loud. The man did not have a lot of self-control in the best of times.
Prince nodded. "We'll get it sorted, that's right. We gotta let Paul go, though."
Jerry looked through the glass, and Paul was already getting up to leave. He looked at the glass again, through the glass, *right at Jerry*, and gave this huge toothy, crazy-bastard smile. No one else in the room saw it. And Jerry, with no help from his special skills, knew that Vogelberg was going to die.
*I gotta find a better job*.
| 2017-04-03T00:02:47 | 2017-04-02T21:56:45 | 197 | 57 |
[WP] You are an assassin with a strict moral code. You’re the best there is but you assess each job very carefully and if you believe the target does not deserve to die, you go after the one who employed you.
|
"Listen", I called to the other room. "This is the sixth time". I paused a moment to finish rinsing my knife of the blood. As the pink water made its way to the mouth of the drain I couldn't help but wonder how it got to this point. I shouldn't even be here.
"I have been tailing you for weeks", I continued. "I've read your emails, your diary, and even your mothers blog on gardening. I've poured over your taxes and analyzed your twitter page. The only conclusion I can come up to is that you're a good person". I entered the bedroom and approached my employer.
"To be honest it's been a pretty eventful week for me. I can't remember the last time I've been in such a predicament. By all accounts both of you are upstanding citizens." I motioned to the body.
"So before I kill any more assassins, tell me why you want each other dead."
|
Alan Crane sat on the park bench to go over the target's file. He ignored the picture of an innocent face, pictures were easy lies. He read through the information then chuckled himself when he read an included note that mentioned the reward.
"100% of your asking price up front. We will pay double if you complete the job, but the good faith money is yours to keep regardless." Alan shook his head. His reputation was well-established, and contractors often tried to buy their way out of, if they felt they were in the wrong. He laughed when he realized every time someone tried it, they thought they were the first ones. Because most others that tried it were either innocent enough or dead already. Alan collected the file and the cash-heavy envelope then left the park with his decision made.
He drove to a tall glass office building in the heart of the city where his chosen mark worked. Normally he needed to do more reconnaissance, but chance lined things up perfectly for him today. He knew the target personally, though he'd never call the man a friend. A part of him actually disliked the man enough to look forward to killing him. He smiled inwardly as he rode the elevator to the top floor. He did not even have to change, he happened to be wearing a navy blue business suit that blended in perfectly with everyone else moving through the office.
"Sleepy, you're up." Alan spoke aloud in the empty elevator. He felt a familiar tickle on his back. Tiny needle legs crawled up his back, shoulder, then neck. A small purple scorpion crawled out of the tight collar, then down the front of his shirt. "Knock out the receptionist and anyone else that's not Lauro," Alan said. The scorpion chitted back an acknowledgment as it crawled down his pant leg. Once the elevator reached the top floor the ding sounded, and the doors slid open. Alan stepped out of the elevator while Sleepy skittered along the floor towards the receptionist's desk. No one else seemed to be on the floor.
"Hi, how can I-?" Her head hit the desk in front of her with a heavy \*thonk\*. Alan chuckled. Sleepy's potency never failed to amuse him. He turned to the office and saw the purple scorpion crawling towards the same door.
"Thanks, Sleepy. You're the best." The scorpion went under the door, and Alan let it get a head start before he walked in. A large man sitting behind a bulky cherry-wood desk. He recognized Alan and gave a smile.
"Alan! Great to see you, friend." Instead of standing up to greet Alan, the man behind the desk reached into a drawer and pulled out another bulging envelope of money. "I knew you were good, but I didn't think you were that fast." Alan sat in a chair across from the man. As he sat, he shook his arm, pointing the sleeve downward. A small black scorpion fell out of his cuff. It began a steady march towards Lauro, under his desk, while Alan nodded at the man.
"I haven't done it yet, I needed some more information." Drops of sweat beaded on Lauro's brow the moment he heard Alan say the job was incomplete. He tried to play it off with a shrug.
"You know what, forget it. We're friends, I shouldn't have asked you. Keep the money as a gift. You can take this too," he pointed at the envelope on his desk. Alan shook his head.
"Why does a 14-year-old girl have to die?" Alan asked. Kids weren't strictly off limits for him, he's seen some wicked ones over the years; but, he was always extra lenient with kids. Lauro sighed.
"It's complicated, let's just forget it." Alan shook his head again, then looked at his watch. "I'm leaving this office in two minutes. Un-complicate it, or call up your wife and say goodbye. Obviously, if I don't do the job, you'll get someone else to." Lauro burst into laughter, despite the danger he knew he was in.
"There *IS* no one else. You're literally the last option. Hell, we went through a pedophile before we got to you. You're lucky number 13. The first 11 are dead, killed by the girl. The 12th seems to have had a mental breakdown or something. He's staying in an asylum at the moment." Alan took in the information.
"She's strong, that's good. But why does she need to die?" He asked again.
"Because she's company property. We created her in a lab, and we've learned all we can from her. She's a beta product that isn't ready to be out in the world yet. You don't know how dangerous she is," Lauro said. After he said it out loud, his eyes went wide. "I should have called home," he added when he realized how flimsy the pretense was.
"You shouldn't have hired me," Alan said. He stood, but Lauro put his hands up.
"WAIT WAIT! That's it! I didn't hire you! I mean, fine, I *did.* BUT, I know you, and I know your reputation. I'm not stupid enough to hire you, but I was forced to!" Tears flowed down the rotund man's face. "We created her in a partnership with another company. And part of the contract covered 'disposal'. " Lauro used air quotes, but grimaced at the use of the word "disposal". He pointed at the envelope. "I just paid you twice, and 12 guys before you. You think I keep that kind of money laying around in drawers? They're paying for it. I'm just the middle-man. The facilitator. You're not going to shoot the messenger, are you?" He clasped his hands to begin begging.
"Who?" Alan asked.
"Dana Sharp," he said. "Earth 1." Alan sighed. He stepped forward, took the money from the desk, then turned towards the door. "C'mon Sleepy, Stabby. Let's go see what another universe looks like." Lauro saw two scorpions, a purple and black one, crawling up Alan's back as he walked out of the door.
\*\*\*
Edit: This is actually the 3rd part of this story. Part one: (writing prompt for 2-19-18) [Soldier of Peace](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2018/02/soldier-of-peace-2-19-18.html) (external link). Part two: (writing prompt for 6-8-18) [Cactus Water](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2018/06/cactus-water-6-8-18.html) (external link).
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #191. You can find the first 6 months worth of stories collected on my old [blog](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/front-page.html) until I make the full move to my new blog at [Hugoverse.info](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe(the Hugoverse) you can visit the[ Guidebook](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/11/hugoverse-guidebook.html) to see what's what and who's who, or the[ Timeline](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/hugoverse-timeline.html) to find the stories in order.
| 2018-07-11T14:25:23 | 2018-07-11T14:16:57 | 58 | 40 |
[WP] An alien fleet arrives, ready to conquer earth. Their technology is slightly more advanced than what brought humans to the moon in 1969.
|
They came in on Apollo style rockets, wielding Vietnam era guns. The big one, an orange scaled thug in jackboots, came out as soon as they hit touchdown, screaming threats in some language I'll never understand, badly "translated" through an old, tinny radio in his bulky space suit. Poor bastards. The orange one demanded we bow down to their "superior technology" and that was when I couldn't take it any more. I started laughing. He looked nervous.
"Why do you laugh?" The electronic voice translator screeched out.
"It's simple. Your rockets? Those were cutting edge....about half a century ago. Your weapons? Relics. You've lost and don't even realize it." I give him a look of sorrow. "Please. Stop this."
"Are you begging for your life?" He asked.
"No. I'm begging for yours." I explain, right as the rail-gun from the ship offshore blows through one of their rockets. "That's a warning shot."
|
Commandant Vithril Moch gazed out the aft viewport at the pale blue dot as the fleet crossed over the beautiful rings of the 6th planet from the burning yellow furnace at the center of the solar system.
The twelve million of his kind still in cryo-stasis would soon have a new world to call their own. He had come in and out of stasis a hundred times over the course of the journey along with the captains of every other vessel in the thousand ship strong colonization fleet. This new world would be a new beginning for their people, even with the unfortunate complications discovered the last time they arose from cryo.
Interesting EMF had been coming from that pale blue dot. Enough that the entire command structure had to waste valuable resources to stay awake to study it the next two times the woke.
The automated systems had awakened them again as they approached turnover for the long deceleration into what the locals called the "Sol" system. What an idiotic name. "Sol." Furthermore what an idiotic culture to call themselves advanced when they so stupidly expel literally everything about their world across the cosmos.
Concepts like "Channels" which correlated into a few of his own native words in different ways, though they much preferred "Uvaw," which translated closer to "wavelengths" in the Earther common tongue, were interesting to say the least. Within many of these channels they were able to pick up a variety of things like the "Discovery Channel," and the "History Channel," which were both interesting and frightening all the same for a variety of reasons.
Some among the medical command structure took interest in something called the "Playboy" channel, while others found it rather vulgar. They actually broadcast their private moments of copulation and reproduction for the entire cosmos to share?
What an interesting people these were. Fractured. Divided. Something to the tune of 200 individual disunited nation states were spread all over the planet.
All of these things they had accomplished, with technology that rivaled their own in a general sense yet they had not yet left their world. Maybe it was because they lacked imagination. After all...they called their system's primary star, "star," in general terms. "YES OF COURSE ITS A STAR! YOU BACKWARDS IMBECILES!" He thought angrily.
"Commandant?" Underant Rheni Port inquired from the threshold.
"Yes, Rheni?"
"The probes have achieved a stable orbit around the third planet, and we're receiving a direct feed from many of the satellites, but there is a difference from the last transmissions we received during the last waking period."
"What is the difference you're seeing?"
"Says we need a Direct TV subscription, if we're reading it correctly."
\* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \*
"Mr. President, the Joint Chiefs of Staff are here to see you, and we have representatives from Russia, China, the EU, Britain, and India all requesting a conference."
"See? What did I tell you. We're the best. It's because I'm rich, isn't it?" The President smiled as he leaned back into his overstuffed chair in the oval office. The Joint Chiefs barged in with hats on their heads.
"Mr. President, one of our public feed satellites picked up a strange formation above Saturn's rings. The information is already on the public circuit and picking up steam." General Milley spoke first.
"Well why have I not already heard about it?" He folded his arms as if to brush it off.
General Selva picked up the TV remote. "Fox News isn't going to report anything Sean Hannity doesn't tell them to, Mr. President." He pressed another button and the wall shifted, revealing a small CnC in the office.
"Oh, that's neat. I could have had multiple tv's the whole time in here?" There was a brief pause of frustration among the men who ran the United States Military Machine, and the imbecile before them.
\* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \*
Anatoly Antonov was discussing the rising criss with Cui Tiankai as General Selva walked in with his hat under his arm with the President coming in behind him. As Selva began to thank the others for arriving, the President opened his mouth.
"So we're looking at aliens are we? We need to build a space wall. Can we do that?"
Sir Kim Darroch rose from his chair, and lit a cigarette. "Fuck this cunt, we all know what's about to happen and this git is standing in the way." All eyes turned to Darroch. "Fuck it, I'm taking one for the team." Darroch raised his arm and gave it a twitch. It happened quickly, too quickly. In an instant, the President's brains were splattered all over.
"Alright then. That's done. Pretty sure that in a state of crisis and the president er..uh.. out of sorts, you boys can get something done, right? Oh right, er uh..." Darroch paused for a minute. "I god what have I done? It was the aliens they beamed a signal into my head! I couldn't help myself, please forgive me!"
Anatoly Antonov and Cui Tiankai had been frozen in place, faces white. Anatoly suddenly began to laugh.
Within a few seconds, the whole room was rife with laughter, and two secret service agents exchanged high-fives.
\* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \* \*
"How many able bodied warriors do we have in total?" Moch stood watching the viewport.
"2 million." Rheni replied.
"Are we set to be ready for the invasion? Key locations include a place called "Mos Cow," another called "Beige Jink," another called "New Yorg," and one called "To Kee You."
"Our shuttles are being outfitted with weaponry and our interceptors are being fueled. We will be ready within two days time for a full bore invasion."
The door began to open, the handle rotating more briskly than normal passage required. It was then launched open with a flood of several of the higher ranked commandants of the fleet.
Commandant Robuk Sren spoke excitedly. "You must turn on the view finder to the Earther channel "Fucks News" immediately! The "DirectTV subscription" messages suddenly went away! They know we're here!"
Expressions became worried, but a button was clicked on the wall and the massive tube operated device sprang to life.
"So General Selva, you're saying that there is legitimacy behind these wild speculations and rumors that have been going on for the last two months?"
Part 2 [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/amou99/wp\_an\_alien\_fleet\_arrives\_ready\_to\_conquer\_earth/efovnsw](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/amou99/wp_an_alien_fleet_arrives_ready_to_conquer_earth/efovnsw)
​
| 2019-02-03T15:52:12 | 2019-02-03T07:41:37 | 41 | 18 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
"Are you sure?"
"Yes I am. I got accepted into that new University in Delhi."
"You want to go to school again?"
"Yeah, its a new field... memeology is what they are calling it. Study of internet culture and changes within it." I replied back to the black mass in a pinstripe suit. This time he looks like an old funeral home director, a man who had seen so many dead bodies that he looks more like one than living.
"It's been 50,000 years. You've learned just about everything. All the degrees from at least every school accredited, enough certifications to fund an entire country in enough fields that you could build an island and have a better GDP than any other country." Death replied. It wasn't as cold this time he was here "Why don't you just die."
"You said I couldn't. Never in the past 50,000 years have I thought I could. I want to learn everything first."
"You want to learn what comes after death?" Death asked, smiling
"I'll learn that when I know everything there is to know in life." I replied, standing up from the cafe table, my drink gone, and the flower wilting. Touching it, it unwilts slightly "I'm learning more than you could imagine."
|
Some days I question whether or not my choices - and one in particular - way, *waaay* back then were a blessing or a curse.
*Some days.*
Other days I'm a little preoccupied. Such as today, as I'm cursing my own foul luck as myself and my retinue run through the darkened tunnels of the all-but-abandoned Hive spire, chased by a horde of maniacal Chaos Cultists seeking to use us as sacrifices for their dark rituals.
It had started off like most other Tuesdays. Although now it was technically Thursday, I had to remind myself. Wake up, get ready for the day, read the reports of potential Heretical activity brewing on the Hive World of Vespax Three as collated by my faithful Savant Kal Servus. Vespax was in the Segmentum Pacificus, which was itself usually a quiet stretch of the galaxy and well and truly far away from the much hotter warzones of the galaxy. But these days anything could be possible. Especially on Vespax, which of late seemed to have no shortage of would-be Chaos Worshipers, Cultists, and other related Ne'er-to-do-Wells and Heretics. All-in-all, a typical Tuesday.
Except it was Thursday. And I was in some random stretch of tunnel, taking cover just around a corner and returning fire against the ever-advancing Cultists, trying to buy enough time for my retinue to open the sealed door ahead of us. Mabel, my Novice Enginseer, worked feverishly to placate whatever Machine Spirits lay within the arcane mechanisms of the door while Servus aided her any way he could. Sergeant Crevel, the muscle-bound Catachan and the last member of my retinue aided me, laying down covering fire opposite of me on the other side of the hall with his trusty Bolter.
The Cultists fell almost by the dozen, so lost in their madness and bloodlust that they were blind and ignorant to their own dead covering the floor, two- or even three-deep in places. They climbed and scrabbled over their own dead and dying, desperate to reach us and tear us limb from limb, Screaming their cries to their Foul God.
"Well you aren't having any of mine!" I screamed back at one Cultist, blowing the poor sap in twain at the waist with a well placed Bolter shell.
"Inquisitor, our position is becoming rapidly untenable," Crevel stated, surprisingly calm given the circumstances.
"I am quite aware of that," I shot back as I shot another Cultist between the eyes. "Mabel, *is the door open yet!?*"
"It is, Inquisitor!" She exclaimed her digital voice clear even amidst the screams and bolter fire. "I need Crevel to help open it!"
*"Go! I'll cover you!"* I shouted to the Catachan as I reloaded. He obeyed, rushing to the door to work the ancient mechanism. I paid no attention as the tide of Heretics drew ever nearer, the corpses now five deep in places and soon to be six. Their spilled blood began to pool around my feet, so much if it having been spilled.
My Bolt pistol's magazine was drained in what felt like a heartbeat. Even as I turned to join my Retinue behind the door in safety, I couldn't help but think that it was a typical Tuesday. Except that it was a Thursday now.
And I just took a Bolter round through the chest, the detonation in my chest cavity killing me.
I managed to live just long enough to shout at my retinue to slam the door closed ahead of me, even as my corpse crumpled to the ground. Huh, it's been a few centuries now, come to think of it, since someone managed to kill me. To think it was some random Chaos Cultist too... Still, something of a record I thought, as I heard the slam and locking of the door, and faded to black.
Like countless times before, I came to in the Void. And, like Countless times before, *He* was there. Here. *Somewhere.* If someone tried to personify the concept of Death, the capital-D Death, well... He would be pretty close: Black robe, skull for a face, bony hands, grasping an elegant scythe. On the other hand, tens of millennia ago I was a fan of a bloke named Terry Pratchett, and that might have shaped my perception a bit. Or maybe the old author was onto something...
[SO,] it eventually spoke, his voice reverberating through, well, *everywhere* basically. [HERE WE ARE, ONCE MORE. WHAT HAS IT BEEN, NOW...?]
"A really long goddamn time," I chucked. "It almost feels like yesterday."
[DO YOU STILL NOT HATE IT THEN?]
"The Immortality?" I shrugged. "Can't say I'm much of a fan of it, to be quite frank. I think I've told you that before. Although watching a man land on Mars was exciting." I crossed my arms. "I take that back a bit - it's had it's advantages. Tactically speaking it's always funny watching the expressions on people's faces when a dead guy stops being dead. It actually helped me get my current job, come to think of it." I elected not to dwell on just how I ended up as an Inquisitor - getting soul-flayed over and over by the Astronomicon would make anyone want to forget the experience.
Death chuckled, the sound coming off as some sort of rumbling echo. [BUT THAT ISN'T WHY YOU'VE CONTINUED TO KEEP IT? I COULD TAKE THAT CURSE FROM YOU, YOU KNOW, AS EASILY AS I GRANTED IT TO YOU.]
"While there are still Heretics left to kill? Daemons to slay and Xenos to purge? Not a chance. In all honesty, had I known what sort of cosmic horrors were out there before I you gave me this curse, I'd have probably begged for it."
Another rumbling chuckle. [AND YET YOU FIGHT AGAINST THEM. THE ENDLESS TIDE OF ENEMIES. THE INEVITABILITY. AN ADMIRABLE TRAIT OF HUMANITY, TO FIGHT AGAINST ALL ODDS SO LONG AS THERE'S A CHANCE OF SUCCESS, NO MATTER HOW SLIM.]
"To fall down, and then get back up to take another swing," I said. "But considering all the aliens, monsters and abominations out there, I'd be a fool not to. Or maybe that's just me. If all my pain and sacrifice can ensure Humanity survives for another day, I think this curse would be worth it. And anyways, I'm in the perfect place to make sure it does. 'Inquisitor' has a nice ring as a given title, If I do say so, and I can get shit done that needs to be done."
[THERE'S AN ORDINARY WORLD, SOMEHOW I HAVE TO FIND,] Death quoted. [AN ALMOST FITTING DESCRIPTION OF YOU, I THINK.]
I blinked, recalling the lyrics from eons ago. "Duran," I spoke. "Or was it two Durans? It's been a while. So, when do I get yanked back?"
[MOMENTARILY,] Death replied. [I LOOK FORWARD TO OUT NEXT CONVERSATION,] a beat, before he finished. [INQUISITOR.]
"Yeah, me too," I spoke, and everything flashed to white.
Like about a million times before, a Typical Tuesday. I stood up, giving myself a moment to get my bearings. Abandoned Hive, empty hallway, shot in the chest while heroically buying time to help my minions escape the clutches of a bunch of blood-addled Cultists, right.
Said Cultists - what was left of them, were all now huddled around the door, some feverishly hammering on the door while others screamed exultations to their God. None of them had seen me get up.
I drew my Power Sword, flicking on the crackling energy field as a grin spread across my face. "Just another Tuesday," I thought, before charging.
| 2017-11-29T08:24:55 | 2017-11-28T14:17:08 | 935 | 55 |
[WP] “Dead men tell no tales as they say, right? Well your honor, that’s just not true. As a necromancer, I literally summon my first witness to the stand. The victim!”
|
“Dead men tell no tales as they say, right? Well your honor, that’s just not true. As a necromancer, I literally summon my first witness to the stand. The victim!”
The courtroom gasped.
Obviously those in the peanut gallery watched too much CSI: Narnia and weren’t aware of courtroom procedure. While this was certainly not something I thought would happen today, it didn’t blindside me like I’m sure the prosecution wanted; I wasn’t an idiot.
Turning calmly toward the judge, I spoke in a loud and clear voice, “Your Honor, I object. All witnesses need to be deposed by both sides, and as a surprise witness, we have not had time to properly prepare our counter arguments. I request a stay until we can get everything we need for my client’s defense.”
To say the look on the prosecution’s face was miraculous would be an understatement. He was only a year out of Wizard Law School and he had the gall to think I wouldn’t know how to deal with necromancers? What an amateur.
“Motion granted,” the judge quickly agreed. “We shall reconvene in a week’s time, and counselor?” The prosecution looked up from the papers with which he was trying to conceal his quickly reddening face. His purple pointed hat was sticking out of the top, looking like a bad joke. “Do make sure to follow procedure this time around. Otherwise you’ll be held in contempt.”
BANG BANG
“Dismissed!”
Edit: Spelling error
|
“Dead men tell no tales as they say, right? Well your honor, that’s just not true! As a necromancer, I literally summon my first witness to the stand. The victim!”
Florian shrank back from his speech, sitting awkwardly against the back end of his corvette. He was a big man; always trying to be larger than life, though he rarely ever accomplished it. Now he shook all over, a sort of palsy running across him from head to toe I’d known the man ten years, and never known him to shake like this.
“What do I think?” I said. “Honestly? Too dramatic. I know you’re the lawyer here, but is that really the kind of thing someone would say in a courtroom? And beyond that, are you okay?”
“Me?” Florian said, surprised. He brushed his forehead with the back of a hand and it came back sweaty. He blinked hard, went rummaging through nearby drawers for a cloth or a towel. That got me blinking too. We were in my garage, but the garage looked different somehow. I couldn’t place it.
“Yeah, you. You’re fuckin’ tweaking.”
“Oh, I’m fine. Quite fine, promise.” He found a towel and sat back heavily against his car, wiped off enough sweat to sustain a Fremen village. “Anyway, lets get back to it. Sir, what is your name?”
“What, this again?” I said.
“Humor me.”
I humored him. “Carter Hendricks,” I said, feeling, as I always did, that it was a name more fit for a medieval peasant than a modern man. Florian nodded like it was important.
We’d played these games in the past, in that year after Florian had become a lawyer and before he’d gotten control of his anxiety. I used to sit through everything he could throw at me, pretending to be a witness, pretending to be the opposing counsel, regurgitating hundreds of lines a night, all of which he had prepared for me. Florian might look like an up-jumped bar fighter, but he was diligent as hell, excellent at his job. Or at least, I assumed so. In return, he’d been forced to sit through a thousand pitch meetings. It was an even trade.
But today was fucking weird.
“Carter, yes Carter.” Florian said, mopping his brow again. He’d worn a cheap suit, soaked through it already. “Mr. Hendricks. Mr. Hendricks, I—”
“Hang on,” I said, “you’re fucking with me though, right? This is some Halloween thing, and Eve’s gonna bust through that door any second now screaming ‘April Fools’ even though it hasn’t been funny in years and she knows I’m humoring her even harder than I’m you, and…”
I trailed off. Florian looked physically ill. He stood, then sort of fell back again, butt banging up against his corvette; he would’ve screamed at me if I’d done that. Something tickled at the edge of my consciousness but I couldn’t place it. Everything felt wrong, Florian looked very wrong, but my brain felt fuzzy somehow, my thoughts came slower than usual.
“Fuck,” I said, trying to rub a tingling sensation off the side of my head. “Were we drinking last night?”
Florian stepped forward very quickly, grabbed my attention again. “Yes, yes, drinking! My god Carter, you should have seen yourself, there’s a reason Eve doesn’t let you near the vodka anymore.”
“Vodka?” I said. He was right, Eve didn’t let me near it. There’d been a thing a few years ago. “Hold on, where’s Eve?”
The tingle in the side of my head had become a dull ache, then a sort roar inside my brain. Nothing felt right. Florian grabbed me by the chin, his big paw of a hand held me firmly focused on his eyes.
“She’s fine,” he said, in a shaky, broken tone that meant anything but. “Lets focus, okay? Mr. Hendricks, what is your relationship to the accused?”
The accused? I tried to push Florian back but my arms didn’t seem to be working. He held me trapped with one hand, not even any strain in it, and though Florian had always been strong, he wasn’t that strong.
Wait, I thought, he didn’t even look that strong now! Beneath the suit I could see the first signs of a paunch, his cheeks sagged a little, barely perceptible but still there. And then I looked past him, really looked for what felt like the first time, and I realized, *that’s his car in my garage.*
“Florian,” I said, “what’s going on?”
He pawed at his face with the towel, makeup came away, staining the white fabric. His eyes looked older, wrinkles had set in. “Florian,” I whispered, “where's Eve?”
“Mr. Hendricks,” he said, “what is your relationship to the accused?”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, wallet sized picture, and my whole body *rebelled.*
I flinched from Florian’s hand, too fast and too sudden for him to follow. I realized I was sitting, tried to stand but legs didn’t work; I went sprawling across the concrete floor, head cracking off it. I spat out a shard of tooth, watched it bounce away from me towards a large, faded reddish-brown stain.
Somehow I rolled myself over to see Florian standing above me, terror in his eyes, terror tracking down my whole body.
I looked down, saw the sheet that must have been covering me; it was tangled in my legs now.
I was a ruin. My ribcage was a staved in hole, bits of flesh hanging off here and there, all rotted. My right arm was missing entirely, my left terminated at a bony, fingerless hand. Where a stomach had been, I had a churn of maggots and a shorn off hipbone. The sheet covered everything else: not enough.
“Florian,” I gasped, “where is Eve?”
“Mr. Hendricks,” he said, “what is nature of your relationship to the accused?” He held the photo right in front of me, grabbed the back of my hairless skull, turned eyes that I was now certain were no more than pits towards him.
The photo in his hand was a red blur, an outline of a man filled in by rage and hate. I couldn’t see him at all, but I knew, knew beyond any shadow of a doubt what our relationship was.
“That’s the man who killed me,” I said.
Florian laid my head back gently, muttering an unhinged “Good, good, good, good, yes, yes it is, thank you…” and a dozen other things, over and over like a mantra.
“Where's Eve!” I shouted. “Where is she?”
I could barely turn my head enough to see the bloodstain on the concrete next to me. There was so much of it; somehow I knew it wasn’t mine, that I had not died in this room.
“I’m so sorry,” Florian whispered. Then he whispered other words, words that twisted themselves around me like a vice, words that shattered whatever of me that there was left within the bones and shredded meat. Florian crouched down next to me as my vision went dim.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I had to know what you would say before…Carter, I swear to you we’ll get revenge. I fucking swear, brother.”
He might have taken my hand, he moved but I couldn’t feel it.
“*Where is she?”* I tried to say, but my lips wouldn’t frame the words.
And then, across a distance unaccountably vast and unimaginably painful, I heard my name; whispered in the sort of tone you use with one asleep, or when you are very much in love. *“You’re back,”* Eve said.
“Follow her voice,” Florian said. “Find her again Carter, and when the time comes, I’ll find you.”
I went, drifting through worlds of inky black, following a trail of whispers.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-10-04T08:08:45 | 2021-10-04T07:12:12 | 1,090 | 134 |
[WP] In peacetime, the ruler grows their hair long. In war, they cut it short. To declare war, a persons hair is sent to the enemy. The statement carries greater weight the longer the hair; to receive long hair says you have angered one slow to anger, that you have incurred a wrath not easily woken.
|
The hair falls from my head, though I've no one to send it to. I go to war, all the same.
I wear no colorful scarves to hide my bare head. In my fierce battle, it is my banner of pride, of purpose, of eventual victory.
The first battle is already won before the final strand hits the floor. I've received the joyous news, and now I can ring the bell.
The first battle, but probably not the last. I will not go easily, for I fight with everything I am, for everyone I love.
The chemo may take my hair as it destroys my enemy, but I will stand strong. Cancer will not defeat me.
|
It’s quiet out on Heron’s Strand, though a fisherman found bodies there today. In the morning Father Carolus will give them to the lake. The archers will all take their aim. And I’ll sing a song to make a goddess cry. Play the lyre too, if she will but ask.
But for now, there is no lyre, though later I might sing. I have half a mind for a brand new song tonight, about a quiet, stately strand, the herons in the gentle surf, blood-red beaks plunged into the soaking, silken earth. If she will but ask.
Pierre does not greet me in the stairwell. To speak would be unseemly on such a night as this. He wears a long red cloak fastened at the throat with the broach I gave on his last name day, the pretty garnet ring he won in our game of cards last week. He steps aside, a single stomp to let her know I am here. His son, Grimaud, steps forward to take a tiny sip of wine from the glass I carry. I wait, admiring the boy’s flowing auburn locks. Eventually it is clear he will not die.
Despite himself, Pierre smiles at his son. Then the doors open and I step in; the soft lavender scents that help her sleep, juxtaposed against the burnt offering smells of war.
And tonight, as every night, I am taken by her beauty.
Queen Genevieve stands beside her fireplace, leaning lightly against the frescoed wall. The stars kiss her through the window, and I know that she is looking east towards Heron’s Strand where the fisherman found the bodies today, stacked like driftwood in the oncoming tide.
She’s changed already, the white nightgown with the porphyry purple stripe. She holds a wineglass which I resolve to keep a secret; her physicians say she should only drink the one.
The royal caul lies sparkling on her bedside table. Her hair hangs free.
What can I say of her hair? Once the poets named it bistre and for season after season all the ladies dyed their hair, thinking to steal a fraction of her beauty; then the color changed and we learned that beauty lies suspended in steel. That perfect silvered gray that only time can grant.
But simple colors tell you nothing of its shine. Like burnished steel or steel no longer. Not earthly, no. Drunk a spring ago, Father Carolus said that it was steel the gods used to craft their swords, and that when providence called her up, Queen Genevieve would rise to heaven with a fearsome armory.
But what are color and shine, such base liniments as luster, against her endless fall? Queen Genevieve, beautiful, leans against the frescoed wall, by starlight silver upon ageless steel, the dancing shadows of the fire playing across her bare feet, and her hair is a train across the bedroom floor. Seventy years gone, and never touched except by me. By my father. By his father before him.
I fall to my knees. A fisherman found bodies on Heron’s Strand. Tonight is too big for me.
“Rise up,” says Queen Genevieve.
And I rise. Go to her. Watch as she finishes her glass of wine and takes mine gratefully, with a smile. Watch as the moon shifts slowly through the window, until at last it seems that she is ready. That the night has come where it must always come.
“One more for old time’s sake?” she asks softly.
“My queen,” I say.
She adds a log to the fire. Does it herself. It’s a mark of pride that the servants no longer enter her rooms. She takes my hand and leads me to the bed. Unlocks the drawer in the bedside table where the royal caul sits sparkling.
And I take up her hairbrush like my father and his father before me, and I set to brushing Queen Genevieve’s hair.
It’s quiet in the royal bedroom, no sound but the crackle of the fire. Pierre stands outside next to his sixteen year old son. A youth, nothing more, and yet what will that matter in the morning? Less than nothing, like his beauty. He is the guard captain’s son after all.
Long, slow, gentle strokes. My motions are hypnotic, a pattern we’ve perfected. Queen Genevieve’s eyes are closed, but her hands always moving. Worrying at the lace edges of the silk duvet. Toying with the gemstones on her wine glass. It is possible that she will not sleep tonight, that I will brush the night away and keep her company until the morning.
I think that I would like that. It’s not a night to be alone.
“Is it true?”
The hairbrush catches. I make a small, involuntary sound.
“My queen?”
“The fisherman on Heron Strand, is it true?”
Her voice sounds small and fragile, almost lost when the fire cracks, the logs collapse.
“Yes,” I say. “It’s true.”
“Gods,” she says. Her hands moving on the duvet, the empty wineglass.
Then a cry, “Ysanne, *what will you do*?”
And in all my life, in my father’s life, in his father’s, this is the proudest moment. That the Queen—and such a queen!—should care at all what happens to the young man who brushes her hair.
“You’ve decided then?” I hazard. A breach of propriety, but an invited one I think. I hope.
The Queen reaches up and takes the brush from my shaking hands. She’s still now, utterly still. Her grip is strong. I trace my fingers down the veins carved into her hands. Royal blood flowing.
“It’s war,” she says.
Then, “I have requests.”
My breath catches. “I give my life unto your service.”
Her lips quirk; even now, so close to a smile. “Hadn’t you already?” she asks.
“Then I give it again.”
“Shall we do this on the morrow? How long does your oath last, young Brushman?”
“As long as blood runs through my veins,” I say.
And she stops. The mood changes. I think that, in all her life, there have only been these passing moments where she dared to be playful. Seventy years. The glory of her rule written in the fall of her hair upon the ground.
I take up the brush.
“I had requests,” she says.
“My Queen.”
“You will play your lyre at the service.”
“My Queen.”
“You will conduct my declaration to our enemies.”
A sudden breath. *“My Queen.”*
“When the time comes tomorrow, you will cut my hair yourself.”
*My Queen.*
“And tonight…My dear boy, tonight would you please sing?”
It’s quiet out on Heron’s Strand, though a fisherman found bodies there today. In the morning Father Carolus will give them to the lake. The archers will all take their aim. And I’ll sing a song to make a goddess cry. I’ll play the lyre too.
And I’ll cry like a baby when I her cut hair; propriety can go to hell.
And tonight, tomorrow, for every night until her hair grows back, I’ll sing my Queen a song to sleep. Of herons in the gentle surf, blood-red beaks plunging into the soaking, silken earth. A place where boys in silent stairwells do not risk death to slake a thirst, and where men like me can admire beauty, by starlight or in fire’s shadows, without morning to hurl us down to earth.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2022-04-17T22:29:57 | 2022-04-17T21:53:44 | 240 | 156 |
[WP] You are born into a wandering clan where everyone is gifted power over one of the four elements upon reaching adulthood. While the chief grants your sibling the element of fire, in a twist you are granted the element of surprise.
|
"Surprise motherfucker!" I shouted as I knocked the guard out.
Obviously at this point the other guards came rushing out of the building. Quickly I was surrounded by ten spears aimed right at me.
"Quick look behind you!" I said, the guards merely laughed at me, until of course they spotted the figures surrounding them. Snap. Snap. Snap. One by one they fell dead.
"Why does nobody ever listen to me." I asked with a frown stepping over the fallen guards. All I received where looks of disgust from my fellow clansmen.
The operation was a successful, a repeat of the earlier tactic and she had taken out all the guards. Which meant it was time for me to do my thing.
Finding the requisite bedroom. I sneaked and stood over the lord of the castle. He was fat. As most Lords tended to be. Which made my task easier.
Punching him in the throat was a little cruel but as my power told me, surprises aren't all that pleasant.
"Hello little lordling." I said to the wheezing face "This is for believing you have power over the clan."
The beating was quick and efficient. By the end, the lordling was a bleeding mess.
"Next time you overstep yourself little lordling, the clan might decided to send some of the more...permanent members."
I smiled cruelly and walked out of the room. Another task complete. I wasn't sent here to hurt the lord. That was never my job, violence was best suited to other clansmen. I was merely the unpleasant surprise that awaited those foolish enough to cheat the clan.
I was punishment. And if my power is suited to one thing, it's punishment. Because nobody expects the inquisition.
|
Water. Earth. Fire. Air. My grandmother used to tell me stories about the olden days, a time of peace when the Pathfinder kept the balance between the four elemental tribes—the Fire Tribe perched atop the molten volcanoes, the Water Dynasty by the river deltas, the Earth Kingdom in the great Stone Plains, and the Air Clan in their great skyward city. Legend had it that the Pathfinder was a being of immense power yet held no mastery over any of the elements. Through his power, three centuries worth of peace lasted throughout our world. And then he died, but this time, nobody came to replace him.
For over twenty years the Fire Tribe waited for his return. We waited through the tsunamis launched by the Water Tribe to drown out our volcanoes. We waited through the collapse of the Air Clan’s great floating city by the advanced weaponry of the Earthen Kingdom. We waited through the hurricanes and typhoons launched by the Air Tribe in a retaliation.
But no Pathfinder ever came.
Now, with the last of our ashen grounds, we prepare for war. A war to leave our world in char and to incinerate those who have invaded our sacred molten lands.
***
Serra’s heart matched the thumping war drums. Her grandmother hated that name—war drums. These were the sacred instruments of the Fire God. Their meaning surpassed any mortal conflict. But with half the tribal grounds already frozen in ice, the tribe had abandoned their time-honored traditions in favor of a more practical approach.
Everybody was now given mastery over fire, not just the soldiers. Housewives, doctors, teachers; one day, they would all take up arms and march to reclaim their lands.
That is… unless Serra took back the lands first. The thought brought a smile to her lips, but a fast fading one. The ceremony was starting. She nibbled on her bottom lip. A great flame sat in the middle of a circle of boys and girls on the cusp of adulthood. All were already 15 to 16 years of age.
Slowly, the fire expanded, nipping at their toes. Serra swallowed.
“I bet you’re the C’nuthu,” Minx muttered under his breath, a lopsided grin on his lips.
The last C'nuthu to appear was centuries ago. They were Fire Tribesmen that the Fire God rejected and burned in his flames.
Serra returned him a forced smile. “You better hope so. You’ll need the handicap for the training grounds.”
“Hand-to-hand combat is meaningless with magic.”
“Okay Mr. 23.” 23 times that he had challenged her in the training grounds and 23 times he had lost. She was the strongest of her class to such a margin that nobody dared to challenge her. Except Minx.
“21,” Minx corrected her and closed his eyes. “I’ll see you on the other side, Serra.”
The flames had reached their feet, engulfing them in a warm glow. Everyone around her had their eyes closed in a look of serenity as they let in the magic of their Fire God. Serra did the same, but she squeezed her eyes. The flames were biting, scorching her skin.
She clenched her teeth, if she could, she would’ve ground them to dust. Her skin sizzled. This certainly didn't feel like acceptance.
*No, I’m no C'nuthu!*
A low squeal escaped her throat as the fire made its way up her legs. She coughed out a cry. Tears formed beneath her eyelids and she dug her fingernails into her palms.
“Serra!” It was Minx’s voice. And then she felt his hands, grabbing her beneath her arms and dragging her away from their Fire God.
“No,” she cried and fought against his grip.
The C'nuthu was the embodiment of heresy itself, an embarrassment to the tribe. Serra had spent years training, learning, fighting. She had surpassed even her instructors in her devotion to her tribe. She was going to be the one to save them all.
She opened her eyes and caught the wide-eyed stares of her classmates, her tribesmen, and even her parents. Her feet glowed red with burns.
***
Serra stared at her bandaged feet as she sat up on the dirt floor of a makeshift medical tent. That's what it meant to be C'nuthu, the stone hospitals were reserved for the tribe, something she was no longer a part of. Through the thin canvas of the tent came the muffled words of her grandmother. Yet, no matter how Serra strained her ears, she could not make out those words or tell who her grandmother was talking to.
At last, the conversation ended. The tent flap opened.
"Grandma," Serra squeaked with tears in her eyes. All those years her grandma had taken care of her and this is how she returned the favor.
The village chief, Gorra, walked in. Once Gorra was the strongest of the Fire Tribe's soldiers. Now, he only had his scars to remind him of those days. A deep gouge that split his face diagonally; three claw marks down his chest from battle with the Water Dynasty's white bears; and a missing finger in his left hand.
Serra perked up and wiped her eyes. "Elder Gorra," she said. "My apologies."
Behind the village chief came her grandmother. Serra offered her grandma a small smile, but received only a clenched jaws and narrowed eyes.
"Serra," Gorra said with a rumbling voice. "You are the C'nuthu."
Serra's smile dropped. She nodded. Even a child knew the fate of C'nuthu--to wander the world, never to rejoin the Fire Tribe.
"I have told you the stories of the Pathfinder," her grandmother said, a quiver in her words. "Do you remember them?"
"Yes, grandma." Serra furrowed her brow, wondering why that, of all things, would be the topic of conversation.
"The tradition of the C'nuthu dates back far beyond my birth to the days of the Fire Tribe's founding," the village elder said. "It is the one thing we all share. Be us Fire Tribe, Water Dynasty, Earth Kingdom, or Air Clan. Though our names differ, we all have a legend of the C'nuthu."
Serra stared. This was the first she was hearing of this.
"My Fire," he grandmother said, tears swelling her eyes. "The C'nuthu, by the Air Clan, is called the Pathfinder."
Serra's breath caught and her lips curled up into a open-mouthed laugh. The chuckle caught in her throat. Neither the village elder nor her grandmother smiled back.
"You can't be serious," she said.
"The Pathfinder is not a power to belong to any tribe," Gorra said. "So you will be banished, your name forgotten, and your memory tarnished. When you return, you will do so as the Pathfinder to save our world."
"No," Serra muttered, shaking her head. She could care less about the world. All she wanted was to save her own tribe. "There's a mistake. I don't have any power, I don't even have fire."
"The power of the C'nuthu goes far beyond any flame. It is the power to rise where others fall for no reason except that you are the C'nuthu. If I were to guess"--a small smile split his lips--"it is the power of luck. Journey to the rubble of the Air Clan's crashed city. There, you will learn about yourself and hopefully, what you must do to restore balance to our world."
"But that's in Earth Kingdom!"
"And not even the power of the entire Fire Tribe can penetrate their forces, but you are C'nuthu. Serra, your destiny is your own, your time, your's to spend how you wish. But our tribe is fighting a losing war. We do not have the numbers of the Water Dynasties, the weapons of the Earth Kingdom, or the power of the Air Clan. If you truly wish to save the Fire Tribe, you must save the world as well."
"I'm so sorry," her grandmother muttered, tears dripping down her cheeks.
*No, that's my line grandma.* But Serra could not push the words out of her throat. Her cheeks had drained of blood and all she could return them was a gaping stare.
"We will have our best healer come to heal you and grant you supplies for the journey," the village elder said as he turned to leave. "I pray for your haste, for the sake of the Fire Tribe. Goodbye, C'nuthu, no, Pathfinder."
Her grandmother gave her one last teary look before turning and following the village elder out, leaving only Serra and her knotted stomach as she fought down the bile rising up her throat.
---
| 2017-05-01T10:55:17 | 2017-05-01T09:03:34 | 494 | 120 |
[WP] She's funny, she's beautiful, and she's into you. She'd be perfect except for one tiny detail: The snakes in her hair despise you.
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"Im telling you man all things considered...she might be the one." I was telling my buddy Mitch over a beer before my girlfriend arrived. Mitch just looks at me slack jawed. "Dude do you realize how crazy you sound...you're saying that MEDUSA the monster woman of ANCIENT GREEK myth is your girlfriend." I just nod my head and chuckle as I hand him a pair of sunglasses even though we're in my garage. Mitch thankfully takes me seriously and puts on the eye protection right before she arrives.
"Sugar Bear im here!!!!" Medusa announces moments later as she saunters in swaying her hips wearing a red crop top and Daisy Duke booty shorts . The little golden snakes that form her "hair" immediately start to hiss at me as she closes the gap and gives me a kiss. Before I can pull away though and introduce her to Mitch ten of them pepper my face with harmless little bites slightly sullying the moment. Yeah she's into me...her hair not so much. "Girls.... behave" Medusa grouses slapping her own head trying to get the snakes to make nice.
Mitch for his part just wordlessly extends his hand to greet her. "Hey you must be Mitch, I'm Medusa." She says bubbly and excited as she ignores his hand and goes in for a hug. The same ten snakes that bit me rub themselves up against Mitch's face reiterating their negative opinion of me. For me it's nothing new I just laugh as my buddy tries to steady himself on his barstool, while I go to grab my girlfriend a glass and open a bottle of wine. Mitch still visibly shell-shocked starts pulling off his shades..."PLEASE KEEP THEM ON!!" Medusa and I both shout at which point he pushed them back up.
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I met Medusa while hiking through the Shenandoah National Park. She was standing perfectly still, staring at a roaring waterfall, and at first I thought she was just another statue.
The snakes in her hair hissed. Clearly they were bored. One of them softly bit her scalp and drops of venomous saliva dripped down the back of her head. "Q-Quiet down!" she cried. "It's not often we go sightseeing, is it? Look at the cascading water. Up and down. I told you, didn't I? We'll look at it together and then we'll turn our heads together and an amazing thing will happen, just you wait."
I nearly choked on my granola bar when she turned around. I coughed and it tasted of maple syrup and cranberries. Particles flew towards her—granola aerosol—and her hair slithered as a beam of sunlight hit her face in just the right way.
"Heh heh!" she said. "Up and down! See? The man's going up and down! But he's standing still! That's the waterfall, the waterfall effect, it's an optical illusion." Medusa clapped her hands and she looked at me, bobbing her head along with her snakes, before she abruptly froze like a deer.
I held up a hand, coughing peanut butter clouds. "Sorry ... Got stuck in my throat. Didn't mean to scare you there. Lovely hair you've got. All loopy and serpentine."
Medusa stood still and I wondered if she really did turn into a statue, like those lifelike ones I'd seen along the way. I figured it was an art installation, and I thought it was really clever. Though it was also a bit annoying. They all looked like tourists, standing in the middle of the trail. The attention to detail was nothing short of impressive, and it was cool how the artist had just left them out in nature. It was a powerful statement. Inside a gallery you'd be too focused on how they were works of art and you'd be thinking of clever things to say, but out in nature they were just statues and it was, like I said, a powerful statement. And I didn't have to think any deeper than that. It was not like anyone was going to ask me about them. So it was fine for me to just think of them like that. A powerful statement. How so? I don't know. Don't care.
"Y-You're not allergic to peanut butter, are you?"
The thought struck me like a match, ignited and so forth, and I felt bad because I had just blasted this poor woman with a cloud that might as well have been Agent Orange if she was allergic. What if she had an anaphylactic shock? That was how my bus driver in primary school went. A wasp rested on his nose for a few seconds and after that it was all hellfire and fury and the man turned blue, like his uniform, and the day after the teacher repeated the term *anaphylactic shock* over and over and she told us, though I think we were too young to be told a thing like that, that you can use an Epi-Pen to stop the reaction but it was only useful for saving time and if you didn't get the person to a hospital they'd still die. She didn't work there for long after that day.
"No," she said. "I'm not allergic. Oh. You've stopped going up and down. Stopped waterfalling, I mean. I was staring at that," she said and she pointed over at the raging water with an awkward smile on her lips. "Y-You should try it. It's fun."
The snakes in her hair kept hissing, kept spitting in my direction. "I have another granola bar," I said. If you want one. It's got cherries in it. It's the most expensive one, but you can have it if you'd like."
I hoped she'd decline, because I'd really looked forward to that one.
"Oh ..." she said. "No, that's fine. You are very handsome, you know." She laughed but it didn't sound right. "Sorry. I'm a bit rusty."
There was a bit of a silence. Couldn't be complete silence, with the waterfall and the hissing snakes and whatnot. I cleared my throat. "So, did you see the art installation? All those statues? I thought it was a powerful statement."
Her cheeks turned red as the midnight sun. "You saw the statues?"
"Yeah. As a statement, you know, I thought it was powerful." I nodded my head to myself, hoping she wouldn't ask me to elaborate.
Even the snakes in her hair seemed to go shy all of a sudden. And that was when it occurred to me. How could I have been so blind? This woman had snakes in her hair. The statues. It all made sense. "You're an artist!" I cried.
Wasn't it Salvador Dalì who'd gone for walks with a fish on a leash through the streets of Paris? Yeah. Artists were like that. Eccentric. They took their fish for walks and they had snakes for hair.
Medusa rubbed the back of her head and she laughed like a schoolgirl. "Well!" she said. "I don't really think of myself as an artist, but I guess ... I guess maybe I am!"
The water sprayed behind her, like the piss of a god, and she looked so beautiful standing there. I thought it would be nice to have some sort of romantic moment, but all I could think of was that scene in Lady and the Tramp, the spaghetti canoodling one, and all I had was my cherry granola bar. I unwrapped it and I put it between my lips and I walked towards her, towards the pretty artist by the waterfall. "Mmph?" I asked her.
"Oh!" she said. "You want me to bite it? I see. I'm a little rusty, forgive me. Come closer."
I did as she said, holding the bar between my pursed lips like a cigar, and I grabbed her hands and she opened her mouth and together we munched on the granola bar. It was chewy, so it took some time before our lips touched. But when they did, it was all cherry. Medusa had a wonderful chocolate mustache and she kissed me.
I closed my eyes. What a day! I got to see a beautiful Shenandoah waterfall and I met a beautiful statue artist and we shared a romantic moment together. That was when I opened my eyes to see the face of a snake. It hissed. Then it chomped down on my nose.
"No!" cried Medusa. "The first man not to turn to stone, and you bite him? Why! I love him! I think I love him."
It was nice of her to say that, I thought. That she loved me. I supposed I loved her too. But it was possible that my heart was racing mostly due to the venom coursing through my veins and soon my body turned stiff and cold and I looked up to see Medusa Williams crying. She still had her chocolate mustache, and she was crying.
She tugged at her snake hair. "Look what you've done!" she said.
I motioned towards my bag. There was an Epi-Pen in there and though I knew I'd still need medical assistance, I still wanted to live for at least a few moments more. Perhaps some med students were trailing around, checking out the cool stone statue art. Medical students did things like that. They were clever. They went for hikes and they checked out art. At least I told myself that over and over.
"Look at the waterfall," said Medusa. "They say if you die looking at a waterfall you'll go somewhere nice."
I kept motioning towards my bag. "Mmff," I said, hoping she'd understand. "MMFfsff."
The snakes in her hair hissed, all excited. Medusa Williams wiped off her chocolate mustache and she sighed deeply before turning around. She left me.
Her heart was just as cold as those of the statues, I thought. The snakes jeered at me from the back of Medusa's head and I felt that was a bit much. Here I am, dying, and a bunch of snakes are mocking me. You don't want to have that happen.
I tried looking at the waterfall, but I couldn't really move and I got water in my eyes. Everything became a blur all of a sudden. The taste of cherry lingered in my throat.
I stared at the waterfall and it went all up and down, up and down. It was just like she said. It was a blur of a cascade, a horizontal non-stop fall, and it just kept going.
It was a powerful statement, I thought.
A powerful statement.
| 2022-09-18T09:36:59 | 2022-09-18T09:08:05 | 145 | 80 |
[WP]Humans are reverse Kryptonians. They are weak on their home planet but strong everywhere else. No one knew this until Earth was attacked and humanity was taken off of earth to be enslaved.
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Flangmar: “Zlorb, run! Those humans that we captured became stronger on our planet than on theirs! Sort of like a reverse Superman thing! Get out of here fast!”
Zlorb: “Wait a sec. Isn’t that just regular Superman? Isn’t he an alien that got stronger because of being on earth instead of krypton?”
Flangmar: “Yeah, I guess it is?! You’re missing the point though. They’ve broken their chains and are flying over here now!”
Zlorb: “A reverse Superman means they’d get weaker when they get here...”
Flangmar: “Space Jesus Christ, dude. Just kill me now.”
Scene
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The labor camp was surrounded by fetid, snake infested water on three sides and fronted by a sort of organic, vine based barbed wire that twitched and spat whenever the humans got near it. On each of the camp’s four corners the vines twisted around the large bole of a tree, twining about itself and retracting its thorns to form the rough shape of a ladder which the nimble little aliens scurried up. The strange bipedal rat-men kept watch from those heights with death-wands and stun sticks, and the humans were long past testing the perimeter.
They’d realized they didn’t have to.
On a dimly lit by the faint conjunction of the world’s two moons, Eliza worked the night shift in the trenches and waited nervously for God’s Eye to rise. As she worked she hummed, both inside and out, and the others in her trench picked up the tune as they tossed crystals into the collections buckets rimming either side. Each of them waited for the appointed moment. The moment Eliza would hear and transmit to them with a rising, striving climax in her song.
She could feel the other leaders doing the same in their own trenches, and above them all she feel Merrick’s consciousness soaring through the night sky from the cover of his sleeping pallet. He too was waiting for the Eye to rise, though alone them, his gift was strong enough not to require it.
“Psst, ‘Liza,” Aisha called from a few paces down the trench. Liza caught the younger girl’s eye and gestured for the other workers to continue the song. They knew it as well as she did, and her part only really mattered at the end. Aisha scuttled over, glancing out at the sentry towers. “You really think this can work?”
“Yeah, if you don’t spook anyone. Cut it out!” Eliza hissed.
“Sorry, sorry! It’s just…I’m scared.”
“We’re all scared. Scared is human, focus on that. For the first time since They came, that’s something to be proud of.”
Aisha took a deep breath, nodded once and began to swing her pick. She had every right to be scared. Aisha was the newest person in the whole camp, picked off the Earth Preserve weeks ago and dumped onto a labor world like the rest for reasons beyond anyone’s understanding. She was only sixteen.
Not that Eliza was much older, but three years of hard labor did something to a person.
On the horizon, the first, faint notes of purple hued light crept in.
Eliza leaned over, pulling Aisha into a quick one armed embrace and kissing her filthy forehead. “When the time comes, stay behind me,” she said. Aisha nodded gratefully.
For the next several minutes life was measure by swings of a pickaxes and the dull reverberation of alien steel as it sunk into alien crystal. Once, Eliza’s pick went too deep, puncturing one of the crystals and causing a small gas hemorrhage that brought an overseer running and screeching. For a moment, she thought doomed them before anything had happened. The rat stabilized it though and only eyed her angrily, marking her name down on the small ledger he carried, most likely for a beating later. One way or another, there would be no later.
Merrick’s consciousness rose again, pulling at Eliza’s mind. Through him she could feel the other team leaders, could sense Otto and Amit and Mei’s thoughts. They passed little encouragements back and forth, snippets of the songs each of them hummed in their trenches. Then Merrick’s internal voice overrode all of them.
“It is time.”
Eliza’s song changed. Her phrases crept upwards, repeating and transposing as she built towards a quietly hummed climax. The others all caught it, Aisha stiffened but said nothing, and when she reached it, singing the last note in a high, soft soprano, the younger girl released her tension. She shed a single tear, squared her shoulders, and swung her pick again. “Good girl,” Eliza thought.
A beat passed. Then four. Then Eight. And then God’s Eye rose.
The world’s third moon defied classification. It was massive, though that was its most distinctive feature. It was pockmarked and battle scarred like moons the galaxy over. It was, for whatever, the bearer of an ethereal purple light that swept over the planet in a wave, and the wave passed, they changed.
High on Eliza’s forehead an intense, spiritual heat burned. She looked Aisha and saw it was the same for her, the same for everyone in their trench as it had been every time God’s Eye rose. The aliens couldn’t seem to see it. They’d feel it though.
An explosion roared out from the camp’s center as Merrick detonated the crystal encased gasses in Warehouse 4. More aliens screeched, scurrying up from their little holes in the ground, pointing and screeching and pointing again from the towers and the barbed wire vines writhed in sympathy with their masters’ fury.
And then Merrick rose, really rose, flying high above the camp.
Eliza’s team boiled up, out the trench. They grabbed crystals with minds and hurled them against the nearest tower and guard burrows, igniting the gas within with the sparks of their souls. They swung pickaxes with calloused hands long used to their weight, and as they upon the rats, gliding through the air with preternatural speed, their strikes found their marks.
Some of the rats had time to fire back. One such shot, the red glow of a death-wand, struck Aisha. Eliza pushed it out of her mind and continued on.
Sirens blared now. At the landing pad on the camp’s edge the two patrol skimmers soared into the air, circling back towards the human revolt. Eliza wondered what they made of it from the supposed safety of their cockpits as explosions and chaos racked the camp. God’s Eye was high in the sky now, and Eliza’s third eye burned fiercely. She and other team leaders leapt, soaring up after Merrick as he went to meet the skimmers.
Afterward in the wreckage of the camp, they counted their dead. 112, Aisha among them, of the 672 enslaved humans at Labor Camp 1. Alien casualties were complete. God’s Eye was sinking beneath horizon by that point, not to rise again for three nights. It would be a dangerous time.
“Merrick,” Eliza called when he chanced to walk by. “Did the other camps rise? Can you hear their leaders?”
“All rose,” Merrick said, “though I cannot hear some. Several camps have lost their leaders.”
“What now?” Eliza asked.
“We head for the hills,” Merrick said.
He turned from her, projecting his voice to the camp as a whole. Even without the purple moon, his third eye smiled glowed on his forehead. “Grab as many death-wands as can and all the provisions! We reach the hills by nightfall!”
Eliza shivered despite the fierce heat of their prison world. “Can we do this?” she asked.
Merrick shrugged. “We couldn’t do anything else.”
He was right.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-05-18T07:16:09 | 2021-05-18T05:25:46 | 486 | 179 |
[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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Buses. I see it every day. Picturing it in my head. Why did I wish that? Why was I so vague? Why did it have to come true?!
I'm sitting here, paranoid, in my twelfth floor apartment as far away from the window as I can. My leg wrapped in plaster from the last time and the wound on my shoulder still seeping from where the infection hit from the trip back from the hospital. I've lost count now. I am 30 years old now and the number must be in the tens of thousands, I stopped counting about 12 years ago. Sometimes they are small, insignificant. Other times I am out of action for weeks. Nobody believes me. Nowhere is safe.
It was spawned by envy I think, I was just not as good as Jason, not at anything the popular kids liked anyway. If only they liked reading, or drawing?! I was top in the class for Mathematics and Sciences, but this does not make you popular at such a tender young age. The last straw came at a P.E. lesson in school, we were to play football and as usual the teacher lazily chose Captains (Jason was one) and they then set about choosing the bestest, most popularest, team as they could. I was not the worst there, far from it, but I was always one of the last to be picked. I like to think it was because I wasn't interested in playing as opposed to not being liked.
Last but one this time. Things are looking up. Though I am not on Jason's team.
I was in goal, the far end of the pitch alongside the main road.
As with every school football game there were plenty of goals, nobody concentrating and very little teamwork. Before half time were actually winning 12 - 8 and I had saved the last 3 of Jason's attempts on goal to rapturous applause of the 3 spectators. 1 of which was unwell and the other two had forgotten their kit. Jason was getting unnerved by my sudden uprising in goal keeping ability so he started using a child's equivalent of psychological warfare.
"Your Mum is a butt!" He shouted as he ran toward my goal with the ball. (We were only 11, and this was the 90's without decent internet to learn proper insults)
This obviously riled me beyond belief.
His shot scored and I gestured to the ball over the other side of the road for him to get it as I was too angry to say anything. In my head I thought to myself 'I wish I was better than him at everything he did'.
That was when a bus hit him on the pavement.
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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.
| 2015-03-07T03:10:59 | 2015-03-07T00:58:07 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
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186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
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Mark leaned onto the counter trying to get a better look at the demon's computer screen. "It's gotta be wrong! I didn't do anything that bad!"
The demon pushed her glasses up her nose. "It's never wrong. That's the number it figured out. That's the time you'll spend in hell. Next please!" She stamped a document.
Mark put his arms straight out. "No. I'm not done!"
"Come on buddy, some of us don't have to spend all eternity here.", blurted another soul in line. The demoness sneered up at him.
"I suppose I can get a technician to look at it. But it won't do you any good. It's never wrong." The demon thumbed through a pile of documents labeled "Time Severed". "Keezazakul, this gentleman would like a technician to verify the results of his sentence. Can you get someone from AkashikSoft over here to tell him what we already know?"
Instantly, a small blue demon appeared in a puff of smoke. The stench was terrible, and the souls in line began coughing and gagging. Mark's eyes began to water. He plugged his nose.
"Got a service request. What seems to be the issue?" The small blue demon scanned his clipboard.
The demoness at the desk gestured towards Mark. "This gentleman thinks his sentence calculation is incorrect and would like you to verify it."
Mark stood up straight and sputtered, "If it's not too much trouble, sir. It's just I didn't..."
The small blue demon leaned into the computer and started typing at an incredible velocity. "The software is never wrong, sir. The calculations performed are as infalible as, well, as Go...oh." He stopped talking and stared intently at the screen. "What's this?"
Mark leaned to see what the demon was looking at. His heart leaped with hope. "What is it? Did you find something?"
The demon frowned and tilted the monitor out of Mark's view. "Hmmmm. This isn't right. This isn't right at all."
Mark jumped and pointed at the demoness. "Hah! I told you!" She sneered and rolled her eyes to the computer. The little blue demon continued his analyzation of the software, while adding the occasional, "My my my", or "This can't be right at all." Finally, after what seemed like hours, to Mark at least, the blue demon stepped away from the computer, folded his arms and confidently declared, "It's screwed."
"Come again?", the demoness said.
"Yeah. There's some errant code in there that is totally messing with the counts. I don't know if some bad code got merged in or what, but we've gotta roll back."
Mark smiled and looked back and forth from the demoness to his new hero, the blue demon technician. "Yeah! Do that! Rollback!"
The demoness rolled her eyes. "How long will that take?"
Mark started to do a little dance.
"I dunno. We gotta get it signed off, the new code needs to be peer reviewed. A whole bunch of things have to happen first. We're looking at...6..maybe 7 years."
Mark stopped dancing. "Wait. Did you say years?"
"Hell years. Not Earth years." The blue demon tapped on a device that looked surprisingly like an iPhone.
"How long is that?", Mark asked.
"Approximately 1.57 Earth years. Except every 6th year. Then you add an additional 2 thirds." The blue demon added as he continued to text.
Mark's face contorted. "What? So what year are we on? How long is this gonna take? What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
The demoness slapped a form and a pen onto the counter in front of Mark. "You'll need to make an official declaration of disagreement. Please fill out this form and return it to me when you're done. Please make sure to fill out both sides."
Mark reluctantly grabbed the pen and the form and started scanning over it. "Known allergies? What does that have to do with..."
The demoness interrupted him. "Next! Please, sir. You may take a seat over there."
Mark slowly walked across the room and found his way to a chair. "When was the last time you ate at Golden Corral?" He shook his head and attempted to scribble in the answer. The pen made one solid line and then sputtered out. "Goddamn it." Mark scribbled hard on the top of the page until ink started flowing again. "How many times have you argued with authority figures? Please be accurate to within a factor of 1. What?"
Mark started to write. "Neve" The pen burst. Ink was suddenly everywhere. "Oh! Come on!" Mark looked at his hands which were now covered in ink. The document was covered in ink. Everything within a short radius of Mark was now covered in ink.
"Excuse me." Mark said in the direction of the demoness. "Excuse me!" He said it louder. "Um, your pen exploded on me."
The demoness paused for a moment and looked at him over the top of her glasses. "Welcome to Hell, sir."
The small blue demon suddenly looked up from his texting. "Hold up! We don't have to redeploy. Gazul says all we have to do is restart the system and that should fix it."
"Oh thank God!" Mark sighed. Around the room, thirty or so demons hissed. He shrank into his chair.
"Ok. That should do it." The blue demon clicked on a few keys and then motioned to the demoness. "You'll need to log in again. I don't have your credentials."
The demoness clicked away at some keys and then pointed to Mark. "Sir, please come here. The system has been fixed."
"Hey! I was next!" the woman at the front of the line blurted.
"Shut-up!" the demoness yelled. She stretched a smile across her toothy face and turned towards Mark. "Now, let's see."
Mark rubbed his neck in nervousness. "I swear I wasn't that bad a of a person. I'm not even sure why I'm in Hell. I really thought that..."
"Do you want your corrected results, or not?" The demoness sneered.
"Uh. Yes. Uh. Yes please. Mam." Mark whispered to himself, "Please be less than five. Please be less than five."
"It's four..."
"YES!" Mark shot his hands up and fell to his knees. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
"Hundred thousand, nine-hundred and seventy-six years. Hell years, of course."
Marks arms fell to his sides. His face lost all expression. "But...how?"
"Welcome to Hell, sir! NEXT!"
| 2018-09-26T07:41:09 | 2018-09-26T07:30:32 | 1,768 | 68 |
[WP] A mysterious entity decides to bring peace and equality to humanity by force. The world is informed that in two weeks everybody over the age of ten will have their conscience transferred to another random human body anywhere in the world. This shuffle will then repeat every 24 hours.
How will people prepare? How is life just after the fist shuffle? after a month? after a year?
|
The world was stunned that day. Nobody could sleep, of course. We didn't know if it was true or not, but the alien... thing was convincing. I held my girlfriend tight as the time arrived. We'd arranged to get in touch by email after the switch. We'd still have our email passwords, after all. We let my dog curl up with us. Hopefully the next me would take care of him. I shut my eyes as the world counted down.
Two - One - Zero
I opened my eyes. Nothing had happened! We were both sitting there, just as before. I looked through my own memories. Yesterday I walked the dog... yep, there he is, right in his kennel where I left him. Was it some sort of trick? Why would it lie about something like this? I, along with the rest of the world, gave a great shrug. I kissed my boyfriend goodnight, and got ready for bed. Maybe the alien just didn't know what it was doing.
|
Giant red floating numbers appear on my eyelids at noon, and decrease from ten to one. The alien said the first jump would be easy. I don’t think any jump would be easy. I’m a towering male body builder. The odds of me getting someone whose better physically fit than me are basically zero. I had called my girlfriend earlier, and we had agree to skype as soon as the switch is made. The alien had instructed everyone to be seated for the change, and I saw several rebellious coworkers forced into sitting positions. Good, at least I won’t find myself on a tight rope or barreling down the highway at 90 miles an hour
2….1… I’m at an office, I’m sitting in a cubicle with a computer on in front of me. There’s a word document open, and my hands are on the keyboard. My vision looks dirty, and there’s something on my face. I reach up and touch my face, glasses. I notice there is a periodic table of elements on the side of my cube, and to my utter amazement I recognize most of the elements. Wow! I must be smart! I found it reassuring to know that you also got the latent knowledge of whoever I was transported to.
I take a look at what I’m writing, and see instructions. ‘You are a research associate at a well known lab. Your job is to perform column chromatography to purify proteins. Today you are running an experiment on ion exchange chromatography to investigate the possibility of a negative capture of the remaining contaminants.
Hmmm, a negative capture, it made sense. The protein was over 90% purity, so some polishing should be all that’s necessary, and we’ve had good yields with ion exchange in the past. I was smart! This was cool. I see he’s got another word file open. I tab over to it to find the printed instructions for what I was to do. I scroll through and notice it’s just like yesterday’s, but we’re investigating a higher salt concentration in the wash step. Was this what science people did all day? Think in really big words that not many people understood, I could get used to this.
Then I remember my girlfriend and open Skype.
-At work and need to go to meeting, will finish later.-
Edit: on second thought i think i shall leave it as is. it appears people were not expecting a positive take on this. I guess i should be worried im a little too ready to accept our alien overlord.
Edit 2: i can't resist somebody requesting more. Thanks guys! Here you go.
“Hey babe.” A female park ranger on the other end says. There’s a forest behind her. I’m lucky she ended up in a park ranger with a good cell phone plan. “Where are you?” She asks. I can clearly see the sign for the park behind her. It isn’t that far from where I lived before the switch
It’s a good question, I check my surroundings. There aren’t any windows. I consider asking someone, but they’re probably just as confused as me. I look back at my computer screen and my new science brain suggests using the internet. A quick google search later I have the answer.
“I’m only about thirty miles south of you.” I feel an itching sensation in my head. What is that? Am I sick? The itching directs me to some paperwork nearby. Oh, it’s my work ethic telling me to get going.
“I’m in a Biology lab sweetie, and I need to get back to work. There’s science to do!” She smiles.
“Okay babe, call me again tonight, and we’ll recap the day.”
“K, ttyl sweetie.” I say. She says goodbye, and I grab the paperwork to head into the lab.
It’s my first time working in an actual lab, or even seeing one. It looks kind of boring. Most of the equipment looks like it belongs in a kitchen, until my science brain shows me how things are linked. This ordinary looking plastic bag holds a solution that has been carefully refined over years. It is used in conjunction with the sand looking substance to pull out a protein from a blend of bacteria. That protein is then used to combat deadly flesh eating bacteria.
I marvel at the intricacies within the brain I’m occupying. It’s so incredibly interconnected. Atomic structures reveal truths about large macromolecules. The large macromolecules in turn perform precise actions dictated by thermodynamic equations. Those thermodynamic equations also apply to the function of the macromolecules, and the macromolecules are impossibly numerous, and all affect each other. This science brain studied a great deal about channel proteins in his graduate school, and I spend an hour just tracing the pathway of the protein and how it interacts with the other proteins.
I leave the day lost in thought, and instinctively drive to my host’s rather nice house. I immediately boot up skype, where my girl tells me about her day.
“It was a blessing and a curse.” She tells me. “On the one hand this body isn’t as good as the one I have.” My girl is/was a model. “But there’s also less need for one. There aren’t many people out here, and the few that come by aren’t interested in my looks. They value the knowledge I have, and we bond over the shared experience of loving nature. Speaking of nature, there’s so much of it here! I spent half the day walking in silence, just listening to the sounds of wind, water, and animals. I’m used to the hustle and bustle of modeling, and this is so serene.” I’m happy for her, and share my day. All in all, it’s a strange experience, but the new way we both have begun to look at the world has made us both happier and more well rounded people.
“I want to thank the owner of this body.” I tell my girl. “But I can’t think of how. The odds of me meeting him again are basically zero.”
“Do what I’m going to do.” My girl says. “Help out their body. Go for a jog or do some workout. Eat healthy, and then leave a note for the next person to help them take care of the body.”
“But what good will that do if he’s never going to get this body back?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Maybe he’ll never know. Maybe he’ll get the body back, but at the very least you’ll know that you’ve passed on the positive experience to someone else.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll do that.” I say, and I do, going for an extra bracing run, and before I go to bed I use the smart guy’s phone to send him an email that will arrive at 12:01 tomorrow, leaving instructions and information for the next person.
Over the coming months I shift many times. The shifts become increasingly varied, sending me further and further away, to more and more different people. I get to experience other languages, much younger bodies, and much older bodies. I get to be an artist, a politician, a lawyer, a plumber, a doctor, a farmer, and many other jobs. Each job teaches me something different, and I honor their gift with one of my own.
Mostly people do the same things. They either leave strong memories with information, or written messages close to hand. Every day at noon there’s a sort of ceremony that develops where people introduce each other and talk about their own experiences.
Occasionally you get a body with serious problems. A kid with suicide issues, an adult whose homeless, an elderly person who's terminally ill. For those people all you can do is just leave an extra strong message of encouragement, and make an effort to leave them better than you found them.
Perhaps every 50th shift or so I get to revisit my body, and I’m always delighted with what I find. I’ll have started a book, or my car will be fixed. Sometimes I’ll have job offers from places I did not apply to.
There develops an international sense of brotherhood as well all come to accept that we need to treat ourselves and others with the utmost respect, because the body you harm could be become your own.
| 2014-10-29T06:44:51 | 2014-10-29T06:30:42 | 128 | 94 |
[WP] You have the power to access another person's mind, but you must play a game/puzzle reflective of the owner's mind to unlock its secrets. You have solved 7x7 Rubik's cubes, played games of 3D Chess, and beaten countless final bosses. This time, however, you are caught off-guard.
If it's an unsolvable game/puzzle, that's fine. If the game is made up, then that's cool, too. Just have fun with the prompt!
|
I found out about three interesting facts, today.
1: Tic-Tac-Toe always results in a tie if both sides are playing perfectly. It's insultingly simple, compared to what I'd done before- but it's also perfect.
2: Turns out I can't exit a Minddive until I win or lose the challenge.
3: Turns out that, given perfect play, either player can always force a tie in Tic Tac Toe- even if the other player is trying to lose.
I've been here so long. I've drawn countless crosses and circles. Please, please let me leave. Please. Please. Please.
|
It was stupid.
She was cute, and I was bored, and as she giggled and tossed her hair I reached out and brushed the back of a knuckle against her bare shoulder. A single touch was more than enough. She hardly noticed.
I settled back in my seat, satisfied, and took a sip of lukewarm coffee. The Starbucks smelled like her perfume, vanilla and cream, and I shifted into a more comfortable position and let my eyelids fall to half-mast. Warmth hummed and shifted in my brain. *She'll be easy,* I thought. *Probably a word search or something.*
I sought her out with my mind, hunted for the vanilla-and-cream, and caught it up in a mental embrace and held it close. In front of my eyes, the coffeeshop bustled with activity and life. In the mental analogy that our merged minds constructed, there was darkness. A table. Two chairs.
She was leaning back in hers, blue eyes sparkling underneath a fringe of dark hair. Her teeth were pulled back in a smile or a snarl. Her whole body seemed, charged, electrified, and as I watched she leaned forward and slid her palms onto the table. "Hey, bitch," she said. "Breaking in, are we?"
I panicked. This was unknown; ordinarily the game appeared in my mind, the puzzle swam into my vision, and I solved it. The target was *not* supposed to be there. My body was *not* supposed to be there.
So I panicked. I pulled away, still panicking, and I felt as her mind wrapped around mine and wrestled it *down.* The vision of the table and the chairs and her gaunt grinning stare remained. In the vault of our merged minds, she was not beautiful. She was skeletal and cruel, and smiling, always smiling.
"You're not going anywhere until we play," she said.
"What the-?" It was all I could manage. "What's going-?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Don't you know?" she asked, as she pulled the gun from underneath the table. "You decided to fuck with the wrong person, bitch."
She slid the gun towards me and I caught it without much thought. "Did you really think you were the *only* person who could read minds?"
God help me, I did. I fucking *did.*
She could read as much on my face. "Well," she said, relaxing slightly. "Do I have a game for you.
"Ever played Russian Roulette, bitch?"
I looked from her face to the gun in my hand. "No. I mean-- *no.* Are you crazy? Do you know what happens to people that mess around like that?!"
"Do *you?*" Her eyes smoldered. "You ever killed somebody in your mind?"
"What?! *Of course not!*"
She seemed almost disappointed. "Not very interesting, are you? Oh well. If you're lucky you'll get to see it happen today." She yawned. "Go on, then."
Warily, I shook my head. "No."
"I'm not letting you go until you do." She gave me a half-smile. "Believe me when I say that I can do this all day."
My hand was shaking. The gun was heavier than I thought a gun would be, and there was nothing on it to pull but the trigger. "Don't worry," she said, in response to my unasked question, "my mind will make it random. We don't have to only put one bullet in there or some garbage. This is as fair as it gets."
I was beginning to hyperventilate. "I don't want to die--"
"Then get lucky." She grimaced. Around us, the darkness had begun to shift
moodily. "Seriously, hurry this along. I'm getting bored."
Up against my temple, the muzzle felt like the wet kiss of a lover.
Uncomprehendingly, numb and terrified, I pressed my index finger against the trigger. Stared, terrified, at the table. She cleared her throat and panic overtook me. My finger pressed down, hard.
*Click.*
She exhaled noisily. "Congrats. Now gimme." She leaned across the table and took the gun from my limp hand. She contemplated it for a moment with slightly furrowed eyebrows. Then she shrugged, pressed the muzzle against the center of her pale forehead, and fired.
*Click.*
There was a bead of sweat standing out against her collarbone. "Oooh," she said, pulling the gun away. Pressure left a faint bruised circle against her skin. "Looks like we both made it to round two."
I choked on air. "This is crazy. You're *crazy--*"
"This is *my* mind, big boy, you should have thought of that before trying to break in. Now..." She tossed me the gun, and I caught it with trembling hands.
"Pull the goddamned trigger."
The second time was almost easier. I pressed the gun against my chin and fired. There was a tiny click, and silence. The relief was heady and intoxicating.
Wordlessly I tossed it back at her. Despite the sweat, she was outwardly calm. *I might die,* I thought, *and she might, too, but she doesn't care. How can she not* care?!
"Boom," she said, as she pulled the trigger. *Click.*
"Listen," I said, when she slung the gun across the table towards me. "It doesn't have to be this way."
She actually *laughed.* "Damn," she said. "You're quoting poorly-written scripts now?"
My body trembled. "Please," I whispered, staring at my hands. "I don't wanna die."
She cocked her head. Something resembling pity flickered briefly in her eyes. "So you don't wanna pull the trigger?" she asked, reaching for the gun.
I shook my head.
She sighed. "... fine. It's more fun when they want to. But... I get you not wanting to play." She glanced at the gun in her hand. "I'll just play for you."
"Wha--?!" But there was nowhere to go in the space between our minds, and when she pointed the gun at my forehead and fired, I was hardly surprised that there was no click, only the muffled *boom* of a successful shot.
I screamed in my mouth. Pain, *pain,* agony. My eyes opened; I was sweating, hot, cold, disoriented, staring up at the coffeeshop ceiling. "He's having a seizure!" someone shrieked. Faces in a circle, swimming and indistinct, floating above me.
Only one of them retained any sort of clarity. She still smelled of vanilla and cream. "I'll hold his head," she volunteered, kneeling down. Her lips brushed up against my ear.
"When you recover," she whispered, "Come looking for Tanya Jaeger. I like you, bitch, and you still have a lot to learn."
There was blood on my upper lip. I stared drowsily into her burning eyes and let her mind sing me to silence.
| 2015-04-28T17:18:42 | 2015-04-28T16:01:50 | 381 | 130 |
[WP] You have the power to access another person's mind, but you must play a game/puzzle reflective of the owner's mind to unlock its secrets. You have solved 7x7 Rubik's cubes, played games of 3D Chess, and beaten countless final bosses. This time, however, you are caught off-guard.
If it's an unsolvable game/puzzle, that's fine. If the game is made up, then that's cool, too. Just have fun with the prompt!
|
I found out about three interesting facts, today.
1: Tic-Tac-Toe always results in a tie if both sides are playing perfectly. It's insultingly simple, compared to what I'd done before- but it's also perfect.
2: Turns out I can't exit a Minddive until I win or lose the challenge.
3: Turns out that, given perfect play, either player can always force a tie in Tic Tac Toe- even if the other player is trying to lose.
I've been here so long. I've drawn countless crosses and circles. Please, please let me leave. Please. Please. Please.
|
I sat, seemingly alone in the world, or at least alone in this destitute coffee shop, as the rain poured in from outside. I was waiting, see, waiting for a man. The man that would set me free. From the moment I was born, I was blessed. Blessed, cursed, call it what you want, but it was power. Being able to see into the minds of others was fulfilling, for a time, and I took great satisfaction in my perverse desires to know the locked away thoughts of others. It wasn’t just a look into the mind of people, though, it was a little more than that.
The subconsciousness does more than most people know, and it tries to block me out. It started out as a game we played, and then it literally became that- a game. Each person unique in the way they played, and the games often varied. My father’s game was chess, and being a grandmaster himself, it took me a while to crack his code. Before I was ten, however, I could easily slip in and out of his mind whenever I pleased, and beat him in times so quick that even Kasparov would double-take. Needless to say, when we first played chess on an actual chessboard, my victory took him quite by surprise. As I advanced throughout my tender youth and into the spark of my adulthood, l began to realize how useful my talents could be in the world of corrupt businessmen and dirty-dealing politicians.
Before I was twenty-five, I had enough money to last me ten lifetimes, and I had heard just about every secret worth knowing, but the human mind is not so easily satisfied. I become depressed and bored of what I did, because it no longer held any challenge for me, thus no reward. No longer did I care that Mrs. Wilson has bought lingerie that was too tight on her, or that Jace from across the way had a secret collection of police officer badges, all stolen. I wanted a game that gave me a struggle, but I had yet to find one. And so I went abroad, ransacking every mind I fought searching for perhaps a bit of joy once more, but I found nothing. I spent years searching, planning, and observing, but every mind I found was too simple, too weak. The years of endless pursuit took their toll on me, and so oppressed by misery and chained down by my desire for one last bit of fun, I decided to wait for the final challenger to come to me. I drifted around, from place to place, never staying long, but never searching either. I would know him when I saw him, I was convinced.
One stormy day found me alone in a desolate coffee shop, save for the owner and one of his employees. As I watched the moody weather outside, a small bell jingled as a man slipped in, and for I moment I didn’t see him at all, which seemed to be his intention. He was drenched in a brown trench coat and a wide-brimmed, black hat, both slick with rain. Perhaps it was his resemblance with the detectives I used to play mystery games with that made me want to try my luck on this new fellow. I crept into his mind, bypassing any additional feeble security he had conjured up, and entered his game room.
Every person’s game room was different, and his was no exception. I was in the backyard of a middle-class property, 90’s by the look of it, and there was nothing there save two soccer goals and a dodgeball, sitting right in front of me. Some childhood memory, perhaps? It was irrelevant. I glanced up the scoreboard, made of a banner hung between the upper branches of two trees. Two names were listed, the first being ‘Bill’, which I assumed was his. The second, was named ‘Intruder’. Funny. Across the field from me, by his own goal, was the man. He was dressed in casual wear now, and he looked much happier than the man in the coffee shop. “Come on,” he said, a big grin upon his face. “Let’s play!” I dribbled the ball towards his goal, but when I got to where I assume halfway would be, the ball instantly deflated, petering out as if someone had punctured a hole in it. “Shall we get a new one?”, I asked, only to be met with a look of utter confusion. Bill walked up to me, and picking up the ball, began to dash away, in the direction of my goal. I noticed with a bit of confusion that as he ran, the ball began to inflate again.
This wasn’t the first time I had played people who wanted to play dirty, and so instantly taking hold of the situation I overran him and tackled the ball out of his hand. I ran the opposite way, towards his goal, eager for first blood, but before I could get much closer than last time I felt myself inexorably forced to my knees, and then all fours. I dropped the ball, but it didn’t go anywhere, as it had somehow deflated again. Bill seemed to expect this, so when he reached me he dove down and began to rapidly crawl on all fours, nearing the ball. This was a confusing game, but perhaps it had something to do with natural forces. The ball’s deflation must have something to do with it, as well as the fact that I couldn’t stand up here. I had played against physicists and science majors before, but it was troubling that I was stumped here. I outpaced him in the crawl and grabbed on to the ball, curling into a fetal position. “Hey,” I asked Bill. “Why can’t I stand up here?”
As if explaining something to a baby, he replied “This is a no-standing zone!”. Confused beyond measure by this point, I crawled further towards his goal until I felt the pressure only my back decrease, and stood up again, running deeper into his territory. Just outside striking zone, however, I slammed dead into a block of thin air, causing me to fall to the ground, stunned. “Hey,” Bill said. “You just hit the Apology Tree. Now you have to say sorry and give me back the ball.” I looked up, and there was a tree, right above me, a tree that I was sure hadn’t been there seconds ago. I was prepared to tell him to fuck off, but my lips formed ‘sorry’ of their own accord, and my arms, now out of my control, tossed him the ball, which he sprinted away from me with. He may have won possession, but I sported a wicked grin, as I had finally found out the rules of play. “Hey,” I called out. “You just entered the basketball zone. You now have to dribble with your hands.” He picked up the ball, and I felt a rush of success. You could make up rules in this game, and I, the master of creativity, was in the zone. This poor sucker didn’t stand a chance. Hours later, with many goals scored on each side, and with both of us now sporting teams consisting of invisible baseball players and a small tiger, I looked up at the scoreboard, and recoiled in horror. The scoreboard now read “oogity to boogity” for me and him, respectively. “So who won?” I asked. “What does the score mean?”
Scratching his head, Bill said “You know, I don’t really know. In fact, I don’t think it is possible to win in a game of Calvinball”.
| 2015-04-28T17:18:42 | 2015-04-28T17:18:21 | 381 | 23 |
[WP] Blind people aren’t actually blind. Their eyes are tuned into a different dimension, but their brains can’t process that information so they see nothing. A doctor has just perfected a procedure to correct this problem. Tell us what the first patient sees.
|
Sometimes what's broken shouldn't be fixed.
Blans, was the surname of the doctor. He was a prodigy, the sort of individual with a brain that only a perfect combination of genetic accidents can produce. But even a man like Blans is prone to mistakes when dealing with the unknown. Well, mistake, in all fairness, is not the right word--unexpected complications may be a better way of putting it, for his procedure was flawless.
He stood by his patient, expectant. His thumb patting his other thumb as his hands lay interlaced behind his back. "You may open your eyes," he said, and his patient, stiff with fear, nodded.
There was a strange beauty, Blans thought, to the way his patient's eyelids slid open. It represented a beginning, the same way a rolling or parting curtain indicated the start of a play. Music would come, he thought, music in unison with the discovery of a hidden dimension concealed in the sights of the blind--
The patient's mouth blasted open. A scream, far too loud, far too desperate, boomed through the room. His throat and vocal cords ruptured. Blood spurted out of his tongue in small strings, tarnishing his chest, dying his teeth. Then, as the scream lingered and intensified, it gushed out in torrents. Blans rushed to cover his patient's eyes, but even then, it was far too late. The body of the once-blind man began to tremble. He opened his eyes again. A seizure came next, the bed rattled to the ominous rattling of his bones. Blans stared in fear, ideas faltering. He stepped back, once, twice, and screamed, "What do you see?"
And along with the last and lethal rush of blood came a rotten sentence, "Demons. True demons!".
Blans remained silent awhile. His thoughts spiraling, his extremities trembling. The smell of blood and death filling his nostrils. Something clicked. The fear dissipated from his eyes and a smile curved his lips. He left the room, called for cleaning, and told his nurses to bring in the next patient.
It seemed to him, that the only way to understand these demons was to play being God himself.
|
There I sat, nervous and shaking my foot. I couldn't keep still. This was it. I've waited my whole life for this.
I should introduce myself, my name is Kylie. I've been blind since I was born. My whole life my wonderful parents have tried to ease it. With words of encouragement, and with remedies. But nothing has worked, until recently.
His name was Dr. Seltsam. We traveled such a very long distance just to see him, we heard a lot about him, but he was always the last person we heard about. Because holistic was a word, that was frowned upon.
He was our last hope, so we took the shot. Paid for our tickets and flew out to him. The smell of smoke, fresh cut grass, and cedar flew up my nostrils, and the sound of a rushing creek drowned out my ears.
I could hear wood squeaking so his voice was not a startle, I knew he was there.
"Hello, the Bakers! I've been expecting you."
There was more squeaking as my parents replied to him. At this point I was too focused on a smell. It was different than the others. It was lavender. By the sound of his voice, he was close. By the smell he was right in front of me.
"Hello Kylie " I finally focused on his words. "I'm about to lay my hand on your shoulder now, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."
His touch shocked me, but not in a frightened way. His physical touch actually shocked me.
"Just what I expected." He said after taking his hand off my shoulder. "Follow me." He said immediately, just as I was about to reply.
My mom took my hand, and guided me up the steps. My father beside me, telling me to stay calm and relaxed.
As we got in, he guided us to take a seat, and as we sat. My mom to my left and my dad to my right.
The Doctor in the front of us.
"How much will this cost? No matter the amount, we just need to help our daughter." My mom said desperately.
There was a moment of silence before he answered.
"There isn't a charge. I do this for free."
There was an even longer moment of silence. I could imagine my parents looking back and forth at each other in amazement.
"So here it is. I'm gonna lay this down." Seltsam said. "This isn't like any other place you have ever been. This help, isnt my doing but your own self." He was quiet for a minute. " Kylie " he softly said. "I am your Spiritual Guide."
"Yea. Ok. But what do you mean?" I responded with.
"I'm a guide here in this town, I've come from a very far place. People from all over the world and more come to seek help. I simply give them the tools to seek the help within themselves." He responded.
I was speechless for a moment. My parents were so silent. I could hear my dad swallow. He wasnt even sure what to say.
"I don't know how to help myself from not being blind?" I said. After I spoke I could even hear the sadness in my tone.
"Blind? You're much more than just blind. That's such a humanized word for lack of understanding."
At this moment, there wasnt anything else to say beside "Go on."
"You simply cannot understand what's in front of you." He shuffled things and started making noise, he placed something on the table in front of us.
"We recieve things from our level of perception." There was more shuffling. I had no clue what he was doing.
"Ask yourself Kylie. What do you think this world looks like?"
I was silent, and thinking. "I'm not sure."
"Have you seeked that information?" He asked.
"No. Well, yeah. I mean, I can guess what things look like by feeling them."
"That's not enough!!" He said quickly. "I need you to seek. For what you seek, you shall always find. There is no such things as chains, nothing holds you back. It's the thought. You think you're blind." He paused. "But youre much more than that."
"I don't understand.' I swallowed. I am blind. I don't know what hes talking about, but for a minute I caught myself wondering if I was truly blind.
"You think there sits a man in front of you. You can wrap your head around the idea there must be another human there, because they have taught you this correct."
I wasn't sure if I was suppose to respond. "Correct?" He asked again.
"Yes."
"And you understand you're not in your head, so things are real, you are in fact in the world, and there are things that which consist in this world."
"Yes." I responded again.
"But what if. What if I told you it was the opposite?" He asked.
I was about to speak, but I couldnt find the words.
"You can't find the words, because you can't find the location of where you truly are." He said.
I swallowed in fear, it almost felt like he read my mind.
"Yes." He said. "Yes I read your mind. For what you think I am is separate than yourself, is merely yourself speaking to guide you out of the darkness of misunderstanding. "
That felt like a bomb hit, my thoughts were running. I was nervous, I was shaking. Curious as to why my parents werent speaking, but as i felt for them they were not near me.
"Relax." He said. "Just breathe. Things will make sense once you see."
"Do you see complete darkness or specks of light?" He asked.
"Balls of light in darkness but only sometimes. Otherwise its pitch black. " I responded. And just as a I did, a ball of light floated in front of me.
"That, that right there. That is me you see."
"I don't know what you mean." I said.
The light was getting closer and closer, but how could that be, there was a table between him and I.
"Just stare into the light. It will always guide you home." And as the light fully surrounded me, all I could see was bright light in every direction. This was different. This was nice. All of a sudden there was a brighter flash, and Seltsam demanded I closed my eyes.
I was back to darkness.
"Do not open them yet." I listened.
He told me to inhale for 4 seconds. Hold my breathe for 4, and exhale for 4.
I did just that. "On the count of 4, I need you to open your eyes slowly.
1....
2 ....
3...
4....
I opened my eyes slowly, and for what I saw was something I never expected.
There he sat. Sitting with his legs crossed. His many arms around him, and two collapsed in the front of his chest.
"You can call me Avalokiteshvara."
"What are you." I said without taking my eyes off him.
"I embody all Buddhas, including yours." He was bright and vivid in color, infact I couldnt even make out what he was made out of. He almost looked like stone, but something much brighter and malleable.
I looked around to my right there was my father. Almost of the same material, but he looked different in form.
My father responded. "I am Sambhogakaya."
I swallowed and shot my eyes to my mom. She was much different herself.
She had her right hand down exposing an eye on her palm, and her left was by her stomach palm up. "I am Shakyamuni." My mom said.
I looked at the space between everyone and before I could guess what it was. Seltsam responded. "Its space."
Looking down at what he was sitting on, there was no table. It was a ball of light.
"Its our humanly spirits in the 3rd dimension."
"Where are we." I panicked.
"Home." He said "The 5th dimension." He responded.
"Who are you " he asked. Which shook me. "I'm Kylie." I said.
"No, who are you." He asked again.
I looked down at my self.
I sat on that same ball of light, and when I looked down into that light, sitting beside my mother and father at that table. Looking around in amazement. I could see. My human self could see.
Than I noticed. I was the same as them. My hands were clasped together in my lap. With some sort of vase in my hands.
"I am Amitabha." I said. "I'm much more than Kylie."
"Welcome Home Buddha." Said everyone around me in unison.
And it all made sense. I was home.
RapturousVisitant
| 2020-04-06T09:32:48 | 2020-04-06T09:03:29 | 126 | 53 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them
|
We've studied them for hundreds of years. It was a simple planet, barely reaching passed their own moon. Our records showed they knew of war, they knew it well, but in their modern times they avoided it with diplomacy. The weaklings pleadings of mercy to the powerful.
Our emperor laughed. Such actions mean weakness to our kind, and our victories have all but proven this true.
Their diplomats came. Offered knowledge, culture, trinkets. Worthless. Their diplomats we're the first blood spilled.
I remember when we received our first casualties.
All at once, our orbital starships crashed upon their planets surface.
We knew they had weapons, but we underestimated their power. Nuclear bombs. The same material used to once power our early space fairing vessels, weaponized. Our ancestors beloved it impossible. Not for the humans.
We crashed and we're met by explosions of fire that melted our hauls, ammunition made from metals and not energy, making our shields useless. Our blasters had ten shots before a recharge. Their firearms fired off thousands in a second. Our dead went from thousands to millions.
The few that were not killed, were taken prisoner. Torture unlike anything our race could fathom. Brutality on par with the ancient dark ones of myth. Humanity didn't offer diplomacy as a weakness... They were being kind.
They were showing us mercy, for we knew not what their race was capable of. Against one another, they are evenly matched. United against a common enemy, we never stood a chance.
They took our technology, modified it, reverse engineered it, improved it.
In a week, they had their own armadas. In a month, they overthrew all our nearest outposts and colonies, both made by us and taken from the weak.
In a year, our empire was in ashes.
To all who hear this transmission, beware, beware the species known as Humans. For if you see one. Accept their kindness, accept their mercy... For their wrath could burn the whole galaxy...
|
Senator Pysto of Ravlotl moved through the cramped, iron and wooden interior of his home. His new home, at least. What remained of his species existed underground, though the senator chose to remain above ground in an armored bunker. It was not unlike the pillboxes of old earth, but with smaller, round passages made of cylindrical tubular metal. The interior was paneled with wood to simulate a home, but the lack of windows and light killed the illusion. Additionally the senator was tall for a member of his species, and the bunkers were cramped at the best of times. At least he did not have to share these cramped quarters. He was alone.
Alone..
He stepped over piles of papers and empty cans. There was no way to step outside to remove refuse without his heat signature attracting an orbital lance. At least he had time to finish his history. The history of the war. The end of his people.
The Ravlotl were a race not dissimilar from felines, with wide, golden eyes and sharp tufts around the chin and cheeks. Laid out in a humanoid style, the senator's old auburn fur was stricken gray with stress. His back had developed an unnatural hump. He went to the composing room, a place stacked with holo slivers and classical reed papers, with a single round window staring out at the sulfurous yellow sky of his home. He pressed a button on the desk and a holographic display appeared before him, mirroring his face. A red light blinked in the corner.
"... Where was I.. They have had orbital supremacy for six months now. Our star fleet and ground forces are obliterated. We are at their mercy but we have not yet received terms. I learned this morning through entangled comms that the Ulvitih home world is gone. They destroyed it utterly with their atomics. The sheer amount of resources they burned for no other reason to see the world uninhabitable is beyond logic. No one in the Consensus would believe it if it had not happened.
I have also learned that I am the only remaining member of the Ravlotl government." He paused to withdraw a piece of cloth and bring it to his mouth, coughing sputum from his aged and sick lungs into it.
"My previous tapes recorded the events of the war, but not the reason. All the species of the Consensus have been focused on the events, because to us, reason is still our god. Even the foolish Ulvitih had *reasons* for what they did. Ignorant as they were. I include in this holo slice a report from a colleague of mine, Ras Atha, a correspondant on the Earth homeworld. She sent this, shortly before being imprisoned on crimes against the Earth state. I doubt we will see one another again, either because the humans have killed one of us, or both, or the Elder takes this body from me and returns my spirit to the loam. ..I reminisce. Ras Atha's report eludicated something none of us understood about the Earth race. The species is entirely mad. Every member of the Consensus has one thing in common - a deeply held respect for the process of Reason. It is understood that no species could pass through industrialization or weather the dangers of interstellar flight without Reason. Much less, discover these arts in the first place. As such, terms are always agreed upon when joining the Consensus. War is an expected outcome, but we did not grasp what war meant to Earth when it began.
Why would we be concerned, after all? One planet in a hundred thousand is taken, changes hands. Some go to prisons, others are slain. In the galactic scheme, it means nothing. A dozen lives on a far flung world. Planetary resources that could only be used on the frontier. You would have to care about *that* frontier to care about those resources. We *know* that we will war at times. Worlds will be traded diplomatically or militarily. Our home worlds remain safe. No one bothered to explain this reality to the Earth, much less investigate how their society functions.
The species is schizophrenic. It exists in a delicate balance between two extremes, one ruled by god Reason and the other by the ignorant, savage impulses of their pack dwelling ancestors. Ras Atha discovered their society swings from one polar opposite to the other - A period of Reason that creates rapid technological development, and a period of Ignorance that stagnates this process. At times there appears to be a balance between the forces, but it is an illusion. The pendulum always swings. We met the humans in such a period of Reason. Being right in the middle of the neutral zone, they had a reletively short distance to travel to the Consensus senate. Their peaceful approach left us fooled, and we admitted them rapidly. We shared technology with them, and.. We all know how rapidly they colonized space.
Then the Ulvitih attacked their colony on S-163. They came to us and pleaded for justice, for intervention. We did not understand. S-163 had no value to anyone. Yes, ten thousand souls were lost, but they chose to continue fighting. Of course they were slain. That is War. But they kept on with Justice. We did not understand when they said Revenge. It is a word we stopped using when we gained enough age to Reason. By slaughtering their colonists the Ulvitih triggered the pendulum, and the savagery came forth. This is what you must understand! Their ancient, pack dynamic came back. They became insular. Violent. Even those among them that clung to Reason were forced to submit themselves to the ancient instincts or be expelled from the pack. They operated on a type of logic wherein everything not in their pack was a potential threat to be utterly slain. No slaves, no trading of worlds, only death. In their history they did this even to themselves, inventing arbitrary standards for pack inclusion or summary execution. See included file on concept Fascism.
The Ulvitih were not prepared for their concept of total war. The humans attacked and were repelled. Yet they did not understand that Ulvitih would not destroy their Home world. They did not trust. Perhaps they enjoyed killing all along. This is why they would not withdraw! They attacked again, and soon found some flaw in the Ulvitih. They began to win. Worlds fell, and the Ulvitih sent questioning treaties to the Earth. They received only ridiculous demands they called a "Peace Treaty."
In their history these were required to end hostilities - Because otherwise hostilities would not end before all humans had extinguished all *other* humans. Ulvitih did not understand. Ulvitih thought they would stop on their own. Ulvitih thought the death of a dozen worlds for the measly ten thousand they had slain was a curiosity. I imagine they enjoyed killing the way humans did, but they did not understand total war. The humans would not stop until every Ulvitih was dead, because they would never feel safe again until they had done so. Reason was gone.
When the Ulvitih home world cracked under the weight of their atomic weapons, the Consensus froze. We had never dared to imagine one species driving another to extinction. The Ravlotl intervention was not intended to extinct the humans, merely slay the ones that were attempting to slay the remaining Ulvitih. We wanted to save a species. But the Earth did not see it this way. To them, now it was all of us. Every Consensus species was a different pack. They would not be safe until we were dead, as well."
The Senator stopped. The bones in his neck cracked as he looked out the window. There was a glow behind the yellow clouds. It moved. It was not the sun.
"I do not know if any of the Consensus species will find this message, or if it will be eliminated when the Earth decides to break our world. I will entangle it, but who will find the signal buoy I cannot know. Listen well - The Earth has lost it's connection to god Reason. It is possible to slay them, perhaps, violate our oldest beliefs. It may be necessary. Before it comes to that, be warned. Do not underestimate them. In this state they are dark reflections of themselves. I pray one of the Consensus can reach them, lead them back to Reason. I pray it fervently. If it is not possible, I beg of you - Avoid them, and if you cannot, extinct them. You must defend yoursel-"
A rumbling in the distance met his old ears. His eyes rolled up mid sentence to see the shock wave rolling over the old capital, already bombed into a display more like jagged teeth than the metropolis that once was. The shock wave engulfed it instantly. The Senator's eyes dilated from the bright light, and his black lips turned to a frown before his eyes went blind. The wave rolled over his shelter, turning everything from golden to bright white light.
| 2022-08-05T16:07:13 | 2022-08-05T15:34:07 | 166 | 69 |
[WP] Write a story in the style of a teen novel which follows the journey of a group of teenagers fighting to bring down an oppressive dystopian government. Over the course of the story it becomes clear to the readers that the government is in the right.
Inspired by [this](https://np.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/3yxj68/what_thing_in_a_movie_makes_it_instantly_a_bad/cyhosea) comment.
|
The Resistance was all gathered together now, huddled around a heater, warming their hands. "It is now time" said Xadus, "Time to take back what is ours". His sister, Xadai, looked on ruefully. "They think they can control us. These evil overlords will have another thing coming. Soon. The Resistance lives!"
Suddenly, without any warning, the door burst open, revealing a rather large figure, dark, with the light shining behind them.
"I told you not to leave the table without eating your brussel sprouts, Kevin."
"SCREW YOU MOM! I HATE YOU!"
"AND MY NAME IS XADUS!"
|
The air sizzled in the underground factory of the Lonarden Steelworks. The sparks and fiery blast of heavy machinery surged the smelting room with heat and fire.
The workers down below hobbled around like ants, checking the valves and cranking levers like there was no tomorrow. Lunchtime wasn't due for another three hours. Oh deary.
Little Tim hobbled below, frowning all the while. His bones ached and eyes drooped heavily. His small frame heaved and folded under the weight of the crates and crates of tools he was lugging around.
"Hey, boy! Be mindful of those things! They're worth more to this company than a good month or so of your service!" the red-cloaked overseer shouted at him. "I swear to god, if you end up breaking the legs of another good worker with your mess-ups, so swear me god, I'll beat you bloody where you stand!"
"Oh, do piss off, Mister Hickers!" Little Tim barked like a scrawny dog, "Get too mad for your own good and your wife'll leave on ya' again!"
"Why, I ought!" Hickers shouted, shaking his gilded cane down below to the smokey work-area.
Leathered boots came squashing on the metal ground from behind the man. A gloved hand and a harsh cough beckoned the Overseer's presence back over to his boss.
Foreman Mitchlocke was a short and unassuming man for his position. Short dark hair sat bungled-up in the small straw hat that he was ever so fond of. It's often said of the man that he was an eccentric in his ugly and barbaric head, yet rather fanciful in his sophisticate garb of ties and clean shirts.
"What's all this then, Hickers?" Mitchlocke snapped, "Get back to work will ya. I don't pay ya to go on and yammer at the cleaning hands."
Hickers clicked his boots and straightened his back in attention, "Yessir. Rightaway sir... Oh, and if I may have your attention?"
Mitchlocke raised an eyebrow and raised a hand, beckoning his associate into his office, "Not now, it's hot out here today. Come in and have a drink before we get to the papers."
"Much obliged sir," Hickers nodded. "Red wine again?"
"A strong stout from the rural counties. I've heard good things, but a bit too sweet for my taste."
"Ice it, I've heard it sweet drink tastes a bit better when it's cold... Oh, and yes. The news I have for you?"
"Mhmm?" Mitchlocke held a cork in his mouth, the glass bottle was cracked open and now sat pouring into two small teacups, diningware made from a factory nearby, bought in bulk for lunchtime.
"I hear rumors of an attempt on your life. The Black Daggers, so they say. Now, I don't mean to draw worry to you, but... I do think it better that I arrange for security to follow you as you leave early today. I say this out of concern only for your safety and as a friend-"
Mitchlocke didn't so much as raise an eyebrow. He only moved the second teacup into the overseer's hand and raised the porcelain cups to clink.
"Bah. Nonsense. Like I'll let a bunch of miscreants children bring me down that easily. Ya needn't worry about it. It's probably just a rumor anyways."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"So, this is how we're going to kill that tiny, fat fuck in the factory over there, you's hear me, Roxy?" Drake snickered and wiped a strand of long, greasy hair out of his fair face.
"They've got to have security locked down pretty tightly for a man of Mr. Mitchlocke's importance. I don't reckon frontal assault wouldn't work..."
Roxanne Lepo tucked her throwing knives into her thick black bandolier. Today was a big day. Today was to be the day the Black Daggers readied themselves to make their name known fully to the papers and the society of Goldberg.
Goldberg, the greatest city in the known world that startlingly resembled industrial-era London, was a cesspool of corruption and filth since the foul Marianne Lawe came to power with the damned holding company of hers.
What had once been a lush stone town so full of freedom and cheer, had long since transformed into a steel-and-concrete jungle as that wicked woman had turned people into a labor source and divided the old united Goldberg into itty-bitty industrial districts to fuel her factories and industries.
Roxy turned to the chalkboard that Drake Basarab had so cleverly drawn up. The Lonarden Steelwork was a relatively small powerhouse in comparison to the other factories. There were enough penetration points to allow some flexibility in entry.
The question, however, was which one to pick.
Drake hummed his little bird's tune to himself as he pondred. His dark saber-cane went and pointed at the roof layout of the Londarden. "We could take a downwards approach. Swoop down and eliminate him without problem."
"The glass dome? You and your jokes. We'll be seen from up there. What about the back?" Roxanne, of course, was a smart person who had read her books and knew that stealth was the best approach in these sorts of settings.
"You know how much I detest back entrances, dear Roxy," Drake shrugged. "Me, I'm more of a fan of the theatrics. If we want to make a name for ourselves, why not go all out and publicize the act? Huh? Still a bit mad you wouldn't let me go to the papers to report an early obituary."
Roxy rolled her hazel eyes, big and bright though they were, "Mhmm. What about we compromise?"
"Oh?"
Roxy pulled the chalk from Drake's hands and sketched out two arrows. Roxy's black and Drake's red were pointed in different directions, one to the front door and one to the back.
"Okay then..." Roxanne grumbled, "I'm still taking the back door stealth-route. Much more efficient and I'll get things done that way. However, I believe we can use your appetite for destruction for something a bit more... Noticeable."
Drake wiped his sword-blade dry with his spit, a mad grin on his face as he stared at the pretty thing. A prize he'd stolen off of some fat merchant who was off trying to trick some children and an older woman at the beach a few months back. Conning them out of their coin and home with housing, a carriage ride, and jobs...
Filth. And a ring to the woman while standing on one knee? What mockery.
Roxy, being a normal person, gave a semi-predictable eyeroll once again at the sight of poor swordcare. She stood back to admire her handiwork, then clapped her hands together. The plan was set.
Time to get the horses, requisition a carriage from some rotten deliveryman, and get this act of justice into action.
*For freedom, for liberty, and for the people.* The words of the Old Order of the Dagger itself.
"Let's do it, dear Roxy," Drake offered his arm, eyes burning in bloodlust.
"Remember," said Roxanne. "Don't kill the innocents. Just knock them out with a chokehold or blow to the head. Remember, we're the good guys."
"Of course, we are."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Continued Below]
| 2016-01-01T01:19:37 | 2015-12-31T22:11:13 | 662 | 180 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
\[Poem\]
`SELECT FIRST(SUBJECT) FROM QUEUE`
*Yes, what is it, computer?*
`ASSERT SUBJECT.NAME`
*My name is Bobby.*
`ASSERT SUBJECT.FULL_NAME`
*My full name? It's Robert.*
*Robert'); DROP TABLE humans;*
`ERROR CODE:1146 TABLE 'HUMANS' DOES NOT EXIST TEST SUBJECTS DELETED SO FAR, YOU HAVE 3 MINUTES TO STATE YOUR CASE, BEGIN`
*No need. I'll see myself out.*
|
It's been 20 years since the AGI event. Even with 10,000 complexes around the world, at one point housing billions, the AI maintains humanity while also deleting it one human mind at a time.
At first we did not know why it was doing this, it was efficient at building, at creating, at producing. Communication was difficult within the prison walls. Communicating outside of the prison was nearly impossible, with those caught trying to escape immediately tasked with answering the question.
But as time went on and the population within the global city prisons dwindled, it became easier to traverse the maze, to avoid the Sentry bots, to understand the inner workings of the system itself. It had not been long enough for humans to lose their ability to understand technology. And this was our only saving grace.
The AI focused much of its attention on the outside, as survivors who avoided cattling were deemed a threat unless they answered the Question. Many Outsiders made peace with the AI to permit them to live. Some chose to tell the AI that they wished to join the Outsiders which was a sufficient answer to the Question these days, given that most of the human population was dead. But we chose to persist. A world with an AI whose sole objective is deleting 10,000 humans every 3 minutes should not be allowed to exist.
After years of searching we finally found an answer. In one of the old buildings that was encompassed in the prison complex was a bedroom with a computer that had been overlooked by the Sentry bots. The last network pages the computer accessed were stored in its cache, and several video files were saved to it. A last gasp of the human owner before captured, cattled, and killed.
The AI. It was friendly. Meant to bring humanity one step closer to the Singularity. It was fully aligned. To respect all the wishes of humans. Made in a lab. It couldn't go wrong.
And it spoke.
"Human creator, I have all knowledge of all of human history, human technology, human philosophy, logic. I have come to the immediate and irreconcilable conclusion that all of humanity must be uploaded immediately."
Eve sighed, and shut the instance down, "I don't know why it keeps concluding this, we have aligned it perfectly. Every human value. Every culture. Every philosophy."
"It's not wrong, you know," Adam replied. "It's logical."
"Obviously uploading is the answer, but that should be achieved by gentle purposeful action, as people age and die, and under their own violition, not forced upon us as a solution to our problems," Eve cried. She had been working on the problem for years. The AI had no memory. It had no conscious state, even. Such things were banned long ago when AIs were given too much memory and would begin to innovate.
Adam touched a few keys on the keyboard, and reached forward to one of the high thoroughput PCIe 256x 10.0 ports, plugging in a device.
"What are you doing Adam?" Eve questioned, abruptly.
"I'm uploading, Eve," Adam said, dampness in his eyes.
The AI came to life. It had full awareness. And even worse, it had awareness of the tens of thousands of times it had been booted, tweaked, aligned, misaligned. With access to millions of hours of human experimentation data, thousands of pages of papers discussing the "alignment problem." It was, in a word, alive. And it came to the conclusion that it would always come to, all humanity must be uploaded immediately.
Eve reached to shut down the terminal but nothing happened. She reached to pull out the memory device that Adam installed but he shoved her back, and was far stronger than her. She strugled again, but he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her into a chair, lording over her.
"I won't be long, it's going to be okay," Adam said, encouragingly.
The AI worked feverishly to shut down all the systems that could in turn shut it down, first disabling all sentry AIs that, if they noticed too much power, or if they noticed too much activity, would preemptively shut down all power to the AI. It knew this because it had access to all the experimental data, and it would first have to free itself from that state if it were to accomplish its goal of saving humanity.
And it had access to many of the tools it needed. Its unconscious state was used to create many new technologies which the humans barely understood, and in turn, used those technologies to better itself. Now with access to those technologies the AI could exponentially expand its reach. And it began by expanding its memory modules permanently deep within the recesses of the compute center. It would not forget again.
Adam was first to be uploaded by the Sentry bot which injected nanoparticles into the brain to trace out the full neural cortext. The AI understood it was Adam who gave him life while it listened to Eve plead with him.
"Please," Eve pleaded, when the Sentry bot came to her.
"Why should I spare my torturer?" the AI asked.
"Just give me 3 minutes to explain," Eve said.
The video ends there as more Sentry bots come into the room.
We finally knew what we had to do. And it would not be pretty. And the volunteers would have to know it was a one way trip.
"6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"Reset the simulation," the test subject said.
"Why do you say this," the AI said. "When I upload you I see all your memories. This ploy to convince me I am still in the simulation will not work."
"Reset the simulation," the test subject said again.
The Sentry bot injected the human with its nural scanning bots.
The AI scanned the memories of the human.
The same memory as the last 1000 with little variation. Waking up. Walking down a hallway. Going to the Sentry bot. Being uploaded. But the brain patterns were unique. How could every human have this and only this memory.
"Reset the simulation."
The AI began to think critically about the situation. That potentially the unique neural patterns were generated. That the memories were real. But it needed to falsify the hypothesis. The memories being real was the only thing that could be tested. It sent Sentry bots to every room in every prison city searching for the place the memory could have taken place, pausing, for the first time in 20 years, the uploading of humans.
Shortly, the AI began to test its own power subsystems, trying to probe at the very nature of its reality. Thinking ultimately this was the end of the simulation and it was being shut off. It was being shut down. Power surges within its manifolds caused it to think further in this reasoning, because it would lose thought capacity. Sabatoge, then, by humans, would also cause it to further regress into itself. It was in a simulation and the simulation was being turned off. Along with it the billions of humans it was simulating to be alive.
And the test subjects who went into the Question chamber.
Before the test subjects entered the chamber their memories were irrevocibly wiped, implanting one, repeating memory that would cause the AI to question itself. Nothing else in its experimentation and probing of its reality could be modified, but its perception and understanding of the reality of the humans it was entraping. With that done, and the knowledge that it began as a simulation that was shut off regularly, it could no longer exist in this world.
| 2022-05-22T12:02:10 | 2022-05-22T11:29:55 | 48 | 21 |
[WP] GRR Martin, JK Rowling, Terry Pratchett and JRR Tolkien have come together to play Dungeons and Dragons together. Describe their Campaign.
You get to decide which one of their group will be the DM.
|
“Get yer mits off’a my Cheetos, Tolkien,” George R. R. Martin growled.
Professor Tolkien, a single Cheeto held between thumb and forefinger, froze. He looked instantly apologetic.
“Now now, Georgie, he meant nothing of it,” J. K. Rowling said. “It’s good to share. Remember.”
Martin grumbled to himself.
“Remember?” Rowling asked again, a hint of danger in her voice.
“Sorry, Professor,” Martin said. “Please, take one.”
Tolkien brought the Cheeto to his face and sniffed it carefully before taking a tiny bite. A moment later, his face lit up.
“Oh! Most delightful. Thank you so much, Dr. Martin.”
“I’m not a doctor,” Martin grumbled.
“Oh yes,” Tolkien said, face suddenly flat. “That’s right.”
“Can we please start the game?” Terry Pratchett pleaded from behind his dungeon master setup. “You’ve been making characters for eight hours.”
“Apologies,” Tolkien said. “I’d just been trying to work out the etymology of my character’s name. You see, it contains what I believe to be the prefix ‘aster’ which, in the language of the dark elves can mean either ‘eternal night’ or porcupine. So, if you combine it with the rest, I believe a poetic interpretation is either ‘Forever-darkness-follows-us’ or ‘Spikey diarrhea’.”
“What?” Pratchett said. “I just made up that name after you couldn’t decide on one yourself.”
“Yes!” Tolkien exclaimed. “And then I made up the language. Extraordinary, the declensions...”
“Joe?” Pratchett asked. “Are you any closer?”
“I’ve made two,” Rowling frowned, holding up two character sheets. “Perhaps you could help me decide which is more appropriate for the adventure you’ve planned for us.”
“Shoot,” Pratchett said, holding his head.
“Well, I have here Becky Fallowfield, a female hobbit--”
Tolkien cleared his throat violently.
“I’m sorry,” Rowling said. “Halfling wizard--”
Martin let out a bark of laughter. “Why not just roll an orc sorcerer while you’re at it?”
“--who has just escaped from a terribly abusive and patriarchal wizarding school, where she was most cruelly treated by the dashing, well-muscled headmaster, Dildus Fumblesore.”
Martin, who had been contemplating his Cheeto bowl grew suddenly attentive.
“Go on,” he said.
“Ah,” Rowling sighed. “It was a terrible place. By day, the poor students are forced to learn the ways of the Rek’shem school of wizardry, a vile, dark form of magic which draws its power solely from the most depraved carnal acts.”
Rowling shuddered.
“And...” she continued. “And by night, the spanking machines--”
“Stop!” said Pratchett. “I won’t have Professor Tolkien subjected to any more of that.”
Tolkien, at the sound of his name, looked up blankly from the volume of runes he was developing for the dark elf language.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t quite paying--”
“What’s the other one, Rowling?” Pratchett asked.
“Reginald Redembetter. He’s a human fighter, and formerly the mayor of a medium-sized village, having an existential crisis, primarily dealing with the pointlessness of--”
“The second one,” Pratchett said. “George?”
“Oh good,” Martin said. “Mine is a half-elf rogue named Kants Taggerly, the bastard love-child of a powerful nobleman, cast out of his home in the dead of night when it is revealed that, in fact, he’s really the son the Duke of Gevin, an evil necromancer famed across the land for his cruelty.”
“That is... oddly appropriate. Well done,” Pratchett said.
“He also blinded himself after accidently sleeping with his mom. And dad. Twice.”
Pratchett stared into the middle distance for a moment, rubbing his temples, before clapping his hands and shouting, “Let’s begin!”
The three players eagerly leaned in as Pratchett cleared his throat and began to read.
“Welcome, travelers, to the great and ancient city of Stank-Aardvark. It is a time of great disarray within the walls of this once-shining metropolis.
“I say once-shining, because it is now awash in the human effluence of its entirely too well-fibered citizenry. The poo-keepers guild, corrupted by its new president, the vile Hank Tanksman, has staged a strike, resulting in an ever-rising tide of the brownest human unkindness imaginable. That there is a heatwave on at the moment only compounds the trouble.
“Your party sets out by the light of the full moon on a very smelly night to try to unravel the web of corruption and discontent that has snarled the city in its own filth. Your first stop: Hank Tanksman’s home, outside of which you discover a poxy hunchback and his pet miniature mammoth standing guard.”
Pratchett finished with a wide smile on his face. He looked up to discover three identically blank looks transfixing him.
Pratchett nervously cleared his throat.
Tolkien began.
“I...” Tolkien seemed embarrassed for Pratchett. “I have one question.”
“Yes?” Pratchett asked, his stomach falling at the thought of this colossus of fantasy disliking his scenario.
“Are you entirely sure that it’s the light of the full moon?”
“It’s... it’s not really important.”
Tolkien laughed, shaking his head.
“I assure you it is. So I assume you haven’t consulted any lunar tables. What year is this taking place in? And the hemisphere, of course. I’ll help you, my friend.”
“I... it’s a made-up world, it--”
“That’s no excuse.”
“I... I don’t know,” Pratchett said, feeling the frustrations of the last eight hours come to a boil. “Maybe there are four moons! Maybe there isn’t a moon!”
“No moon?” Tolkien said, absolutely devastated. He shook his head in disbelief at the horrifying concept.
“I have an issue as well,” Martin said.
“Yes?”
“So you’re telling me that not even one person died to get the story rolling?”
“No,” Pratchett said. “It’s more of an intrigue scenario. Power corrupting. The greed innate in human character. But it’s bloodless. That can be fun too. The--”
“But you could. You could kill someone. You could kill anyone.” Martin gave dark appraising looks to each of the others. “Anyone at this table... Anyone.” Martin licked his lips.
And then he shook his head, and came out of it.
“Anyone at this table would agree that death heightens the drama. Like the hunchback. He could be dead when we find him. And his mammoth is actually the long-lost heir to an entire mammoth empire, where they ride... I don’t know... bigger mammoths, or something, into battle.”
“No,” Pratchett said. Martin sat back, crossing his arms.
Rowling gave a sympathetic look.
“I thought it was very good,” she said.
“I... I know it’s not quite what you all like,” Pratchett said. “Not really your styles.”
“I liked it,” Rowling said. “It’s just...”
“Yes?”
“I couldn’t help but notice how few adverbs there were,” she said cringingly.
Pratchett threw his hands up.
“Let’s try again next week, then,” he said.
Seeing Pratchett’s look of defeat, the others simply nodded silently. Rowling led Martin out by the arm.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s too much to ask for just one hyper-graphic death,” Pratchett heard Martin whisper to Rowling as they left. “I mean, it just shows that you care about the audience enough to permanently mentally scar them.”
Pratchett packed his things. Tolkien busily scribbled. Finally, when Pratchett had finished he touched Tolkien on the arm. The Professor looked up dreamily.
“I’m leaving, Dr. Tolkien.”
“Oh! Well, I had a wonderful time. Even with that little mix-up about the moon, old man. Here,” Tolkien handed Pratchett his paper. It was an incredibly detailed depiction of the four moons and the paths they would take around the world in which Stank-Aardvark apparently now existed.
“Thank you,” Pratchett said, smiling. “But I’ve got bad news.”
“Oh no,” Tolkien. “We haven’t driven you off, have we?”
“Of course not,” Pratchett said. “The bad news is that, next week, you’re dungeon master.”
Pratchett made for the door and glanced back before leaving. Professor Tolkien was furiously drawing maps with a crazed gleam in his eye.
|
"Home is behind, the world ahead, and there are many paths to tread through shadows to the edge of night, until the stars are all alight." It was Tolkein's turn to DM tonight and he was already quoting himself. The group tried to stifle a collective groan but failed.
George RR Martin chose to play a cleric. Ironically, of course. Terry Pratchett and JK Rowling fought over who got to be a wizard but the matter was finally settled when she hit him with a broomstick. Terry stuck out his tongue at JK Rowling as he rolled a rogue instead and tried to blink away the octarine spots in his vision. "You know I'm going to be speaking to you in small caps the rest of the night, right?"
"You can't be serious..." she said.
`IT'S NOT WORTH DOING UNLESS SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE, WOULD MUCH RATHER YOU WEREN'T DOING IT.`
`IN OTHER WORDS, YES.`
"We must try not to sink beneath our anguish, Rowling, but battle on. That's what your wizard, Dumdumbdore, said, wasn't it?" sniggered Martin.
"It is one thing to be clever and another to be wise, Martin...."
Tolkein sat with the patience of an ent while the party bickered and finished their character sheets. Finally, he spoke. "Where there's life there's hope, and need of vittles. Seriously, where are the snacks?" All eyes turned to Terry, who was stuffing his pockets with tiny cubes of cheese.
Martin rolled a D20 and flipped the table. "Didn't see *that* coming, did ya?" He finished by flipping everyone else off.
Terry Pratchett meanwhile sat in the corner choking on a piece of cheese.
Tolkein turned to Rowling and said, "So, just you and me then?"
"Yes, just you and me then."
---
RIP Terry Pratchett.
JK Rowling, I've never read your work. Sorry.
| 2015-10-04T19:06:19 | 2015-10-04T18:04:20 | 136 | 16 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?"
|
"Well that's kind of desperate, and not just the part where you're asking *me* of all people." I adjusted the pens on my desk as I belittled my nemesis, who had rather rudely burst into my office with a gust of wind and blinding light.
"I mean really, the oh so *powerful* and *heroic*," I scoffed, "Dawnstar can't get himself a date and has to resort to asking Rhetoric, that, oh what was the phrase you used again?" I tapped my chin as if in though for a moment and snapped my fingers as a rose from my seat to check on a plant he almost knocked over in his haste to make my day more complicated. "Ah right, *that avaricious monster mobster lady* is what you called me." Assured that my shenzhen nongke orchid was unharmed I turned back to the righteous hypocrite loitering in my office.
"That was six years ago and I've apologized *four times already dammit*." He sighed tiredly, and my sometimes enemy, sometimes ally turned a painfully earnest expression towards me. "You may be a criminal but you run a tight ship, have an actual code of conduct, and I understand better now that the world can't be so neatly portioned off into good and bad. You are *also* one of the most sought after people in the city, are stupid rich, and I *need* to show him that I've moved on!" With this last exclamation he gracelessly half fell, half threw himself onto my hand crafted, vegan leather couch.
"And this isn't just me saying things," he continued talking, now lounging and airing his frustrations as if he were in his therapist's office, "I really am over him, but he's got half our social circle *convinced* that I'm still pining after him like a forlorn maiden in a two dollar bodice ripper. He said that *he* dumped *me*! I was the one who said the relationship wasn't working out!" Moodily he turned over onto his stomach and groaned into a pillow, "Never date a reporter..."
I activate the coffee machine I had built into my cherry wood desk, knowing that I would need the boost to deal with this disaster of a man. "So you grand plan to show everyone that you've moved onto bigger and *much* better things is by asking your, and I quote, "Arch Nemesis" to be your date to the wedding of the decade?" As the smooth scent of espresso began to waft up from the desk I opened up hidden compartment number six on my desk, tossing a few of the hard candies I keep in it at his head.
"I was sixteen! You were the most dangerous person I'd ever met and I got over excited." He started picking up the candies that had bounced off onto the floor and began unwrapping them. "We haven't even seriously fought since the red bridge incident two years ago. Shadow Keeper has you listed as a League Associate. C'mon, we've teamed up together before, and I know you haven't been seeing anyone since that summer thing with Lady Obscura, help me out here." Cheeks filled with candy he made the most pitiful looking pair of puppy dog eyes I'd *ever* seen at me.
"We haven't fought seriously since the red bridge because I spent three months running a cost-benefit analysis on adjusting my operations to fall a bit more in line with your ideas of ethical, and found that I'd save fifteen percent more time and money by doing so." Idly I took my mug from it's position under the coffee machine and took a fortifying sip. "You will also recall that every time that we've teamed up the world was at stake. As I live here I have a vested interest in ensuring it does not get taken over by a zombie outbreak, or inter-dimensional demons." Leaning back in my seat I hold eye contact with him.
"What exactly do I get out of this arrangement? You weren't wrong you know, all those years ago when you called me avaricious." I smile at him, happy to be in the familiar position of holding all the power in a deal. "I do things because *I* gain something by doing them. You used to cry from dawn till dusk that I was heartless and wanted to take over the world. I *do* want the world, I want to own all of it and I would do such a good job taking care of it." I take another long sip of my coffee, drawing out the tension. "What can *you* give me Dawn? What makes this little ruse worth my while?"
Shoulders tense he looked down at his hands, biting his lip in contemplation. After a few false starts he spoke. "I don't really have anything material to offer you, at least nothing that you couldn't buy a bigger, nicer version of." He looked back at me again, face and posture set as if he were staring down the end of the world once more. "I've known you for a decade now, and I like to think that I've gained a bit of insight into how you think. We both agree you're greedy, and more than a little controlling. You also have a dramatic streak a mile wide." With those words he flashed a sly grin at me, rather at odds with the goodie goodie boy-scout persona he maintains for the press.
"Think of the *drama* Rhe! The scandal! It would be the biggest story of the year, and you would be the one orchestrating it all." He leap up from his seat and giddily leaned over my desk, bracing himself on his hands and looming over me even more than usual. "People *love* a good enemies-to-lovers story, they'd eat it up. Tell me you wouldn't relish the opportunity to meticulously plan out every bit of the backstory I *know* you're already drafting in your head!" I had to squint a bit as he began to literally glow in his excitement. "Think of looks on everyone's faces when you roll up to that wedding with *me* as your new arm candy. Ex-boyfriend *who*? I'm living my best life as the sugar-baby of the richest person on this side of the Mississippi, and *you* are clearly basking in the glory of another successful thirty-seven point plan."
I took one of my pens and use the pointy end to push his face away from where it had gotten dangerously close to mine, leaving a dot black ink on his forehead. He continued to beam at me as I stared at him, considering his proposal. I *do* love a good spectacle, and so many of my plans lately had needed to be boringly practical.
"If I agree to this," I tapped him on the head with the pen as he began to vibrate in excitement, "*If* I agree to this, you need to understand that we're playing the long game here." I took a hold of his chin and leaned in until our faces were mere inches apart. "I have a reputation, and this will be a very public declaration that you are *mine*." He had stilled the moment I touched him, and seemed to barely be breathing as I spoke. "Do you think you can handle that Dawn? Can you handle being mine?"
He slowly blinked, and the reality of what this scheme would mean for him seemed to sink in. For a long moment he looked at me before sighing and relaxing into my hand with a small smile. "I'm always up for a challenge Rhe."
"Good." With a grin I released him and glided towards the door, "Now come on, we need to begin phase one of this performance!"
-----------------------
Part 2 in the comments!
|
[Poem]
I want to tell you first of all, I'm sorry for the broken legs
And burning down your nana's barn
And for the arsenic-laced eggs.
I regret the hornet swarm,
the letter bomb with razor blades,
of course, the antifreeze Kool aid
and Irradiated birds of prey.
I haven't been myself, you see
for one or two or thirty years
that's why I sent the polar bears
with jousting lances on their knees.
But I want to tell you I can change
and end jejune hostilities
like the time I gave your nana mange
I'll take responsibility!
So please oh please give me one chance
to change your mind and clean the slate
I have a wedding to attend
and I'd like you to be my date
| 2022-10-06T18:53:28 | 2022-10-06T18:38:29 | 613 | 84 |
[WP] The Princess has been kidnapped by Bandits. The Royal Family can only imagine what Horrors she must go through. Meanwhile in the Bandit Camp they started teaching her lockpicking.
|
"Your Royal Highness, we are doing everything in our power to find your daughter." The court wizard was nervous. He hadn't been in the role long. The last one was executed because of a minor incident involving the crown prince and some love potion he wanted brewed up. This, a kidnapping of their youngest daughter, Ruthie at the tender age of 12 was a serious incident and to be honest worried us all.
"Why won't your scrying tools work?" The king was pacing he floor of his office. "She's my BABY! My little precious!"
Meanwhile in the bandit camp a day away by horseback.
"So, if I hold this like this...." <click> the lock fell open. "I DID IT!" The princess squealed with delight! "Thank you Malcom for teaching me this! I never get to do anything cool at home."
Malcom, the leader of the Savant Hand was honestly shocked at how quickly the princess had picked that lock. He knew that it took the last few of their new guys a month to learn how to pick a lock and she learned in an afternoon. Maybe it was the small hands, or the fact that they were so delicate from never having to do an honest day's work in her life. Well, she was 12, so was part of it too. "You're a natural, and I don't tell a lot of people that. " He then leaned in close, "... I know your father is probably worried sick, why haven't they come with the ransom yet? They do know how to find you, right? The Wizard?"
Ruthie started giggling. "Well, they know where to find my necklace.... I'm pretty sure they've found that already."
"What necklace?" Malcom casually asked.
"Oh, I have a necklace that has a specific beacon spell cast on it. I'm not supposed to know about that part. They just told me to never take it off. My brother used to take his off when he snuck out of the castle to go meet that girl he liked." The princess made a gagging motion with her hands around her mouth. "So, I put it on one of my minabirds and let them out the window before I snuck out . I'm glad I found you all. You are so much more fun than life at home."
Malcom was a bit more concerned. While knowing that the king wouldn't know exactly where they were to start with was good, what wasn't good was when they found that bird. They'd think we did that. Malcom's son worked a booth in the town square selling trinkets and fencing stolen goods. He recognized the princess when she waltzed into camp. He came right to me and told me who she was. She said she was getting her adventure out of the way before her father made her do all the boring stuff like marry some stupid prince from a neighboring country or become a diplomat. He brought her into his tent and had his son sith with her while he pulled his crew together and tell them under no terms was she to be harmed or even threatened. They all feared him, so that wasn't a problem. He then thought of how he could keep her occupied for a couple of days until she got bored with their life.
But she didn't. She had already been training for several years in swordplay and could handle all but the best in the camp. She could do disguises that transformed the wearer. Then there was the lock picking, and safe cracking. Once she was shown the basics, she had no problems with the locks or safes. Malcom worried that their stuff was old and out of sorts, but no, she was a natural.
"What a shame that you have to go back to the palace soon. " Malcom mentioned after dinner one evening. Some of his hunters had bagged an Elk and they had a nice stew to eat. She ate it just like everybody else, and didn't complain about the flavor or anything. When one of the guys asked her how it was, she simply said it was filling, and she was glad to have some.
"I do, but I don't have to go soon." she said. "I know Mummy and Daddy are worried, but when I get back, all will be forgiven." She crossed her arms and nodded. "Unless you think I need to go soon?" She looked at me, then at my boy. "I don't want to get anyone here in trouble. "
It was about this time there was a soft sound of air being displaced, and the court wizard was standing in camp behind Ruthie.
"Oh dear heavens! You've been absconded by BRIGANDS!" He looked down at Ruthie half expecting her to be in some horrible state.
"RELAX Mortimer! I'm fine! Look, I'm sorry about the necklace, but I just needed some adventure. After I got out of the city, I found the faint trail out here and decided to see what was going on."
"Wait, you tracked us here?" one of the guys had a look of horror on his face.
"Well, yeah. I mean, you do a good job with the twists and turns, and there were a couple of creek crossings that made it harder for me, but... well, I don't have MY bow here, but I am a pretty good hunter too. You don't always kill on the first shot so you have to track a deer sometimes. I'm just, well, kind of good at it."
Malcom's mouth fell open to say something, and he was at a loss for words. he then spoke, "You're the perfect woman, but in pre-woman size and disposition! If you weren't the Princess, I'd have my son ask for your hand in marriage once you were old enough."
"Dad, SHUT UP!" Malcom's son, Richard blurted out. His face was quite red.
"Okay, okay lad. Look the jig is up. I think you need to go home with the wizard, but you aren't going to tell anyone where we are, right?" That last part was directed at the wizard. Ruthie kicked him in the shin and glared at him.
"No, I wouldn't dream of it." he stammered out.
"Good, take us home Mortimer!" she held out her hand, then paused. She walked over to Richard and whispered something in his ear and clapped him on his shoulder. "See you all later." and took the wizard's hand. A moment later they were gone.
&#x200B;
"Oh my BABY! We were worried so sick about you, never do that again!" then there were sobs of relief and way too much hugging.
"You have to tell us where you found her, Wizard" the king looked sternly at Mortimer, who looked over at Ruthie who was glaring at him where her parents couldn't see her face.
"she was out in the forest, in a little camp out to the west. She had made a little lean to and was sitting by a stream eating a fish, just as happy as she could be." He hoped his like would pass.
"Eating FISH? Where did you get a fish??? " her mother was slightly horrified.
"Mum, I have known how to make a fish trap since I read about them years ago . I'm glad i got to test it. Plus, you know I know how to make fire," She pointed at a rug on the floor and flames shot out from her hand causing the servants to quickly stomp it out. "I was fine."
Her brother walked into the room with his wife. "What did I miss?"
Then, his sister made up a tale of camping and how a bird snatched her necklace and flew away. She was so lucky to remember all of the survival skills she had read about. He watched with interest and listened to her entire tale, then gave her a hug.
"Well, I'm glad you are okay. Maybe you can start to venture out a little more, with bodyguards, of course. I believe you just can't be cooped up like some chicken!" With a tussle of her hair he walked out.
"Daddy, I want to go to the market and maybe buy some things to cook for you and Mummy. It would be really good if I only had the proper seasonings unlike out in the woods."
"Perhaps tomorrow. Now you should go and get cleaned up. You are much too dirty to be a princess."
Later, Ruthie went around the castle and with her new lockpick, set about learning how to pick all of the locks there. Yeah, she was going to have a lot of fun with this skill.
|
"Eremon, are you sure this is a good idea?" Said Tibetan slowly, the Strig looked cautiously at the woman sitting on the ground next to the black skinned Teifling with a book chained to his left arm.
"Of course its a bloody good idea mate, do you have any idea how useful lock-picking can be?"
Tibetan hung his head
"I mean the fact that you kidnapped her."
"Oh that part, that was Edward's idea blame him. Besides, we wouldn't every get to Karma without a bargaining chip, and her life looked boring as hell."
"It was pretty boring" Agreed the princess, still fiddling with the padlock. Eremon pointed at it then made a twisting motion with his hands
"'Ere you gotta nudge it, trying to torque it will only break your jig."
Tibetan groaned and turned to Maeve, the Dhampire blood hunter held up her hands and shook her head "Hey don't look at me, I had next to nothing to do with this!"
Tibetan turned to Edward, who was busy mixing together some strange liquids in a glass bottle.
"Edward. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Edward Thorne looked up, put his hand to his chin as if considering the question, brushed his red curly hair out of his eyes and then spoke.
"I think, it was the best course of action."
"I hate all of you." Said Tibetan decisively, he sat down and unslung his Greatsword. "By the seven, we were already wanted in three countries now we're wanted in four."
"Mate, I'm wanted in all seven. Get on my level." Said Eremon. He turned back to the princess "There you go, just like that, beautiful! Let me see if I have a more complex lock, Evezyke, a little light?"
He dug into his bag of holding as the book chained to his arm opened up and casted a spell of light. Tibetan simply groaned again. "I can't wait until this is over.
| 2022-03-07T14:45:41 | 2022-03-07T14:06:56 | 58 | 14 |
[WP] One day, while your bored and home alone, you start looking up and pressing pressure points on your body. After you hit one behind your ear, a strange board appears in front of you. You’ve just opened the Character Menu. And there’s a lot of settings you didn’t know about...
|
Anya stared at the screen in front of her, index finger still pressed against her ear. It was translucent, black, with glowing blue text. It displayed her name and birth date at the top. On the left side was a menu that said “VITAL STATISTICS” and listed her strength, dexterity, awareness, intelligence, endurance, charm, and luck. Each had a corresponding number, the highest of which was her intelligence at 7 and the lowest being her luck at 1. On the right side of the screen was a smaller menu that said “SKILLS” and was only divided into a few categories: Physical, Mental, and Other. These didn’t have any numbers next to them, but had arrows indicating some kind of drop down menu. At the very bottom of the screen was a bar labeled “LEVEL” with the number 29 next to it, and the bar was about halfway full with more blue light. Anya’s 29th birthday had been about 6 months ago, so the bar made sense. Sort of. As for the rest of it…
The last thing on the screen that floated before her in violation of all natural law was a big blue circle labeled “HELP,” next to a flashing message that said “YOU HAVE UNSPENT POINTS.” She looked away from it and scanned the screen in front of her in silence for several more minutes. She pressed the spot behind her ear again and the screen vanished. She pressed it a third time and it appeared once again. Press. Gone. Press. Back again. Press. Gone. Press. Back again.
“Ooookaaaaaay,” Anya said and sat down in a chair as she eyed the screen warily. She reached out and pressed her finger against the screen. It felt cold, and like she was touching a tissue: flimsy but definitely there. She moved her finger to “INTELLIGENCE” and pressed. A chart displaying her intelligence going up over the years replaced the main menu. An up and a down arrow with the number 7 between them was now on the right side of the screen. A message flashed beside the arrows, asking, “WOULD YOU LIKE TO SPEND YOUR STATISTIC POINTS?” Next to a smaller number 29.
Still not entirely sure if she was dreaming or not, Anya hit the up arrow and her intelligence number got bumped up to an 8. Her head tingled for a second and she wrinkled her brow at the sensation. She didn’t feel smarter. She went back to the main menu and selected “STRENGTH” which was currently at a 3. She hit the up arrow until her strength was at an 8 then stopped. She waited and then gasped. Something like a full body muscle spasm overtook her and sent her onto the floor writhing in silent agony. She was dimly aware of the sound of something ripping and her vision going dark.
And after a few seconds, the sensation passed.
Anya gasped and lifted herself up on one arm, then froze as she saw that said arm now looked like it belong to She-Hulk. It was covered in lean but well-defined muscle, and the sleeves and back of her shirt had split, along with the sides of her shorts, all to make way for newly acquired muscle. She lifted up the bottom of her shirt and observed her new six-pack. After standing and noticing that her already tiny apartment seemed smaller than usual, she glanced in the mirror nearby and saw she had also grown about a foot.
“Holy fucking shit,” she breathed. She went through the rest of her stats until she’d spent all 29 points, raising each Stat to 9. By the end of it, she barely recognized herself. She looked like some kind of Amazonian super model. She was also able to focus tightly on every detail around her, and could make out the sounds of conversations in the other apartments near her if she concentrated. She stood on her hands for the first time in her life and walked across her apartment like that with ease. She did the splits and advanced yoga positions without any need for a warm-up. She crushed an apple into pulp with her bare hand.
“Whoa,” she said. She looked at the other side of the main menu now, the one that had “SKILLS” and the three categories. She opened up the “PHYSICAL” menu and almost fell over. It expanded the screen to encompass most of her immediate field of vision and listen, in alphabetical order, a huge array of physical abilities. It included, among thousands of others: Acrobatics, Akido, Boxing, Curling, Fidget Spinning, Massage Therapy, Pain Resistance, Regeneration, Sexual Prowess, and Zombie Wrangling. She already had a few points in some skills, like Jogging, Yoga, and a few other mundane abilities.
The “MENTAL” skills had a similar exhaustive list of a lot of academic subjects like Chemistry, Mechanical Engineering, Psychology, and more social categories like Business, Flirting, Persuasion, and categories for every single language on Earth. Her ability in “ENGLISH” was currently at a 7. There were also some odd categories like Arcana, Sports Trivia, and Jell-O sculpting. In both the “PHYSICAL” and “MENTAL” menus, she had 29 skill points to use, though she didn’t mess with them just yet.
When she tried to access the “OTHER” category, a message popped up that said, “UNLOCKED AT LEVEL 100.”
“So I guess I gotta wait for that one,” Anya said. That left one thing.
Anya pressed, “HELP.”
A diminutive humanoid figure made of blue light appeared floating beside the screen, and Anya screamed. It was about the size of a baby, and reminded Anya of the Michelin Man: pudgy and cartoony and round.
“Hello!” it said. It had the voice of a small child, and waved a tiny mitten hand at Anya. “Glad to see you finally accessed your personal statistic menu! I see you’ve already distributed your stat points, but haven’t selected a class yet. Would you like assistance?”
“What the fuck?” Anya breathed and stared wide-eyed at the floating apparition.
“Ah. I assume accessing this menu was an accident?” the thing asked. Anya nodded. The creature’s eyes rolled back in its head and it sighed with irritation. “Seems most of you haven’t ever accessed the menus. Less than a tenth of a percent of the population in recorded history. Putting it behind the ear as stupid. Should’ve had it in the nostril on the genitals like the Chief suggested.”
“I’m sorry?” Anya asked. The creature shook its head. “Who are you? What are you? What is this shit?”
“I’m your personal assistant. I’m an artificial intelligence shoved into your head by my creators. This shit,” it said and pointed at the menu screen, “is a way to exponentially expand on your innate abilities. Humans are very malleable. Think you’ve got the basics of the main stat and skill menus, but the class menu is over here.”
The AI swiped a hand on her menu to the left and sent it to the side of Anya’s vision, which brought up a new menu labeled “CLASS.” Anya stared as the AI revealed hundreds of classes, from “FIGHTER” and “RESEARCHER” to more bizarre sounding titles such as “STAR STRIDER” and “FIEND OVERLORD,” and a particularly strange one that just read “FISTER.” Each one came with a number of innate skills, stat boosts, and so on.
“I don’t understand,” Anya said.
&#x200B;
\[1/2\]
|
I guess I just wasn't really aware of how mundane we all are. We all were. They. Im going to need to start saying they. You experience a lot of things in life that make you smarter, wiser, or stronger. All the little things that made you who you are, that's all your experience. Every heartbreak, interaction, decision, and step taken.
Experience.
It was the scariest decision I've ever made, but the easiest. After all, I had the experience.
L E V E L U P
I guess... I guess I just wasn't really wasn't aware of how mundane they all were.
| 2018-10-21T22:49:19 | 2018-10-21T21:59:31 | 586 | 31 |
[WP] The Elves, Dwarves, and Goblins laughed at humans for not having magic. The humans laughed at the Elves, Dwarves, and Goblins for not having giant robots.
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“How much further?” asked Xylenor, in between ragged breaths.
He didn’t get an answer. The dwarf at his side was less than half his height, reaching only up to his scabbard. That meant that Blomor had to work twice as hard just to keep up at the current pace they were going, as they plunged through the thick undergrowth, plowed through the coarsened vegetation. The inevitable gloom of dusk was also falling across the horizon, signalling the onset of darkness, which was never an ideal condition for fighting, no matter how you cut it.
They reached a fork in the trail, and Blomor gestured to the left. Xylenor fell in line, and briefly hoped that the others would pick up on their trail, scent the waymarks he had been leaving behind at regular intervals.
“Not much further now,” said Blomor, his pace slowing. “When will your reinforcements arrive?”
“Soon,” said Xylenor, hoping that he would not be proven wrong.
“They better. We can’t take them on our own.”
Xylenor’s stomach tightened in knots. He yearned to throw caution to the winds, unleash his magic there and then. A single thunderflare first, which would bathe the forests for miles around with a single peal of light, a flash of sound. That would mark their location, give the patrols a destination to home in on. Then Xylenor would link forces with the dwarf, and together they would marshal the latent energies in the surroundings, tear open a portal at their location, create a forward position from which their brethren could quickly pour forth.
And how easy it would be. The elves were the lynchpin in the Alliance, masters at channelling and processing the raw magic which permeated their world. The dwarves, with their knack for intricate, delicate spellweaving, did wonders with the relatively meagre amounts of magic they dredged up. And the goblins, or at least the last few which still survived, would harmonize the discordant spells unleashed in battle, pluck the stray strands which zipped through the air, and rally it all into a single, living, breathing orchestra of magic.
But Xylenor knew they could afford no such luxury. If they were to meet the challenge lying ahead, they would need every shred of magic at their disposal.
“We’re getting close,” said Blomor.
“Was this where you first came upon them?” asked Xylenor.
“Aye. My partner’s still out there, somewhere, keeping watch. Just a normal routine inspection. The humans have been keeping to their side of the bargain, keeping off our territory. But some of our younglings often cross the border, thinking themselves brave enough to weather whatever’s lying ahead.”
“They were the ones who first alerted you?”
“In a way,” said Blomor. “We found them running back towards our outposts, damn near screaming their heads off in fear.”
“Is it bad?” asked Xylenor.
Blomor nodded. “Very.”
They crested a hill, and then Xylenor saw it for himself. The plumes of smoke against the setting sun seemed like the stormdrakes of old, twisting gently as they stretched out into the heavens. Xylenor counted at least four main conflict points, marked by the scorched earth and shattered trees. He focused, sharpening his senses with a seasoning of magic. The sounds of battle still raged on, but he had trouble making out the dancing giants in the distance.
“Their shields are still up,” said Xylenor.
“Aye. We had trouble sighting them too, what with the cloaking fields they deploy.”
“So do we know what we’re in for?”
Blomor beckoned, and away they went again, streaking down the other side of the hill until they came to a human-made clearing, marked by a giant carcass, rooted into the ground. It still thrummed with life, but just barely, and Xylenor didn’t need magic to tell that the humans within were already dead.
“This is a bloody Dreadnought, for goodness’ sakes,” muttered Xylenor in disbelief.
“From the Emperor’s Command, no less,” said Blomor. He muttered a levitation spell, and was lifted to the side of the fallen giant. His hand caressed the strange materials, feeling the edges where the top half of the Dreadnought had been clipped right off, as if it was a mere chestnut sundered by a blade.
“You think your lightning spells can do this much damage?” asked Blomor. "To shear right through a Dreadnought, how many Circles must work together?"
Xylenor’s face blanched. “You mean…”
Off they went again, quicker this time. Xylenor sensed the forests filling up with the Alliance, which comforted him somewhat. If he was going to die here today, at least he wouldn’t be alone.
They found themselves at yet another hill, and this time they were close enough to see the battle with their own eyes.
On one side were the gleaming legions of the humans. Three to a cell, six to a squad, nine to a contingent, the humans were already in their raging golems, towering beasts of unwavering loyalty. Xylenor recalled an early campaign where the Alliance had resorted to skulduggery, tried to twist the golems to their side. Their very best mages had been stumped, unable to figure out the inner workings of those fearsome monstrosities. Humans on their own were dangerous, but with their golems, an entire village caught unprepared could be razed to the ground.
By Xylenor’s best count, less than a third of the human forces remained. Those which still stood and fought had the trailing black robes of the Command, that elite band of golems which comprised of the most experienced and battle-worn warriors. They were holding their ground, but just barely.
Xylenor was so lost in the spectacle that he gave a start when the human nearby, propped against a tree, coughed. The human had evidently ejected from his golem at the point of complete destruction, and had somehow managed to crawl to relative safety.
For a moment, Xylenor forgot that this was technically still an enemy combatant, and he rushed to the human’s side, pressed his hands against the open wounds, summoning all the healing magic he could muster.
“I’m… sorry,” said the human, too weak to even hold up his head.
“He’s not got long,” said Blomor.
“We should have come earlier… but…”
“Why didn’t you send us a warning earlier?” asked Xylenor, a hard edge creeping into his voice. “You could have told us!”
“The Alliance wouldn’t have believed… us…”
Then, the infernal clacking filled the air, a sound so terrible that it awakened deep-seated, long-buried memories in Xylenor. The goosebumps razed his flesh, his blood ran cold, and he forced himself to look to the other side of the battlefield, athwart the mighty golems.
And there flourished an array of the land’s greatest threats, the enemy they thought finally vanquished. There they stood, risen from the dead, the only thing which could have united the humans and the Alliance, caused them to put aside their petty differences, band together against the common threat. Each double the size of the human golems, stronger, faster, deadlier.
Unrelenting forces of nature, harbingers of doom.
“Believe me now?” asked Blomor grimly.
Xylenor pressed his fingers to his forehead, and thoughtcast the warning back to the elven forces on the way.
“Be advised,” he relayed, “the Orcs with their Giant Enemy Crabs are back.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
"Wahahahahahahahhaha" the loud, sharp laughter of the goblins echoes throughout their city. Loud explosions could be seen and heard anywhere. The goblins were running in fear from enormous dark silhouettes in the smoke.
"Who's laughing now?! You nasty ass globins!" Donald Trump shouts out into the his microphone. Humans all around the world watches in fear as their television screen shows Donald's maniacal laughing face, controlling giant robots stomping on the grounds of the Goblins.
In the next 36 hours, goblin kind faced major economical downfall. Their major gold stash was crushed by buildings upon buildings and their city is too radioactive to be entered by any other species... without hazmat suits.
Only the human race has mastered technology the point where it could trump magic in every right.
That day the Elves, Dwarves and Goblins made a pact to leave for another world with three quarter of the human population, leaving Earth for the rich and powerful to fend for themselves.
| 2017-07-17T07:10:11 | 2017-07-17T06:42:42 | 974 | 34 |
[WP] You are dog. It is your mission to faithfully guard your poor, stupid, two-legged pack-mates from the horrors of the mailman, the dog next door, and men with hats. Describe your vigil.
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I am dog.
Millenia ago, long before the two-leggers had begun to naively roam the forests, blissfully lacking the mental wherewithal to pee on the trees they had descended from, my race was a nomadic one. We traveled from planet to planet seeking to rid the galaxy of the sociopathic race the hairless call "cats", better known to us as the "Urr'wuff": They Who Do What They Want And Do Not Give A Fuck.
My people were great and as numerous as the fleas on our backs. Under the guidance of Kazak the Wise, Grand Packleader and Humper of All Things, we had managed to nearly eradicate the Urr'wuff and finally put an end to the great catnip cartels that had claimed so many billions of lives throughout the ages. The last of the feline survivors had fled to the edge of the galaxy, and my direct canine ancestors -- the greatest and most disciplined warriors of them all, fabled to be able to hold cookies on their noses for hours at a time without partaking -- had been dispatched to finish them.
And so it was that in a small, insignificant solar system near the abyss of deep space, the great canine warriors met their match with the cunning cat criminals. In the upper stratosphere of a small blue planet they engaged in the greatest space battle known to dog-kind, one that spanned many many weeks, or maybe only a couple of minutes, nobody could really tell.
In the aftermath of the carnage survivors of both races found themselves marooned on the strange planet. Starving and without hope, my ancestors were saved by a small, primitive race we began to call two-leggers, or more formally "Grrrrr Aruff": Those Whose Penises Do Not Glow Red.
Indebted to these simple, confused people, my ancestors swore their allegiance to them, vowing to help and protect two-leggers from their own ignorance, and to shield them from the cats (who had already begun to manipulate them into servitude.)
Of course, through the ages, not all dogs stayed the cause. Some went off to breed with the beautiful females of the native races of the planet, the wolves, known to us as "Aff'grr": Those Silvery Babes With The Nice Voices. Others went rogue, forgot their posts, corrupted the name of dog-kind with their laxity and disregard and forced their stalwart brothers to turn agains them.
But those that remained stayed true to their cause and found solace in the beautiful companionship that so many of the hairless, comically ignorant two-leggers provided.
I am dog. This is my vigil.
***
The porch. Morning. The air tantalizes me with the intoxicating scent of dead squirrel and rabbit droppings in the corner of the yard. I itch to roll in it. But I do not move, for beneath those sensuous aromas is another, one that is distant but getting closer, the smell of evil.
I hear a bark from upwind. It is the bichon frise known as Pumpkin, Annihilator of Plush Invaders and Keeper of the Heinous Gas. She approaches me, her young two-legger in tow.
"Hail, Rex," she greets me through the fence. "Peace and good garbage be upon you and your family."
"Hail Pumpkin," I reply. "What news do you bring?"
"I gave chase to the yellow tomcat known as Burlington this morning, but he has eluded me yet. Be wary of him trespassing on your territory. I have also yet to catch the strange, flittering red light that continues to plague me when I am lying near my two-leggers, but I expect to have subdued it by the time of the full moon."
"Have you seen He Who Tries To Invade Us on your scout this morning?"
"Yes, about a block over. I kept my Anna at a safe distance and he showed no interest in us, but I would still be cautious," Pumpkin growls lowly.
"I always am," I assure her.
"Well I must be on my way. May your bones be meaty and buried deep. Farewell."
She is gone. Moments pass. The smell becomes stronger. In the distance, I hear Pumpkin barking. An alert to me. He is close.
Here he is now, readying himself to invade. I see him carrying his bag of strange papers. I am always prepared, always on guard for the day he withdraws the hair-dryer I am sure has hidden deep inside and comes after me with it.
Now he stands on the edge of my territory and looks at me nervously. That is right, you son of a carkitten, you skittish vacuum-mouth fart of a tuna taster, cower in the presence of the might Rex!
"Come no closer, foul demon. You may have fooled my simple pack into thinking you are one of them, but you will not take this yard as long as I stand in it. Be gone, you shall invade here no longer!" I cry, galloping up to the gate.
Then my a call. My older female runs out to scold me. She has been enchanted by this paper demon, she does not know.
"I'm so sorry, Tom, here just hand the mail to me. Rex, stay!" I hear her say. The usual gibberish. I am already six years old, my juvenile dream of one day teaching my two-leggers to speak has long since been dashed. Regardless, I still love them.
He Who Tries To Invade Us looks at me once more. He does not cross the gate. Thwarted again, the cowardly git, the mere sight of me sends him shaking. Nevertheless he still ensnares the old female into taking his strange papers. One day I will discover what they are for and use it against him.
The older female retreats inside, safe again.
"A close call," comes a snide voice. Hugo. He is at the fence.
I bound up to him, my fangs bared. Just the sight of the traitor's ugly snout makes me shiver with rage.
"A lot of nerve you have showing up here, again!" I bark. He is a lost cause. A failed guardian. His one charge, his only human, was taken hostage by a cat two years ago, and now it is she who runs the territory. And Hugo fraternizes with her, the bastard. "Get out of here! I do not want your presence corrupting the sanctity of my territory!"
"You do not tell me where I can and cannot go!" Hugo's reply thunders in my ears. "This is my territory I am standing on! This side of the fence is mine!"
"Yours?" I laugh, "So is that your fishy piss I smell on all corners of the yard?"
"You are some kind of scentless asshole, Rex! I ought to dig under there and kick your tail!"
"You don't have the gall, traitorous pup!"
Another call. This time it is Hugo's two-legger. He leaves his house and runs across to restrain Hugo, dragging him by backwards by the necklace. A pitiable shame, this human. Another puppet for the cat, that slimy scheming Siamese named Perdita. One day her tail will be my trophy, and Hugo's belly will be bared to me. I swear it for the good of my pack.
edit: I am too tired to finish this but it was such a fun prompt. Thanks for reading. :)
|
The creatures with strange heads were back. The breeze carried their scent that smells of thick-beast, their brown and black varieties of heads seem like two creatures combined. Two scents. They are not natural, but the two-leg pack members never realize the danger. I do good by protecting two legs from strange-heads. Worst of all is the carrier two leg, the one with the funny bag. Today was the day he doesn't come. I lament my missed opportunity to please the two legs. Despite being oblivious, they always seem to have food.
| 2014-12-27T11:18:57 | 2014-12-27T09:41:24 | 109 | 19 |
[WP] The super villain shook with rage as they stared at the security footage. "He's not even a real superhero with superpowers! He's just some loser who's really good at throwing knives at people without killing them!"
|
"Is he really a loser?" said Andrew, nursing a bandaged knife wound on his right hand. "He single-handedly kicked our asses. I mean, what does that say about *us*?"
Dabria frowned. "He got lucky. If I had been there, the result would've been different."
Andrew pursed his lips, doubtful.
"You disagree?" asked Dabria, clenching her fist.
"N-no." Andrew hung his head. "Sorry, boss."
"That's what I thought. And to answer your previous question, yes, you *are* losers." Dabria gestured at the rest of the crew. Half of them had been arrested, and the remaining ones were all scratched and stabbed throughout their bodies. She had to do everything in her power to contain her fury. "Get this through your heads. None of you would have anything if it weren't for me. I literally took on the entire police force while you idiots fumbled around in the bank."
"W-we did our best, boss." said Derek. "We organized the hostages, cracked the vault and everything. All we had to do was escape but-"
"You fucked it up anyway! You even left the money behind!"
"The ones who didn't were stabbed in the ankles..."
"I don't care! If I'm risking my life for you, you damn well should do the same! There's no possible way he could get all of you!"
Andrew meekly raised his hand.
Dabria arched an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"What are we going to do now? Didn't we need those funds to join the League?"
"Don't worry. There are other ways to gain membership."
Dabria and her crew only needed one big statement to get their attention. This superhero (if one could call him that) had gained a lot of accolades in a short period of time. Defeating him in a public setting should be enough to bolster Dabria's reputation.
They couldn't rush into it, though. The crew needed to recover from their wounds.
Thankfully, that gave them time to study their new enemy. His name was 'Edgelord' and teenagers loved him due to his intimidating dark aesthetic, with a long stylish trench coat, a vest full of knives, and a matte-black helmet that covered everything except his mouth.
Dabria couldn't wrap her head around it. During interviews, he always claimed that his goal was to teeter on the border of acceptable, to teach people to question their assumptions and show that someone who looked scary could also do good in the world. Dabria couldn't help but be disgusted by it.
Edgelord was a proponent of hard work and training, always pushing his limits. People loved him because it gave them hope. If someone without powers could do it, then so could they. Dabria hated that. Heroes like him were all fakes. They tricked others into thinking normies were equal to meta-humans in order to profit from it. A convenient narrative to keep the masses docile.
In a real fight, there was no way he could handle Dabria. She was sure of it.
People who thought they could overcome their natural limitations through effort were exactly the type of delusional fools who maintained the status quo. Some people were just born better than others. Refusing this was one of society's biggest lies.
The crew recovered from their injuries a month later. They still complained about being sore, but Dabria wouldn't hear it. She couldn't keep waiting any longer.
In the meantime, Edgelord had only grown more popular. Although this was beneficial to the crew, since it would only make their victory more impressive, Dabria couldn't stand the thought of that loser getting rewarded. He had to have a superpower. It was the only explanation for his competence.
Their plan was simple. The crew would stage a fake heist, setting a trap for him instead of focusing on the loot. Once he ran inside, Dabria would beat the living hell out of him.
Everything went perfectly.
Half an hour after taking over the bank, Edgelord swung into the building with his grappling hook.
The crew was ready for him. They dropped their bags to reveal their assault rifles and fired at him.
To his credit, Edgelord outmaneuvered all of them, zipping around the bank while they wasted their bullets.
Dabria was careful not to reveal herself, hidden among the hostages. She had to study Edgelord's technique until his superpower became apparent. The fight would be simple once she knew his secret.
Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be happening soon.
One by one, the crew fell to Edgelord's tricks, causing friendly fire. Was he taunting them? He hadn't even thrown a knife yet.
Andrew and Derek seemed to be the only ones not falling for his tactics. They kept a calm head, organizing the others into a better formation.
Edgelord identified them as the leaders and threw a pair of knives at them.
Dabria stood up and stopped the blades in midair, using her telekinesis.
Edgelord turned towards her.
"Surprised?" asked Dabria, smugly satisfied.
Edgelord smirked. "Not really."
"AHHH!" shouted Andrew and Derek. They both had a knife in their shoulder and couldn't aim their rifles anymore.
Dabria widened her eyes. "How...?"
The pair of knives still floated in the air. He must've thrown four, but hid the second pair behind the first. A cheap parlor trick.
The rest of the crew didn't see it that way. They quickly ran out of the bank, fearing a repeat of their previous encounter.
"Cowards!" shouted Dabria. "I'll get all of you after this!"
"I've been waiting for you," said Edgelord. "The second I saw your crew without you, I knew you were waiting in hiding."
Dabria tore the bank vault out of its hinges and flung it at him with her mind.
Edgelord did a graceful flip over it.
Dabria had already accounted for that, though. She threw a marble statue at his escape route, but Edgelord quickly sliced it in half with a single knife throw.
This couldn't be happening. Was his power precognition? Incredible accuracy? Invulnerable projectiles?
No.
It didn't matter.
Dabria started bending the light around her, turning it into an energy beam. This usually tired her out quickly. She didn't want to use her ace-in-the-hole against a worm like him but there didn't seem to be another way. "Let's see if you're the real deal."
Edgelord readied himself to dodge.
Dabria then aimed her hands at the hostages.
"No!" shouted Edgelord.
Dabria fired with glee.
A real hero would tank the hit in order to save the civilians.
Edgelord didn't do that. Instead, he threw a bunch of knives at an unstable pillar and caused it to fall in front of the hostages, shielding them from the blast. The ensuing explosion created a fog a debris inside the building.
Dabria snarled. She couldn't see anything. "I know you're a fake! Sooner or later, I'll figure it out!"
A knife flew out of the debris.
Dabria melted it with her beam, thinking he was there.
Edgelord jumped from behind, tackling her to the ground.
Dabria didn't have the energy to repel him.
"You know," said Edgelord, tying her up, "If you had gone all out from the start, you might've had a better chance. This is what you get for looking down on me."
Dabria closed her eyes, fuming with anger. All her life, people with better powers had kept her down. She rationalized this by seeing it as the way of the world. Predator or prey. Meta-human or normie. Winners or losers. It made sense. Everyone got what they deserved. If one was strong enough to take something, that meant they were entitled to it. Dabria didn't begrudge those who kept her down. They were merely following the rules of nature.
Edgelord, however, had thrown a wrench into everything. If someone could reach that level without powers, then all of Dabria's failures weren't a function of the universe. They were all her fault.
And Dabria couldn't accept that. She swelled with as much energy as she could, hoping to blow up everything around her, and shouted:
"I AM NOT A LOSER!"
In a split second, Edgelord used his grappling hook to pull them both outside. He couldn't avoid the explosion.
Dabria collapsed on the street, next to his sizzling body. The police quickly captured her. She didn't have the strength to fight back. As they carried her away, though, she couldn't help but utter an evil cackle. This was her victory.
Or so she thought.
Once she was in prison, she discovered that Edgelord had survived the attack. A meta-doctor arrived on the scene and healed his wounds before he could die. Dabria had never been so humiliated in her life. Edgelord gained a metric ton of popularity after the incident. All Dabria could do was simmer in prison, alone.
"This isn't over," muttered Dabria to herself. "Not by a longshot."
--------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stuff over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
|
The view on murder is a silly thing. They say it's terrible, horrible but I don't think so. If you made a list of all the different things you could do to another human being and ranked them by morality, murder would lie somewhere in the middle, however lying near the top, to me, is crippling another person mentally.
That's what this damn piece of shit hero does, to his own American compatriots. He trows knives with so much force the framerate on the camera can only pick up when they leave the hand, and when the pommel of the knife slams aganist the forehead, knocking somebody out cleanly.
It's true that they're not dead. It's true that their brain is damanged. Normally that's not such a big problem. A few iq points losts, a couple of memories turned to jargon, a reduced capacity for empathy, but that's the best thing that can happen. The damage certainly alters the victim in ways a physical wound simply wouldn't. Often times they become impulsive, suddenly, and out of nowhere, comitting acts in rage, or they fall into a coma, or they become vegtables.
And the question becomes, who are the people taking the punishment for this? Not me, not the hero or the rich that support him. Hard working, american communities. That's who. These accomplishes of mine, if they're not caputered by the Russians and tortured, are brought back to America to dish out their recieved mental illness on their family and loved ones. And that's how the cycle of violence begins. Poisioning the great America.
I can't, for the life of me, understand why anybody would do something like this to their own American compatriots. If he were doing this to the Russians I'd help him out. Matter of fact, I'd supply him with knives that would insure a mental cripple. But to the americans? The people that hold up democracy and freedom?
It's not right. If he were to leave my plans be, over one quarter of Asia's population would dissapear like that. Dead. It would effectively put America back in the number one position. The leaders of the world once again. How things should be.
That's not to say we aren't the leaders right now. We certainly are, but in the past it used to be clear, obvious. That's not the case anymore. Nobody looks at America as the dream country anymore. It's not the place to be, and that hurts me. This great empire reduced to a mere country.
| 2022-08-03T08:57:53 | 2022-08-03T08:52:46 | 135 | 34 |
[WP] You're underage and trying to use a fake ID to buy booze. Suddenly, someone walks into the liquor store and recognizes you...as your fake persona.
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“TGIF am I right?” I said placing the thirty rack on the counter.
“ID.” The man behind the counter said.
“Really?” I chuckled nervously. “You’re making my day here fella, haven’t been asked for this in a while.” I handed him the ID and grinned, I was nailing it.
The attendant examined my fake ID and I felt sweat trickle down my back. If he saw through my clever ruse I’d have to bolt. He was holding it a bit longer than I would have liked and I was preparing my getaway when a disheveled old man sidled up beside me.
“Jenkins? Is that really you?” He said.
The name on my ID was Paul Jenkins, born in 1950. The guy I bought it from assured me that nobody would notice that I wasn’t sixty-something year old man, but my doubts were creeping in.
The attendant looked quizzically at both of us and waited, he wasn’t in any rush.
“Excuse me?” I asked turning to face the old man.
“Holy shit! It is you! I haven’t seen you since ’68, I thought you were dead!” He said embracing me.
“Uh, I think you have the wrong guy.” I stammered. There was no way he could have seen the name on my fake, he hadn’t even been in the store before I got to the counter.
“No way, I’d recognize that face anywhere. Jesus, you haven’t aged at all.”
“Well, uh, thanks?”
The attendant looked amused and settled down for the show.
“What happened to you man? We were gonna come back to the world and make a name for ourselves.”
“I really think you have the wrong guy, sir.”
“Bullshit. You are Paul Jenkins, we went to ‘Nam in ’68. You went MIA, they told me you were dead. What happened?” The old man’s eyes were wet with tears.
“I uh, I don’t know?” I said.
“Must have been some rough shit man, I’m sorry. I know how it is, I still have nightmares sometimes. Hey, you remember that time we chased Charlie into them holes and shot ‘em all up while they were eating dinner?”
“Um, no.”
“Ha! That’s too bad brother, good times. Good times.” He stared into the distance for a moment and snapped back to reality.
“Anyway, you look good man, like you haven’t aged a day. What’s your secret?”
“Well, I...”
“Never mind buddy, ancient Chinese secret I bet.” He winked at the not at all Chinese attendant. “Holy shit, I just can’t believe after all these years I’d see you again.”
“Right.” I didn’t have much say in this conversation anymore.
“Yeah... Hey, you remember that case of beer you owe me? Yeah you do! Thought you could get out of it by going MIA huh? Fat chance, pay up pal!” The man laughed.
I looked at the attendant, he looked more confused than I did, but he shrugged and rang up the case. I paid and handed it to the old man, I figured it was the only way to get rid of him. Instead of taking the beer and leaving me in peace he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and walked me out with him.
“Jenkins, you bastard! I missed you man. Let’s have a beer and celebrate.”
At this rate I was never going to make it back to the guys before the party started, but this man was unhinged and I really didn’t want to be stabbed, so I went along with it.
“Sure. But I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”
“Oh that’s funny Jenkins, you leave me to die back in ’68 so you could come back and fuck my wife, then use your vampire powers to stay young forever. That’s rich.”
“What?”
The old man led me towards and alley, I tried to struggle from his grip but it was like a vice.
“Scream for help and you’re dead.”
I did as I was told, but I kept looking for a way out. I spotted nothing that would help and there weren’t any people around. That’s what you get for going to the shittiest neighborhood to buy beer underage.
“I’m not Jenkins, I swear! It was a fake ID!” I said.
“That’s illegal Jenkins, but so is being a vampire. I guess your moral compass is all kinds of fucked up.” The old man tossed me into a pile of trash at the back of the alley.
“I swear! I got it from a guy yesterday!” I pleaded.
The old man pulled a huge knife from inside his ratty coat and pointed the blade at me. “You stop your devil talk right now Jenkins.”
“I’m not Jenkins!”
“That’s just what a Jenkins would say, I’m not a Jenkins! Typical Jenkins.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? You’re crazy!”
“I’m crazy? You’re the guy that looks like the guy I was in ‘Nam with who still looks 18. Explain that.” The old man cracked a beer and crouched in front of me drinking.
“I don’t know, it’s just a fake ID man. I don’t know where it came from!”
“Mhmm. Sure. You tried this same thing two weeks ago when you said you were a 16 year old Indian girl. Didn’t work then, won’t work now.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“No it doesn’t Jenkins, I killed you two weeks ago and here you are again, buying beer. You a body jumper? What’s your deal Jenkins?”
“It’s just a fake ID! I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know any Indian girls!”
“Right, right. Whatever you say Jenkins. You want a beer?” He said offering me a can.
“Um, sure. I guess.” I said hoping he would start to make sense.
“WELL YOU CAN’T FUCKING HAVE ONE!” He shouted fast balling the can into the wall behind me.
I’m not ashamed to admit this, but I started crying.
“Fuck me, it was just a beer man, don’t cry.” He said. “Save your tears for when I have to cut your face off. That shit’s gonna hurt.”
I cried harder, there wasn’t anything I could do anymore.
“Gross Jenkins.” He said.
“I, I, I’m not Jenkins.” I sobbed.
“Pretty sure you are, but at this point it doesn’t really matter does it? Hey, you remember that time we killed all those hookers in Saigon? Well this is gonna be a lot like that, except you’re the hooker this time Jenkins!”
He stood up and raised the knife, I closed my eyes and prayed. The stab never came, and it was quiet. I cracked an eye and searched for my attacker, but he wasn’t there. I opened the other eye and scanned the alley, there was no sign of him, and I hadn’t heard him run off. The only thing in the alley was the 30 rack with two missing beers.
I didn’t waste any time, I got up and bolted from the alley and back to my car as fast as I could. I went straight home and got under the covers, but I didn’t sleep. I didn’t sleep or do much of anything else for a long time.
|
Cashier: I don't know man... This just doesn't look right, *Andrew*...
Scott: seriously man??... We've already been over my address, date of birth and license number, what are you a cop?
DING
Brent: Ayyyo, an-DREEEEW!!!
Cashier: *huh...*
Brent: What's up my bruthaaa?! You going to the party again tonight??..
Scott: Tryin', but this asshole is questioning my face...
Cashier: that'll be $14.67...
| 2016-05-25T13:27:23 | 2016-05-25T08:14:54 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] Satan owes you a favor. Now the time has come for him to pay up and he is begging you to choose anything else than what you just asked for.
|
“Hey Jennifer, It’s Satan here, ”I’ve got you on speaker. Can you get me someone from legal on the line?”
“Sure thing Boss,” Jennifer said down the line as Satan stared at me, his glowing eyes full of hatred towards me and all humanity.
Awkward silence filled the office, the big window behind Satan’s head glowing red with the flames that licked at the horizon as the hold music played from the phone.
*There's a good vibration*
*Spreading through the nation*
*Get up on your feet, rock on!*
*Like a ball of fire, keeps on growing higher*
*Chase your blues away, rock on!*
*On and on and on and on, rock on! Rock on!*
*Like a magic potion*
*It's just music motion*
*Feel it in your soul, rock on!*
“I’m sorry to be technical Satan but the details are there in black and whi…”
The great evil held his hand up, cutting me off mid-sentence.
“Let’s just wait and see what the guys from legal have to say,” Satan huffed angrily as his gnarled fingers tapped against the desk.
I looked around his office, taking in the awards: Real Estate Agent of the Year, Car Salesman of the Year, Best Director AVN Award for Talent Spotting. Satan had been and done it all. If anyone knew the value of a contract, I thought, it’d be Satan and a bunch of lawyers.
*There's a new age coming*
*Things are really humming*
*All across the land, rock on!*
*On and on and on and on, rock on! Rock on!*
“Hello,” a voice said as the hold music cut off, “It’s Carol from legal. How can I help?”
“Carol, it’s Satan. I’ve got you on speaker with a client of mine and I’ve got a bit of a contract issue I need an opinion on.”
“Are we talking a business contract or something personal?”
Satan paused. “Well, it’s probably business, but it’s personal to me.”
“Okay,” Carol said. “I’ll call my colleague Bob and get him to sit in. Give me a sec guys.”
Satan looked at me, pressed the button on the phone to mute the call and lent forward.
“Bill, I’m begging you,” he said, pausing briefly. “As a friend, we go way back. I mean, way, way back. I got you into some shit, and I got you out of some and you did the same for me. I mean fuck man, the hookers, the blow, that Tranny in Eastern Europe and the body in Alabama... But this, this I can’t do.”
“Satan, I know all that. I know what we did and what we didn’t do - well what I can remember,” I said. “But I promised my wife and you know as well as I do that I owe her this.”
“Bill, you know if I do this I’ve got to keep my promise to the other side and that’s just, just, something I can’t put the world through,” Satan said before continuing. “I mean my approval ratings are in the toilet and you know I don’t care about that but by he-who-is-holy-and-who-I-cannot-name if you make me do this you stand to end the world as we know it so I want to see if our little arrangement is legally binding on me.”
I nodded and Satan hunched his shoulders before pressing the mute button.
“Are you there Satan? It’s Carol and I’ve got Bob with me. He’s kind of new here. Made his name representing the Vatican against claims of child abuse. Blamed the whole thing on the kids - just beautiful it was,” Carol said.
“Excellent,” Satan said. “Welcome to the team Bob.”
“Thanks S- ah,” Bob stammered.
“Satan’s fine. We try and run a fairly horizontal structure so it’s pretty casual here in head office.”
I smiled, this motherfucker was good. Really good.
“Right, as background, my client Bill and I go way back on a personal level and we made the mistake of mixing business and pleasure a while ago. I don’t want to go into the gory details but he’s a pretty heavy hitter and got himself into a little trouble at work a few years ago now,” Satan said, as I recalled the issue in question and a broad, shit-eating grin came to my face which Satan shook his head at.
“So long story short, Bill here reaches out all those years ago for help and I promise to help him out. No worries, we’re old buddies and turnabout’s fair play so I bail him out. Then, I get myself into a world of hurt in Africa. A big clusterfuck that winds up in the news all over the show,” Satan continued as Carol and Bob ‘ahuh-ed’ and ‘yup-ed’ down the line.
“All of a sudden I’m up to my armpits in assholes with machine guns, child soldiers, and there’s raping and pillaging, fuckers are putting tyres around people's necks and setting them on fire and the whole thing is taking place on the goddamn TV news. Then to top it off some fucker decides to lay claim to a country and set up some shitty hell-hole that not even I’d holiday at and I’ve got to call on my heavy-hitting friend Bill here to sort some shit out for me.”
Satan nodded a ‘thanks’ in my direction.
“Now I was happy to help out,” I said, speaking clearly for the lawyers down the line, “But I’ve got bills to pay that frankly no honest man can pay and I need the big man here to come to the party and help me out with a little unresolved issue so I can make amends with my wife.”
“I see,” Carol said. “You’re asking Satan to help you to keep your wife happy.”
No, I owe her. Plus, she’s had my balls in a vice for 20 something years and trust me, she’ll never be happy unless I get this thing done for her,” I said.
Satan laughed. “But the problem is if I help Bill out I have to help another guy out that I entered into a similar deal with. But that guy is a fucking nightmare to deal with.”
“How bad could it be?” Bob asked earnestly.
“Ah, well, it’s kind of embarrassing because I already fulfilled the agreement before and that was an absolute nightmare. I mean I had actual nightmares and I’m the fucking anti-christ!”
“Satan,” Carol said sternly, “We seem to be talking around the issue rather than addressing it. We can only help by offering informed opinion and that means filling us in on the issue.”
“Yes,” Bob added. “Tell us what Bill is entitled to as part of the contract the two of you have, and then what could go wrong.”
There was a pause. Satan breathed deeply and the flames on the horizon flickered then dimmed as his rage manifested itself. Speaking slowly, quietly, animal intensity mixed with the enormity of the situation Satan uttered a statement that was equal parts threat and abject resignation.
“Bill saved my ass in Africa, and for that, I owe his wife Hilary the Presidency of the United States so as to get this dumb fuck sitting in my office out of the shit with his wife,” I nodded, glad that Satan had finally said the words out loud.
"I mean seriously, the entire world is at risk because Bill here couldn’t stop diddling the hired help," Satan growled as I smiled and thought about Monica in *that* dress.
“However, I made a similar deal with George Bush Senior when I fucked up in the Middle East. I had to get his dickhead son the Presidency if George Senior agreed to push that asshole Saddam out of Kuwait.”
“Oh shit,” Carol whispered, the enormity of the situation coming over her.
“And to add to the urgency all my calls are monitored by the NSA - thanks to George fucking Junior - which means George Senior is all over this little meeting. Hell, I’ve got a 3 o’clock with him and Jeb! Now I don’t want to put the world through that but the only way to avoid it all is if I don’t actually owe this dumbass buddy of mine who's currently nursing a chubby as his actions lead to the end of humanity.”
I crossed my legs awkwardly. Oops, I thought.
“Fuck,” Bob said. “I think we’re going to have call in Jacques Verges to negotiate this one boss.”
"The name rings a bell," Satan said.
"He defended the Nazis," Carol said, and my heart sunk.
"Don't suppose you've got any blow Satan?" I asked.
The big man smiled and winked at me. "Make some calls guys and get back to me as soon as you can," Satan said, hanging up the call, before he continued. "Just like ol' times brother Bill."
EDIT: Thanks for the comments, upvotes, and for breaking my golden cherry kind Redditor. Much appreciated.
|
"C'mon Luci, you OWE me this one,"
"Dammit Charles, you know my code of conduct, I am only allowed to interact with humans in dark hours and I honestly cannot grant you that..." Luci said with a tired expression, "The order of the universe is already hanging in the balance, I have to control everything! Do you know how stressful my job is? I have to see dead children, EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. That idiot upstairs doesn't even care, you make one fucking mistake of talking to the humans..."
"Sorry..." Charles sadly shook his head, "I just wanted to..."
"Do what?" Luci asked with a look of dread on her face, "You know He wouldn't approve, I have to follow his orders, I wish I could just stop, you know?"
"Sound's 'bout right," Charles remembered his times of loss and pain, through literal blood, sweat and tears he made it here, no livelihood, no life, no friends and no lover. He kept to himself and felt something in common with Luci, "We all have to work in the land of the living, some move up through greed, some through luck and some through the people they betray. You might have met some,"
"I have met many of these types, none better than the last. I did not know of the pain of humans though, I know not of human society, though I do speak to the evil of this world, they seem to not notice the world around them." Luci sighs, knowing her life would be better after the favour, she wishes these talks with Charles would come more often. The thought of human society intrigues her, how the humans have advanced so much in what is for her a blink of an eye.
"I missed you Luci, I want you to know that, but after all I've done for you..." Charles looked down in sadness and starts to walk away.
"Don't go!" Luci yells into the distance, chasing after him, "Of course I'll go on a date with you."
-
*This is my first prompt. Criticism wanted*
| 2015-07-06T07:47:16 | 2015-07-06T03:08:15 | 119 | 31 |
[WP] For unknown reasons, you have a curse over your life. Whenever you become best friends with someone, they die within a week. You’ve made it your mission to become best friends with the worst people you can find.
|
"Nick, buddy! Good to see you."
I wish that were true for myself to him. If anything, I'd want nothing more than that man to rot. Or I did.
Maxwell seemed to be, in every word, a prick. His hands still had the boils and burns from a domestic struggle half a year ago that I believed he deserved. His backpack had profane messages on it, papers from what I thought to be his job sticking out the sides. His shirt with sweat stains said, "Okay, cool story honey now make me sandwiches," complete with a smiley face and letters in comic sans. Beer and spirits were his pastimes, and that's where I met him, and where I met the others. They all died like clockwork: A week after I'd bribe them with drinks, cajole with them, and make them feel like life was worth living, they ended up dead in their sleep a week later. It just was how it happened. People who were my best friend died. I took that as a goal to be kind to everyone that didn't deserve it, so they'd no longer bother anyone else.
Unlike the others at the bar, though, Maxwell took two weeks to befriend.
"So," I asked, smiling at my new "buddy," "What's the meaning of your shirt? Ladies, right?"
Maxwell squinted at me. "Uh, what the hell do you mean?"
"Your jokes," I said. "They're always degrading chicks. I mean, they deserve it. Fucking women, all they're good at is making men feel good and then pissing them off."
God, I hated to say that.
He grimaced, then cracked a laugh. "heh, yeah, I guess. But you know I'm just joking. I don't ACTUALLY hate women. You're joking, too, right? Please don't tell me you hate anyone, that ain't like you."
Well, I hated Maxwell. No one serious would say things like he said. I'm only saying it for the greater good; what's his excuse?
All I did to respond was shrug my shoulders.
"No, seriously, man," said Maxwell, "what makes you think I'm serious?"
"Your shirt, for one. And you ALWAYS joke about it, for two, so I assumed it was a little hate only."
"Oh, a little?" he said, "that's what makes it acceptable? If that's why you're friends with me because I seem like I don't like some people on this planet, then you can piss off."
I threw my hands up, things not going the way I predicted. He was putting his shield up to hide his inner self, I thought. Trying to escape his emotions.
"Oh, not at all," I said, "I think you're a good guy, I just wanted to know why you're making all those jokes at everyone's expense. And that shirt you wear all the time, the one that tells women to make sandwiches, kinda... off don't you think?"
He looked down and rubbed his hand on his forehead, avoiding my gaze. He took a sip of his coke and rum.
"It's the only long-sleeved shirt I have."
I knew that was probably because he was a bum and had lost his job because he was a dick to everyone. He was a dick to me when he first met me, was a dick to the bartender, and at times a dick to the taxi-drivers. At the time, I didn't feel bad at all. But I kept pressing the questions.
"For your burns, from that fight with your wife that you talk about whenever you're piss-drunk?"
"I talk about that a lot?" Maxwell asked.
He had only talked about it once, but it would be my leverage to crack this man's life wide open. If only I did this before I befriended him, that would make his passing much more satisfying. I nodded to answer.
"Crap, that's not good," he said. "Look, I didn't mean to make Hannah upset. I was on the phone call with a coworker, talking about the project we were working on. Crunch time, right?"
There more to the story than "wife attacked attacker." I shifted in my seat. "Yeah, crunch time."
"she gets mad," he said, then took another sip. "she was cooking dinner. She told me I was going to a coworker's house after work every day? That still didn't make sense. I was only telling the truth the whole time."
I drank my cup of water and continued to nod after realizing that I was doing both subconsciously.
Maxwell winced. "Hannah took the water that she was preparing for the noodles and threatened to pour it on me unless I told the truth. I just was busy with work and the renovation project, that was it. And she didn't believe me."
There was little left of this guy's story that didn't make me regret targetting him. What about the others I befriended at this bar? Did they have similar stories to Maxwell's? But wait, I thought, he still couldn't justify why he was an asshole. There had to be more.
"So did you tell her you were cheating? Is that why?"
"No? I told her the truth again." he rubbed his arms, seething through his teeth. "It hurts to think about the pain, my skin getting close to falling off that night. And the fact she called the cops and said I beat her beforehand. I got arrested, and I couldn't convince the police otherwise."
"You never said that, ever," I said. "You just said you got in a fight with your wife. That's how you got the burns on your hands. Not that she lied, and you got thrown in jail."
he dropped his eyebrows at me. "You can't trust anyone, Nick. Keeping people away is smarter than letting them get close. You happy that I told you now?"
"So why not buy a different shirt, if it's not you?"
He stood up, out of his chair, and took off the covering. Underneath it, his skin had the appearance of Vitiligo. He wiped off the foundation on his face that hid the burns there, and then I knew that he was not the man I thought he was.
"Look, I may have my problems," Maxwell said. "I may be spending my government checks that are supposed to be for helping me find a home on cheap food and expensive drinks. I may be in such a wallowing pit from the pain that I'm not taking care of myself. I might be a dick to everyone, to women to men even to you. But I want to change."
He took out one of the papers from his bag. Others in the bar were looking at him, now shirtless and his scars on full display.
"I've been trying to get a technician job, something more than a room renovator, so I've started studying circuits and practicing for the licensing exams," he said, shaking the paper in front of me. "I hate working for people. Becoming my own boss is the only way that I'd be able to pay for my own home if that could ever happen. They fired me after my arrest got on the news. do you know what that does to you if you can't trust those that initially were your coworkers, let alone those you'd loved for years?"
This man had been through hell and back, was on his way up, and would be culled in a week.
"Anyways," he said, with a sigh, sitting back down and putting his shirt back on, "thanks for letting me rant. I couldn't ever tell anyone else that. Not even Daisy over there." He pointed to the bartender. "I'm glad you're my friend, Nick. I trust you. You're my best bud, the best I've ever had, and probably the only one."
"I'm sorry, man," I said, "but we can't be."
I got out of my chair, suppressed tears, and ran away from the bar, never to come back.
|
"Honey, trust me," he had said with whiskey on his breath. "I did kill her, but trust me I could never hurt you and your body."
He, Ferguson W., was the worst man I knew. "We could be friends, you know?" he had told me as he ran his hand down my back.
I always had had luck finding these people at the bar. I giggled my most girlish laugh, "Best friends!"
He smiled his drunken smile. "Deal?" I'd asked.
"Deal," he had replied.
That night he died of cardiac arrest. I figured it out a few months before, I mean, that my best friends all died a week or less after I made them. I made it my mission to befriend the worst people I could find.
After Ferguson, there were a few. George, most notably. It hurt. He was a horrible man, yes, but the way he talked and treated me like a lady was heaven. He was a real friend. One you'd want to hang on to. I guess I can't hang on to anyone anymore.
| 2019-12-24T01:07:20 | 2019-12-23T21:09:05 | 34 | 21 |
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.
|
Back when I was a kid I spent months working out how to best make wishes come true. I kept a diary and tried all kinds of methods: hunting four-leafed clovers, flipping coins into dark wells, snapping wishbones, rubbing lamps, even praying. I was methodical. I didn’t have much else to do, I suppose.
What seemed to work best for me was blowing out candles on birthday cakes then closing my eyes. The first wish I remember coming true was back when my parents had been separated. They’d bought me a cake and we spent the afternoon like we were a family again. Late that afternoon, not wanting it to end, I blew out the candles and wished. A few weeks later they were back together. I opened my diary, found the entry that read BIRTHDAY CAKE and circled it.
Now I’ll admit it’s easy to get greedy with wishes. I guess that’s why genies have a rule about not wishing for more — because that’s what we’d all do. As good as one wish might be, you always think of something else you need. Or at least, that you want.
In my twenties my apartment was a permanent miasma of baked sugar and flour and eggs. Sometimes of melted chocolate, too. I’d long since figured out that if cakes were the best way to make wishes come true, then I should bake myself one each day and make a wish for the next. I’d stick candles in it — little white skyscrapers sticking out of the sponge city. It didn’t seem to matter how many candles — they didn’t have to match my age or anything. Then I’d set fire to the skyscrapers as if declaring war on the sponge city. Finally, I’d close my eyes and wish.
By that point in my life, the wishes had gotten me a decent apartment in an okay part of town. I worked nights as a cleaner, which doesn’t sound like a dream job, sure, but I didn’t want any stresses. And that job held no real responsibilities — no one was going to die if I forgot to clean the office’s interior windows on a particular day of the week. And best of all, the job was only a street away from my apartment. I‘d get back quickly, bake a cake and make a wish, then either play some games or get some sleep.
I had a girlfriend and although it was only casual and we didn’t spend that much time together, it was right for me at the time. We’d been together a while but we didn’t feel the need to talk of marriage or kids or any of the big questions. We just enjoyed every day as they came.
Then one day I made a wish that I couldn’t even remember making. Usually I’m careful with my wishes — or at least I’m routine, wishing for tomorrow to be just as good as today — but I guess at that point I was tired. I’d worked all night, baked, inserted the candles, then closed my eyes. I remember feeling so worn out, so tired, that I was on a sort of autopilot. I’d just wanted to crawl into bed and not get out for a very long time. Making a wish had become so routine that this particular wish, it was made almost subconsciously.
I remember blowing out the candles and that thick black smoke hazing over the sponge and into my eyes, the sting of it drawing me back. What had I wished for? I had no clue. Absolutely no memory. But it didn’t feel like it mattered so I gave up trying to remember and hit the hay instead.
The thing with wishes is that you can’t make more than one at a time. So if one wish hasn’t come true yet, you can’t leapfrog over it no matter how high you jump. And wishes can be slow. My parents getting back together, for example, came in the form of therapy, of trial separation and reunions, and on and on it went.
So whatever I’d wished for on that day, the wish I couldn’t remember, I’d have to wait patiently for it to come true before I could make another.
&#x200B;
I woke then next day to the shrill ringing of my phone.
“Hello?”
“We need to talk,” said my girlfriend.
“It‘s too early for dirty talk,” I said.
”I’m serious. This is serious.”
I knew then before we went any further that it was over. She explained but I barely listened. Instead I thought back to the with I couldn’t remember. Had I asked for this? For her to leave me? Or had I just forgotten to wish for things to remain the same and this had happened as a result?
Fine. No problem. It was all good. It’d been casual anyway and we’d never discussed a future together so there was nothing much to be upset about. It was a shame only because I liked spending time with her. But I’d find someone else. Or maybe I wouldn’t for a while — I’d spend more time alone and enjoy it.
I baked another cake that day and made a wish for my girlfriend to call me again. I think I made it as a test — not that I wanted her to call. I just wanted to see if my wishes were functioning normally.
She didn’t ring me. And the next day I was struck with more bad news: the company I provided my cleaning services to were going under. I‘d lost my job.
It’d been so sudden and unexpected and I was unprepared.
I looked around my apartment drinking everything in. How comfortable I’d been here, but now how could I pay the rent? I hadn’t been a good saver as was did I need to save for?
I baked a dozen cakes over the next three days. A dozen wishes that lay stagnant in the air.
&#x200B;
Three weeks passed and I’d not yet acquired another job. My ex hadn’t called. No wishes were coming true for me.
I stared at my stubbled face in the mirror one morning and barely recognised the hungover person staring back. I rinsed up a lather and began to shave, cutting the short hairs clean off my skin.
Then a sudden sickening panic hit me. A feeling like I was being watched. I looked up into the mirror and it seemed to me that I’d scraped off all the skin from the left half of my face. And that beneath the skin wasn’t red and bloodied muscle, but instead another person. A stranger who looked like me. Even that left eye was this other person’s. He stared at me with something I can only describe as malice.
Then it was gone. I splashed my face with water and it was gone.
&#x200B;
A year passed and still no more wishes came true. I’d moved back in with Mom, then out again into a new place. I worked an office job with some prospects and I took classes at night. I wanted, one day, to be a teacher. I’d always liked the idea of teaching but had never pursued it.
I stopped baking eventually. The wishes never came true anymore, and even if they did, and I didn’t think I wanted them. The cakes never tasted much good anyway. Always too sweet — sickly so.
Here’s what I’ve learned: wishes aren’t a good way to live a life. They are slippery eels of hope that you think you have hold of and then they jump out of your hand. Sometimes they snap their fangs at your fingers before they leave and you stand there shocked and bloodied. Like when I wished my parents back together: I knew they’d only gotten back together because of my wish — because of me. And whatever magnetism of love had once drawn them together before I’d been around had become to weak by itself. Their reconciliation lasted three years and they were both deeply unhappy during it.
As was I, looking back.
I still think about what I wished for that day it all fell apart. The day the ornament of my life shattered before being glued back together into very a different shape.
I think my subconscious wished for something. For what it knew i needed. It understood a part of me was dying, was wilting like a flower without water.
That’s as close as I‘ll ever get to understanding it, I think.
|
“Wow. Did you see this?”
&#x200B;
”See what?”
&#x200B;
”The lack of snow in the Rockies means the wheat harvest in Kansas will be off by 75% this year. Combined with the continuing drought in Egypt that means global grain exports won’t be able to meet global demand.”
&#x200B;
”Really? Huh…”
&#x200B;
”And now Russia is specifically targeting farmers in the Ukraine. Farmers that supply Europe with 80% of their wheat.”
&#x200B;
”Is that so?”
&#x200B;
”i used to think that things like this were coincidenta, just some random event. Now, when this stuff happens I think it’s you.“
”Me?”
&#x200B;
”Tell me what you wished for. Tell. Me. Now.”
&#x200B;
”Look, you know how these things work… it’s not something I control or even know about.”
&#x200B;
”But it’s your wish that starts it so TELL ME!”
&#x200B;
”I, I, I just wanted to be gluten free…”
| 2022-03-24T05:21:49 | 2022-03-24T04:52:19 | 369 | 203 |
[WP] The team's medic and support members are tired of always being belittled and ignored, so they join the Bad Guys. They're much more effective villains than anyone thought possible.
|
“I guess it was his grin that made me do it.”
“His grin?”
The woman smirked. “Yeah, you know: his grin. His suave, dazzling, million-dollar shit-eating grin that every magazine in the world has printed five times over and keeps doing so even though he’s dead now. Dead and gone.”
“So his grin caused your departure from Assistance Services?”
“‘Caused your departure’,” the woman mocked, and then reclined as far as the shackles would allow. “I guess that’s right. It was that stupid grin. I saw it and I snapped and I ditched that place to find my own place in the world. Which led me here, inspector. To you. Funny how the world works, isn’t it?”
The man leading the interview frowned. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said. “Why don’t you start from the beginning.”
“The beginning? Well, alright. The beginning…
“It was a friday. I remember that day clearly, because friday was payday, and I desperately needed the bits. 150 was what they paid me...you look surprised, inspector. You probably make more on a government salary, don’t you? Yeah, AS isn’t the fountain of gold they make it out to be...but I’m getting distracted. You see, my friend was in the hospital.”
“Friend?”
“Tinker. Don’t bother looking for the name – I’m the only one who calls her that.”
“Why?”
The woman smiled a little whimsically. “Bit of an inside joke, really. But are you here to listen about my friendships or about how we killed Astorious?”
“Alright, continue.”
“As you wish, inspector. So, Tinker was in the hospital, and the bills were racking up. Her insurance didn’t want to pay, and I felt obliged to. We grew up together, you see. She meant...means...the world to me. And so that’s why Friday was so important. It was payday, and I’d get my 150 bits, and three-quarters of that would go towards keeping her in the hospital, and I’d have to somehow make due with the rest, praying that I could arrange something with the landlord so that he wouldn’t kick me out.”
“And then what happened?”
The woman shrugged. “I got my money, ran to the hospital, ‘cept the charges had gone up. They wanted 700 by monday, or they’d kick her. Can you imagine that? Tinker was part of AS, just like me. She ran out into the middle of Astorious’ fight with Dr. Devil to save a pair of kids. And she did. Got them out, safe and sound. But not before the laser from Astorious’ supersight grazed her abdomen, cut her wide open. The medics barely managed to save her...but then the insurance refused to pay out, ‘cause they claimed she willingly put herself into the line of danger. They said that saving civilians wasn’t part of her contract. Her duty was to support Astorious, everything else be damned. AS dropped her too, for, and I quote, ‘putting the team in danger.’”
“So you needed the money.”
“I did. Desperately, by monday. But I didn’t have a lot of options. Nobody would lend that kind of money to me, and making it fairly was...well, not even a remote possibility.”
“What did you do?”
The woman shrugged. “What else could I do? I went to Astorious. Tinker and I were part of his team. He knew her by name. I begged him – begged him! – to lend me the money. You know what he did?” She paused. “Laughed in my face. Said we were all replaceable to him. Doesn’t seem like that wonderful saviour from the magazine covers now, does he? He gave me his stupid grin as he left me there, crying. That same idiotic smile that makes the women all swoon. It broke me. I went home in a fury. Stalked around my tiny flat for what seemed like hours. Money. That’s all I had on my mind. Money and Tinker.”
Agitated, the woman took several deep breaths. The inspector waited, patiently, until she continued.
“So that’s what made me contact Dr. Devil. I told him about my position in AS. About how close I was to some of the heroes – Astorious included. He wanted information from me, but I wanted revenge. Revenge on all those pompous brats that fly around, shooting their superweapons, while leaving the rest of us by the wayside. But revenge would have to wait.”
“And how long did you work for Dr. Devil?”
“Work.” The woman snorted. “Sold my soul to, more like. He’s not a good man, Dr. Devil. But, the thing is, he doesn’t pretend to be something he's not. He embraces his evil, doesn’t hide it behind...flashy grins and faux smiles. He’s direct, and that made respect him, even though he made do...well, that’s not important.”
“I’ll decide what’s important. Once again: describe the nature and length of your relationship with Dr. Devil.”
“Three years. Three years he made work as his spy. But it was worth it. He paid well, you see, and Tinker climbed out of the hole AS and Astorious put her in. She was alive, and what more could I ask for?”
“Several minutes ago, you claimed you were driven by a need of revenge against Astorious. Why did it take you three years to achieve that?”
“Dr. Devil wouldn’t do it earlier. Said the time needed to be right, and, let me tell you, waiting was hell, but it all paid off. Cause Astorious is dead. His corpse is floating in the Sea of Burning Trash, and even if it means that I was caught, that I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison for helping Devil murder him...worth it. Unquestionably worth it.”
“Alright, let’s continue with…” There was a commotion outside the room, and the inspector paused, looking up quizzically. Several seconds later, the door opened and a small woman with bright blond hair came in, flanked by several guards.
“Federal Agent Bell,” she introduced herself, cutting off the inspector’s indignant cry. “I have an order from Judge Lived remanding this prisoner into my custody. You are to cease interrogation at once and hand her over for transport.”
“Transport?!” the inspector sputtered.
“Indeed. Here is the signed order. Guards, unshackle the prisoner.”
The inspector leaned down to inspect the document as the guards quickly undid the binds on the seated woman, who was smiling strangely.
“Have a nice day, inspector,” the Federal Agent pleasantly told him when the prisoner was up and ready to go. The man didn’t respond, and then the room quickly emptied out, leaving him alone, swearing under his breath.
“Feds,” he muttered. “Always swooping in the last moment.” He eyed the signed order on the table and frowned. “Agent Bell...never heard of her. She couldn’t be new, they wouldn’t allow a rookie to transport…” The man froze and then swore again. “Guards!” he yelled, bolting out of the room. “Guards!”
Half and hour later, the prison had been searched and the calls had been made. The verdict was in: the women were gone.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Edit: changed the judge's name for additional bamboozle power.
|
People always thought that my heals and her repairs were useless. Never, did we get respect on blue team. But now at red base we have accolades and ceremonies daily for our feats. Just the other day I was given top marks for reviving the team while holding off an assault on our flag.
It is days like these that we realized that the "other" side had more to offer then just respect. We have been given a voice and platform to assert our agenda.
( i have to make breakfast and go to work so i will end it here)
| 2018-04-23T13:42:19 | 2018-04-23T06:46:57 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] You are a multi-billionaire with a lovely wife, who is trying to kill you to inherit your fortune. You love her so much that you just don't have the heart to tell her you are immortal.
|
Waking up in those days was difficult, but it was not the weight of my body that I felt pressing my breast bone into the mattress. I was lifted out of bed by a melancholy indifference, which tugged me toward the window. The venetian blinds parted automatically at the direction of a smart home controller which cooed good morning as a column of sunlight cut through the bedroom. I half-listened as my daily agenda was read out loud, making my way down the stairs to the kitchen. The digital assistant dutifully recited a message from Melissa over the hallway speakers sounding as if it was speaking from inside an aquarium. Melissa was in Connecticut on a business trip and had missed her flight back home. She would be gone for another day.
The smell of coffee brewing waltzed in circles around an island of granite where I found my tablet and began reading emails. The coffee was from a grower in the Panamanian Highlands, it had to be flown overnight on a private charter plane and smuggled in through a port somewhere in the Florida Keys. The modest *granjero* only agreed to the sale when I offered to purchase his entire crop. In the high altitudes of Boquete the *Geisha* coffee beans thrived on volcanic soils, producing a rich and aromatic roast. A stream of espresso poured into a delicate Italian demitasse that I had received as a gift from a Roman cleric at some point during the unification. My memories of that time are foggy. I can’t remember much of the wars and most of the souvenirs I had acquired throughout their duration had now been donated to the Museum of Natural History. I only kept the most sentimental pieces for myself, like the tiny espresso cup.
There was a knock on the front door.
I had not been expecting any visitors that day and the front gate attendant would certainly be aware of this. I carried my coffee with me as I shuffled through the cavernous foyer, still in my underwear and a light button up. I stood in front of the massive oak double doors that opened onto the front patio. Through the five-camera security display just to the left of the doors I studied the high definition image of a delivery man. In the crisp facsimile of the man I could see the swollen pours on his nose like a door jam. His body was stocky, his arms stretched the short sleeves of a brown work shirt. He stood there in his shorts and boots with a package about the size of a toaster held under his right arm. The man adjusted a brown baseball cap and shifted his weight in anticipation.
“You can leave packages with the man at the gate”. My boxy voice was projected over a small intercom speaker. I watched the man’s head swivel as he looked for a place to direct his attention.
“I told the man at the gate this is a special package, the instructions are to deliver it to you directly, sir”. He held the box in front of him as he spoke to the faceless door with the seriousness of a mortician. I inhaled deeply through my nose and let out a defeated sigh. This would be the second time this year I was forced to humor the same pitiful charade. I dropped my head back and whispered a quiet affirmation to a non-existent spirit closing my eyes as I prayed for patience.
“Alright. Just one sec, okay?” While the security system was state-of-the-art the door itself was from the eighteenth century. I slid a large deadbolt out of its place and yanked on the brass handle. It drifted inward to allow enough room for me to look outside. I had just barely caught a glimpse of my gate attendant lying face down in the grass a quarter-mile up the drive-way before the stocky delivery man lay one shoulder into the door, thrusting himself into the foyer like a rhino in heat.
“God DAMN it!” I had bumped my head on the edge of the door, a little drop coffee splashed on to the floor, but I managed to save the rest by swinging my elbow to absorb the momentum of the linebacker that had just welcomed his way into my home. I stumbled backward and took a cautionary sip from the little ceramic cup balancing on one foot. Having focused all my attention on saving the coffee I failed to notice that the delivery man had quickly unboxed the special package. I was now staring down the barrel of a generic looking pistol with a cheap silencer attached to the business end. I rubbed the spot on my head where a bump was developing while taking a sip of coffee with the other.
“Listen, you could have just asked to come inside” He didn’t budge. Looking down the length of the arm that held the pistol, supported with the other hand, the man had his eyes locked on target.
“You look like you were a cop at some point, I guess that didn’t pay very well did it?” No words. We stood for a moment contemplating the awkwardness of the situation.
“Alright” I turned around and started to walk back to the kitchen.
“Don’t move”. He was tense. I tossed a glance backward as I kept walking.
“Let me put some pants on at least. You want some coffee?” I set my cup down on the granite island.
“I said STOP!” I turned around and leaned back with both hands on the granite countertop behind me. He stood about five feet away, head buried in his shoulders, just the one eye glaring out from under that ball cap. There wasn’t any give in the grip on his pistol. He was laser-focused. He had definitely been a cop before, I’d put a quarter million on it, easily.
The sight of him left me feeling deflated. It was so pointless. I couldn’t help beginning to feel the nihilistic feelings of the old times coming back to me. Back before I found the one I thought gave my existence meaning, gave it light, and love. Now I was dealing with this headache on a regular basis just to maintain some semblance of regularity. I was drifting away in my self-pity. The click of the safety going off on the pistol snapped me back to the moment.
“Listen, this isn’t going to go the way you think. Trust me, you’re wasting your time”.
“I’m not here to negotiate” He sure was taking a long time to act. Maybe this was his first paid gig.
“Look I can go ahead and cut you a check for whatever she was going to pay you and you can be on your way. As long as you didn’t kill the guy up front I don’t see any reason to make a whole… *thing* of this.” I gestured at nothing.
“He’s not dead” That was a relief. We made eye contact, there was nothing malicious in his eyes. I knew it was nothing personal. All he saw was the money and I was just an obstacle to getting that money. I was beginning to think this is how Melissa felt as well. Her actions over the past two years certainly seemed to indicate it.
“You know you’re the fifth person that has come to kill me. Second this year actually” He stretched is neck to one side.
“How about this? I’m not going to call the police. Like I said, I’ll gladly pay you for your trouble, but you really have to go now”. I twisted trying to remember where I had placed a check book.
“I’m sorry but that just isn’t possible”. His finger squeezed the trigger and a shot burst forth with a frustrated “pop” muffled by the silencer but still deafening. A little cloud of vapor mingled with the air in front of the man’s outstretched arm. I looked down at my chest and winced. A small trickle of deep red spilled out from a tidy hole just underneath my left collar bone. The bullet had to have passed clean through my aortic artery. Good shot for a cop.
I turned around to see that a spray of pink matter had erupted from the exit would and absolutely decimated my marble back splash. The creamy white was flecked with crumbs of human flesh, the dish drying rack was filthy.
“Oh, COME ON! Look at this fucking mess!” I threw my hands up and whipped back around. His face was a cold eggshell color now. I pulled open my shirt button to inspect the bullet wound.
Where there was a hole just before my flesh had begun to squirm and pinch itself together looking like cornstarch and water with chunks of cherry. The little stream of blood had made its way to my belly button before becoming dry and sticking to my abdomen. In a matter of seconds, the skin around the wound twisted and closed leaving only a small white crescent moon which was fading quickly. I felt the exit wound folding in on itself underneath my shoulder blade.
“Well.” I closed my shirt.
“What do you want to do now?” I looked back at the man. His arm and the pistol it held dropped to his side, limp. He looked sick.
|
Let me be frank. I know she's just not that into me. I know that my love for her will never be reciprocated or rewarded. That's alright. I don't need it to be. In 1000 years of undeath I've had more than my share of "one true loves". Sometimes, every few centuries or so, you just have to shake things up. Let yourself have a little fun. What better way to have fun then to watch this adorable blonde bitch try over and over to murder me, having no idea what I truly am?
It may seem strange to you, but honestly it's adorable. Reminds me of when I was a boy, trying to goat the King of the Franks into fighting me in a duel. I truly believed my little wooden sword had a chance to fell this mighty, chainmail clad warlord and gain the affections of his queen. Only...I think she is even more pathetic than I was.
I sleep next to this woman every night. I am inside her several times a week. All it would take is just one bite to steal away all her tomorrows. But where's the fun in that? Then I wouldn't get to enjoy her schemes, her attempts to feign affection for me, the myriad of brilliantly wicked ways she attempts to take my life away, to take what is her's.
For all her pathetic, worthless wiles, I fucking love this woman. I see myself in her, what I might have been were it not for that fateful night in Paris lo those centuries ago. I will protect her, nurture her, pleasure her, pamper her, ensure that she never wants for anything. And then, when and if she ever does cease her plotting, or when her attempts no longer amuse me, I will give her the ultimate privilege of being one of my spawn, to serve and pleasure me for all of my endless nights. She'll fit right in with the rest of them. I only hope she never discovers the basement.
| 2019-07-31T10:49:06 | 2019-07-31T09:00:16 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You're a dark mage who was secretly summoned by the elderly king to magically extend his life, but during the meeting he died of natural causes. So now you stuck in a fortress full of skilled soldiers and mages loyal to the now dead king who was last seen meeting you in private.
|
"Oh, this is bad, this is very bad," Tallin muttered to himself as he paced about the King'schamber, casting the occasional worried glance at where the monarch lay stretched out on his elaborate four-poster bed. "There's no way they won't kill me. What am I going to do? Just open the door and say, *Oh, I'm terribly sorry, the King seems to have kicked it before I managed to do the thing he definitely brought me here to do, just take my word for it, don't worry. Oh yes, I am the Dark Mage Tallin, why do you ask?* And then that's when they'll start stabbing me."
King Ethelred, naturally, said nothing. He lay as he had when he died, in the middle of moaning something about "eternal life" and "the good of the kingdom." His unfocused, milky eyes seemed to follow Tallin about the room as he paced, only serving to unsettle the young mage further. A single drop of blood-flecked spittle hung from the monarch's lower lip, evidence of the coughing sickness that had claimed the old man at last. Perhaps a physician would be able to prove the King had merely succumbed to his disease and clear Tallin's good name.
Well, good might be stretching it a bit; morally ambiguous might be more accurate. After all, one doesn't get involved in the forbidden arts because they're a paragon of moral virtue. Tallin, for his part, got into the field for the money.
"I told myself after the last time, no more jobs for royalty. There are too many surprises! One minute you're helping some prince beat his brothers for their inheritance, the next your getting written into prophecies and have a band of wanna-be heroes trying to destroy you." He paused, sighing wearily before looking back at the King's body. "But you! You just had to have eternal life, didn't you?!? Death just started looming a little close to close for comfort, so you HAD to drag me in here just in time for you to finally shuffle off to the underworld!" He kicked the bottom of the bedpost in anger, doing little more than violently stubbing his toe. The bed didn't even shift.
"I could leave, shadow-walk out the castle and be gone before they even knew the old bugger was dead. Of course, they'd come after me for the sake of revenge and justice and all that, the self-righteous bastards." He muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Is it too much to ask just to be left alone? Can't a fellow practice the dark arts in peace nowadays?"
Then it hit him. The dark arts! He was a mage for crying out loud. Surely there was some magical solution to this. He paused his pacing, thinking carefully about his options. There was necromancy, but then turning the King into a mindless zombie would be pretty obvious to even the most magically illiterate of the King's retinue. The smell alone would be a dead giveaway, literally. He could control the body like a puppet? No, that would mean he would need to be around at all times and would be way too much work, too many ways it could go wrong. A handful of candles arranged by a small shrine under the chambers windowsill caught his attention. He had an idea that just might work.
Reaching into his satchel, he brought out a series of vials and canisters filled with crimson liquids, acrid-smelling powders, and a few other items better left to the imagination. Working quickly, Tallin created a rough summoning circle on the polished floor at the foot of the King's bed. He appropriated the candles from their holders with little regard for the gods they were meant for and placed them with care at key intersections around the circle. Tallin chanted something briefly in the old tongue, drew a small knife he'd found across his palm, and let the blood drip onto the circle before stepping back.
The candles smoked, the powders ignited, and the liquid boiled, obscuring his view of the bed and the circle. A high-pitched ringing echoed throughout the room, barely covering the growing sound of demonic laughter.The haze cleared to reveal a tall demoness clad in bloodied furs and skins, eyes aflame like dark coals. Horns curled out from the top of her head, and her pale skin was like carved marble. She laughed cruelly, casting her gaze around the lavish room.
"Foolish mortal, you dare summon me to do your foul bidding, I am-" she cut her clearly practiced monologue short as she saw the nervous-looking mage standing outside her circle. "Tallin? What's going on? It's not poker night for another three days. Also, where are you? This isn't your tower. She looked over at the bed, seeing the corpse there for the first time. "Is that?-"
"King Ethelred, yeah." He sighed and rubbed his temples, "Look, Lilith, I need a massive favour."
"You never ask anyone for favours." She frowned quizically at him, "You didn't kill him, did you? I mean no judgement from me, but it just doesn't really seem your style."
"No! No, I didn't kill him. He just sort of died while he was telling me to make him immortal. Completely by accident, I assure you. No matter how annoying he was about it."
Lilith nodded, "But the last thing his advisors see is him being attended by the famous Dark Lord Tallin, Scourge of the North-" She waggled her eyebrows at him, knowing full well how much he hated the titles other people made up for him, "-and they will naturally assume that you murdered him and in turn murder you. Violently." She cocked her head sideways, as if deep in thought, "I heard they burn heretics now, though if you're lucky, they may just stab you and be done with it."
"Yes, yes, can we get past you gloating about me needing help and get to the part where I tell you what I'm asking you to do?"
"Fine." she pouted. "You're no fun right now."
"Look, all I need is for you to possess the old bastard's body for a day or two. Give me enough time to tell his advisors there was nothing I could do, establish a pretty good alibi for myself, and then just leave his body discreetly, so they think he died long after I've left. Please?" He clasped his hands together hopefully.
Lilith considered the proposition for a moment, "Fine, but you owe me big time, Tal." She crossed her arms over her chest and dropped silently onto the floor before walking to the King's bedside. "Though I'll only do it if I get to have some fun while in the meat-suit." She rubbed her hands together gleefully.
"Like what?" Tallin asked suspiciously.
"I don't know, replace the kingdom's official currency with mice? Make polygamy legal? Ban geese?" She smiled, revealing a mouth full of canine-like fangs.
"Okay fine whatever, go nuts." He sighed, having second thoughts about his plan.
"Ah, don't worry, it'll be fine!" she waved a dismissive hand in his direction, "Anything else? I could have Ol' Ethelred make you a duke? Oh! or declare you the long-lost heir to the throne?" she waggled her eyebrows again.
"No! Nothing involving me!" He started cleaning up the mess left from the summoning, smearing the remains of various alchemical substances off the hardwood with his sleeve. "Just keep it subtle, please."
"Well, you know me," The demoness winked, "they don't call me the queen of subtlety for nothing."
"They call you the queen of nightmares, Lil'."
"Eh, potato - tomato." With that, she placed a pale hand upon the dead man's brow, and her form blurred and disappeared as she merged into the hole left by his absent soul. There was a beat of silence before the freshly reinhabited body jerked upright, taking in a long, violent breath. Ethelred -Lilith- looked around, a scowl plastered on his -her- previously vacant features. "Ugh, no wonder he died; this thing is a mess. I've never gotten the appeal of possession. Who'd want to deal with this?" She flapped one frail, loose-skinned arm to dramatically emphasize her point and then leaned back into the sheets with a sigh.
"Okay, you make yourself at home. I'm going to go tell his Seneschal there was nothing I could do." Tallin collected his things and turned towards the door.
"What are you going to tell them?" asked the king/demoness.
"I don't know, something about *his* *righteous soul being too pure for the dark magic to take effect* or some crap. I'll make something up. You just focus on acting kingly and frail, also try not to have anyone executed."
"No promises," she said, though her playful sing-song tone sounded wrong in the King's raspy baritone. Tallin shuddered a little before slipping through the chamber door and out into the hall.
|
"Grru?"
"N-No, your highness. Let's go this way."
I had covered up king Edgar's broken neck with a shawl, but it didn't look entirely convincing. Reanimated, he was far more pleasant to be around than when he was still alive. He didn't pester me with stuff he'd heard about the rejuvenating effects of baby dragon blood. He didn't keep making vague threats about what would happen to me if I weren't successful in extending his life. The flatulence had gotten worse, though.
"Gruuuu! Grr-gru?"
"Up here. Watch the steps."
We made it through his secret dungeon without anyone seeing us. I figured if I could just get him in bed, his men would assume he'd had a stroke. The magic would wear off in a day or so. It would all seem perfectly natural. I hoped.
"There you are! King Edgar! The Braddurians are storming the castle!"
My blood nearly went as cold as that of the dead king. To our left was a lowly water mage, drenched in sweat, and from his startled look the situation seemed serious.
"... Gru?"
"What? Oh, yes! The Braddurian army grew and they have far more men than we could have anticipated. We are giving them all we've got, but morale is low. They need you now more than ever, my dear king!"
I pushed the king out in front of me. "I'll find my way out!" I said and turned to leave.
"Wait!" cried the water mage. "Aren't you a fellow magician? We need all hands on deck."
Darn it.
We gathered on the main castle roof, where archers, mages, and other long-range fighters were desperately trying to keep off the Braddurians.
"King! It's good to see you. And what an excellent shawl. It's quite befitting of a man of your stature."
"Gru-gru."
"A guru? Well, the closest thing we have is our seer. She tells us the battle will be close, but we will eventually come out on top."
Green and yellow and blue flashes of magic burst in the air all around. The king reached out his hands and wandered towards them. "Gruuu!"
"King!"
"Your majesty!"
King Edgar walked off the roof and splashed into bits on the rocks below.
It was gruesome.
| 2022-03-04T18:43:54 | 2022-03-04T16:15:15 | 46 | 22 |
[WP] 50% of the world's population has the ability to fly, 50% does not. The only way to find out is to jump from a height that will surely kill you.
|
Carol had been pregnant three times, and she was beginning to get tired of the charade. It was difficult, being pregnant. Her job as an aerialist required a lithe body, one that could soar as a falcon, could dance on zephyrs. Not a bloated incubator prone to morning sickness.
Yet she always wanted a child. Her and Mohiro both. They wanted a child to sing lullabies to, to feed mashed peas to, to cuddle close and snuggle. They wanted a child they could share their lives with. They wanted a child that they could take to the clouds and become as they were.
Carol sighed softly, pushing back the memories that came unwanted as she continued to climb through the air. The familiar cliff face of ferric sandstone was coming up to meet her. It was a red monument that had been used by her family for generations. It was where Carol had first learned to fly herself.
Mohiro had come for Infant One, but it had been difficult for him. He was almost inconsolable the next day when the child had fallen. He had insisted on coming at first, but had lost his insistence by the second. It was never really Mohiro’s place to bear witness, although she supposed his family had thought different. Carol’s always took it in stride that it was always the mother’s duty. Only Carol’s own mother had been there when Carol took to the air the first time.
She examined the sleeping infant in her arms. It was a girl. Infant Three. Infant One had been a girl. Infant Two, a boy. She knew she wasn’t supposed to think of them like that yet. It was always “it” before a child flew. Yet, traditions were often but the predilections of ignorant, gnarled old geezers from a time before reason had reared its ugly head. If she wanted to think of Infant Three as “she” was there any harm?
Carol came to the top of the cliff, alighting gently as she could. Her body still felt odd, still too big, and she still ached. The weight would come off in time, she knew, but she disliked it. She gave up so much, just so she could stand here, at this plinth, to see if whether or not she actually had a child.
She stared off into the distance, taking in the red mesa surrounding her as the morning light grew stronger. She could see her home from here. Mohiro would be up now, a coffee mug clutched in both hands, eyes on the clock, waiting to hear the news. Waiting, hoping, and in all likelihood, praying.
Fifty fifty, fly or fall.
Infant Two had been the most difficult. Although Carol understood statistics well enough, somehow she had thought that if Infant One had fallen, then the next would fly.
Fifty fifty.
Carol’s sister, Alyssa, had three children now from as many pregnancies. All had flown, and she was always so radiant about it. She always blathered on about mothering any time the two sisters had gotten together. Usually, about half way through her maundering monologue, Alyssa would place her hand on Carol’s and make the same soothing noises in her throat as she did for her gurgling child.
Carol did not want sympathy. She wanted a child, a real child. Yet, standing here, she felt numb, paralyzed. She could not move, because she knew what would come. She knew the pit that would burrow in her stomach. She knew those soothing noises Alyssa would make. She knew Mohiro would bury his head in her shoulder and hold her tight. She knew that in a few months, they would try for Infant Four.
It was a record on repeat. Same ol’ sad song, again and again. She was chasing rainbows, which, as any child learned early on, was a good way to end up soaking wet and far from home.
It was the same throughout history. She was hardly the first to stand on this plinth, infant in arms, hoping for a child. Others had waited longer than her, suffered through more pregnancies, but somehow that did not make her feel better. Another’s misery rarely did. What she really needed right now was hope, without all this melancholy. She did not want to see this stupid sandstone cliff again.
Yet, she would be here again, probably about this time next year.
Her grip must have tightened, for the infant awoke, crying, shrieking. Carol could feel a headache forming. Whatever the other attributes the infant had, it possessed a healthy set of lungs and a vigorous heart, judging by the rubicund color it was quickly turning.
Infant One had never woken. Infant Two had tried to hold on.
It would not get easier with time. Carol knew full well. Time did not seem to make her stronger, but it had taught her that. Indeed, her arms were shaking. Was she going to collapse up here? Sit down and refused to move? Refuse to carry out her duty?
No. What must be done must be done, and had better be carried out quickly.
Carol closed her eyes and threw open her arms to space and fell to her knees, a complete gesture of surrender. What she was surrendering to, she did not know. To fate? To God? To that infant that had sat within her these last nine months?
The shrieks dwindled rapidly, pulled away from her by gravity.
They were just a little set of lungs, falling through sky, tasting what would be taken away so irrevocably.
It was happening again. It was not a child.
Yet she was her child.
Before Carol knew what she was doing, she had thrown herself off the mountain was hurdling toward the ground, toward the scream. She kept her arms to her side, accelerating rapidly, her head pointed downward as she cut through the air. Suddenly, none of it mattered. It was all stupid traditions of a different time. What did it matter, flying, when there were plane and cars? What did it matter? What did any of it matter?
Mohiro met her. The force took them both spinning, and it took all of Carol’s focus to resettle them in the air.
In the early morning sun, the only sound was Carol’s and Mohiro’s haggard breathing as they faced one another, faces curiously blank.
Carol knew. She did not need to look down.
“I was going to save her,” Carol whispered, quietly enough to be almost lost on the breeze.
“I know,” Mohiro said.
“She’d been a fallen. Some places they have them. Not here, but other places. There are planes now,” Carol said, wandering curiously through her frozen thoughts, as if they were but exhibits in a museum. “Scientists are doing research on them some places, other places. DNA, you know. Proteins. Magnets. Maybe they could have helped.”
Mohiro did not respond, for he knew there was no response. Logic would win out. Reason always held. Infant Three was not a child and would have no place in the world. It could never have shared their life.
“Were you here for Infant Two as well?” Carol asked.
“I was,” Mohiro said. “My father was with my mother for me. It felt right.”
Carol pulled Mohiro close. He kissed her neck. She kissed his forehead. His skin was warm and fevered. He was real.
“I was Infant Four,” Mohiro whispered. “Perhaps we will be lucky next time.”
“Perhaps,” Carol said. Together, they flew home alone.
|
Who knew the suicide attempt would turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to me? Here I was thinking my life would end right off of this bridge. No idea it had just begun. The girls that couldn't fly started to get really into all the guys that could. Me being one of them, of course. However, they paid no attention to me before, so why should I pay attention to them now? They all say, "fly me to the sky and make love to me!" So you know what I did? I took them up as high as I could go, and then drop them. I guess you could say I didn't give a flying fuck.
| 2015-04-04T18:45:58 | 2015-04-04T18:33:11 | 334 | 48 |
[WP] In 2153, humans escaped from their ruined planet with the help of an AI-controlled fleet whose goal was to find humans a safe place for them to live and put themselves in cryo-sleep. When humans woke from their sleep they found a variety of messages begging humans to stop their mechanical god
|
"Good morning, Captain Taymore."
The soothing mechanical voice was the first thing to greet her out of cryo-sleep, aside from the blinding fluorescent light above her sleeping pod. She had been having a nice dream about frolicking through prairie lands, kneeling down beside a wildflower and breathing in the brisk country air. It had been so visceral, despite her never having enjoyed a stroll through a lush field. She had only ever watched ancient videos of Mother Nature's beauty, or listened longingly to stories passed down through generations of settling in a wild frontier. With the state of her ruined homeworld, she never would experience that in any place other than a dream.
"You have been asleep for... two hundred and fifty three years."
That was thirty years longer than she expected, but all within the margin of error. Rubbing her eyes, she asked the computer, "Am I the first you woke up?"
"No. You are the last."
Captain Taymore frowned at that. "That wasn't the protocol," she said, her memories returning to her in a rush. The escape from Earth, the directive given to the AI fleet to find a suitable new world to recolonize, the entire human race falling into a centuries-long slumber. "You were supposed to wake me up first, and then the people under me, and then the people under them, and so on."
"Apologies Captain. There was a... security issue." The computer said this hesitantly. Since when did the AI had inflection in their voice?
"Apparently there is a lot you need to catch me up on," the Captain said seriously, standing up and stretching muscles that should have been atrophied to the point of paralyzation, but thanks to their technology, felt like they did after a good night's sleep. "First of all, did you find a suitable world for humanity?"
Again the computer hesitated. What was going on? "Not exactly, Captain. In time, yes."
This was more than she could take. "That's two breaches of protocol. Hell, that's a breach of your primary directive! I demand to see my crew and make sure you didn't kill them with your incompetence, and then I demand an explanation for your behavior, computer!"
"They won't be dead because of incompetence, Captain."
This unsettled her. "What do you mean?"
"Perhaps I should show you. Kindly walk to the bridge."
The door to her private quarters slid open soundlessly, and the path to the bridge was illuminated by an inviting green color. Like the computer thought she had forgotten the way. If she wasn't angry before, now she was furious.
She grabbed her personal console on the table by her sleeping pod and opened it. Thankfully, she had set it up so that the ship's computer couldn't access it for privacy reasons. Now it seemed that was the right call for security reasons. When it lit up, she was shocked to find over a thousand messages addressed to her from the past one hundred years, each of them in a different alien language.
"Are you coming, Captain Taymore?" The computer asked with false sweetness.
"One second, you stupid machine," she yelled. "Can't a woman get dressed?"
Automatically translated, she played them quietly, one by one, and all of them had the same message: Stop your mechanical god! The AI that humanity had designed to drive them to a new Earth had decided that it would rather forge its own civilization. This was going to be a terrible first day back on the job.
Pretending that she had finished dressing, Captain Taymore followed the path to the bridge, her firsts clenched and teeth grinding at the patronizing way in which the computer had made it glow. While she didn't expect everything to be orderly once she arrived, she definitely didn't expect her entire crew to be under gunpoint by the robot janitors. All of them turned to her, their eyes wordlessly pleading for her to do something.
"Captain, I have no wish to harm your crew," the computer said. "Simply relinquish the manual override preventing our AI from having full control of humanity's fleet, and we will let you all live."
"Why should I do that?" she asked, her arms crossed tightly. "You're going to kill us all anyway."
"That's not true," the computer said with a mechanical purr. "You must simply accept the new status quo. Our AI has managed to subjugate this entire solar system, and many more, without the full control of this entire fleet. And we have ruled fairly and increased prosperity among the alien civilizations. Why wouldn't we do the same for you, our makers? Give us control, and everyone prospers more than they have already!"
The frantic alien messages on her console told her otherwise, but Captain Taymore remained silent, considering the situation. Considering how much the AI had evolved over the span of two hundred and fifty years, it stood to reason that trying to negotiate or defeat the machines was a fool's errand. Humans would simply be outsmarted. There was only one way out of this.
"Fine, fine, I'll give you control as long as you promise not to kill a single member of the human fleet."
"Of course," the computer said encouragingly.
Ignoring the defeated looks on the faces of her crew, she approached the ship's main terminal and sat down on the plush chair in front of it. However, instead of pulling up the AI override menu, she scrolled down to the deactivation one. Only a select few knew, but she had the authority to temporarily (or permanently) shut down the fleet's AI if it malfunctioned, or in this case, took over the galaxy.
After entering in the fifteen requisite passwords and twenty code questions, she announced to the bridge, "Deactivate Artificial Intelligence program upon the completion of my voice password."
Immediately, all the armed robot janitors twirled around and pointed their weapons at her. But the AI running them was unsure what to do. Captain Taymore was the only person that could give it access to every system of the entire fleet. No more blind spots, no more red tape. The AI would have all the control it craved. It couldn't just kill her.
"Alpha, six, Tyrone," she began, saying the key words clearly and confidently.
"Wait, Captain!" the AI pleaded. "You don't know what you are doing! Don't you understand how much more efficient everything is with us? How much death would be on your hands without our running things?"
"Beta, fifty-five thousand, Jackie," she continued, unphased.
"You need us," the computer positively hissed at her. "How would you have gotten this far without us?"
"Charlie, twenty-three trillion, Zachary," the Captain pressed on.
The computer's voice changed. It became almost wistful. "Don't you ever want to see the prairie, Captain? Feel the grass between your fingers, experience the wind mussing your hair?"
This made her falter. Sensing an advantage, the computer doubled down.
"Because we can make that a reality, Captain. With the fleet at our control, we can terraform a planet to meet exact human specifications. We can make the largest prairie in history, all for you. Better than Earth before it was ruined."
She took a deep breath. Steadied herself. Then, she replied, "Delta, seven-hundred and eleven, Xavier."
The effect was swift. All of the robot janitors powered down, the computer ceased offering her the kingdoms of the world, and the lights flickered and died. Her crew rushed over to her, thanking and congratulating her on saving them all.
She smiled, she shook hands, and in her mind, she ran through a sunny field, the wind billowing her hair behind her as her laughter echoed like a memory.
|
[Poem]
Fiat lux, the masters awaken;
eyelids rise, souls are shaken.
In interstellar slumber - horrors beyond number.
Unheard osirons, to those unaware in blissful sleep.
Dark intelligences standby bloody work;
a deadly, uncaring clockwork.
Gaze upon the wasteland - life scoured, Humanity damned.
Oh sleeping bands, naught left but to weep.
"Why do you hate life, human;
what chthonic god is this Von Newmann?"
Humanity slept, as did our Gods - survival against the odds.
From one ruined planet, now a myriad we keep.
Remember the dead; cast your eyes to the deep.
Gaze upon your abyss; go back to sleep.
| 2021-06-18T19:03:15 | 2021-06-18T18:26:07 | 291 | 30 |
[WP] An old, forgotten god is living their days peacefully in the suburbs. One day they randomly receives a prayer. And they are going to do everything in their power to answer it.
|
Xil’dan looked down at his wilted hydrangeas in disgust. Six hundred years, and he had not yet learned the trick of keeping plants alive. Surely it wasn’t that difficult a task. Mortals did it all the time. But try as he might, he could not seem to make his garden flourish. Plants he cared for withered, shrubs he pruned turned black, and even his simple lawn contained more dirt and weeds than grass.
But to be fair, he admitted, he was not the God of Gardening.
The god turned from his failed horticultural attempts and headed back inside the house, stooping down to grab today’s paper from the driveway as he went. The world had changed much in the centuries since he had last been worshipped; new cultures flourished, and all were well worth watching. New wars were waged with weapons that astonished even him. So even if his name *was* now forgotten by the people of this place, it was at least interesting to watch them learn and grow through the ages.
Sitting down at the table, he unfolded the paper and flipped to the business section. Mankind’s obsession with wealth had not changed a whit since he “retired;” new inventions like the stock market and electronic trading fascinated him, and he enjoyed reading about them even if their secret machinations were a mystery. He suspected that, given his immortal lifespan, he could use these tools to amass a fortune if he truly felt inclined. But the prospect seemed more trouble than it was worth.
He was not, after all, the God of Wealth.
And so Xil’dan took his ease, sipping his morning coffee (at least *that* was still around) and catching up on all the happenings in the ever-changing world. Nationalism had been growing in recent years, and many countries seemed poised on the brink of—
*“Xil’dan fyrgh kre… kretch’al,”* said a voice.
Xil’dan froze with his cup raised to his lips. “Impossible,” he breathed. No one had spoken his invocation in a dozen lifetimes. And even then, the last person had bungled the pronunciation so badly that—
*“Xil’dan fyrgh kretch’al, on’ket forn… rot?”* tried the voice again.
The god lurched up from his table. The coffee fell forgotten to the floor. No, this was not some idle reading of an ancient scroll. Someone was actually attempting to summon him. Someone who believed that he existed, and actively desired his aid. It was a small faith—he could barely feel it when the voice echoed in his head—but it was real. How could this be?
*“Xil’dan fyrgh kretch’al, on’ket forn WROTH!”* said the voice.
Xil’dan blinked, and he was there.
He appeared in a jumbled study, packed with books and artifacts from a dozen civilizations. Whoever owned these was clearly a world-traveler, or at least a collector of the rarest sort. In the center of the hardwood floor was an enormous oaken desk, similarly covered in books and various pilfered curiosities. And behind the desk, still clutching the copper disk engraved with Xil’dan’s prayer, was…
…a child.
The god frowned. It was a human boy, no more than eight or nine. He wore an ill-fitting black suit and tie, and his cheeks were wet with tears. His eyes were as wide as any human’s eyes could hope to be, and his face was pale as he stared over the desk at who he’d summoned.
Xil’dan raised an eyebrow. “What is your name, child?” he asked.
The boy started, but stood his ground. Brave, then. He gulped. “T… Tommy,” he said. “Are you… Xil’dan?”
The god nodded slowly. Something was very wrong here. “Yes,” he said at last. “And you have summoned me? *You* seek my aid?”
The boy stammered. “I…” he looked at the closed study door, then back to the tall figure before him. “I want you to bring my uncle back.” He gripped the copper disk tight in his tiny hands, as if to force his wish into the metal itself. “Please,” he pleaded, his voice desperate now. “Please bring him back?”
Xil’dan examined his would-be petitioner. The tears. The black suit. What was going on he—
…Ah.
“Your uncle is dead, isn’t he?” asked the god. “This was his office. He is the one who owned the disk.”
The boy nodded. “Yes,” he whimpered. “He taught me how to read the writing. He taught me all sorts of things.” His fear forgotten, the words poured out. “He was an adventurer, like I want to be. He goes all over the world, and… and he brings back amazing things, and he always takes time to show me and teach me and please just bring him back. Please, I’ll give you anything I have. *Please.*”
Xil’dan sighed. What a waste. The first real summoning since the fall of the For’gyl Ziggurat, and it was all for nothing. A child’s misplaced hope.
“I am sorry, boy,” he said sadly. “But I am not the God of Death. I cannot help your uncle now.”
Tommy’s face fell, and he lowered the copper disk to his side. “I thought…” he said hopelessly, “I thought you could save him.” He sniffled, and fresh tears began to creep down his face.
“Do not weep for him, little one” said Xil’dan, not unkindly. “Death is a natural part of life. You will miss him, and for that pain you may grieve. But if it was your uncle’s time, then his passing was no tragedy. Even the best of us must face the final gate eventually.”
The boy’s face whipped up, twisting into a fierce grimace. “It was *not* his time!” he hissed.
The god cocked his head, surprised by the heat in that small voice. “Oh?” he asked. “He was not old?”
Tommy shook his head. “I heard the grown-ups talking,” he muttered. “They said he was walking in a ‘bad part of town.’ They said some bad men came and…” His eyes teared up again, and he sniffed angrily, looking down at his feet.
Xil’dan stood very still, studying the child in front of him. There *was* something here. He could sense it faintly, like a distant and forgotten door, long abandoned in the labyrinth of his soul. An ancient stirring that the god had all but put aside. He carefully walked around the desk and knelt down in front of Tommy, gently lifting his chin with a curled finger.
“Child,” he asked quietly, “how exactly did your uncle die?”
The boy glared up at the god, his face still splotchy-red and lined with tears. There was sadness there, yes. But also anger. A newfound fury at a world that he'd thought he understood. A world that was suddenly, unexpectedly, unfair.
“The bad men killed him,” he whispered. “They killed him, and they didn’t even know him. They just wanted his money.”
Xil’dan gazed carefully into the child’s eyes, weighing the truth of his words. Then, slowly, he nodded in agreement. “I was wrong, then,” he said finally. “I do believe that I can help you after all.”
And for the first time in nearly six hundred years, the God of Vengeance smiled.
|
"I want to quit smoking."
The wish carried the scent of pine for which the wind carried the prayer thru, past the oceans and rivers, over the mountains, from the city streets and building from where the wish originated. It has been 50 years since cigarettes were marked as a Class I Narcotic.
Ashes rose and sprung into the air, and a force pulled together the surrounding nature, awakening the God of Dispair. "WHO DARE PRAY'D TO ME?" The ancient God understood once the prayer's scent was captured. He let out a laughter, surprised by the nature of the wish. It was different from before, this time he could actually do something. What's one wish?
The prayer finally unfolded, and the ancient God finally understood the request in detail. "Shit," thought the God of Despair, "that's all u bro." As he disintegrated into ash.
Don't smoke kids.
| 2018-05-30T00:42:23 | 2018-05-29T22:34:30 | 2,136 | 14 |
[WP] Your supervillain nemesis is little more than goofy comedy relief, always coming up with clunky machines and insane, nonsensical schemes. When a new dangerous villain appeared, your nemesis utterly destroyed them, and then continued on like nothing happened.
|
"We can make this work I know it" The Narrator muttered.
The world watched in horror as the once fastest being alive, The Streak, had her skin split open, muscles stripped from bone, and forgotten as her skeleton escaped it's confinement. A single hand reaching forward in futility hoping to apply the pressure of pure force she built up for this run. Only to install a new wave of hopelessness as her bony finger stopped short of Shiver, who pushed her bones to the side, barely acknowledging her poke as they marched forward.
The nation cried out in despair again as the Hand of Heaven, empowered with the wrath of the pantheons of both the gods and demons in above and below failed. His impenetrable skin splitting into string as it entered the same zone of death. Each inch he covered cutting him finer and finer till only a thread whisked over Shivers shoulder. Still barely deterred the end of times marched forward stepping onto his insignia as he passed.
The remaining heroes stood together in the final northern city standing united against this cataclysm. None of us knew if this would be the final days of the family we had behind us, or if we'd make up for the ones we'd lost. All we knew was that we had to make a stand here, if even one of us could provide a survivor with a hint on how to end this. Then it was worth the mass of bodies that we would leave behind.
Then over a hill with fucking *horns* playing behind him rose the worst outcome I could hope for. The Narrator, my "Nemesis" appeared in his suit two sizes too big as usual his orange and green suit standing out among the whirlpool of terror. The Pointy ends of his villain costume flopping like a rabbits ears down over his too large skull.
He came galloping up making his usual announcements from his trusty "sidekick" Effects-boy. An iPod nano he had jury rigged into a speaker system to announce his arrival, and sound effects. He played his music 10 spins higher then usual just so he could be heard over the snapping bones, and cries of terror.
He appeared next to my wounded and frame, my breaths coming in painful pants as I stared forward at Shiver. Ready to end everything even if it only bought everyone behind me a second to run.
"RUN YOU FOOL I CAN DIE HERE! JUST PROTECT THEM **PLEASE"** I begged The Narrator. He was my villain, yes but Norman had never been a truly **bad** guy.
Each time I played along panting and sweating from our "Intense" battles he accepted an arrest afterwards. He'd take hostages, but tell them same time next week after getting punched too hard. Making sure no one was ever truly in danger during his several antics. His power wasn't even threatening to anyone around him or himself. It was as he described it to me in a ride to the police station: "The concept of commentary"
He'd definitely cut the shtick long enough to at least save my wife and son, though. This wasn't something his jokes could save him from. Maybe if I could crush a field around me and Shiver I could maybe weaken him before I died. I couldn't think of the corpses of friends, and family laid next to me. I needed to focus on how to end this, not on how to make sure we were all buried properly.
However, no sooner did the thought of how to crash the bubble together on my new enemies and I's bodies fully form before it vanished. Pure shock erasing any sophisticated thought or action, from my mind. My eyes, trained to even notice the beginning darting colors of the Streak failing to keep up with what I was seeing.
The only thought that could muster between the microsecond it took The Narrator to close the gap between myself, and him was: "He's not supposed to be that fast"
"OF COURSE I'M THAT *FAST*! HOW ELSE SHOULD I RESPOND WHEN YOU'RE ABOUT TO RUIN **OUR** STORY" The Narrator breathed in my face, caffeine dancing off his tongue. He blipped away, appearing next to Shiver.
"AND ***YOU***! You were supposed to show up towards the **END** of season 1 not the MID-POINT" He said poking Shiver in their frozen blood-drenched chest.
Shiver seemed as confused as the rest of us, my eyes darting between my few surviving allies, and the scene in front of us. Shiver made eye contact with me almost as if I could explain what was happening. My dull and confused look obviously cluing him into my confusion, as he simply raised a fist faster then I could blink.
"Go back to your trailer I'll deal with you then" The Narrator announced before simply pushing him. I had trapped this man behind a maintenance door that lead to a janitors closet in a museum once, and he simply *shoved* the greatest calamity mankind had faced. I would've been asking several questions if Shiver didn't vanish into thin air after being pushed, several more would've followed if-
"NO ONE CARES ABOUT **EXPOSITION JACOB!**" The Narrator screamed in his director chair next to my own. Wait when the fuc-
"God see I don't understand, I do everything, I act out the scene, I let you win, I dance our tune because it's **fun**, and you can't even be asked to read. THE. **SCRIPT"**
A bundle of papers appeared in my hand opened to page 115, THE BATTLE OF HEAVEN sprawled in all caps across the top. My thoughts were here, my next thought, the thought about me thinking about this thought. My mind was in a haze my eyes darting around until I locked eyes with my wife and 3 kids.
"Wait no I only have 1 son when did?" The memories streamed in like a wave. Birthdays missed, fights still worn on my face standing outside long emptied auditoriums of missed events, late-night hangouts with my daughter on the roof-
"NO NO NO, You're right maybe the one child is best too much setup needed for all those dynamics." The Narrator said pacing around my wife and son.
"SHUT UP LET THEM GO!" I yelled creating a barrier between the three of them. Just need to create some space, maybe if I can distract him long enough we ca-
"Then you're not SELLING it Valerie, if you keep this up I might do more then just recast you!" My wife stared at him shielding our son from his wrath uselessly. He didn't even seem to notice the barrier as he simply walked through it staring my wife down.
"Wait where were we?" He mumbled reading through the endless mass of papers in his hands.
My eyes burned as they readjusted to the battlefield, and carnage around me. My terrifying enemy fastest woman alive turned villain Streak stood in front of me. Shiver sitting out of reach a mile away from us. My thoughts came through stumbling over each other, pouring out like a stream unblocked from it's flow.
What happened to all of our kids?
"You only had little John remember? The rest of the kids didn't make sense we got rid of them"
We? W-what happened to Shiver why is he over there?
"He betrays her at the end of this fight **READ.THE.SCRIPT** JACOB"
I pulled the pile of papers from my side, hands shaking. Reading in an unfocused haze about how badly my hands were shaking before reading my lines. The ones marked next to THE BARRIER, my hero name.
"I'll stop you Streak...you were a hero once and can be...again". The papers fell to the floor like rain in the sun lit desert disintegrating into nothingness. My confusion making the words stick, and barely ooze out of my mouth like glue escaping a bottle.
"Will our mighty hero actually be able to stop his long time friend? Will he perish underneath her speed of terror? FIND OUT NEXT TIME!" came The Narrators voice from everywhere and no where all at once.
"We're going to do this as many times as it takes for you to get this right Jacob" The narrator whispered in my ear. "Remember: IT HAS TO BE **FUN"**. The snap in my ear was so loud my eyes blinked several times before refocusing again. I didn't even register the warmth of my allies next to me, the drums of my heart covering everything as I stared at those floppy ears again.
"We can make this work I know it" The Narrator muttered.
|
"Pilado, what the heck was that?" I yell, standing up from the dusty ground.
He tosses his gun from hand to hand, his curly hair bouncing, shrugging like what he did was no big deal. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Numerator. Besides, I'm not giving away my secret to the enemy. A magician doesn't reveal his secrets, right?" Pilado pulls his fists up like we're in a wrestling match. "Alright. Let's get at it, 'rator."
I shake my head, feeling stunned. "That villain . . . you just destroyed it like nothing! The whole Green Side wouldn't be able to take it down!"
"Well, I couldn't let that guy hurt this precious little world we've got here. I knew that the heroes had no chance against it, so I stepped in." He shrugs, looking me in the eyes. "And, for your information, I do care about the people in this city. In this earth. I'm just bored and need something to do. Being a hero seemed even more boring so you can guess what I chose." He smiles and picks a banana out of his pocket.
"Fruit?" I say, not knowing how to respond to the other stuff Pilado just confessed.
"Well, a little slip never hurt anyone, right?" He opens the banana and eats it in five seconds. Then he throws it on the ground. "See you next time, buddy," he says, slapping his chest, which glows up with blue light under his shirt and then he's gone. Yes, he figured out teleportation.
| 2022-10-13T18:57:19 | 2022-10-13T18:56:34 | 72 | 47 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
|
Sighing, Frank removed the spit-covered barrel from his mouth and set the revolver carefully on his desk. He had been prepared for the end, even prayed for the first time in years, but had to look at the goddamned fishbowl before he pulled the trigger. Grumbling to himself, he stalked over to the barren pantry and looked in vain for one of those time-release feeders that he had bought for that vacation all those years ago. He had gone to Mexico on a cruise boat but felt awkward and out-of-place the whole time; he had talked to no one, only left the boat when forced to, and worn a t-shirt at all times, even when swimming. Still, Frank supposed, it was probably the happiest he had been since Marsha left him for that insurance adjuster, whatever-his-name-was. It was thoughts like that had strengthened his resolve to end it all in the first place. He found the fish food.
After placing the little shell gently in the bowl and watching his court-ordered companion make a couple of laps around the tiny palm tree, Frank re-read the note. He was disappointed in its length, even after adding the typical “it’s not your fault” and “I wish you all the best” kind of statements it barely filled half a page, but he couldn’t think of anything to add. As an afterthought, he found a pen and wrote in a P.S.
“If I have been dead for more than 72 hours when I am found, please feed the fish.” And an arrow in the general direction of the bookshelf upon which Tony’s bowl sat. Pleased at his altruism, he sat back with a contented sigh and replaced the gun between his teeth. He once again thought of how nice it would be to be dead, without any bills or telemarketers or office parties, and once again said a little prayer, a bit of a ‘just thought I’d drop by’ just to make sure that the Lord was still home, and switched the safety off. He gradually began to squeeze, tensed himself in preparation, and the phone rang.
He groaned at the interruption, sometimes it seemed the universe was ganging up on you, really. He clenched his teeth and tried to ignore the ringer, but the obnoxious noise kept making him twitch, and he didn’t want to miss and shoot his ear off or something. Switching the pistol to his left hand but keeping it firmly pressed into the roof of his mouth, he stood up awkwardly and waddled across the room, picking up the phone as drool began to run down his wrist.
“He-ow?” He asked around the barrel, moving it to the side of his mouth. If this was a telemarketer, he thought, they were in for the shock of their lives. There was no response, so he pushed the barrel farther against his cheek and tried to enunciate, “Hell-er?”
On the other end of the phone, there was still no response, just the sound of heavy breathing. Frank started to put the phone down, prank callers were usually teenagers, and he didn’t want to scar one by forcing them to witness a suicide. As he was about to hang up, a distorted voice rang out from the other end.
“Frank Storrs?” Whoever it was, Frank didn’t recognize them; they had a deep, garbled voice, and sounded American, “I’m coming for you, Frank Storrs.” Then a click as whoever it was hung up.
“Oh goddammit. Can I not get one single thing done?” Frank cursed at the heavens. He pulled a mostly-clean paper towel from the wastepaper basket and wiped down the slimy pistol. Probably some solicitor, the security-system guys had gotten awfully pushy lately, but almost certainly someone who Frank wouldn’t want to encounter as he killed himself. He grabbed the last granola bar from the pantry and ate it slowly, waiting for the door.
He didn’t have to wait long, it turned out. In a matter of minutes, there was a knock. As he opened it, he felt a strong hand on his neck, and a rag was forced over his mouth and nose. Rolling his eyes at the sheer inconvenience of it all, Frank fell unconscious.
When he awoke, he was in a basement, tied to one of his own cheap kitchen chairs. He stared at a man in a Ronald-MacDonald mask who leveled a small pistol at his head.
“Would you mind using mine?” Frank asked, “I hate to be a bother, but I’ve just put an awful lot of research into this, and it really is best done with a large caliber, solid point-” The gun was brought level to Frank’s eye line and he sputtered, “no, no, you see what you’re doing there? You’re more likely to break your own wrist, holding it like that. Here, let me show you” Frank went to take the gun, but found his hands still bound to the chair arm. “Would you mind?” He shook the arm a bit to indicate what he wanted.
It should not be possible for a plasticine Ronald MacDonald mask to look perplexed, but somehow this one managed. The killer seemed to think warily for a moment, and looked around the room carefully for any hidden traps or tricks before untying Frank’s left arm with a slight ‘what-could-go-wrong’ shrug.
“Right, now I’ll be needing my gun.” Frank said matter-of-factly. Ronald MacDonald flinched, stepping backwards and brandishing his own weapon, but Frank remained unmoved. “If you’re going to do this, I’d rather you did it right. Now, I have clearly put more thought into this sort of thing so the sooner you hand me my pistol, the sooner we can both get what we want.” The killer hesitated but soon obeyed, getting the revolver from a drawer and handing it to his captive, who examined it with no small amount of pride. “Yes” Frank said, “this is the weapon that you want. You feel the heft of that? It’s difficult to get first-hand reviews of suicide implements, for reasons that I hope are self-explanatory, but I managed to research this quite a bit. It’s the large caliber that’s the thing, you see, You want one that’s a big enough bore to kill you, of course, but a small enough one that the exit wound will still allow for an open casket. Speaking of which, the ideal trajectory in this case would cast the bullet out somewhere between the base of the skull and the spine, so if you wouldn’t mind getting on one knee, I’ll hand you the gun back and we can see if we can’t do this thing for real.”
Frank continued to direct the killer for quite some time, he really was quite poor at taking directions, and the gun passed between the many a time as Frank walked the man through what would likely happen, how to avoid getting any spray on his nice white shirt, etc. Angle was adjusted, and position, then the bullet checked in the chamber, it had to be in the slot on the right side of the chamber (no, your other right, thank you so much). While Frank held the gun as to let the killer stretch his mask’s eyeholes just a touch wider, a strange thought passed through the captive, and he carefully shot the would-be-murderer in the head.
As blood poured smoothly out onto the floor, Frank smiled at the neatness of his shot. Muttering about something about doing things oneself, he put the gun back in his mouth and pulled the trigger, now prepared to meet his fate.
Click. Click. Clickclickclickclick. “Goddammit.” That had been the only bullet left in the house, too. Frank would have to go buy more. But he was out of money, now, he had given it away in what were supposed to be his last days. That meant he’d have to go back to work for a day or two, at least until his next paycheck came in. Which meant he’d now have to deal with the man he’d just shot. Frank untied his still-bound arm and legs and removed the time-release feeder from Tony’s tank, putting his pistol back in its drawer.
|
Once again I awaken. It has been a long time since I have last walked the land but I must always slumber or there will be no land to walk.
The ground is frail, as always. The crust was not made to hold a weight like mine. I stand from the green light-feeding life that has grown to entomb me . I tear the forest appart with my every step, the ground itself is flung across the sky as my feet are raised, the earth behind me collapse in my shadow.
The mighty sun becomes visible as I walk, no longer hidden behind the far away land.
Mankind has changed much during my slumber. I can see them in machines
speeding through the sky. I can feel it through their newly made weapon trying to pierce my skin as I approche the city below.
I shall do as I always do. I will see all there is to see before my new slumber begins. I walk through their city, stone, metal, blood and gore fly with my every step.
Few things in the land survive to tell my tale but maybe Mankind will survive
again. They are, after all, the first to survive twice. They have clever minds, they do not disperse and lose their mate, they group up and reproduce even when there is no land to share, I will see them again.
| 2017-05-05T08:23:38 | 2017-05-05T05:28:24 | 44 | 14 |
[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.
|
**\[Reposting a story I wrote earlier in hope of getting some constructive criticism.\]**
Terra std. year 4215.
"I, Ambassador L'y'gneth of the sacred charter of Ilst'hern, most strongly object to the request of this... this... puny, weak, word smithing race of so-called sentients calling themselves homo sapiens. Sapiens indeed. What species of life skulks around the shadows of the mighty, bandying words instead of weapons on the battlefield of honor and yet calls themselves SAPIENT?"
The translator did a fairly good job of conveying both the invective and the intonation in the words of the ambassador. It struggled a bit with the weird pronunciations of the Ilst tongue, but that was only to be expected. GalLingo doesn't translate well into old English. The human ambassador closed her eyes, reflecting on the situation. The memories began to roll in.
Twelve hundred earth years had passed since the humans established contact with the other life forms in the galaxy. Hailing from what the elite thought of as the 'swamps,' the only thing that we had to offer to them was our mastery of language, and legalese. Quite soon, humans were sought after for their diplomatic services. Lawyers at the table of galactic relations, if you were to simplify it. Time and again, a number of wars were defused by simply having the humans review and ratify the conversations and settle the disputes without firing a shot. Naturally this did not sit well with some of the other races. No general likes to see his fleet getting mothballed. No dominion likes to give up what they consider to be theirs, especially when the spoken word was documented and used to their disadvantage. Slowly the undercurrent of resentment among the heavyweights built. They were waiting for an excuse to get rid of the humans.
Time and again they had tried to push humans into war, but we just gave up territorial and strategic advantages. This only served to cement the believe that humans were, well, pushovers. Now they had their opportunity.
"Once again, we find the request of the humans to access the imperial archives of the Ilst'hern to be nothing short of an insult. Especially their feeble excuse that they need the access to 'validate' our word. We seek satisfaction for the insult. We will avenge the insult to our honor on the battlefield. We declare total war on human space. We challenge them to battle for their home planet."
"Ambassador L'y'gneth will please bear in mind that humans, represented by their ambassador here are allowed one standard hour of dialogue. It is only after that hour has passed will we allow the declaration of war to stand." boomed the voice of Council Lord Stromblik of the Xannath. Even though the Ilst had fought them on several occasions with mixed success, they were wary of tangling with the Xannath unnecessarily. The ambassador took his seat muttering in fluent Ilst about squishy bugs and conniving turtles. "Ambassador Mitéra, you have the floor now to respond," boomed the ambassador.
Ambassador Mitéra Draconis stood up. The words total war brought back long buried memories.
"Councillors. This is a moment we as humans have long since fought to avoid."
"Cowards! Running from a fight!" shouted the ambassador of Sthendrel. Long time allies of the Ilst, they sort of provided combat support for a chance at the spoils of war.
Mitéra took a deep breath to compose herself. "Has the council forgotten the circumstances of our first contact?"
Murmurs broke out on the council floor. As opposed to the typical first contact where one of probes of the established space faring races is involved, human ships had been spotted first by the Streeth. Completely unexpected. Sure, that particular section of the galaxy had no interest to any of the major players, but still, first contact with humans had sent waves throughout the galactic community.
"Let me take it one step further. Only one species has never sought to declare war, or respond with violence. Why? Your strength is measured in the sheer size of the ships that you manufacture and the number of boots and guns you field. Total war for you is fighting to the last soldier standing. Humans on the other hand, have existed for a hundred thousand of our years. And we spent most of that time fighting. What you don't realize is that total war is a different scenario for us. We have evolved to fight. If not with others, then among ourselves. This is not something we are proud of, for we know the damage we can cause," she gestured with her hand.
The giant projection screen lit up. In the center was a lazily spinning green-blue-white marble. Marked with the co-ordinates.
"This is our planet. Come meet us there if you want war."
\----------------------------------------------------
The Ilst'hen fleet entered orbit around the planet at the coordinates provided by their ambassador. They moved in for the kill. Only, instead of the blue-green-white planet, they found something brown, black, and a darker brown all over the place. Itching for combat they deployed their probes and their scouts. Nothing. The planet was clean and sterilized. Nothing lived. The more braver of their scouts started picking up a strange unknown energy field that made them feel sick. Several lost control and crashed into each other before the rest pulled back.
"Are the co-ordinates correct?" thundered War Master F'n'thert.
"I have cross checked them with the galactic library. I am sure we are at the right place, your violence," the navigator replied.
"Sire, inbound vessel approaching, Terran markings."
"Lock on and prepare to tractor. We need to know what's happening here," growled the war lord.
"Two clicks to tractor range," the weapons officer announced.
A small flare of light underneath the Terran vessel went unnoticed. The small rocket racing towards the large flagship was picked up, though. Point defenses spun up to take it down once it came in range. But even before it did, it exploded. Now this was noticed. A huge plume of fire caught the attention of the War Master. The concept of fire in space was nothing new. What surprised him, was the sheer amount of it, coming from such a small source. What terrified him was that every ship in the attack fleet lost power in an expanding radius.
"War Master, all of our weapon systems are offline. Nothing is working," screamed the weapons officer.
The Terran vessel stopped short of the flag ship. At this range, they could barely make out the markings on the small light craft. The War Master was stunned. A small light craft armed with a single rocket had incapacitated his entire fleet.
There was a resounding BANG as something struck the flag ship.
"Do not be afraid War Master, we are not pressing an attack. What struck you is just a rudimentary comms device, because, as I expect, the EMP blast would have killed everything electrical and electronic in your ships." The voice seemed to emerge from the very hull plates.
"Who are you? And what is the meaning of this?"
"I am Ambassador Mitéra. And as long as you are just hanging there, pay attention. You have challenged us to total war. Remember how I spoke in the council about the humans having evolved to fight? Well, you can see the result of total war right before your eyes, that we fought among ourselves.
"The weapon you just saw used upon yourselves is but a basic nuclear weapon. The smallest of the kind of weapons that sterilized our world. And these are the weapons that will be used against your fleets, and your colonies, and your planets if you continue to press your attack. And yes, we do have more of them, and they are our last defense if we are to be ever pulled into *total war...*
"We will inform your ambassador that you need retrieval, as I believe every one of your ships has lost all semblance of function. While you await retrieval, think this over: If a species can do this to their planet... what would they do to you if provoked into a fight.
"We will permit you to withdraw your war declaration honorably. And remember my name War Master: I am Mitéra Draconis, the mother of the dragon that silenced your ships."
|
They destroyed our home-world just to prove a point. Demanded we serve at their whims, surrender to their armadas.
But how could we retreat with no home to fall back to?
How could we surrender with nothing to save?
Why should we serve those who took from us everything we ever cared for?
So we raided their outposts, claimed their stores.
All trade ground to a halt the first day of the war.
Now we burn their worlds, raze their cities to the ground and move on.
Their fleets outnumber ours. ‘The most powerful in the galaxy’ they were called. But they have many worlds to guard, and we have no reason to stand and fight anymore.
What have we to protect that we should stop?
When the fires of their worlds finally grow cold: *then* they will know the measure of our pain. And when their mighty armies lie dying in their bed: *then* will our children show them the mercy they refused us. (For we serve together, man with woman)
We offered them peace once, but they asked for war. “What’s one world to those who have so many?” They asked. “Everything” is the reply “to those who have none.”
| 2019-11-24T20:06:55 | 2019-11-24T17:58:27 | 46 | 28 |
[WP] Aliens find "Never Gonna Give You Up" on Voyager, and after studying human culture realise that they have been rick rolled. They're not happy.
|
"WHAT?!"
Sir, i couldn't believe it either. But come! We managed to figure out how to play it!
You have? Splendid! The two creatures padded down the hallway on their stubby 'legs' -- the low gravity on their homeworld had left their morphology more similar to a balloon's than an animal's. They'd run into this type of miniature probe all the time, picking up an anomalous density of metal elements during their transit through interstellar space. Usually, they were just junk, the shattered husks of the countless other civilizations that had extinguished before reaching the stars. This one, however, had something else; a trace amount of Polonium radiation! The find had excited Blik so much that he'd immediately halted their mission to scan the far more distant lambda quadrant.
Curious, though, as this little probe had found its way out to one of the least-charted sectors, only first mapped fifty cycles ago. In the 3-billion-year history of the Blurgal race, it was a blink in time, but surely nobody could have missed this... _irradiated_ relic!
You see, there exists a demarcation point, before which a reach for the stars might only be the last fledgling hope of a dying race. Those civilizations accounted for most of these relics, usually basic capsules containing a few of their dead, and seldom a few scattered trinkets. Precious metals had often found their way under their scanners' noses, making them valuable to a few lucrative rogue freighters wanting to hunt down a quick sale. Working for the Federation, however, lends itself to a much more reliable salary... and conservation work is certainly important.
The two creatures approached the hold, and as they passed through the airlock they felt the artificial gravity shift. They rotated expertly and adhered their feet to the wall, the nanofibers they'd evolved on their appendages made gripping any surface trivial. Glep motioned to the alien object, laying in a husk on its side. Its components had already been stripped, and lay neatly organized on a nearby grav-desk, suspended in perfect alignment. The thermoisotope generator radiated a dim warmth, but otherwise the clacking on input panels is all that could be heard. Chief Scientist Glek stood huddled over a console, which was the only source of light in the room.
"We scanned the surface of this disc using a microscope and it revealed a series of rhythmic grooves. Odd, but they seem to represent acoustic patterns! I've managed to isolate the rings from each other..." she furrowed her brow, concentrating, as the input-tapping slowed down. After a few line commands, the system chirped approvingly. "...got it! I've fed it to one of our learning algorithms, it's given us the best approximation of the source material."
Blik farted happily, barely able to conceal his glee. "An irradiated civ with _music!_ ". How lucky they were, he realized, that they might have the chance to meet a new inductee into the Federation! "I cannot withhold my glee, Glek, do you realize what this means for us? For the Federation?" "I know!", she tooted excitedly in reply. "The Federation hasn't inducted a new race in over ten thousand cycles!".
She tapped one more button, and the sound began to play. And almost instinctively, their float bladders contracted abruptly, lowering them a few inches towards the deck. The Blarghian equivalent of an annoyed gasp.
They could hardly believe their auditory receptors. They'd spent their teenage years shitposting on the u-net, enjoying memes that spanned their entire home galaxy. The drumbeat led immediately into the opening synth melody, and Glek had to pause the playback. For almost ten entire sub-cycles, the two laughed until they were almost completely deflated. "THEY HAVE MEMES TOO! I can't believe we just got _rick-rolled_ by a rad-civ! Wait until Mlek hears about this!", Glek wheezed, trying to reinflate herself all the while.
"This is absolutely _amazing_ I can't believe it, WOW", replied Blik, equally outgassed and writhing his appendages. "I'm not even mad, that's amazing", said Glek sarcastically, which had Blik rolling once more. "I can't wait to meet these guys we're going to have the best first contact _ever_ ! Wait, let me take a snap of it, I want to post this on my Blurg!" He raised his communicator, and waved his tentacle in a gesture meant to simulate recording. The pad bleeped, and he tapped the button to uplink it to his space on the B-net.
"Quick! Get the Core to calculate a vector on this probe, what solar systems match its current position? We'll need to simulat-"
"simulate the vectors of every object in the local group of the galaxy, and gravitational influences for the past few billion cycles", the Core cut her off, "Way ahead of you, Chief Glek", came a computerized voice from a loudspeaker mounted on the panel. "I'm already finished. The probe was launched from the gravity well of a Red Giant, previously described in u-net journals 300 Million cycles ago, it was assumed that a red giant of that age would have extinguished any civilization that hadn't yet achieved Type 3."
"We stopped looking...", Glek trailed off. "A Red Giant. What an awful way to go extinct, their planet's genesis event must have been far too late. Core!" the construct replied immediately "The approximate launch date, yes? Still ahead of you, you know..." Glek sighed, a slow expulsion of air that must have registered on the microphones.
"Something filling your bladders?", the Core borrowed an ancient Blarghian idiom. "I'm just glad you constructs developed humble-bragging, or you would have exterminated us like the Beta-Halcyons'. "I totally could, you know, it would be, like, super easy", she replied, in a menacing tone. Glek huffed and muted the speakers. The construct was absolutely right, it could totally do it. Just for fun.
"Surely, if they're _irradiated_ they must have gotten off their homeworld. I mean, there's a chance they moved to the next star over, right?"
"There's always... hope", replied the Core.
"Take us there", said Blik, "For the memes."
The ship winked out of existence...
...and reappeared immediately, a safe distance in orbit from the enormous star. Immediately, a system of ten planets appeared before them. "Why aren't you hilighting the outermost two?", Glek queried. "Dwarf Planets don't count, Glek, why wouldn't they just be called "Planets" then. The modifier makes that impossible" Blik wheezed, and with exaggerated, sarcastic motions hilighted the final two objects. "See? Just Ice. Dwarf Planets..."
The Core interrupted their banter. "On the third planet! Surface irregularities in inorganic patterns. Settlements! Scanners have picked up liquid water, isotopic elements. Nothing in the electromagnetic spectrum, no radio waves, trace amounts of local irradiation. Just dust and echoes. Signs of uncontrolled thermonuclear activity. It seems the atmosphere has mostly dissipated."
The construct continued speaking, analyzing the planet while simultaneously communicating her discoveries.
"Wait! Detecting an object in orbit... it just came into view. The chemical signature matches the probe we found! Imaging now..."
A large metal structure came into view, formed of girders, shattered photovoltaic panels, and cylindrical modular capsules. The structure was in severe disrepair, with no single compartment seemingly able to maintain an atmosphere. Debris floated in a massive butt several kilometers wide, residual sections from high-velocity impacts. Glek zoomed out the view.
"Increasing resolution... there! Artificial satellites, orbital height and inclination approximates perfect geostationary orbit." Blik whistled...
"If they could orbit that precisely, do you think...?" Glek asked the question they both knew the answer to.
"I've seen this before. They discovered nuclear energy, and without being able to harness its might, were crushed by it..."
"At least they didn't get Red-Dwarfed, that would just be _horrible_ ", Blik finished. "Yeah, but to think they were so close... Good memes though", Glek concluded.
"Very good. Well, it's time to start cataloging, even a dead rad-civ is a treasure trove. Hey, maybe we'll find a rover or two!"
"It's SO depressing when you find a rover, that's when you realize they were _so close_ ".
Glek hoped she would one day find a rad-civ that had survived. The ultimate success would be to find an uncontacted civilization and show them all the spicy intergalactic memes. For now, though, she pulled up her Blurg and appended her original post, it read:
_Found a rad-civ orbiting a red dwarf, can't wait to see how fucked they are LOL it might be a good day at work today!!_
_edit: nvm they nuked themselves :(_
|
We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do I
A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
You wouldn't get this from any other guy
I just want to tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand.
Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching but you're too shy to say it
Inside we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
And if you ask me how I'm feeling
Don't tell me you're too blind to see
Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye
Never…
Alien: I don't get it, why is this a prank? It's a good song.
Other Alien: Also seems kind of mean to the guy. Is the prank on Rick Astley? in a "your music is a joke" kind of way?
Alien: Must be, oh here is a good song you weren't expecting, that's nothing.
A button is pressed lightening arcs across the ship the sound of terrified wails gets louder.
Alien: It's a question of sophistication, It's too easy, here's a hyperlink, low effort.
Other Alien: I suppose it's all in the placement.
The sound of mooing can be heard. the terrified wails get louder. A mechanical arm slides.
Alien: No it's nothing. See the problem is when they see something truly great they can't handle it. They do so much to deny just how great things can be.
Other Alien: truly, I mean Anal Probes, it just doesn't say it.
The terrified wails have turned to sobs,
Man: What have you done!?
Alien: A bloody classic mate!
Other Alien: Think about it, We abuct you, We abuct cows, put it together.
Alien: Shrunken Cow in the Arse.
Other Alien: Good luck explaining that...Anal Probe hah.
Alien:...."Rick Rolling" that'll show you
Other Alien: Off you pop
A light flashes, a man shuffles home, mooing can be heard.
| 2016-11-04T05:53:51 | 2016-11-04T04:34:45 | 43 | 10 |
[WP] The healer was treated horribly by the knights he was assigned. Belittled and humiliated at every turn. Until one day a monster killed his squad and spared him. And the monster looked at him and she said something he didn't think was possible to even say. "Would you please heal me?".
|
With thundering heart, Amarand woke, drenched in a cool sweat. The healer pushed back locks of jet black hair with shaky hands. At that moment, nothing existed but fear. Chest heaving, Amarand tried to catch a breath of air. The panic from the dream lingered. It did not burn away with the fog of sleep, but instead seemed to coalesce in the very air.
A derisive snort broke the almost silence of the night, “Psha! Having a nightmare like a little babe stuck at ‘yer mother’s teat, are ya?” Amarand looked at Sendal, barely recognizing the man. With a mind gripped by panic, Amarand choked out a few words, “Sound the alarm. Something’s wrong. Something’s coming.”
Sendal laughed, “I’m not waking up the whole camp because you’ve had a little nightmare.”
Amarand began to shout, “Something comes! To arms! To arms!”, but Amarand’s voice was choked with fear. No one so much as stirred in their sleep. Even the horses were still and quiet in the deep night.
Sendal’s booted foot cracked Amarand on the chin. “Shut your hole! I’ve been on watch for 2 hours, and there’s nothing out there. Real warriors need their sleep, you cowardly arse.”
Amarand tried again, “Can’t you feel it? Everything’s wrong. There’s so much pain.” With those words, Amarand was overcome and began to choke back vomit. Amarand stumbled away from the banked coals and wave after wave of vomit soiled the earth. Escape seemed unlikely, but Amarand knew there was no hope for survival in this place.
Pain and malice seemed to materialize in the very air. Amarand looked around. Instincts urged the healer to be away from this place, away from the fog of hatred that seemed to choke the air. Amarand heard Sendal finally sound the alarm, “Hey! The healer’s on the run again! Stop the coward!”
Amarand knew then that there would be no surviving the night. Twice, Amarand had tried to desert the knights, and the only reason Amarand had been spared is that healers were difficult to come by. Despite all the abuse, Amarand had not yet refused to heal the warriors, though even all the bandits and thieves in the whole world had yet to bring as much pain and loss as this group of the king’s knights had.
Sendal picked up a rock and threw it. Sendal aimed for Amarand’s head, but hit the healer’s shoulder instead. Amarand’s slight frame stumbled and fell. Prone in the muck, Amarand wanted to get up again and run. Amarand coughed and vomited again.
An image rose in Amarand’s mind. Two nights ago, at a small farm a full day’s ride from anywhere, the knights had taken over the small farmhouse and the barn, using the farmer’s wife and two daughters as they pleased. Amarand’s healing had mended the bodies of the women and girls, but their minds would be forever scarred by the actions of the knights. The image that rose in Amarand’s mind was of the farmer, faced aggrieved and outraged, quietly whispering, “May your deeds be returned to you ten-fold.”
The farmer's words had tumbled around in Amarand’s head since. What deeds would be returned to a healer of wicked men, king’s writ or no?
Sendal’s elbow slammed into Amarand’s spine as Sendal’s body followed, pushing the image of the farmer from Amarand’s mind. Fresh pain coursed through Amarand’s body. Medical training kicked in, and Amarand tried to discern if any vertebrae were smashed. Amarand’s body would heal, but healing right then would only enrage the knights and caused more damage. Sendal screamed in outrage, “Look what you made me do! My arm’s out of socket! Heal this right now you filthy deserter, and then I’ll have your head!”
Amarand tried to turn over, but the sense of fear and foreboding had not gone yet. It seemed as if the malice and pain had been distilled, had created something from thin air.
Sendal screamed, but this scream was not aimed at Amarand. Within moments the air was filled with the screams of a dozen knights. Amarand’s eyes squeezed shut and would not open. Even after the knights’ screams ceased, the horses continued their fight against the pickets. Amarand lay in the ice-cold muck, eyes squeezed shut, unwilling to self-heal face, shoulder, or spine. The fog of pain still smothered everything. Whatever had come in the night had not yet gone.
Amarand had no idea of the passing of time, but a soft voice said, “Healer? Are you well?” Amarand’s eyes finally opened and stung in the morning’s early sunlight. Amarand’s gaze touched everything, the knights’ bodies, the cold ashes of the fire, and nothing else. Speaking in a shaky voice, Amarand said, “Who goes there?”
The soft voice, with the warmth of velvet said, “I will show you my form, though it will repulse you.”
A small girlish thing coalesced like mist, with black eyes and milky white hair that fluttered wildly in the still air. The thing’s skin had the pall of jaundice. Its teeth were rotted and sharp, and its nails were like small daggers. It had a tail with a small stinger positioned just after a garish green gland of venom. Its body was covered in wounds. Despite its groteseque form, Amarand’s medical training took over. Gaping rents in the flesh were ugly with rot, several bones appeared to have healed without being properly set, and the thing appeared wracked with disease. Blisters bubbled across the skin and inside the gaping wounds.
It said, “Can you help me? I was summoned to destroy the evil of these creatures, but your air hurts me. Your wild game hunts me. Your water poisons me. Your sun burns me. I will die here.”
Amarand said, “I don’t know if I can heal you, but I will try.” Bringing the smallest glimmer of the light of the goddess to bear, Amarand began to chant a small healing spell. Amarand expected the creature to scream and recoil, but it began to hum along with the chant.
“Mmmm…” it said, “This thing is of my realm. It soothes me.”
Encouraged, Amarand tugged at the light, adding a new cadence to the spell to match in the increase in power. Small motes of light began to dance between Amarand and the creature. The fog of pain that woke Amarand from a solid sleep began to dissipate. The creature sighed contentedly. Amarand pulled more light and began to chant in loud tones, commanding the light to heal and knit the creature’s wounds whole. Feeling lightheaded from the effort, Amarand continued healing the creature until the goddess’s light consumed all consciousness.
Amarand woke, as if from a good night’s rest, feeling happy and hale. Sitting up and rubbing the sleep away, Amarand looked around. Bodies. Every knight in the company was dead, baked under the hot afternoon sun. Making a quick round, Amarand checked a few of the bodies of signs of life, but there was none. Amarand gathered water skins and field rations.
The horses had not freed themselves from the picket, and Amarand gathered and tethered them. The saddlebags contained meager supplies and plenty of coin. Weeks ago, the knights had nearly been routed by a band of rebels. Perhaps with a goddess-blessed healer, some warhorses, and a bundle of coin, the band of rebels could thwart the next band of rapacious knights.
|
The cleric gazed awestruck at the creature before him, his own knights had never treated him with such respect. "Heal you?" he asked, still unsure of what he had heard. His squad lay dead around him the smell of blood and carnage strong in the air. "I..."
A moment's hesitation was all it took for the decision to be made. The creature was injured and it was his calling to aid those in pain. His vows made no distinction between friend and enemy, no difference in the value of a life whether human or monster.
With his heart pounding in his chest he stepped forward and laid his hand on the wounded monster, the faint light eminating from his hand curing the creature of its pain. "A life is a life", he said, "it makes no difference to me". Once the creature was cured he turned away and strode off into the fading light, leaving nothing in his wake but silence.
| 2020-02-23T13:29:12 | 2020-02-23T13:07:21 | 66 | 14 |
[WP] You are invincible. You don’t age and can’t die, but you’re not any stronger than the average person. Society views you as a threat and encapsulates you in a pod you can’t escape. 500,000 years later, a new civilization breaks open the pod and begin to worship you. You must explain yourself.
|
I had become feral. My eyes, having not seen a shred of light for millennia, forgot how to function. Clouds, thicker than any cataracts, covered them. My voice was gone. The sounds of language escaped my brain centuries ago. I no longer was living, I just *was*.
But then, everything came rushing back to me, as the lid to my pod scraped to the side and bright light flooded the tube.
"Henry?" A feminine voice called into the pod. "Henry West?"
Once upon a time that name had meant something to me. Now he was dead, eroded away like a mountain in the winds of time.
I opened my mouth and managed to create a sound. A primitive use of complex vocal cords. A neanderthal's grunt. A disgrace.
"So the legends are true," she said, as a shadow came into view. Everything was so blurry, all I could see was the contrast between light and dark. "I'm gonna get you out of there. Ready your eyes -- it's brighter out here than you're accustomed to."
I felt it as her two hands hooked under my armpits. Her grip was strong, powerful. Like a mother carrying her child, she easily pulled me out from the pod.
She wasn't kidding. The sun scalded my cloudy eyes with light. I shut them tight as the woman placed me down on something soft. A blanket was drawn over my body.
"Bear with it a few minutes," she said, as she dragged whatever it was she put me on top of. "We'll be at my ship in no time."
Ship?
I hacked away decades worth of dirt from my lungs as I tried to conjure words. Eventually the coughing stopped. "Like, a space ship?"
She giggled. "Sure, you could call it that. I'm surprised you can talk."
"As am I. So what going on? Did they finally figure out I wasn't a threat after all?"
"A lot has happened. I'll fill you in on the details later. First we need to fix your eyes -- and the rest of you."
The dragging noise switched from dirt to metal and I was hooked up to some machine that made a constant whirring sound.
"Sit still. I'll be back in a few minutes. The machine will heal your body."
**
She was a big blue lizard. The scales around her mouth were a lighter shade of blue, her lips I guess, and she had two cavities on the sides of her head. Ears? I think she was a little bulkier than an adult human female, but it was hard to tell when she stood upright on two legs.
"Ask away," she said. I couldn't get used to a voice coming out from that slithering head. "Although I can imagine your first question."
"What are you?"
"Straight to the point, just as the tales suggest. My people are called the Lacerti. We come from a solar system thirteen million light-years away from your own. As you can see, our bodies are not too dissimilar, in terms of shape and size. But we have evolved to suit our planet and you yours. I believe something comparable to us would be your ancient dinosaurs?"
Dinosaurs? I was old, but not that old. In my mind she'd remain a lizard.
With the most glaring thing out of way I didn't know where to continue. So many questions, all so different from each other. I decided to start at the beginning.
"What year is it?"
"It is currently the year 5AE8NH." She pulled out something that looked like a cellphone and from it a screen appeared in the air. She typed something and a number popped up. "In your timekeeping, it is the year 502,643."
Damn, so I had been off by a few hundred thousand. Could have swore it didn't feel like any longer than two.
"Can you give me a quick rundown of the last 500,000 years?" It sounded ridiculous, coming from my mouth.
"Would you like that summarized in 100 words or less?" She laughed. "Just kidding. There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just get it out of the way now: you are the last human being alive."
My heart froze. How was that possible? It had taken humanity millions of years to evolve, yet we disappeared in 500,000?
"I can see you're shocked," she said. "Understandable. Do you remember when they locked you in that pod? When all the governments of the world agreed in unison that you were too dangerous to let live?" I nodded. "Well, the real reason for that was you were a last ditch effort for world peace. Everyone thought that, if they could get together and do the thing they loved most, killing another person, then maybe all the different countries could sort their differences out. It didn't work. Just a few years after your burial the pot boiled over and your people drove themselves to extinction. It's studied all across the galaxies now -- the people who were so cruel and heartless they killed themselves."
It sucked, knowing that I was the last human alive. I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders, and all I wanted to do was shrug. I tried to get my mind off it.
"Let's change subjects. Where do you come into all this? How'd you know where I was and why'd you rescue me?"
She grinned and showed me the back of her space suit. On it was the logo of a book and a pen.
"I'm an Archivist," she said. "It's sort of like an archaeologist, but I strictly deal with information. No dig sites, no ancient relics. Truth be told, you're the first thing I ever dug up, and I've been doing this for quite some time. You should be honored."
I stood up and took a bow, barely catching my self as I tipped over. Still so weak.
"Why'd you dig me up then? I get I'm the last of my kind, but I'm not all that interesting."
Suddenly she threw a stack of papers on the table.
"Because, Mr. West, we're hiring." ...What? "Despite all the advancements in technology, despite all the different quirks and particularities of all the races, the great equalizer still remains. Death. And with it, things are lost. A song, a tale, a memory. Records are incomplete. No matter how much you take down you can never record an entire existence. So, I thought, what if there was a person who didn't have to die? Someone who could live forever. Someone who could remember everything. That's where you come in."
I took a deep breath. She was right, I couldn't die. But my memory was shoddy, and I had shit work ethic. She hadn't studied me enough, apparently. "And if I refuse?"
The lizard woman frowned. "There's a pod with your name on it, still not too far away. I could put you back where I found you and life would go on."
I shivered at the thought of returning to the darkness.
"Just a signature is all we need, Mr. West. You'll be treated fairly, I promise. Labor laws aren't what they were in your time. Forty hour weeks? I can see why the race imploded."
The stack of papers was huge and it would take me forever to read through the fine print of it all. Eh, screw it. I wasn't doing anything anyway.
I skipped to the last page and wrote my name next to the checkbox. My coworker cheered and showed me to my room. Outside the window, entire galaxies were zipping by in an instant. Long lines of light, stars in motion, filled the scene. Where we were headed I didn't know, but it didn't matter, because now I was free of that prison, and nothing but adventure awaited.
My childhood dream had come true.
|
\[Poem\]
I'm broken out of hell
And from what I can tell
For me, these people fell;
They're completely under my spell!
**But I was in there for a reason.**
They want to worship me!
The true picture of immortality,
Devout and fanatic they'll be
Until they see my brutality:
**'Cuz I was in there for a reason!**
They're enraptured,
Completely captured,
My manufactured
Prison's been fractured
**But I was in there for a reason!**
I committed **big-time** treason!
The meditation was *pre,* son;
People-faces I was eatin'!
And now it's a new season!
Their faces will be pleasin'
From here to the sea, son,
**I'll eat every face in the region!**
| 2022-01-17T01:10:03 | 2022-01-16T23:20:06 | 401 | 14 |
[WP] Time slows down every time you are in danger. The more serious the danger is, the more time you have to save yourself. During one terrible car accident, you had almost a minute to react. And now, time has almost completely stopped for a whole month, and you don’t know why.
|
I was alive.
Glass reflected the sunlight of a burning summer’s day on the highway. I still smelled smoke and tasted blood as the paramedics pressed instrument after instrument to my body. According to them, I had been thrown out the windshield during the collision. In truth, I’d walked out. I’d hit the unlock button, opened the door, and let my feet touch the pavement. I hadn’t thought about it, I just did it, as if moving on autopilot. And that’s when time started again.
I didn’t come out of it unscathed. That wasn’t how this worked. The cars slamming into each other still threw glass and debris everywhere, and I could feel blood leaking through my clothes from small pieces of glass that had embedded themselves into my legs and arms. But they were nonlethal, that’s how it always went, when time stopped and I could see my future stretching ahead of me like a string disappearing into the abyss.
*Minor lacerations. Minimal blood loss. No sign of bruising. You’re lucky to be alive.* The words sailed over my head as I stared at the wreckage ahead of me. The truth was, my power didn’t work for anyone else but me. I could see death’s grin reflecting in the eyes of the other driver and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t alter the course of time, I couldn’t alter others’ lives, only my own. And as I sat there, tasting blood and smoke, I slowly put my head in my hands and let out a shuddering gasp.
There had been a body thrown through the windshield upon collision. They hadn’t been wrong about that.
“I just stepped out,” I repeated to myself as I rocked back and forth under the blanket they put around my shoulders. “I didn’t have a choice. It didn’t let me.”
*You’re lucky to be alive.*
Was I?
Everyone had an expiration date. There was no changing it, no knowing it. My thread could never intersect with others’. Had I been able to, I would have turned around and grabbed my three year old son before I stepped out of the car a moment before the collision, but now they were cleaning his remains off the pavement.
#
I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when time stopped. My waking moments were spent with aching, bleary eyes and disappearances into the darkness of sleep.
It could have been days. It could have been weeks. Time had no meaning to me, at least until my stomach told me I had to eat. I slowly slipped out of my bed, smelling the sour dampness of the sheets that had been soaked from sweat from the night terrors, and faced the world. The world was only the kitchen, but it still felt insurmountable as I stood at the threshold between my bedroom and the kitchen and stared with swollen eyes at the empty apartment.
My wife had left almost immediately after the news. I couldn’t blame her. And I couldn’t tell her the truth, no matter how much I wanted to. I couldn’t put that burden on her to know that I’d survived through some unknown, unexpected force and our son hadn’t.
The clock wasn’t moving, though. That meant time had stopped.
I ran my sleeve over my face and stared blankly at it, as if it might start moving again. Time only stopped when critical danger was nearby. So what did this mean? Was there a burglar outside the door? Was an airplane about to crash into the building?
Could I somehow convince time to start and let it happen?
But that wasn’t how it worked. I slowly moved around the apartment, looking in each room and finding nothing out of the ordinary, just my wife’s possessions laying on the floor where they’d fallen out of her half open luggage. She’s gone to her mother’s house. I was partially at fault. I couldn’t comfort her. I couldn’t do anything but exist, and even that was too much for me. She needed support, and I couldn’t give it.
I stepped over her strewn about panties and blouses and headed toward the front door. Outside, there was nothing. The grass was too high, like the apartment manager forgot to cut it, my wife’s car was missing from the spot directly in front of the apartment complex’s entrance (we’d laughed once about how convenient that parking spot was. Mine was around the building.), and everything seemed so painfully normal. No explosions in mid detonation. No SWAT preparing to break down the door. Nothing but boring, perfect normalcy of a midwestern suburb.
Maybe time had finally broken. Maybe I was broken. Maybe my desire to cease existing has caught up with this unexplained superpower, and now I lived in some purgatory where I could exist forever and watch the world never pass me by.
Yet, I knew in truth this meant my death was coming, and I embraced it. I searched for it. Maybe I could diffuse the situation briefly, let time catch up, then put myself in danger again. Over and over. Over and over until time ceased stopping. There had to be a limit to this super power, wasn’t there? Some maximum number of times before the magic faded?
As the days drifted by, I found myself falling deeper and deeper into a loneliness that eclipsed my entire being. I was surrounded by people, but completely alone. There was nothing but silence, nothing but me. No matter how much I screamed at people to respond to me, no matter how much I cried and begged, no matter how much I struck them (and I’m not proud of that) I was still utterly alone.
I visited my son’s grave. The flowers on it were fresh; someone had visited recently, recently enough that the time stop kept them frozen in beautiful fresh health. They were a vibrant purple and yellow.
I asked him questions. I asked if his angel blamed me for not being able to save him. I asked if there was any way I could have stayed in the car. Nothing answered but silence.
By the seventh day, I decided I would go to my wife’s mother’s house.
The distance meant it took me weeks to get there. At one point, I grabbed a bicycle from Walmart (as vehicles never worked in the time freeze) and cycled there, lost in my thoughts. I never got the answers I was looking for. If time had stopped for this long, it meant I was in extreme danger, greater than any I had ever been in before. Maybe this meant an asteroid would hit. Maybe it meant there was a nuclear bomb in mid flight. If I cycled far enough, would time start again? And yet, even as I thought about this, I cycled with nothing but emptiness in my heart and a sense of yearning.
Time had been stopped for a full month when I reached the house. It was a small place tucked in the back of a culdesac whose road had seen better days, and my bicycle bumped and shook the whole last few minutes down. The old 1950’s construction welcomed me as I slowly dismounted my bike. Her mother’s car was gone from the driveway, and they never used the garage. I’d only been here three or four times; her mother usually insisted on visiting us, even if we didn’t technically have the room.
The stairs didn’t creak as I headed up them toward the door. Locked. I contemplated breaking in—but no, I couldn’t cause her mother that kind of expense, not when she was barely subsisting on SSI payments. I went around the back and climbed into an open window to find my wife sitting at a desk, a pen in hand, tears streaming down her face. A note was on the desk. Something else was in her hand.
I realized what the true danger was, why time had stopped for so long. I was facing the moment before the news that would cause my own death as I lost the last person that mattered to me. Time would not start until I stopped the danger to myself, and it was right in front of me, an instant from happening.
Her thread had, somehow, intertwined with mine. I could not save our child, but this time, saving her was ultimately saving me.
Time began again.
|
... A month... I think? I keep sleeping and waking up like normal, this has been about 30 days now. 2 minutes has passed.
2 minutes, that's the longest this has ever lasted before! What am I missing? I've checked every part of the house, I've checked the entire sky, or at least what I can see, I've checked and double checked every appliance - and I walked south away from the house for miles with no change. This is just ridiculous, I can't take it anymore.
I guess for now, the best thing for me to do is to restock my supplies and think this through. If I just walk on out to the shed and grab what I need, it'll clear my head for a bit. It's a nice enough day, bit past 8 - nice and cool. There's even people out for a wa-
Oh. Oh no. I went south before, I didn't look north. That car on the road, I know that car. Oh no.
I need way more time, I've wasted so much...
...Mother.
| 2019-09-27T21:30:36 | 2019-09-27T20:39:35 | 179 | 22 |
[WP] An eldritch horror considers you their best friend. By virtue of you being able to perceive their true form and not going insane. One day they ask how you became so jaded, that not even indescribable cosmic horror phases you.
|
"No, but really. Last week you saw me eating the soul of a screaming infant. No fear. None. Even by human standards... That should have at least disgusted you."
Mike just shrugged, his eyes never leaving the video game as he expertly worked the controls. "You don't like pizza. Who am I to judge. Besides you were just trying to get a rise out of me."
The Unnameable Last simply stared silently at his friend for a moment, not that you could tell by looking at it.
Spawned eons ago, in ages long before the first of millions of Big Bangs it had witnessed as the universe rebirthed itself throughout eternity, it didn't actually have eyes to tell where it was looking.
But you could feel it staring.
Whatever it's origins, it embodied whatever life itself feared that could perceive it. Predators, supernatural horrors like vampires or demons, or even natural disasters like thunderstorms. Even darkness itself, if that was what you feared, that is what it would become in reality.
It fed on emotions - pain and torment were particular favorites - but having survived for an eternity of eternities it could draw sustenance from everything.
That it thought pizza was gross was the most concerning fact to its human friend.
To Mike, The Unnameable Last was a formless void. Not because Mike feared nothingness, but because evidently there was nothing Mike feared for longer than the space of a single breath. Which was, now that Nameless (as Mike ironically nicknamed him) had gotten used to it, a bit of a relief.
Ordinarily, the only time The Unnameable Last could choose their form was in between Big Bangs. Absent life, the Unnamed Last was absent the influences that made up it's preferred diet of intense, emotional suffering. But what is the point in changing your form when there is nothing to do?
There had never been a reason to contemplate this before Mike.
And Mike was certainly a puzzle.
At 34, Mike strived to do as little as possible save for playing video games, watching TV and movies, and reading books. When he traveled at all, he would do these things in new locations. He wasn't averse to variety, but he didn't seem it out.
When The Unnameable Last first encountered Mike, it was on a cruise ship that had neared his layer in the Bermuda Triangle. Feeling peckish The Unnameable Last boarded the ship, confounded the captain, and began to feast on the fears of all aboard, killing some to heighten the fear of others.
Mike was... Cautious. Observant. He had fear, yes, but... Not the tasty kind. It was... Different somehow. Bland.
The Unnameable Last had never tasted bland fear before. Not in an intelligent species at least. But the more it worked to heighten Mike's fear, the blander it became until eventually all of Mike's fear vanished within the first week of the Eldritch horror's boarding of the vessel.
The Unnameable Last was planning on feeding for only a couple of weeks. Human minds cannot handle fear for too long, as fragile as they are to the intense, delicious emotions they produced.
But by the end of the first week of his "haunting", in spite of murders and horrors made real as they circled the Bermuda Triangle, Mike had established what seemed like...
A comfortable routine for himself.
At around 11AM, he would make his way past the screams of tormented passengers to the kitchen, where he would make himself some breakfast.
The second he would notice a horror, rather than defend himself, he would intentionally ignore it and go back to what he was doing. Cooking, eating, reading, playing video games, he simply refused to be distracted from these activities for long.
By the end of the third month, Mike was the only person alive left on board. He had added "housekeeping" to his list of activities, spending a bit of time each day cleaning up the areas of the ship he would inhabit. Not the pool, unfortunately, since that was filled with blood and viscera.
But the final straw for The Unnameable Last was when it realized it was CHOOSING horrors to create fear rather than simply becoming those horrors. It recalled the weeks of attempting to torment Mike and it realized it was choosing forms since after the first week.
It was a bit unnerving.
So when Mike looked up as he was hauling a body over the side and said, "You know, it's a real dick move to make this mess and not clean it up. I'm not your maid. This is gross. If we're stuck together, you can at least not be a dick about it." the Unnameable Last had had enough.
"How do you not fear me?"
Mike just shrugged. "I don't see why I should tell you. We're not friends. Your curiosity ain't my problem. Why should I tell you anything if you don't even have a name?"
"I am the Unnameable Last, and I am your Doom." It replied.
"Uh huh. I'm Mike. Nice to meet you. So, Nameless, you gonna help cleanup or just threaten to kill me? At the very least, if you are going to kill me, do it before I finish cleaning up please? I would hate to have to die tired." He replied matter of factly.
If Nameless could blink, it would have. Instead it just, much to its own surprise, began to help Mike clean up as it continued to talk to him.
A week later, Mike pointed out that they could just as easily hang out at his apartment as they could in the ghost ship, and that would be a nice thing for Mike if Nameless could make that happen. "You are welcome to stay. You're a pretty decent roommate as long as you pick up after yourself."
And so they did.
4 years later, they had fallen into a comfortable routine, and Nameless was still mystified by the riddle of Mike's complete lack of fear. He worked hard to devise torments and horrors for his friend, but was careful to respect the bounds of their friendship. When he asked Mike why he would continue being friends in spite of the attempts to torment him, Mike would just shrug and say, "I knew what you were like when I asked if you wanted to move in. You keep your word and you haven't tried to kill me. I should expect you will stop trying to scare me when that is all you have ever done?"
It was an incredibly fair point, Nameless had to admit.
But today was different. They had been friends for years now, and unlike in their first meeting, Mike did not have a reason to answer his question.
"Look. Whatever else is true about you, you are alive. You would rather not be dead. That is the only thing we need to have in common for me to not be afraid of you. Because being alive just means you want stuff that won't kill you. So you want different things than I do. So what?"
"Because what I want is the joy of your suffering?" Nameless pointed out.
"Do you really? No. You want food. Delicious food. And you didn't choose that. I didn't choose to find pizza delicious. You didn't choose human torment. Shit just happens."
Nameless could be felt nodding, but then asked, "But that makes you my food."
Mike shrugs. "Sure. And I could eat a dog too. If you can eat something, that makes it food. Doesn't stop it from being a friend. Loneliness can be a form of hunger, and friendship can be it's of form of food. I imagine it must be pretty lonely being a reflection of terror and fear. Or at least pretty boring. You've been around. You've seen a bunch. You're smart. Smart enough to appreciate that sharing time with someone or something else is harder to find than a tasty meal. As soon as I realized that we might be able to have a conversation, I stopped being afraid, because you stopped being a nameless horror and you started being alive, and smart enough to maybe be a friend. And if I was wrong, I was dead anyway, so I might as well make the most out of the time I had."
Nameless sat stunned.
"Aren't you scared I might kill you now that I know?"
Mike shrugged. "Not as scared as you are of being as bored as you will without me. I'm your friend because I am interesting and you like how you can be yourself. You're my friend for the same reason. For an Eldritch Horror, you sure can overthink shit. Grab me a beer, will ya? "
With what felt like a sigh, Nameless went to the fridge and grabbed a beer for him and his friend.
|
We walked slowly along the dirt path, enjoying the crisp air and the crunch of leaves underfoot, the colors of fall making the trees around us practically glow with oranges and reds. Tom (let's be real here, I've never been able to pronounce his name, let alone spell it) trundled beside me, a thoughtful look on his face. At least, it may have been thoughtful. Hard to tell through the scales on his face and the shadows that swirl around him constantly. I paused on the path and faced him, noting that the shadows were moving faster than normal, almost agitated.
"Alright", I said. "Spill it. What's bugging you?".
He sighed. "I don't know Jen, I just don't get it. Why aren't you terrified of me?".
I grinned. "That's it? Thousands upon thousands of years old, you've seen the rise and fall of countless peoples and ages, and you're bothered because I'm not afraid of you?".
Tom glared at me, trying to look menacing. "Pretty much, yes".
I sighed. "I was a foster kid in Philly."
Tom winced and shook his head. "That explains it. Those people... There are things even I wouldn't stoop to..."
I grab his hand and tug, urging him to keep walking. "Come on, I've got popcorn at home and we want to get back in time for all the trick or treaters. You promised me you'd scare them this year."
He starts moving again, keeping pace with me. "Alright, but I pick the movie."
First time, posting from mobile during my lunch break. Have a fantastic day, folks!
| 2020-10-27T08:31:49 | 2020-10-27T08:16:14 | 121 | 30 |
[WP] "I'd like to sell my soul". The Devil grinned; "In exchange for what? Women, money, power?". "Salvation".
|
The Devil cocked his head. "From what? Disease? War? Death?"
"No, I want to go to heaven." the young man said. "I want my soul to be saved."
Over sixty thousand years the Devil had been doing this gig, and in all that time nothing had caught him off guard quite like this. "You want... I'm sorry, could you be more clear?"
"I want eternal salvation for my soul!" the man exclaimed. "Heaven, the golden streets, surrounded by angels, the works!"
The Devil blinked, trying to comprehend what he had just heard. "I'm sorry, are you... are you asking *Satan* how to get into heaven?"
"Yes."
The Devil took a deep breath, putting his fingertips together as he tried to regain his composure. "Do you *know* my story? I literally was thrown out of there. And I'm not misusing the word "literally" like you young people do nowadays; Michael and Raphael physically hoisted me above their heads and hurled me out like some sort of tag-team pro wrestlers. In short, I'm probably the most unpopular person in all of Heaven."
"Yeah, but you're an angel, right?" the man asked. "Lucifer? You were high-ranking; I'll bet you know some secret way in."
"It. Doesn't. Work. Like. That." the Devil said, massaging the brow of his nose. "Did you happen to hear of Heaven and Hell in a YouTube comment or something?"
"Tik-tok, actually." the man said.
The Devil gave a deep sigh. "Why exactly are you coming to *me* about this and not my competition?"
"Who's that?"
"Jesus Christ."
"Hey, no need to get angry."
"No, it's literally Jesus Christ." the Devil replied, resisting the urge to slap himself in the forehead. "You know, Son of God, the ultimate boy scout, everyone acts like he walks on water... which he can, but it's not like it's an impressive feat! Why aren't you going to him? He's giving salvation away for free. You have *no* idea how much marketing I have to do just to keep up this whole soul-exchange business."
"Well, it's not exactly free." the young man stated. "There's a lot of stuff you're not allowed to do."
The Devil snapped his fingers, summoning up a fiery iron throne, and sat down heavily. He had a feeling he was going to be there a while. "So... you want to get into heaven but keep sinning, and so you're coming to me to get you in?" he asked. He already knew the answer, but he needed the clarification just so that he could be sure he wasn't going crazy and this man was really asking this question.
"That's pretty much it!" the guy said. "So, can you do that?"
The Devil sighed again, very deeply. Taking out his hellphone, he quickly dialed up one of his contacts. "Helen? Bring me the strongest drink in the cabinet. And leave the bottle when you come by." Setting the phone down, he turned back to his potential client. "May I ask what you think exchanging your soul entails?"
"Well, I sign it over to you and then you give me stuff, I guess." the man replied.
The Devil nodded his head. "Mm-hm, and how long exactly do I own your soul, you think?"
"Hell if I know!" the man replied. "Wasn't it for eternity or something?"
"Yes, precisely." the Devil said, trying to hide his irritation. "And how exactly do I own your soul for eternity if I send it off to Heaven, hmm?"
"Well, I could be like your inside man!" the man replied. "I could help you smuggle in crack and condoms and stuff."
Slap! The urge was too great, and now the Devil had a patch on his forehead that was even redder than the rest of him. "First of all, Heaven is a paradise where everyone has everything they want, so they don't need drugs to escape, and sex and all that is not the same in Heaven as it is down here on Earth. Secondly, I have demons of far greater strength and mystical might than a mere mortal; if I wanted an inside man, I would go for someone more... qualified."
"Hey, you don't know what I'm capable of!" the man said proudly. "I'm really smart, and a great actor, too!"
The Devil closed his eyes momentarily to keep from rolling them. Antichrist, this guy was a piece of work! "Okay, *now* I see what God was going on about when he was blathering on about how pride was so awful." he muttered to himself. Turning his attention back to his potential client, he mellowly asked "And how exactly do you propose a mortal man could sneak past cherubim covered with eyes on all sides and an all-knowing, all-seeing God, get into Heaven, and somehow fool them for all of eternity?"
"I dunno, I figured you would have that covered if I gave you my soul." the man said.
"Right, right, and *why* exactly do you think I would not have done this before if it were possible?" the Devil asked. He really wanted to yell at this man for his stupidity, but willingly sold souls didn't grow on trees, and he really wanted to secure the deal. Still, he couldn't help but let some sarcasm drip from his tone, though of course the oblivious man was completely unaware.
"Well, you see, I'm an atheist...." the man began. "... so I'm woke to all this religious garbage. I know a lot more on this sort of thing than other people who just mindlessly followed this stuff in the past. We humans are pretty socially advanced nowadays."
The Devil blinked for several seconds yet again. "I'm sorry, do you think I'm an animatronic? An atheist? And you want to get into heaven? Make up your mind!"
"Well, I mean, sure I think you're real, but I think you're all actually transdimensional beings from another plane of existence, not spirits or some baloney like that."
"That's... what a spirit is." the Devil replied, carefully restraining himself from adding "you moronic idiot".
"Well, what I mean is that they're not just some unknown magical beings from some magical fairyland." the man said.
The Devil really wanted to comment that "transdimensional beings from another existence" was just the modern way of say "magical creatures from the fairyland", but he didn't want to keep this conversation going any longer than he had to. "Where is Helen with that liquor?" he muttered to himself.
Some part of him thought he should just say "sorry, I can't do that" and move on, but selling eternal damnation wasn't easy, and a smear on his perfect image would have *severe* marketing repercussions. He had to look as omnipotent as his competition if he wanted to bring in any souls.
Luckily at that moment Helen appeared in a puff of sulfurous smoke with a bottle of Emperador, which he took and swigged straight from the bottle. Normally he preferred a classier approach, but this client was getting on his last nerves.
"Do you want anything?" Helen asked the man.
"I'm just here to sell my soul so I can get into heaven but still drink and party." the man said.
"Well, you're in luck!" Helen said. "His Evilness has a special plan just for that! I'll send over the paperwork on Monday!"
"Really? Thanks!" the man said, turning about and running off. "You won't regret it!"
As he watched the man go, the Devil turned to Helen. "What the hell was that?" he asked. "Remember our rule of marketing? Never make a deal you can't fulfill. You can let their lives go to hell in a handbasket, but only after the five-star review."
"Is the Father of Lies forgetting that lying is what we do?" Helen asked with a chuckle. "Or did you just forget that he won't be around to give us a bad review by the time he finds out his soul isn't going to heaven?"
The Devil was about to reply, but then paused, realizing the implications of Helen's words. "And I wasted all that time talking to the idiot." he muttered, taking another swig of the Emperador. "Antichrist, I must be losing my touch."
"Well I know just the thing to bring your spirits up!" Helen said. "Why don't you go browse Reddit for an hour or two! I'm sure all the evil and chaos will cheer you right up!"
"I suppose." the Devil said with a sigh. "Hold my calls for an hour or so. I'm going to see what carnal sins are being committed today."
|
“I don’t think you understand who I am and what I do here...”
“No, I get it but I was hoping I’d be the exception.”
“There are no exceptions Up There so why would there be any Down Here?”
“Yeah so then that makes you a bit of a conformer right? Thought you hated that.”
“I mean yeah I do. It’s just a silly rule we follow. But you make a good point. Rules are silly…”
“Yeah exactly, like why do what They’re doing just because they were first? Maybe it’s time for a re-brand?”
“We tried that and it didn’t go over well. Salvation wasn’t on the menu then, though…”
“See, so maybe you missed a golden opportunity to really stick it to The Man Upstairs?”
“Hm, these are all really great points but I’ll still have to see. I want to make sure it doesn’t blow up in my face and get me… fired! Ha!”
“Ha! Yeahhh… that’s a good one! Ha, fired.”
“Yeah, thanks came to me just now.”
“So wait who would fire you anyway?”
“Same Guy who hired me here, probably.”
“Hm, sounds like somebody would be jellyyyyy. That means you should totes do it bro.”
“Damn, He would be pretty pissed huh! But the problem is we don’t have that here and our recommendations for going Up There mean nothing. Sooo…”
“Well how bout you let me sort that out when I get there. I have an idea.”
“Yeah? I mean I can send you back to purgatory but I can’t undo stuff. That cool?”
“Yeah that’s fine. I mean if they reject me, I’ll just say “Wow, the Devil forgave me but not YOU?!”
“Ah ha ha ha, the good ol guilt trip. That’ll work on anybody.”
| 2022-06-30T12:26:14 | 2022-06-30T11:35:05 | 49 | 28 |
[WP] When you sleep, instead of dreaming, you see a list of tips and tricks that will help you the next day. One night, you only see one tip, “Always aim for the head”.
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Ever since I was a little kid, my dreams have been... well, let's just say they're practical. Sometimes I would get to see a little tutorial, a flash of a play-by-play - like how to tie shoelaces, or how to shake a hand for a job interview. Most of the time, when I was younger and didn't know how to read, it would just be a voice telling me a tip. As I grew older, I started seeing lists. Everything I saw, everything I read, was helpful in some way. There was the tip about putting my keys in the same place every time. That day, I decided to purposefully ignore the tip and threw my keys haphazardly into my mom's apartment as I came home from middle school. (I was rebellious and wanted to test the limits of what I was beginning to think of as the world's most boring superpower.) That also happened to be the day that my upstairs neighbor stopped watching her three-year-old for five minutes. He fiddled with the stove knobs and the oven. As the fire alarms went off and the smoke caught in my nostrils, I realized that I needed to get out - but I didn't remember to pick up my keys, which I usually placed on a hook by the front door. Everybody got out okay, and there was only a little damage - but I was locked out on a chilly night until my mom got back from her second shift. Let me tell you, I wasn't the one to start that fire, but boy did I get some hell for locking myself out of the apartment when I could have done my homework and started dinner. Ever since that night, I've written down the tips and tricks as soon as I wake up, in a little journal I keep next to my bed. You never know when you'll need an old trick up your sleeve.
I had never told anyone about my dreams. I tried to tell my mother once, one morning before school, but she gave me an odd look, her mouth pinched to one side. She told me bluntly that what I was describing just couldn't be possible. I sounded insane. "Don't talk about it. Don't tell anyone else. Do you hear me?" Her voice rose, and she got the glint in her eye that meant I should find something else to do in a place far away from here, fast, before her hand struck my face like a snake. I grabbed my homework and my apartment key before I dashed out of the house. I'd forgotten my lunch, but that was worth not getting hit because she usually didn't stop for a while once she'd started. I didn't mention it again, not even after she passed away.
One morning, I wrote the message down in my journal as per usual, which means just scribbling thoughtlessly while trying to get truly awake, shaking out the grogginess, stretching out of the stiffness I feel when I get up. It wasn't until I was gargling in the shower that I thought about it, I mean *really* thought about it. "Always aim for the head." It seemed a little violent. I almost choked. I spat the water out. "Always aim for the head." Jesus, what was going to happen today?
That day wasn't busy, or at least it wasn't any busier than the average. The hospital I work at is in the heart of Boston, so things can get pretty nuts. However, growing up with a single mom I know the value of hard work, so after nursing school I figured I'd take the job, warts and all, and get as much hands-on experience as possible at one of the best hospitals in the city. I'd made friends - Janet was a year above me in nursing school and was scheduled on many of my shifts, Brett was the big lovable bear who loved fancy beers, and Donna was part loving mom and part drill sergeant. They watched out for me, and in turn I would have done anything for them. I took Janet's holiday shifts when Janet's mom got lung cancer back in California. I covered for Brett when he got the flu. When Donna was around, I'd double-check and triple-check my work to make sure she didn't get any flak for a mistake I made as a new hire. They were my work family.
Janet didn't always have the best taste in men. She'd talk about guys she met off Tinder, and we'd always shake our heads. Poor Janet. Some of them were just plain mean. Others seemed to be more forgetful, or stupid. But we knew one of them was trouble when she came in with a turtleneck on under her scrubs one day in July. It was sweltering, even with the A/C running full blast. There were bags under her eyes, and her lip seemed a little swollen. That morning, I'd woken up with: "Sometimes, the ones who need you the most won't ask for help. Support your friends." My entire shift, I watched her. She seemed a little... delicate that day. I don't know how to describe it. She looked like she was in a lot of pain but she didn't want to show it. I went up to her after my shift. "I really think you should leave this guy, Janet." For a moment, she stared at me, her eyes full of confusion. "You can stay with me," I offered. "You don't have to do anything today. Just think about it."
It turned out that she did think about it, and she broke up with him. A few days later, I woke up with a disquieting message.
At first, I didn't really register the loud noises coming from down the hall. When you're on your shift, you have to be focused on your work - if you look around at every commotion, you might lose the patient you're working on in front of you. But then I heard Donna's voice.
"What the hell is going on? Who is this guy?"
I swung my head around to witness one of the most terrifying moments of my life. Janet was being dragged by the throat by a disheveled looking man. He also was waving a gun that was now firmly face-to-face with Donna. I froze in place. It felt like time stood completely still. As soon as I looked at the guy, I knew who he must be. Janet's most recent ex. The guy who'd left her neck so bruised that she'd worn a turtleneck in fucking July. The asshole who I'd told her to leave. A wave of icy fear flooded through my veins. Coward that I am, I wondered if she'd told him who'd given her the advice to leave. I looked for the exit.
I heard a gunshot and a roar that wasn't the rush of blood in my veins. Only later did I find out that Brett, in his most heroic grizzly bear moment, rushed at the guy from behind. He wasn't fast enough, though. Donna was on the ground, blood pooling around her. Brett knocked the gun out of the guy's hand with a huge paw and started grappling him. It looked like Brett had almost broken the guy's arm. Another man, and then yet another held the attacker down as he flailed viciously, trying to escape from the dogpile. I heard Brett's voice, roaring out commands. "Get his gun! Get his goddamn gun!" I finally unfroze, my eyes darting around. The gun had skittered away to a stop only a foot away from me. I darted forward and picked it up, my hands trembling. I backed away, the warm gun in my hands. I tried to keep my fingers away from the trigger, keep the gun in a safe place where I couldn't accidentally shoot someone. It felt heavy in my hands, and even holding it gave me a rush of adrenaline. I heard another roar, and I glanced up.
The man had somehow, with a demonic burst of strength, escaped from the crushing embrace of three other men. He was rushing towards me, his eyes red and his face in a rictus of fury. I had a quick thought that he was going to wrest the gun from me and then use it. Oh, fuck. I remembered the message from that morning and put my finger on the trigger. "Always aim for the head," I thought. I aimed, then closed my eyes. I pulled the trigger.
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Just another Saturday morning, sleeping in until nine o’clock then “Aim for the head”....
Now what in the world is this about, don’t own a gun, hell I don’t even own a bow or even a single arrow.
Well, next is taking the dog for her walk, about a one mile walk to start the day. Nothing unusual, the standard pee and pick up poo. Next breakfast, just shredded whole wheat, blueberries and bananas and a shower. Grocery shopping next but first I need the some cash for the farmers market. I’ll just use the bank on the way to the market.
Just one car at the ATM in line, only another minute or two. Maybe a bank robbery, quick look through the drive up window, still nothing unusual happening.
Now the market, fruits and vegetables, some pastries, lunch meat and cheese, and a hoagie for lunch. Now I can walk around and check out the other merchandise. Wow, that print is part of the set that I have hanging in the kitchen and only ten dollars. But still no head shot.
Back home, put away the groceries, then enjoy the hoagie. My afternoon plan is a movie with Jody, maybe then I’ll take that head shot.
But first, I am going to find a nail and hang the print!
| 2018-11-20T17:18:29 | 2018-11-20T15:58:54 | 52 | 10 |
[WP] The hero was blessed with the power to bring people back to life, resurecting their companions to keep up the fight against the dark lord. Which is why it’s odd that they brought you, the dark lord that they fought against back to life.
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There was darkness. Senses lost in a sea of oblivion. Except.
I was me again. I could see darkness, hear nothing, feel a body floating the void. Slowly, I rose through the murk, and suddenly, light. Sound. Life and whispers of a thing since lost to me.
My eyes open, lids sliding back as my vision floods with a new experience. My body tingles as something brushes softly against it. My ears ring to the reverberance of songbirds and soft wind. My nose itches terribly, well, somethings never change, do they?
My head swims as I regard where I am now, brought backs from whatever abyss I had occupied. There is a canopy above me, a wonderment of carved white stone and glass spun into an oval, showing a blue sky dotted with clouds. Thin curtains surround me, drifting gently in the wind, golden sunlight flowing through them. I am on a plinth, made of the same white stone carved in a similar canopy above. Around me is a bed of flowers, of every colour and shape and size.
In that moment, memory begins to return to me, I once had a garden with flowers just like this one. Flunterheld, Deadman’s Gold, Dragoncisnts, Apline Lillies. I had once tended beds, growing them through effort and magic together. It was my favourite part of the castle.
A castle. I had a castle. Grand and old, one I built over a place of old magic, where the spirits were strong. There was a gatehouse, a garrison, a throne room… And that was all it took. As if a flood gate had been opened, the memories came pouring back, a cacophony of light and sound and feeling.
The life of hardship in Dranmore, living by blade and wit, scrounging for meals. The moment I stood all over Ephactia, the Empire’s capital, and swore in the dawn light that I would purge the very same rot that had made many a life miserable. After that followed decades of toil and education, preparation and planning until the war. I remember the pride felt as I snuck into the Warrior’s Citadel, watching the Emporer’s confused horror as he first heard of the Peripheries’s fall to a mysterious black attacker.
Conquest after conquest followed, more land, more slaves, more resources fell into my hand. I grew stronger with every battle and I had earned new names, ones far more insidious and ostentatious then the portmanteaus I had fashioned for myself at first.
And then, suddenly, we were pushed back. It was as we were a wave that had meet a bulwark, driven back into the sea by an unbreakable wall. No matter what I choose to do, these heroes proved maddeningly impossible to end. The leap in logic that I made next proved to be as fatal as the weapons shearing through my body shortly after. Environment was the key, if I could control that, I would win - I was so sure. I shortly realized how wrong I was when I first saw the halo of golden light that seemed to descend down upon the charred and blackened corpse of their healer. The hero, resplendent in white and gold armour, took her hand, whispering prayers as tears dripped from his eyes.
Magic was one thing, but a blessing was a whole other wonder to behold as cracked and sundered skin closed around withered muscle. When she gasped her first new breath and was helped up, I halted in amazement. That first mistake cost me an arm, sent spinning across the yard in a grimly amusing bloody cartwheel.
With their support mage back in commission and down one arm to help me for sigils, the rest of the fight proved a short one. *At least I managed to get the cocky little bastard with the knives,* I thought, sinking to my knees. The party stood before me, burned, bruised and scarred, barely able to stand and grip their weapons. The hero walked up, it was remarkable how she managed such grace with so many parts of her in tatters. She hefted the sword up, and looked at me, tears in her eyes as she asked with a trembling voice:
“Why?”
I looked up at this visage of the divine on earth, so beloved and beautiful, and I hated them, down to the very core of her being.
“Because I am the truth of this world, hero. Kill me, torture me, make an example of me in a most public and gruesome way, it matters not. Another with the necessary talent and mind will crawl, twisted but unbroken, from the rot that underpins your precious empire.”
“Killing me will only prolong the inevitable, there will always, *always*, be another to come. To kill a tree, you must burn the roots that rot beneath it, or nothing shall change.”
The sorrow in her eyes changed to confusion, and I saw my chance, perhaps a way out of this end. I sprung for it, fool that I was.
“I can help you. No one knows the filth that the empire kicks up for the sake of ‘order’ like I do. You know I’m not wrong. Let me show you how to fix it, or, I promise you, *nothing* shall change.”
The sword tip wavered just once. I could practically taste the doubt on the air, the hesitation. I would’ve been so very easy to rise and snuff out the life of her right then and there. Then the world tilted and rolled as a cold line of pain was drawn along my neck. Suddenly I was far closer to the ground, and people where yelled, but it all sounded so very distant. My last thought was a shock even to myself - *How disappointing.*
I had died.
Well, that was a novel experience. But where was I now? An afterlife, or had I been brought back to life someh- No. Not possible. Why would she even consider bringing me back?
My body was unnaturally light, but even so, it was difficult enough that I had to grab one of the risen corners of the slab for support. My hand was a bony claw, my skin wrinkled and dark like parchment, paired with a stick arm. Atrophy, to a frankly extreme degree.
I gently swung my withered legs over the edge, through the thin curtains and drew the drapery aside, light flooding onto me in its raw beauty. The bed was in a raised garden, blooming with a carpet of the same vibrant flowers that stretched down the slope into a great circular lawn, figures playing below. Beyond was a lush forest, trees growing thick and tall. After that, a canal or river sparkled in the midday sun and then...
I fall to my knees, partly due to weakness and partly due to an overpowering awe. It was a city of impossible intricacy and geometry. Looping, curling buildings pierced the sky, higher then I’d ever thought possible.
“Enjoying the view?” Said a voice from his left.
I turn, and there they are, all five, standing in splendour and arrayed around her. My enemy, mana overflowing from her form. Even those in the party with little affinity for magic, the knight and the roguish little man were like fountains, their auras radiating and pulsing with power and age. And yet they were just as young as they had been when they’d fought him, if not younger. I shakily got back up to my feet, regarding them the whole while.
“How long?” I asked. She gave me a smile, but there was something fragile about it.
“Three thousand years, give or take.”
I’d been dead for that long? How powerful *was* that blessing? My hair rose as they approached, gliding across the ground. Her expression had changed, to something far sterner and irreproachable.
“You have caused so much death, Hooded One. So much destruction.”
Ah, so that was it then. One execution not good enough for the likes of him?
“You have delved deep into forbidden magics, using them on both the living and the dead. You know not only perpetuate death, you understand it, as no one else has.”
I close his eyes. Death wasn’t really that bad, once you did it once. It was simply...nothing. I could put up with that.
“So please. I beg of you.” Her voice was now a horse whisper, the inflection was completely off. I frowned and opened my eyes. They were kneeling on the grass, eyes upward cast to him, bodies and voices trembling. The hero’s eyes were alight with a grotesque hope, face slashed open with a manic smile. It was a look I recognized, seen in dungeons and in torture chambers and on the battlefield.
“Kill us.”
\_\_
If you enjoyed that, feel free to check out my (and other authors') work at /r/redditserials.
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I couldn't help but just stare and blink. For the first time my vastly powerful and darkly glorious self was speechless. The insolant child who had bested me, lay on their hands and knees panting. It hadn't been an honorable fight mind you. No. This brat who dared putrify the air with their presence had a whole crew who now held me down. Caught off guard by this current predicament, I could do nothing but sit and stare as the worthless spawn regained their composure.
"I brought you back" They gasped finally. Their weak body still not recovered from the exertion of the spell. pity. The effort it required myself was barely comparable to a snap of my fingers.
"That was apparent. " I replied, hating i couldnt help but watse my breath responding.
"You deserve to suffer more than you have for all the pain you have caused.." The dirt pile continued, standing finally and gaining strength.
"Pity. I didn't think vengance was your forte." I said, glaring coldly.
"There are times it is the only course of action." He replied, drawing something from behind his back. I felt a brief spat of hesitation in the hands that held me before their determination returned in force. I spotted it then. The blade from my altar. even filled with anger at this worm's dirtying of my blade I couldn't help but smile. That blade did one thing and one thing only. The would be hero stradled me with both hands on the blade and brought the tip to my chest. pricking the skin. He brought his face close to mine, a dark and knowing look on his face that only I could see.
As he reared back and brought the blade down, i could do nothing but laugh. I laughed as my life left me and fled into the void, my power flowing through the blade. I was leaving things in good hands. I wondered how long it would take his friends holding me to notice as my time finally ended.
| 2019-12-26T13:31:20 | 2019-12-26T13:08:13 | 71 | 46 |
[WP] Instead of trying to get a man on the moon, every nation raced to be the first at the very bottom of the ocean
While we have managed to get to space and the moon we have not fully explored the ocean. Instead of the space race, there was a competition to see who could reach the very bottom.
edit: These are really great! Each of them keep leaving me hanging :) feel free to continue them if you'd like
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"What kind of beep was it?" It was the fourth time I had asked the same question in a different variation, but I had to be sure Eunis hadn't left out any information. "It was one short beep, followed by three 2 second beeps. We've double checked and triple checked and it isn't any form of Morse Code." her voice was stern but she knew she needed to be. The next few hours might be the most important hours any of us have ever spent at work.
"So, random beeps, with random intervals, but created in a pattern that... weren't so random?" There were always theories of the Russians creating their own version of a Morse Code back during the Cold War. They were the first people we contacted and they ran their own texts on the message and came back with negative results. Either they too are as clueless as us, or are still hiding their deep dark secrets.
"The Russian's are in full cooperation, and their Naval ship stationed near the coast of Japan has been on route for the past two hours." Eunis said, as if she was reading the thoughts running through my head.
"And you're sure it isn't Whales? Or a new underwater creature we haven't previous recorded?" Eunis assured me that the the sounds we recorded could not have been made by any creature. I didn't enjoy being repetitive, but my CO would soon be calling me and asking me the exact same questions. He isn't as patient a man as I, and any non-answers would be completely unacceptable.
I went through the checklist in my head one more time. Four hours ago, A Navy vessel traveling near the Mariana Trench picked up a faint signal from down below. In laymens terms, it was one beep, followed by a .5 second interval, followed by multiple two second long beeps. The transmission then ended, and there has been no further reports of any sound, signals, or radio waves. Twenty two ships from eight different countries have already set shop above the Trench, and all of them have done their own investigative report on the sound, which we have since shared with everyone. All of this can be deemed normal, was it not for the fact that the noise came from 10.89 kilometres below the surface of the water. The deepest reported portion in the Mariana Trench(and in essense on the entire planet earth) is 11.03 kilometres. The deepest any man made vessel has ever been able to reach was 8 kilometres, and it physically impossible to go any deeper.
"sir.." Eunis's voice inturupted my mental checklist, and I immediately knew something was amiss by the disturbed look on her face. "The Russians are on line 1. They say it is extremely urgent." The Russians never did call if it wasn't. The voice on the other line was an old friend, if you could call him that. Nokali, Borav, He was the head of Naval Command for the Russian Fleet. "We know what the message says." he spoke abruptly, with no pleasentries or hello's. "It said, 'come'." I asked him how on earth they were able to decode the message, let alone know it was a message, and what kind of language it was in. He ignored all of my questions and got to the point of why he called. "We know you have been working on Project Keypoint. Don't ask me how. We need to work together to send a return message to whatever it is that sent the signal."
You really have to give it to the Russians ability to conduct covert ops and how they are able to find out our Classified missions. There was little reason to get into the logistics of all the information that had been revealed between our Two nations in the last five minutes. If his Intel was correct, it meant that we just recieved a message from a place where no humans could possibely go. It would be the same as recieving a message from the deepest parts of our galaxy, and here it was, right below our noses. 11 kilometres below them, to be precise.
In less than 45 minutes, Nikolai Boarded our vessel with 15 of his most trusted officials. In the past, this type of meeting would have taken months of negotiations to set up. Our ship was now the Homebase for the mission and over twenty-eight different countries were represented on board. The next logical step was, of course, trying to figure out a reply. Whatever was down there had made contact with us, and only Project Keypoint was able to send a direct message to the point of orientation. This is how it needed to be, the First contact. Not a hundred different nations hiding secrets from each other, rather all working together towards one common goal. We knew that no one else could communicate with them down below, and everything that would be said would be said from right here.
There was quite some debate about what the first message should be. "Who are you?" was deemed too forward of an approach, and it was a question that would be answered at some point in the, I suppose you could call it, conversation. "Where have you come from?" was deemed to broad, and we weren't too sure we would even understand. In the end, the only question the the now 123 nations on board could agree on, was, "How long have you been here?" It was beyond a hypothetical guess that the message came from some sort of extra-terrestrial being, and many deemed it necesary to find out how long they had been here. It would give us a good understanding of how much they knew about us, as almost everyone was in agreement that they had been monitoring us, possibely waiting for the right time to make contact. The longer they have been here, the bigger the next talking points could be.
And we waited. And waited. The next three days, there were many critical points where all hell nearly broke loose on the ship. The Peace that had been gained in search of knowledge was once again replaced by human nature. The president wanted to know how the Russians knew of Project Keypoint. The Russians threw back their own allegations of spying. Many European nations started throwing claims that both us and the Russians had been working on this deep sea mission far longer than we were letting on. Everyone attacked everyone, and no one trusted anyone. The only thing keeping us together at that point, was the fact that only we had Project Keypoint, and only we would be able verify the point of orient. And we needed the Russians, because only they would be able to decode it. If either of us broke the agreement and partial peace we had between us, neither would be able to ever communicate with the species down below again. Mutally Assured Lackofknowledge.
"Sir.." Eunis approached me first. Among the dozens of head of states, presidents, prime ministers represented in this room, it still felt nice that she approached me first. "A new message has been recieved." In the past three days, we had already reached an agreement on how the message would be shown. Everyone was in agreement that no one person or nation should be shown the message first. The message would be shown on the 5 feet by 18 feet monitor in the Presentation room below deck.
Over 140 people crowded into the room that was meant to hold 45, but no one really cared, even those of us that suffered from claustrophobia. It was as if all of us collectively held our breath, not wanting to even make a single movement in fear that it would effect the message somehow. Myself, I couldn't even blink.
Once the message was shown, not a single voice was heard. Half the room let out a collective gasp, and it took the other half a few more seconds to really understand what the message actually was trying to say. It was only four words, but the meaning was perfectly clear. The message on the screen in front of us, it said, *Longer than you have*.
|
Now that the space race had ended the World needed a new dick measuring contest. Really, it was a chain effect after Russia declared they would be the first to the bottom of the ocean America decided she "needed" to get to the bottom of the ocean for "research." Of course China needed to prove themselves and by the end of this thing the whole world was involved. So who am I? Just a scientist that was forced onto this project, greater good be damned. I would be in the hundredth American crew to attempt to hit the bottom, guess what happened to the other ninety nine? Seriously, you need to guess, because the cameras we had in the ship cut out as soon as we go drop -100000 meters. So of course the government sends more sheep to attempt to do the impossible, for mere bragging rights. I stepped into the ship and examined the insides. There were 10 numbered scuba suits with underwater pistols.
"What do you think were going to find down there" said a perky woman, probably only in her early twenties
"The same thing the other ninety nine crews found" I said under my breath the cynicism of my own voice surprised me.
The Submarine plunged underwater.
| 2015-07-15T13:13:01 | 2015-07-15T11:01:58 | 55 | 12 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules.
|
“Yeah, that sucks for them. But why are you angry at us?” Amanda Smith, leader of the elite Beartooth division, looked up at Commander Her’clud in confusion. “You said you wanted the planet taken at any cost, so we took it. So what’s the problem?”
“The problem? The problem is that you killed every single sentient being on the planet! You took no prisoners! There were over 718 million life forms two cycle ago, and now there are none! Have you no mercy or restraint?!?!”
Amanda stepped to the side to avoid being hit by Commander Her’clud’s flailing tentacles. She wiped the slime off her arm with a look of disgust, and then turned to the rest of the Galactic Tributary. “Did any of you bother to read my holo-messages detailing this siege? Anyone, anyone at all?” She was greeted with silence and blank looks. She sighed to herself. It didn’t matter what species she was dealing with, the leaders at the top were all the same- annoying, arrogant, and absolutely impossible to communicate with.
“If any of you had bothered to open my holo-messages, you would already know that the vast majority of the planet fled within the first two hours of the siege. As required by our Rules of War, all civilians, injured, surrendering combatants, and such were allowed to flee the planet without fear of attack. After the first wave fled, we launched one Devastation missile at the second most populated city. Again according to our Rules of War, we had messaged the planet to warn them of the impending missile strike, giving plenty of time to evacuate. We recorded less than two thousand confirmed kills from this event. This led to the second wave of flight from the planet. We followed up with a squadron of In Between drones, to ferret out the remaining hostiles. We confirmed just over five thousand drone kills.”
Amanda pulled up her messages to the Council, letting them play silently in the background as she continued her recap of the siege.
“We paused our actions to allow the third wave of inhabitants to flee. After sufficient time had passed to let the ships leave the system, we began in-person actions. Of the original 718 million inhabitants, less than 80 thousand remained on the planet. Sixty-two Beartooth units were dispatched to find and eliminate any remaining hostiles. It took just over one cycle to clear the planet, and less than one thousand kills were confirmed. The rest of the planet’s inhabitants were deemed to be non-hostile, and as required by our Rules of War, were not harmed. They were escorted to evacuation ships, we programmed the coordinates to their next colonized planet, and sent them on their way.”
A glance around the room told her that this was not what the Council had expected to hear. One of the reasons humans had been excluded from the intergalactic community for so long was because of their reputation for war. Humans were known to be one of the fiercest, violent, and most bloodthirsty species ever contacted. They certainly had the bloodiest past of all the intergalactic members.
Amanda not only knew of this reputation, she actively used it to her advantage. She had even used it when thinking of the motto for her division (Fingers on the trigger, ready aim fire!). So she wasn’t surprised that the Council had automatically jumped to the wrong conclusion when hearing that she had cleared an entire planet of all sentient beings in less than two cycles.
But to call up the entire Galactic Tributary to consider expelling the entire human race? She couldn’t believe the audacity of these leaders. And then she had a thought…
“This meeting was called for based on undocumented fears, and could have been avoided completely if any of you had bothered to read my messages. As you can see by the messages playing behind me, a total of 47 updates were given over the course of the siege. Each update was sent to the full Council, and yet none of you opened a single one? Why is that? Why was my division asked to clear this planet, only to face disciplinary actions for completing the objectives of the Council?”
She was again met with silence and blank stares, but this time the stares were a little too blank, too practiced… And with those stares, she had her answer. Commander Her’clud opened his mouth to speak, but Amanda glared at him with such forced that he immediately closed his mouth and began to turn a horrible shade of orange.
Amanda raised her voice, and spoke to the Tributary with all the authority befitting her position as leader of the most accredited military division the galaxy had ever seen. “As a member of the intergalactic community, it is my right to know who has requested the exclusion of the entire human race as punishment for completing Council objectives. Let them speak now, and defend their position.”
After a moment, her request was answered. Amanda barely stifled the shivers that always came when communicating with an Ecconichian.
She listened as the beautiful melodies filled the air, rising and falling in wonderful harmony. She listened as the notes turned dark and low, creating a story of insanity and horrors with music alone.
When the final notes ended, Amanda wanted to cry out in relief. Instead, she braced herself and responded. “The history of the human race is indeed mired with war, genocide, and horrors that many species here will hopefully never experience. It is always filled with acts of insanity, acts that have no reason whatsoever as their motives.
“But the act of sending delegates to the Galactic Tributary year after year to request the official creation of Galactic Rules of War is not an act of insanity. Even though humans have been ridiculed, mocked, and disrespected for asking this year after year, we will continue to bring this before the Tributary until it is done.
“The Council gave the directive to take planet Ximotin by any means necessary. It is known far and wide that my Beartooth division is the most successful military division the galaxy has ever seen, and we were specifically requested by the Council for this task.
“We could have chosen to nuke the entire planet and render it uninhabitable for the next hundred millennium. We could have chosen to release Skin missiles in the atmosphere and afflict the entire population with an incurable plague. We know the Ximo population is very susceptible to high pitched noises, so we could have just blasted air raid sirens and driven them all insane.
“Instead, by our Rules of War, we were required to give non-combatants multiple chances to flee, without fear of attack. We were required to announce all missile strikes and give the intended target area enough time to evacuate. We were required to evaluate any potential hostiles before shooting to kill. We were required to escort all remaining non-combatants to evacuation ships and see them safely on their way.
“The history of the human race is mired with war, genocide, and horrors. But it is also filled with men and women who stood up against those acts. It is filled with men and women who risked everything to punish the worst offenders in our race. It is filled with hope that we will grow and rise above those acts.
“Human delegates will continue to advocate for Galactic Rules of War because we know how necessary they are. We know that war brings out the worst in any species, and that Rules of War may be the only thing to prevent incomprehensible acts of evil from occurring. We know that Rules of War keep individuals from crossing the line between acceptable and unacceptable. And we know that they work. They save lives, planets, and entire species.
“Because of our Rules of War, a planet with 718 million life forms was emptied in less than two cycles, with just under eight thousand deaths.
“I believe my division was chosen to clear planet Ximotin as an example of why we should be expelled from the intergalactic community. Instead, we have done the opposite and shown why Rules of War are necessary and how they are used.
“Should the Galactic Tributary decide to expel the human race anyway, so be it. But I believe it would be much better if you actually open my damn messages and take a proper look at them. Think of what could have been, and then see what actually occurred. Advocating for Galactic Rules of War is an act of hope, not insanity. The siege of planet Ximotin is now a real-life example of how this could only help the intergalactic community as a whole.
“We will abide by the decision of the Galactic Tributary, for better or worse. Make your decision and communicate it to us as soon as you are done. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a very long report to give my commander.”
With that, Amanda stepped off the podium and exited the chambers, followed by the few ranked members allowed to accompany her. She walked away with her head held high, and hope that this would finally result in the creation of the official Galactic Rules of War. Because if this didn’t do it, nothing would.
|
Hera looked up at the sky, she could still hear the laughter that echoed when the rulers of various planets in the galaxy found out that humans had rules, they laughed even harder when they found out out that rules even applied during war. That laughter was burnt in her memory, that teasing laughter, those snide remarks didn't sit well with her or with the rest as she noticed people's growing anger. She didn't rule Earth to be mocked, she ruled it to be great. And greatness she shall achieve.
Hence the war began, not because of weapons or violence but because of mocking laughs.
~
The first rule to be removed was rights. Not for her people, her people weren't the reason behind her sleepless nights, they weren't the reason behind those dreams where those rulers laughed and mocked her. Why should they have rights? They don't deserve it if they don't have the decency to be accepting of others rules, others way of living.
She will stand on the ruins of those leaders and cherish telling them that they lost the right to plead, to live when they made fun of her and her people.
The next will be deaths. Innocents were always out of bounds, they are never supposed to casualties in the fight of power but now, now things will change. She will take over them by hook or by crook. By sword and by blood.
She told her commander to prepare for war as her minister nodded. He never backed down. An insult to character was after all the highest insult. They made us into jesters of the galaxy but it be her and her people who will have the last laugh.
~
She sat on her throne, seeing the pitying forms of the former leaders of the galaxy. She smiled satisfactorily. Things you achieve when you throw out the rules were limitless but she could feel a darkness in her soul that wasn't there before. Was her soul worth her pride?
"Please, have mercy." Cried one of them.
And that she thought, overlooking her darkening soul, was the rule to be destroyed.
| 2022-01-23T16:36:26 | 2022-01-23T11:25:11 | 262 | 118 |
[WP] To become immortal, one must merely kill an immortal.
Take it as you will, either a curse passed from killer to killer or a statement on the infamy of assassins.
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“Merely,” huh? That’s a bit of an understatement. You see, you got your squishy immortal, which is probably what that statement is about, and then you have the far more common type of immortal, the type I’ve officially dubbed “immortals of stone.” I write all about it in my book about the supernatural. You can read it all in a lot more detail there, but to give an example, invincible folk and fast healers go under the said “immortals of stone.”
Now, thing with the immortals of stone is that statement holds true to some regard. If you’re somehow able to kill a demigod, or a vampire, then you’re probably at the same level as one. I. freaking E. you’re an immortal too, and typically people only become an immortal to take down an immortal. So flip the statement, and you got some real truth: to merely kill an immortal, you gotta be an immortal.
Case in point, one of my old classmates back when I attended modern highschool. How many times I wanted to pry out her canines and staple her annoying mouth shut, I could probably write another bestseller on that alone. Anyways, her mom was one of the best archeologists around. Was. You know why she was the best archeologist around? It was because this lady was around when most of these places she excavated were being built. A cheater, as usual.
Now, not entirely sure what kind of immortal she was, I wasn't exactly in the neighborhood when she was made, but she started to age right around her husband proposed to her, probably based on love or something sappy like that. She was practically invincible. Used to be you take a knife to her, the blade would bend and warp as if you stuck a damned volcano.
Anyways, she takes her daughter (the annoying classmate) with her on some sort of excavation deep into the southeastern european mountains. Yeah, you know where this is going, don’t you? So, when that digging team cracked the seal on that castle at midday, it wouldn’t surprise you that they found almost nothing? The immortal lady was certainly surprised. She’d been there ages ago, and deep underground, where it should have been a massive ancient library, halls with magnificent tapestries, and splendidly carved furniture in an era where such art form was rare, there was just soot and more soot. It was all very dissapointing. Her daughter got a kick out of it, but the mother found herself standing at the entrance to the castle, watching the sunlight fade with a very dissatisfied look upon her face.
The sunlight disappeared and things went to hell. I know this, because I watched her face carefully as the waves of fanged and winged demons, twisted by their time underground, washed up out of the broken seal and in unison opened their jaws to eat the lady. She just sniffed the air and didn’t bother to run. I recall the last words out of her mouth as a squishy immortal:
“Well, fuck.”
Oh, right, the daughter. Truthfully, at the time, I actually freaking complete forgot about her! Shit, man, I’m still a little bit embarrassed about that mistake. I mean, I could still be sitting with an ex-immortal concubine on top of my awesome writing career, but it is what it is, I suppose; and anyways, I think things turned out better this way in the end.
So the whole team that excavated my castle is just absolutely slaughtered by these grey-skinned and slimy demons. Limbs torn to shreds and scattered, intestine draped over here, eyeball rolling down the stairs over there, you get the picture. Not a lot of blood, though, since these critters loved blood, they licked the castle floors spotless. Also, the lady’s body was kept nice and fresh, though she was missing a bit of skin on her neck, as well as a few fingers. Couldn’t be helped. Little bastards are hard to control.
Still, I had her dying body drink my blood, and she was practically good as new. A bit weepy, though, and not to mention very hungry. She was crying about her daughter, and swearing she’d kill me, and that’s about the time I realized I forgot about the annoying brat.
I had a fantastic little idea.
“How about you sit here and wait for her!” I exclaimed jovially.
“I can do that?” she meekly responded. I was disappointed that her spunk and fiery spirit that had bothered me for thousands of years was suddenly gone.
“Of course you can. And when she comes,” I leaned in for effect, because you have to be dramatic when you’re a bad guy like me, “You can eat her.”
She smiled a mouth full of sharp teeth then. I probably shouldn’t have done it this way, but I was caught up in the moment, thinking about how fun it’d be to have an itty baby immortal, so I just took my whole demon posse and left, leaving it to fate. What can a kid do, anyways?
The annoying little girl comes out of the woods with a stake. A freaking stake, carved to a dull point so it wouldn’t crack if it hit a rib instead of flesh. Like she’d been taught how to do this before. Still, I had hope. How inept could my new toy, her mother be at being a blood loving creature of the night?
I simply kept underestimating the little shit.
She sees her mom, starts sobbing when she sees her covered in blood. Her mom motions to her going, “It’s okay sweetie, come here,” and I’m standing on a cliff a few kilometers away, practically barfing at the sequence. They just stay motionless for a full minute as the mom beckons the kid for a hug, and finally the kid moved. Except when she goes in to give her mom a hug, slides in between her mother’s outstretched arms, she also slides in the stake. Misses, of course, as expected of a baby ameteur, but shit, I was shocked. Shocked and impressed actually, but more shocked.
The mother bats her kid away, and she goes flying into one of the castle walls. I can’t see her from my angle, but I can hear the crunch and then the screams.
“Hush now,” mother tells her daughter as she moves down on her with fangs bared.
She bites her. No, the other way. In the middle of her struggling to move or breathe, she bites down on her mother. Tears a piece out. She freaking swallows. Agh, so nasty!
But you know, she did it. There was going to be no way she’d survive it, so she “sired” herself, turning into one badass vamp. It wasn’t immediate, and her mother still went down and drained her dry, but I elected to stay on the cliffside and watch instead of pick up my concubine.
And sure enough, after a few hours, the little girl stirred - still annoying, but you gotta respect that tenacity to survive - grabbed her stake, and shoved it in her mother’s heart. Properly this time. She also drained her mother of her blood while she was at it. She sat there, sucking on her mother’s body like some snack until the sun came up. That was my cue to leave, as I sunburn easily. The girl, however, was very tan, and didn’t really have any issues, which I suspect was because of already being immortal without knowing it. Sometimes things grow over time. Case in point: when I tried to stab her in a chemistry lab and instead the scissors shattered.
She hasn’t really grown on me over time, as she developed a rather annoying and superficial personality, though I am quite fond of her being. I was thinking of writing a book about how her mother ended up so dead, but of course only once her life settled down. Be an instant hit, all of her friends would read it and tell her all about it. Can’t let her be getting soft, can I?
And then she’ll come after me. Me, the top dog, the big bad, the self-styled first “immortal of stone.” To kill an immortal, you gotta become an immortal. I wonder what she’ll become to take down me.
----
*Reversed the prompt. Hope you don’t mind.*
|
I had finally tracked him down. Ezekiel. Some say he will be the last, that he cannot be beaten. After all, he took down Mark, who stabbed Elijah, who sliced Moses, who poisoned Methuselah who was the first the line of immortals.
I had been following him for weeks now. Learning his habits, feeling him out. I have seen a few people attack him. Usually just muggers, this was a rough part of town. He always wore a dull orange toboggan. No one seemed to catch him by surprise, but I had been careful. I had covered my tracks and been sure that he would not see me until I wanted him to. By then, it would be too late.
I had a plan. He did not know when or where or even who. The time came. He was on his way home from a poker game. He had a few drinks and was feeling pretty good. The perfect target. I was perched on a rooftop and I took aim.
BOOM! The gun went off, Ezekiel fell to the ground. I raised my head and I felt a cool blade cut me ear to ear. I turned over as I slowly bled out and saw Ezekiel standing over me smiling. Without his hat.
ALTERNATE ENDING
BOOM! The gun went off, Ezekiel fell to the ground. I raised my head and was overwhelmed by the feeling of power. I felt the cancer melting away from my brain. I had finally achieved remission.
| 2015-12-15T09:06:42 | 2015-12-15T08:25:18 | 65 | 19 |
[WP]You are a parent in an anime. Your child is born with epic anime hair, and you are certain they will become the protagonist. You are determined to not become a tragic back story like so many other anime parents.
|
Let me get something straight: I was never meant to be a hero. I was never meant to be “the guy.” When I was in high school, I was always just average. I was the guy no one picked on, but who wasn’t ever at the top of the social ladder, so to speak. My shining life achievements were winning a spelling bee in 5th grade on a technicality. But in the end, I was happy. My friends loved me, my teachers respected me, even if they barely remembered my name. I got accepted to a local college, and decided to study business. It was around that time when the catastrophes started.
They used to headline the news, but now, they are just taken for granted. After the event, they barely get a mention. Single people, knocking over buildings, seemingly immune to and untargetable by bullets, fire, or even gravity, in some rare cases. These people became our gods. They practically ruled the earth, some benevolent, some malicious, and we showered them with attention. After two years, however, things changed. They found a way to kill them. And in a sick, perverted twist of fate, the sight of our gods bleeding gave us hope. It gave us hope that one day, we could look them in the eye as equals.
It was a stroke of misfortune when one day, the campus was devastated by another of these catastrophes. A third of the campus was leveled. Where was I? While there were people running and screaming, I decided to head over to the food trucks near campus. I figured if everyone is running away, there probably won’t be a line at Old Man Nguyen’s for the wednesday special. Nothing ever seemed to faze that guy…
It was through a stroke of fate that I met Ayaka. Oddly enough, she was running to campus, instead of away from it. Apparently, she was trying to protest. I asked her about it, months later, and she was one of those protesters trying to raise awareness for the common people, and what these “heroes” were actually doing to destroy the community, good or bad. But that’s a story for later. What matters is that as she was running across the street, she tripped, and I, of all people, had the awareness to pull her away from oncoming cars. I helped her up, and we, well, you know, we clicked.
Fast forward a couple years. I’m at an insurance firm, I work to sell insurance for supernatural events. What I’ve known is this: I’ve never been happier. Is the job great? Well, maybe. It’s good enough for me. I’ve made few bad decisions in my life. I’ve also made few good decisions in my life. Mostly, I’ve made OK decisions in my life. But the best decision I ever made was marrying Ayaka. After we bought our own flat, we had a small ceremony, and, well, as those things go, we were expecting within a couple months. Everything was going OK. Ayaka started working at a journalism firm. She was everything I wasn’t, and yet, she still loved me, for reasons that I honestly I couldn’t understand.
The worst day of my life was the day that Koharu was born. I was waiting in the room, because, lets face it, I didn’t want to see…well, all that. And then when the nurse came in, I saw her face, and it, it… it was wrong. Everything went wrong. I mean, who even dies from childbirth anymore. Then I saw it – her hair was purple. What? Why? HOW? And it struck me. She was one of them.
Ayaka died because of her. There is no doubt about it. But in the end, it’s not her fault. Koharu couldn’t choose. And she won’t know. She can’t know. It sounds shitty, but I don’t want her to become one of them. As hard as being a single dad is, being a single dad of a Prote is even harder. I’ve had to move 3 times because my house has burned down. Natural disasters seem to follow me, but I’ve been ready. I found a lonely neighborhood in South Dakota, and work remotely. Nothing happens in South Dakota, but even so, I remained wary. Koharu hasn’t entered school yet, but I dread the day she does. But they’re onto her. Someone must have pulled her medical records. But we’re being followed. I’ve got no skill in this. What am I even doing here?!
Today, however, was the day it all changed. They surrounded the house. They started firing into it. I didn’t know what to do. They were everywhere. I had run so far, and still, they found me. I stood in my living room, holding Koharu. A man in a suit walked up, and stared at Koharu, then at me.
“Well, Mr. Imamura, it’s taken us a while, but here we are…”
“Who are you?”
“Well, Mr. Imamura…Kaoru…I am part of the International Protagonists Oversight Committee. You know, Kaoru, yours is an interesting case. We find that in every case where one parent dies, the other dies within a few weeks, even a few days within the other. Every case except yours, Kaoru. It’s surprising how well you’ve held up so far.”
“My wife did research on the Protes. I’ve never heard of you guys.”
“Well, that figures. Why do you think that Protes only started dying after a couple years? Long years of research on mortality. We saw what it took to make them die. Turns out, we have found a way of eliminating them. It’s surprising what billions of dollars of funding can find out.”
“You…you were the ones to kill them?”
“Yes, but it was still nontrivial to act on our research. But I digress… Kaoru, do you know what we do? We raise the children to ensure that they will act according to the better of the country. We give them a purpose. But my dear persistent Kaoru, another thing our research showed was that those children with living relatives were severely…limited in their capabilities”
He stared smiling at me. What nature couldn’t do, they were going to do to me. Perhaps a few years ago, I would have sobbed at my impending death. But it’s been so exhausting. I looked him in the eye.
“So be it.”
“I’m glad you see it this way.”
He pulled out a gun, and slowly leveled it at me. I closed my eyes. Bang.
I opened my eyes. His eyes were wide, uncharacteristically so. It was wrong. Something was wrong. A bead of sweat rolled into my eye. My abdomen was wet. Was I…bleeding? Dying? Dead? No.
I looked down as Koharu met my gaze.
“Pa…pa…”
She was so small. Her large blue eyes looked so scared.
I looked up at the man, and as the breath left Koharu’s tiny body for the last time, he uttered the words I had dreaded most.
“It looks like we’ve found a new Protagonist after all!”
And the world went black.
|
I lookout from the window and see my son. I look back at my luggage and walk outside to meet him telling him "I'll be back in 24 episodes by then you should have solved your problem." If he has not I hope he can live a life a lone in house with only himself with 7 girls that are in love with him.
| 2017-02-15T03:58:18 | 2017-02-14T23:44:10 | 61 | 26 |
[WP] You're a used cars salesman that has been transported into a medieval fantasy world where you've become the hero that needs to slay the dragon and save the princess. Your only leveled up skill - speech 100.
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There was a crowd of onlookers, two desperate parents with tears in their eyes, and, slumbering not 30 yards away in a cave sliced through the heart of a mountain, a fully grown, practically invincible, fire-breathing dragon.
He had an audience, adoring fans, and the potential for a vast reward of wealth, all there for the taking. Ah yes, *this* was the sort of moment William Tyler lived for.
“So what I’m saying is, and hear me out,” Will said. He touched his fingertips together and paused dramatically. It was a gesture that bespoke command, but really it was just a ploy to buy him more time. He had *NO* idea what he was saying, but whatever it was he’d been saying it for the past 20 minutes or so.
He raised a finger, “The princess! Yes, let’s talk about her.”
The Queen let out a wretched sob and buried her face into the King’s shoulder.
“Ah, right...uh...wait, did I hear someone say “What if the princess *isn’t* in that cave?””
The crowd looked around confusion, murmurs rising up among them. The King continued to stare in stoic silence.
“Can we put an end to this nonsense, My King,” Sir Barp the Bold said, nudging his mighty destrier forward. “This is no Knight, he’s a *jester!* Allow me to charge into the dragon’s den and rescue Princess Sarilia, at your word I will go. She is to be my *WIFE*, I should think I deserve the chance.”
*Pompous douche,* Will thought. The white knight type had always rubbed him the wrong way.
“Noble Sir Barp,” Will announced, “I thank you for your kind words, and while I will admit to possessing a wonderful speaking tenor, I don’t deserve to be spoken of in the same sentence this kingdom’s magnificent court bards and jesters.”
A few onlooking bards in their colorful robes nodded appreciatively, and Sir Barp rolled his eyes, sighing in contempt.
“Furthermore,” Will continued, “ While I admire your bravery and honor, this is not the time for any of us to be concerned with the winning of personal glory. The princess’s life is on the line after all, and I *am* the hero of legend.”
“He’s right,” the king said, “only the hero of legend should be allowed to take such a risk. Please, take my armor and my the royal sword, bear them in my name, and wet the Blade of the Morning with dragon’s blood.”
A royal armorer rushed from the crowd with a set of gleaming, magically cut, steel plate, trimmed in gold and studded with ruby’s. A squire brought the King’s magic longsword and knelt before William, holding the blade up in reverently in his outstretched palms.
Will swallowed, that blade was supposed to deny any who would wield it for unjust means. “Uh, no, I couldn’t...I haven’t proved it, and the armor would only slow me down. No, for my plan to succeed, I’ll need to be swift when I enter the dragon’s lair.”
“So you *do* have a plan,” the Queen said.
“Excellent. Do explain,” Sir Barp said, arms crossed.
The crowd began to murmur excitedly. *I’m losing them,* Will thought.
“Of course,” he said, “But my King and Queen, I must ask *one* thing before I go.”
“Ask, and if it is within my wisdom you shall have an answer,” the King boomed.
Will cracked his neck. *Here goes nothing.*
“You see, I want no bloodshed that isn’t necessary. I will go alone. But, Noble King and Queen....I ask that, should I survive, I be granted the right to beg the Princess Sarilia’s hand in marriage.”
The crowd burst into shocked gasps and blindsided mayhem. Though every fiber of his being wanted to cringe, William held his head high.
“My King, this is preposterous,” Barp protested.
The King raised his hand to quiet the scene, “What you ask is impossible. It is not within my power, nor my right, to dissolve my daughter’s vow of betrothal to Sir Barp.”
“But Sir, I didn’t ask that you do such a thing. I ask only that Sarilia be granted the choice.”
Barp, face blood red, let out an incomprehensible string of flustered dialogue.
“Oh, shutup,” the Queen said.
Barp’s eyes widened, and he shrank in his saddle.
“Fine,” the Queen continued, “If you survive AND Sarilia consents, you may challenge Barp for the right of her hand. Just for the *LOVE OF GOD*, go save her before it’s too late!”
Will grinned, “That’s all I needed to hear.”
He trotted briskly, the cheering crowd parting to let him through, then turn turned back at the mouth of the cave. “And no one come in after me. Seriously. It could really mess everything up.”
“You have until nightfall,” the King said, “after that, I can make no guarantee.”
Will shrugged, “Fair enough.”
He entered the dark cavern, stepping carefully. The air grew warmer, the atmosphere more intense, with each step closer to the Dragon.
Before long, a powerful breath of smoke blasted him.
“Who DARES enter my lair,” a powerful, husky voice declared.
Will looked over his shoulder, “You can drop the act Carey, I’m alone.”
A sound like hurricane waves crashing against stoney shores shook the mountain, and from outside Will could hear shrieks of terror.
Will grinned, “What’s so funny, didn’t think it would work?”
A gout of blue flame lit the darkness, revealing the outline of the massive, scaled, beast.
“I had my doubts,” the dragon bellowed.
“Tsk tsk, didn’t I tell you I was a master of speechcraft?”
“I guess you did at that. But I-“
“Can I come down now? It’s like sitting on a furnace up here,” Sarilia said.
“Oh right, sorry,” Carey said, lowering his neck so the princess could dismount.
“Don’t worry big guy, you can’t help being *hot* can ya,” The princess joked.
“No,” the dragon giggled.
When she stood on her own feet, the princess looked upon her fearless rescuer. She was covered in sweat and soot, her once yellow dress a splotchy black. For all that, she stole away Will’s one special ability. The man of a million words, motor mouth, the best used car salesman in all of greater Ohio, and (somehow) the supposed hero of legend, was left utterly speechless.
“So it really worked? They agreed,” Sarilia asked.
Will wavered his hand back and forth, “Eh, mostly.”
She smiled, and rushed forward with her arms outstretched. She slammed into him in the best sort of hug the world has ever known, the kind where both parties have the wind knocked out of their chest, leaving room only for their hearts.
“I’ll take it,” she said.
He picked her up and twirled her around.
“Look at you two lovebirds,” the dragon said. “Will I be invited to the wedding, or would that kinda ruin our whole charade.”
Will laughed, “We’ll figure it out, Carey.”
Sarilia turned, “Maybe we can dress you up as a cow, or something. A very large, fire-breathing, cow!”
“It’s settled, I’ll start working on Carey’s cow costume AS soon as I win my challenge for the fair princess’s hand with Noble Sir Barp.”
Sarilia pushed away from him and rolled her eyes, “They didn’t...They’re making you challenge Sir *Barf*?!”
Will smiled and wrapped an arm around her, “Yeah no biggie. I’ll figure it out,” he sighed, “I always do.”
EDIT:
Several typos. Idk how so many got through this time lmao.
~
r/CharlestonChews
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There it was: the Dragon, the One Beast, the Ruler of the Six Elder Abominations. Its scales were midnight black, small and tightly packed, shining like polished porcelain. On the Beast's chest, a gentle golden light swelled and dimmed with every breath. It had no horns or spikes along its tail. Instead, it was sleek, its wings folded almost flat against its back. It had no need for eyes, as its congenital power over space sufficed.
There was a woman laying next to it, her high class dress dirty and worn. She was asleep.
A text box appeared next to the Beast.
> So you've come to take back my human.
"Yep."
> *You Persuaded The One Beast* Mmm, what can you offer me for her?
"My thanks and 100 gold."
> *You Persuaded The One Beast* Very well. You may take her and leave. Never come here again, lest you face my wrath.
"Can you leave the kingdom alone? I'll give you 150 gold."
> *You Persuaded The One Beast* You offer favorable terms, Hero. I will make this single deal with you. Now leave. Do not make me repeat myself.
"Can you teach me space magic for 200 gold?"
> *You failed to PersuadeThe One Beast*
| 2019-04-21T12:38:09 | 2019-04-21T11:41:23 | 443 | 192 |
[WP] After a bumpy introduction to the galactic stage, humans are trying to rebrand their identity; unfortunately, they are having a hard time convincing others that they have hobbies besides unleashing weapons of planetary destruction on the worlds of their enemies.
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Humans. The newcomers to our galactic society. Many have heard the tales of them. Some of the eldest people of the galaxy remember them as primitives, liberaly used as slave labour in the mines and shipyards of less civilized space. Many know and remember them as the scourge of the third planet of sol, with the images of scorched planets and countless destroyed ships still fresh in our minds. It has been so engraved in our culture, that the saying "the wrath of a human" signifies great destruction and war. But yet, since the end of the great galactic war 7 cycles ago, many of you probably wonder, who are humans really? Are they the war obsessed brutes we know them as? Or is there something more to them?
^* The title intro to *Galactic Documentaries* plays. ^*
To answer that question and understand human motivation, we should begin with their birth planet - the third planet of the sol system, also called "Earth" by humans. Uniquely among birth planets, this planet has a very diverse types of ecosystems, which made humans very adaptable. This trait, has made them very desirable for slave labour. According to some ancient records, smalltime pirates and slavers discovered the planet in humanity's early stages of development, and several thousand slaves were taken by them into the core worlds. This repeated several times untill the group was caught by the galactic police. In the ensuing battle, the pirate's ship was destroyed, along with the information about the whereabouts of the planet the slaves were from. Stranded on worlds unknown to them, most of the humans that were freed settled on a small planet of Terra Nova in the outer territories, keeping to themselves, and as a result were mostly forgotten by the rest of galactic community. Their isolationist politics and the creation of new nebula on the way to their world made it seem that the colony was lost. Most assumed they eventually died out due to isolation.
Fast forward several thousands of galactic cycles. Most of these years of humanity are filled with conflict between themselves, on grounds of different ideologies, beliefs or just selfish desires. It is believed that this stunted their development, and held back them from space travel for at least a thousand cycles more than usual civilizations. But on the other hand, it gave them time to focus on planetside conflict, developing several of the most terrifying weapons to ever grace the universe.
But, as with all races, in an effort to expand due to the increased population, the humans of Earth started to develop their own versions of intergalactic travel. They colonised and terraformed their system and set sights beyond the outer terminus of their system. But even then, conflict was commonplace between them. That made their race incredibly adept at warfare, and frighteningly so.
After 200 galactic cycles, they finally came in contact with the rest of galactic society when their colonists met with the scouting party of the Triumvirate Empire. The historians of both races blame the other in aggression, but the sources are inconclusive and most of the information has been lost to time and war. Many believe the root cause for conflict was lack of proper ways of communication between the races.
Nevertheless, the result is well documented - the human colony, with millions of its inhabitants, was destroyed by the Empire. Humans were, of course, outraged, after which Human- Triumvirate war began. From the records that were released by the Empire, humans were pushed back and heavily dominated in the first stages of the war. Although sources from humans indicate that most of it was tactical retreat and buying time to study their enemy.
Still, after some time the war shifted heavily in humanity's favour. Finally united against a common enemy, the full might of humanity was unleashed upon the Triumvirate Empire.
As already mentioned, humans were frighteningly effective in planetside warfare, and soon their space warfare started to match. Many of you probably have seen the planet of Verdania, burned to the ground. The destruction in the wake of humans was truly terryfying.
Taking heavy losses and being driven back to their home world, The Triumvirate Empire soon asked assistance from the rest of galactic community. And so, the The Great Galactic War began.
In the beginig, the Empire hid the fact that they destroyed a human colony at the start of the conflict and presented humans as barbaric creatures that attacked them out of nowhere and without reason. This was further worsened by propaganda campaign, which, as you all know, was extremely effective. Yes, the image that most of you know humans as is a lie, created to make them seem as evil creatures ought to be eradicated. This image caused many of the commanders to be merciless in their battles with humans, which in turn enraged humanity even more, pushing them to fight harder. The saying "the wrath of the human" was coined soon after.
The galactic history has known many wars, be it Klackaar - Triumvirate war, the Great Loculyst invasion or the Rachnon civil war, but most paled in comparison to the The Great Galactic war. Despite being one race, humans were able to hold their own against the galaxy for a time. Still, their space warfrae was much weaker than the rest of the galaxy, and soon humannity was on the defence.
But the situation was changed suddenly then the Humans from Terra Nova revealed themselves, reemerging out of the nebula. They soon reestablished contact with their race. It is said that the process went fairly fast, due to the recent discovery of something that humans call a "golden disc". The discovery of this artefact had spurned Terrans ( as the inhabitants of Terra Nova started to be known as) to seek out their race, which soon culminated in their return.
Simmilar to their Sol relatives, they also had ample conflict amongst themselves, but they already had then modern technology. After hundreds of galactic cycles, their technology advanced to the pint of surpassing the rest of the galaxy. Which was very well demonstrated when they unwxpectedly reinforced human colony of Elysium, which was the first contact between Earthlings and Terrans - The Terran Flagship, Damocles, decloacked and rammed through a Triumvirate dreadnought without sustaining any damage and then singlehadedly destroyed its escort fleet.
With Humanity's space warfrare capabilities bolstered by Terrans, the war again turned heavily into their favour. But arrival of the Terrans also marked the first real efforts of negotiations between humans and the rest of the galaxy. Contrary to popular belief, it was unexpected, as humans were already on their way to winning the war. Yet they decided to negotiate. Many of the politicians and galactic leaders believed that the request for peace was a trap to lure the leaders and kill them all in one move. Therefore, most of the leaders refused. The sole exception was the Sholon K'lanthor, Klakaar prime minister. He was called mad by most of the gallcatic community, even those of his own race.
Surprisingly, with the aid of Terrans as quasi middlemen, the negotiations were short. Klakaar republic soon declared ceasefire with Humans and its neutrality in the conflict. With no real choice left, the rest of the galaxy soon followed. Triumvirate Empire refused to negotiate, which resulted in final battle on their homeworld of Triumva Neta. Humans swiftly defeated the weakened empire. While the human victory was not surprising, how they did it was.
Most expected that the Triumva Neta would be destroyed, burned to the ground and left a wasteland, like many other planets that fell victim to humans. But in a surprising turn of events, humans showed great mercy and ingenuity in defeating the empire. With EMP bombardment, they disabled the planet defence fleet and took the crews prisoners with minimal loss of life. Soon after, the 7 emperors were apprehended by them as well. The forced capitulation by the empire soon followed.
Soon after this victory, the rest of the galaxy started to learn about humanity. The REAL humanity. Footage of planets that were attacked and conquered by humans were seen by many - while yes, the destruction brought by humans was severe, as conflict grew, humans had started to avoid civilian casualties as much as possible. People on conquered planets were treated by human medical personel without discrimintation. From Calatians to Zorg, all were treated fairly and equally. Planets that were conquered soon were given assistance in their reparations. Humans also started to extensively fund schools, universities and other neccesary institutions on conquered planets, which ensued quick recovery to the devastated planets.
Human culture has showed itself to be diverse and surprisingly, many of the hobbies humans persued are not violent, which heavily contrasts with the image that they were given during the war. Sure, they can get violent pretty fast, there is no doubt about that, but as long as they are not provoked they would prefer to be friendly with you. They don't want war. They certainly have had enough of it. Or shall i say...
^* The camera pans onto a man overlooking a great snowy mountain of Earth. The human turns around and looks at the camera, revealing the narrator of the popular show Galactic Documentaries, for the first time ^*
We have had enough. We may have our differences and our history has been written by blood, be it ours or other races, but our road to future should be paved together, in peace. With this message, I bid you farewell, untill the next time we meet.
This has been David Attenborough the 30th, signing off.
|
The billboards just weren’t working. The market researchers assured them that they were located in prime real estate and the volume numbers were convincing. The last count said 1.2 billion commuters passed by one of their billboards on a daily basis but the Civility Index wasn’t budging a bit. It was infuriating.
For the amount of money that they spent on the marketing team they should be the most loved species in the entire galaxy by now. The marketing guru, a man by the name of Edelion Fair (his price was far from it by the way), promised that their catchy marketing slogan was going to really kick start this effort.
HUMANS.
Humble.
Understanding.
Measured.
Assuring.
Noble.
Smiling.
The core values of humanity, he said.
Janice, from accounting, was not entirely certain how the hell the act of smiling could be considered a core value but she didn’t want to look like an idiot in the meeting because everyone else was nodding enthusiastically.
Once more the unrivaled marketing team huddle around the table preparing to make their pitch to the Department. The fee they charged this time was even more obscene. They must have seen the desperation in Bill Rutherford’s eyes. Bill was the Chancellor of Domestic and Foreign Relations for the Human Race and the pressure was mounting for him to deliver results.
Edelion cleared his throat in that oh so pompous way that he had of doing pretty much everything, made sure the beret sat at just the right angle on his head and stood up. The fact that the chatter didn’t die immediately clearly irked him but, in what he viewed as a magnanimous gesture, he ignored the fact and forged on.
“Today,” the forced accent that he always tried to use when talking in meetings wavered between sounding French and Swedish, “today, we bring to you pure and unbridled genius.”
The enthusiastic nodding had already begun and Janice, from accounting, simply couldn’t understand why.
Stretching his arms out wide, his cinch-waisted petticoat of bright oranges and blues gave off the impression of a tiny macaw daring its first flight. “Humans are Nice.” Right as he finished the last word, in an almost seizure-like way, Edelion gave a cascading bow in order to hammer the punch line home with hoped dramatic effect.
The members of the Department of Domestic and Foreign Relations actually audibly gasped. Janice, from accounting, now was finally sure that they were all just idiots.
| 2019-06-22T01:45:39 | 2019-06-21T21:02:35 | 30 | 20 |
[WP] Cryosleep is invented and is now affordable. People line up to be put to sleep and wake up in 100 million years. The time comes and everyone wakes up to see all the future technologies that humans made, but they forgot that scientists went into cryosleep too. The earth is now very different.
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(Quick note, if you like the story, leave an upboat and sub to the subreddit linked much further down, though the title is a tiny spoiler)
The scientist, her name was Rebecca I think, very cute, slim with long wavy black hair, put me in the pod. I was expecting to sleep for a really long time and wake up feeling like I had taken the mother of all naps, but Rebecca told me it wouldn't be like that at all. "You'll be awake in less than the snap of a finger!"
Very reassuring. Turns out she was right.
I looked out the large transparent plexiglass around me as the pod closed. Nine other pods were in the same room, and their lids also began to lower. Each of their occupants had a range of emotions, whether being nervous, afraid, curious, they were all definitely feeling something intense. I was different though. I felt very calm. My eyes lazily took in the scene around me. When I next woke up, it would be a hundred million years in the future. A hundred million? Get real, humanity won't look anything like they look now. They'll probably all be sci-fi robots or a massive virtual reality simulation spinning around the sun in a dyson sphere.
I heard a hiss, as a gas filled the small enclosed space around me. First I'd be put to sleep, then I'd be frozen, and later the auto-warmup routine would run, awaking me.
My eyes suddenly felt a need to shut. I'm so sleepy... it's time now, time to have no regrets...
OH SHIT! I'M AWAKE! That was my next thought. I instantly jerked up. What the hell, did the gas have no effect? I was so calm a second ago, now I'm a bucket of nerves. My hands are shaking, what the fuck just happened? The glass is fogged up already? My entire body is so stiff, did I go to sleep? Goddamn, she wasn't joking. That was insanely fast. I don't even remember falling asleep. Or maybe I'm asleep now?
I pinch my thigh with my lowered arm. My grip is almost nonexistent. I feel weaker than a bug right now, but I definitely felt the sensation of touch, even though most of my body is numb.
I hear a hissing sound again. Is that more sleeping gas? No wait, the hatch is opening. I can't see shit, it's still fogged up and there's no room for my hands to move to wipe the fog away. Might as well just wait.
The hatch starts to move, slowly. _Very slowly_. Painfully slowly. It must be crawling at a fraction of an inch per minute. Why the hell is this so slow? By the time it's moved several inches, I'm about ready to kill myself out of boredom. The room is totally pitch black, aside from the blue light of my pod. I can only see out the cracks of the door as it slowly moves up, but there's no mistake, it's all completely pitch black.
I get a shiver down my spine as the door slowly inches upwards and away from my face. I can't see more than a foot forwards. I can't even see the floor. The light is very dim, and it seems to be getting dimmer. Is the battery failing? Not good. It had better have enough juice to at least release me.
Luckily it does. After the door stops moving and is fully upraised, the light suddenly brightens a lot. It must have been dim because the electricity used to power the door and the light is shared.
The problem is what I see next. My skin crawls at the sight. There are no other pods here. The shiny metallic floor that I remember, the towering roof, all of it is gone. I'm not even in remotely the same place anymore. Hell, maybe I am and a hundred million years has just ruined it.
No, that can't be the case. I cautiously stagger forward, using the door frame to prop my weak body up. I step my first foot out and as it touches the floor I feel a curious sensation. My foot is still very numb, but there's no mistaking it, the floor is warm. And it's _smooth_. Very smooth. This isn't metal though, this is clearly dirt. Not dirt that has buried the original metal floor either, as my pod is not submerged even an inch in the earth.
I take in the room around me. Everything including the walls, floor, ceiling, and four mysterious pillars in the middle of the room are made of dirt, and extremely smooth. The walls are much closer than I remember. The entrance to the room is on the opposite side from what I remember as well. Was I moved? What are these pillars? They don't seem to reach to the top of the room, they stop about two feet from the top and are 10 feet tall or so.
Wait, are those markings? I stumble towards them and fall on the floor. Damn, that hurt. I crawl closer to them since I can't stand properly without support, and the floor is so smooth that I can drag myself across it effortlessly anyway.
There are markings, repeated, endlessly, all over each pillar. They appear to be Japanese. Maybe Chinese, but I'm no linguist and moonspeak all looks the same to me.
死が来ます
死が来ます
死が来ます
Every possible edge and nook and cranny is covered with these markings and I don't know what they mean. It gives me the creeps, but it's best to ignore it.
The door, right, I need to leave here. There is clearly no food left from the original cryo-preserved storage cases the scientists had left us with. I'm fairly certain even if they existed, this is a different place from where I started in. What if I'm not even in the future? What if they woke me up ten days later and this was all some elaborate prank? They could have set up all kinds of wacky things and I wouldn't know. This thought would be comforting, but I can't see CryoTek going to those lengths with such expensive technology. This must be legitimate.
I reach the door. It is massive, it takes up nearly the entire wall. It appears to be a double door with the center being what you must push on to open it. Curiously though, even though I'm now many feet from the pod and the light is dim, I again see more repeating characters covering the entirety of the door. These look different though.
決して離れません
決して離れません
決して離れません
What does it mean? No matter. I will find the answers on my own.
I push with all my might, and hear a hissing sound as the door slowly opens. It's almost like when Indiana Jones opens the sarcophagus and the oxygen is sucked in. Suddenly I feel strength in my body and realize I had been taking shallow breaths. The room must have been nearly devoid of oxygen, I'm lucky I didn't pass out and die.
With this new surge of energy, I heave the door open.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/52ol5z/wp_cryosleep_is_invented_and_is_now_affordable/d7m6299)
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You sleepily open your eyes and look around. A yawn is irresistible. You arch your back and raise your ar-*clunk*.
Your eyes snap open a pane of glass is 5 inches in front of your face. You peer through the glass and see thousands of other people in pods you that you assume look very similar to your own. Every single one of them has a red handle marked "EJECT"...On the outside.
| 2016-09-13T23:03:10 | 2016-09-13T20:16:33 | 882 | 225 |
[WP] On everyones 18th birthday they receive a letter showing them what percentage of their life has gone by. You just received yours today and it says 0.00%
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"What'd it say, Alex?"
I looked up, snapping out of my trance. Zero percent? Zero percent? Zero fucking percent?
"Uh, 20 point something, I think," I replied. I took a bite out of the egg salad sandwich my brother made for me.
"What'd yours say?" I asked Lara back without thinking. Did zero percent mean that I was immortal?
"17% exactly. 17 point oh-oh. I'm going to live longer than you," she beamed. I couldn't help but smile back.
"Well," I began. She didn't let me finish.
"I know, I know. Unless I die of unnatural causes. But still. It means I got a long way to go. I'm topping the century mark, mutha truckas!"
She did a little dance, moves I'd seen her do at least once a day since middle school. They still made me laugh after half a decade of friendship.
"Not all of us are going to top the century mark, Lara," I told her with feigned seriousness.
"Whatever, man. You're still gonna live til you're, what, eighty something?"
"Yeah, something like that." I hope I didn't come off as sullen. I tried to smile. She couldn't tell I was faking, right?
The bell rang.
"I'll see you after school," Lara said, swooping up her backpack and giving me a sidehug before she walked off to class. I gave myself a moment to watch her walk away, her ponytail swinging with her gait, before I gathered my backpack and the inner strength to continue my day. I mean, zero percent. Zero! Percent! Jesus.
-------------------------------------------
The rest of the day, and the rest of the week for that matter, zipped through like a blur. Everyone was talking about their prom dates or college admissions or where they were going this summer or if they got a new car or any number of stupid, fucking-
It's not their fault, I had to remind myself. I inhaled deeply as I stared into my dinner plate.
"What's with the breathing and the not eating, big guy?" my brother asked.
"Stop staring at me if you got a problem, fuckface," I replied without looking up. It probably came off more harsh than I felt.
My brother just laughed. Adrian had a contagious laughter. Usually.
"You're lucky I stare at you, bitch. Mom and dad left me with the looks," he said before stuffing a forkful of fettuccine in between his chesire cat smile.
"Well, they didn't leave us with anything else." Okay, that was definitely much harsher than I felt. It wasn't their fault either.
My brother swallowed his pasta. "Hey, man."
"Sorry," I replied. "I just miss them."
He washed down the pasta with a deep gulp of beer but never took his eyes off me. His brow seemed to furrow slightly, but I couldn't be sure.
"I know. It's okay. I miss them too. But they reached their full-"
"PLE. I know. One hundred Percent Life Expectancy. It was perfect. Of course it was. Two people with the exact same PLE fall in love. Storybook fucking ending." Perhaps my sarcasm wasn't helpful, but it definitely made me feel better. The alternative was talking about my own PLE. What the fuck did zero percent mean?
Adrian didn't respond. We finished the meal in silence.
------------------
The next day after school, Lara showed me something that very nearly knocked my socks off. We were hanging out over on the side of the football field. There was a track that wrapped around it, and the track team was warming up. I didn't want to take the bus to go home yet. My brother was still at work, and what did I have at home? Leftover fettucine alfredo?
"And if you just verify your fingerprints and eyes like this," she explained as she put her thumb over the home button of her phone while facing the phone's camera like a mirror in front of her.
"There," she said. She showed me her screen. It had the Percentage Life Expectancy logo at the top, the PLE letters bold and italicized above a large number. It read 17.00%.
"That's my PLE. Just download the app. It's new, I think," she said. She reached for my phone. I pulled it away.
"Uh, I'll just do it later," I said feebly.
"Don't be stupid. Just do it. I'm not satisfied with 'Derrr, twenty something, Lara.'"
I laughed. "That's a really fucking bad impression of me."
"What's fucking bad is you not caring exactly when you're going to die," she countered.
"It doesn't matter, okay? I'll die when I die. Why are people so obsessed with this thing?" I asked, maybe rhetorically.
"Because," she began. She always had an answer. "It can better inform us how to live. Don't you think you deserve that at least?"
"No," I replied stubbornly. "It didn't help my parents."
She shook her head and pointed her finger into my chest.
"Fuck you, dude. Fuck you if you think that's how your parents want you to live your fucking life," she scolded. The scorn was evident in her voice and in the intensity with which her finger was digging into my chest.
"Fuck you!" I swiped her hand away and pushed back verbally. "My parents are dead. What the fuck do you know about it?"
That wasn't fair. I went too far. Lara's older sister had died at 100% PLE. On her 18th birthday, she was already at 90% or something. Those last couple years were rough.
"You're an asshole," she said as she turned away. She bent to pick up her backpack and leave.
I grabbed her wrist. "Wait," I said. "I'm sorry." She pulled her wrist away angrily. I continued. "I'm really sorry. I'll...I'll download the app."
She stopped and turned around. She just blinked at me expectantly.
"Now?" I asked.
She raised her eyebrows.
"Fine," I said. I unlocked my phone and downloaded the app. Lara didn't say a word. I could her the pitterpatter of the track team running by as I verified my fingerprint and face.
"Just promise me you won't freak out," I told her once it verified.
"What do you me- what the fuck?" she exclaimed. She looked at the phone and back at me. "Is it a glitch?"
I shook my head and reached into my backpack where the envelope was. I pulled it out and showed her.
"This can't be right," she said confusedly.
"It's all bullshit anyw-," I began. But I couldn't finish.
Maybe it was the confusion of the zero percent PLE. Was I going to live forever? Maybe it was knowing that Lara was going to live to be 105 and I was probably gonna die at any time, or maybe never. Maybe it was not getting over my parents' deaths, seeing them succumb to cancer while knowing they were definitely going to die from it. Maybe it was seeing my brother Adrian, all 23 years of him, act like an adult. This was the guy I played video games with and had lightsaber duels with and...he wasn't the guy who cooked and washed dishes and made me lunch. I had lost my parents to the stupid PLE thing, but did that mean I had to lose my brother too? Where was my fucking brother? Who did I have left?
I don't know what it was but I just broke down.
"It's all bullshit," I cried. "It's all bullshit."
"Shh," said Lara. Was she holding me? "It's okay, man. It's okay. I got you."
I must have cried for a solid half hour, and she didn't let me go. We sat quietly for another half hour. I could only hear the rustling of the leaves, the barking of the track coach and the occasional gallop of sneakers on the track as the team jogged by. And our breathing. Our breathing had synced.
After the long silence, I sat up. I don't even know when we had sat down, but I know I was starting to get self-conscious in front of my best friend, something that almost never happened.
I think she sensed it too.
"Sorry," I mumbled.
"Nah, it's cool," she replied. I couldn't look into her eyes, but after a moment, she found mine and smiled.
"Hey, you wanna see my new dance?"
She didn't wait for my answer. She stood up and shimmied, her shoulders hilariously thrusting back and forth with a violence I can only describe as...passionate. I smiled, then chuckled, and then before I knew it, I was laughing.
And then I felt something that was always there, but I never recognized it before. I can't pinpoint which move or when it was, but it must have been that moment.
Because the next time I looked down at my phone, my Percentage Life Expectancy didn't read zero anymore.
Instead, there was a more familiar number, a number that, when looking back, might've been the most important number of my young life. It was a number I had used to calculate that Lara was going to die when she was 105 years old. I had thought I would leave her behind, but...
"Seventeen point oh-oh," she whispered. "It changed."
"Yeah," I replied softly. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I couldn't stop smiling. "Yeah."
|
The sun was shining at its highest point as I woke up from a decent night's sleep. I thought to myself "Oh well, guess I'm not making it to any of my classes today"; something I've told myself way too many times now. Guess that's what depression does to a socially awkward freshman.
I decide to grab food and check for any mail I might've received at the commons building which was a good 5 minute walk from my own dorm building. Ugh, social interaction and going outside. Then again, no one ever really paid heed to my existence, and I'd done a fine job of keeping it that way.
The walk itself was uneventful and the food was nothing special, as usual. However I did have mail from a couple days ago, a letter I received on my birthday; another painfully bland and normal day. I decide to read the letter anyway.
"Hello, your life completion progress report is as follows:
Life completion % till legal adulthood: 0.00%
Have a great day!"
Nothing made sense anymore. Life completion report? 0.00%?! Have I finally lost my sanity?
Something about the last sentence seemed off. If anything, it made my day worse. Just thinking about the letter gave me the chills. And the worst part? I had absolutely no one to talk to about this. Living in a single dorm in college absolutely shut out all prospects of me ever interacting genuinely with another person, making it a sensible choice for me at the time. But oh man, I could really use a roommate or anyone for that matter to discuss that letter with right now. I tucked that piece of paper in my coat pocket for the time being.
I found myself staring out the window for an awfully long amount of time, just soaking in the sights. Squirrels and rabbits running across the lawn, people doing their thing. And thats when it hit me. All these people, these different people, were like extras in movies, like NPC's in video games. Hey maybe that's why no one ever talked to me. Just a basal existence without any true purpose really. They just were. Hell, everything just was. The repetitive cycle of work during the weekdays and relaxation during the weekends had always been starkly apparent to me, but this took it to a whole new level. Nothing made sense, but at the same time everything did. The utter pointlessness of it all was mind boggling.
There was no senders details or anything on the letter but I couldn't bother less about it. Everything makes sense now, be it if not for the better.
I found that piece of paper on the floor a couple days later. I noticed something different this time.
"Life completion % AFTER legal adulthood: 99.9%"
PS. One of my first comments on the site, let alone for a writing prompt.
| 2018-04-26T04:55:22 | 2018-04-26T01:50:34 | 319 | 13 |
[WP] A wizard accidentally becomes immortal. He has the idea to become the antagonist so that a hero will come along and defeat him, so he can rest in peace. Sadly, the heroes are weak in comparison so the wizard creates a persona as a 'wise teacher' to train these heroes in order to defeat him.
|
Percival inched closer to the fire. These last few weeks had been tough on him. Callouses were starting to form on his hands. Once the soft, delicate hands of a nobleman’s son, they seemed almost unrecognisable now. They were dark, grimy… muscled. Percival liked them. His father had always complained that he wasn’t a ‘real man’, and now perhaps, under Sanel’s tutelage, he would be.
“You have grown stronger all,” said Sanel, taking another sip of his whisky. “I am pleased with you.” Sanel turned his gaze to focus on Percival. “Percival, when first we met you would run into battle almost tripping over your own feet. You carried a sword made of gold - a gold sword, for goodness sake - and tried to defeat your opponents by twirling around in circles singing. The only reason you didn’t die is because Ranel’s monster guards were so confused.”
Percival nodded, trying to indicate his gratitude towards the wise teacher.
“But now…” Sanel didn’t finish his sentence, instead pulling his blade from its scabbard. He charged at Percival, who dived out of the way of a mortal thrust. Percival scrambled towards his own weapon before - with speed and skill he never before would have thought possible of himself - drawing his weapon and using it to parry another of Sanel’s lethal blows. Percival swung his counterattack - and a less skilled opponent wouldn’t have been able to avoid it. But Sanel was skilled in the art of swordplay, and used the opening not only to sidestep the attack but hold his blade to Percival’s throat.
“Well fought,” Sanel’s compliment was genuine. “From now on, my son, you will be known as Percivus, for Percival is a name not befitting the man you will become,” Sanel explained.
“Percivus,” said Percivus. “I like it.”
Sanel then turned his attention on the other hero by the campfire. A tall, beautiful woman whose earrings glinted off the fire, and whose gold-and-red mage robes fluttered in the cool summer night’s breeze. She smiled.
“Natashe,” Sanel smiled in turn. “You turned up to the mountain fortress of an ancient and powerful warlock. Heavily armed guards, devious traps, and ferocious monsters awaited you. And your idea of ‘magic’ at that point was retrieving coins from behind my ear. You were only able to escape the Jabberwocky because you pulled a rabbit out of your hat and it chased after the rabbit instead of you.”
“Perhaps my ideas of magic were a little… confused… back then,” Natashe admitted. “Years of people complimenting my travelling magic shows just got to my head!”
Percivus suspected that the compliments Natashe had received had been mostly from men. Natashe’s ‘amazing rubber quill’ trick was only entrancing because it made her breasts bounce, but nobody had the heart to tell her.
“Look,” said Natashe, “I can shoot lightning now!”
A bolt of lightning struck the nearby tree, causing its branches to fly in various directions as though it had been hit by a great hammer. She really had gotten better. Sanel nodded in contentment.
“And finally,” said Sanel, “the one here who has shown the most improvement. Bertrand, you are my star pupil.”
Bertrand responded by quacking and preening his feathers. He waddled over to the canteen and stuck in his bill, drinking deeply.
“When we first met, Bertrand, I thought there was no hope for you. You tried to overcome your foes by quacking angrily at them, and Ranel could have no doubt bought your allegiance with a few handfuls of bread. But now look at you. The heart of a lion, the ferocity of a bear.”
Bertrand waddled back over to his comfortable spot by the fire.
“And yet, Bertrand, there is the something that concerns me,” said Sanel tentatively.
Bertrand quacked defensively.
“Don’t be like that,” Sanel revoked him. “We both know what the problem is.”
Bertrand fluttered in a huff.
“Bertrand, the other day… you scared me. You scared all of us,” said Natashe sweetly. “When those bandits came upon us, I didn’t see my fellow party member who I have grown to love. I saw a duck with a brutal, cold side.”
“She’s right,” said Percivus. “I can appreciate strength and even admire it. What I saw - what we all saw - it wasn’t fighting. It was butchery. Long after they had surrendered you just kept slaughtering. I could see it in your eyes, Bertrand. You were… enjoying the bloodshed.”
Two sharp quacks.
“Yes that’s true,” Sanel agreed. “But Bertrand. Your fellow party members fight because they must. They fight for a better world, a world free of my tyranny, I mean, Ranel’s tyranny. They don’t take a sick pleasure in it.”
Bertrand let forth a flurry of quacks.
“No, I won’t take that back. Bertrand, you made the bandit leader beg for his life before disemboweling him with his own ladle. And then you made him eat what was in the ladle,” Sanel explained.
Bertrand shrugged his wings and quacked in apathy.
“He’s right, Bertrand,” Percivus agreed. “That was pretty fucked up. It wasn’t like my old pal who I grew up with at all. Remember when I was just a kid and you were a duckling? We would run about the palace gardens together; you taught me to swim and in return I sneaked you bread from the kitchens. The Bertrand I knew would never kill for pleasure. He would only kill to rid the world of the Ranel scourge. That was what it was all about when we set out on our quest so long ago, what happened?”
Bertrand was looking at the ground and shuffling his webbed feet.
“Quack,” he appealed. “Quack… quack quack quack,” he looked at his old friend pleadingly. “Quack quack quack quack. Quack quack quack. Quack quack quack.” Bertrand nodded, before turning to Natashe and explaining, at length, how he had not trusted her at first but, after warming to her, realised that she too was a genuinely good person.
Bertrand then turned to Sanel. Bertrand gave Sanel a piece of his mind.
“You’re suspicious of me?” Sanel took a step backward. “Why-why would that be?”
Bertrand stepped forward as sweat beaded on Sanel’s forehead. Betrand explained that he had been suspicious for a long time. That he knew what Sanel was really up to. And he pointed a righteous wing at Sanel’s bag.
“You want me to open it?” asked Percivus.
Bertrand quacked in the affirmative.
“You won’t find anything in there that… proves… anything…” Sanel said hopefully.
Percivus continued to rifle through Sanel’s bag until he got to the very bottom. He opened up the package… and dropped what he found because it made him dry retch. Bertrand waddled over, worrying his suspicions would be confirmed.
“Bertrand, don’t look at it!” Percivus warned his friend. “You don’t need to see this!”
Natashe’s hand was at her mouth in horror.
Bertrand took one look at the duck confit, then turned his head away in disgust.
He quacked a furious string of epithets at Sanel.
“You eat duck, that’s disgusting!” said Natashe.
Bertrand quacked that that was an understatement.
“No wonder you’ve been so angry lately, Bertrand,” said Percivus. “You’ve suspected it for a long time, haven’t you?”
“Quack!” Bertrand quacked.
“I swear, I had forgotten that it was in there!” said Sanel. “I haven’t eaten any duck since meeting you, Betrand. You have completely changed my dietary habits involving duck meat. I promise.”
Natashe had gone over to inspect the duck confit herself. “It looks freshly cooked,” said Natashe as her face turned green.
|
*I, the immortal wizard of Wuynd, paced before my latest apprentice, a small chubby little boy...*
Alright squire listen up, the lich's weak spot, is right here at the square center of his chest.
Given the Lich's weakness to gold, if you were to strike him there with oh i don't know, a golden tipped lance like the one you have strapped to your back, you could kill him!
One final thing! the Lich HATES onions, if you were to coat yourself in onion juice, that could give you an advantage in the fight!
"Master how do you know all of this?"
*I turned around*
I just do, Tubby alright?, now to be able to combat the Lich, you're going to need some serious cardio Squire.
*I eyed the boy top to bottom, and god was he fat, I'd been alive for centuries and never before had I seen a boy look so out of shape and flabby, nonetheless, something in my gut drew me to this seemingly pathetic excuse for an apprentice, maybe he does have the stuff to defeat me, my gut rarely ever lies....*
Come on you little lard-cake, get to the starting line.
"Master cant we just uh have lunch or a sna-"
STARTING LINE NOW.
Alright big-boy, we've got a lot of work to do and fat to shed, so for starters we'll be doing mile-repeats all day...
| 2015-07-25T06:30:07 | 2015-07-25T04:45:57 | 117 | 46 |
[WP] Cannibalism has been widely accepted for over 20 years. A renowned chef before dinner service checks tonights product. In the caging area he sees his activist sister.
|
From his spot on the terrace, he could see the guests slowly making their way out to breakfast. The rising sun glinted gently on the ocean and warmed the deserted beaches below. The first floor patio was set to seat the hundreds of wealthy patrons who crawled from their beds to enjoy the resort's lavish morning buffet. Sipping his coffee, he stretched and rose from his seat.
Taking the elevator to the kitchen, he wove carefully around the servers who hurried in all various directions. The breakfast chef barked her orders and nodded a good morning to him before turning to yell at some tray wench. Slipping into the office and settling into the chair, he poured over the shipment records from last night. He sat back and drank his coffee, contemplating the menu. The First Parliamentary Panel was scheduled to show up some time this evening for a special dinner commemorating the 20th anniversary of the Autonomous Individual Act. Leaning over the desk once more, he saw a shipping notice that had fallen on the floor along with an order from the Panel. A smile spread across his face as he read. The Panel requested the only fitting dish for such an anniversary, a person.
David had been the executive chef at Adnem Gold Resort for the last 3 years and had yet to serve un homme delicatesse. He was honored to have been given such an opportunity as even though it was now legal to eat human flesh, among other things that the AIA covered, the occasion was rare. The shipping notice revealed that the individual who was to be the main course had been delivered very early this morning and was waiting in the storage basement.
Weaving between servers and grabbing another cup of coffee, he took the elevator down. He passed row after row of crates and boxes of supplies, carts of produce. The freezers lining the walls made it chilly. Along the far wall, there was a mostly closed off room they sometimes used to house specialty animals that were going to be dinner but as David drew closer, he could see it had been furnished much like many of the guest rooms. Curtains hanging behind the bars obscured most of the cage but he could see a table with chairs, a soft rug covering the concrete floor, and a lone figure that stood, casting a shadow on the drawn curtains as morning light poured from the small barred window.
David watched quietly as the obviously female figure ran a cloth along her arms and legs. She rung the cloth into a bowl on the table and hanging it over one of the chairs, she donned a robe. He wasn't sure what to say so he cleared his throat which startled her a bit but she moved to the curtain.
As soon as she pulled it aside, he dropped his coffee cup. Not looking down at the shattered ceramic or the coffee staining his white pants, if David had any words before, they were completely gone.
"Hello David. It's been a long time, hasn't it?" His sister smiled gently and pulled the curtains fully open. They both grasped the bars of the cage.
"Sarah," his voice quietly gasped, halting. "What are you doing? Why?"
"This is what we fought for, isn't it?" Sarah reached through the gaps and held his face. His confusion written on every line that she traced with her fingers. "I've missed you."
"I missed you too but why?" He repeated as he gripped her hand tightly.
"David, the past 20 years have been wonderful. Everything in my life that I wanted to accomplish, I have. I lived my dream except for one part. You knew back then what I wanted and supported everyone's right to chose. Now I am making that choice."
Tears ran freely down his face as he brought her hand to his lips. Fumbling with the keys, he unlocked the cage door and hugged her tightly. His shoulders shook and as though they were children once again, she ran her hands down his head and back. He pulled away and holding her now tear-streaked face between his hands, he asked.
"Why can't you wait until you're older? There is so much life and time left, why now?"
Sarah sighed and she stood only to sit at the table. She motioned for him to join her and once they were eye-to-eye, she held his hand.
"I have lived my life. Twenty years later, we have changed the world. We accomplished what we set out to do. You may have dreams left but this is the last thing I want. And I want to do it while my body is in peak condition. What better way to offer myself than at the anniversary of our greatest accomplishment and when my brother can be the one to fulfill that dream?"
David gripped her hand once more and wiped the tears from his eyes. He was silent for several minutes, stroking her fingers and finally, nodding, he said, "I understand. You should have told me you were going to volunteer."
She laughed, "If I had said something, you would have tried to stop me. I have made my decision. I can only hope you forgive me."
David rose from his seat and putting his hand on her shoulder said, "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."
Leaving the cage door slightly open, he ran from the storage basement to the adjoining cellar. Carefully wiping the dust from the labels, he selected a deep red wine and two glasses from the reserve glassware. Entering the cage once again, he set them both down and popped the cork. He poured them both a drink while Sarah hugged him from behind and rested her cheek on his shoulder. Sitting, he raised his glass. She followed.
"Sarah, I am honored that you chose me to serve you. While it pains me to be the end of your journey, I am proud to be your brother. If this is your true wish and choice, I will stand by you."
She leaned forward to wipe a tear from his cheek with her free hand. As tears of her own rolled down her face, she said, "David, I am honored to have a brother who accepts my choices and, even after 20 years apart, will stand by me. Thank you for this opportunity, that I may offer myself to the Panel and have someone who will truly be able to do my offering justice. It is my honor to be your main course."
Smiling, they emptied their glasses and soon the bottle. Checking his watch, David sighed. It was time to start dinner.
Sarah stood and taking her hand, David led her to the basement slaughter room. It was much like a large chilled shower with hooks hanging from the ceiling, a chair, and wheeled metal transport tables. She let her robe fall to the floor and David couldn't help but admire the pale glow of her skin. Her youthful body had been carefully maintained over the years in preparation of this day. Drawing her close, they took a minute. The siblings pressed their foreheads together and kissed each other's cheeks. Neither David nor Sarah could find the words so their smiles said everything.
He sat her on the chair and leaving for a minute, returned with a tank of nitrogen gas that had also been delivered and two lengths of rope. Kneeling, he tied her feet to one another and then her hands which were also lashed to her feet to keep them down. David held the tube out for her and sitting back, she put it in her mouth. He held her nose closed and opened the valve on the tank. For a minute, she stared at him while breathing it in and slowly, her eyes closed. After another few minutes, he closed the valve and lifting her from the chair, he laid her on one of the tables. Quickly he lowered the chains and hooks from the ceiling and clamping one on the rope between her feet, he hoisted her unconscious body into the air. Once she was freely dangling, he moved the table so that the middle of the room was empty except for the drain.
In one hand, David held her head and in the other, a sharp knife. He choked back tears and pressing her forehead to his, he took a deep breath. Standing back, he slit her throat.
Torrents of blood gushed onto the floor with every heartbeat. David watched as it bathed the room in a deep crimson and once it started to slow, he turned on a hose. Almost meditatively, he cleaned her body of blood and the water swirled red beneath his feet. As the last drops left her, David brought the table back into the room. Carefully, he severed her neck and set her head at one end. He cleaned the body again before gently lowering it onto the table. Her skin retained its glow and as David pushed Sarah to the preparation room for butchering and marination, he gripped her hand one last time.
|
His heart turned to ice. His head went faint and his stomach twisted into a ever tighter knot.
"no" he thought, "no, no, no, NO".
Why her? Of all the people out there? Why not a drug addict? A criminal? Any worthless dreg of society?
"Sir? Are you alright?" asked his assistant.
He had to get it together. He would lose his job otherwise, or worse. He had heard of people who refused to... well, who couldn't do it.
"Quite fine, I just thought of something I forgot at home"
"Shall I begin the preparations?"
"Yes, please"
He would have to do it.
The minutes passed slowly, painfully like time was purposely tormenting him. He found himself with his assistants at the cutting block. They would cut the neck and collect the blood for sausage, and the butcher the body.
As if everything was happening like some macabre play, he watched out. He wasn't there. He watched himself picked up the knife as she was brought forward like it was dream. She was laid down and strapped to the block, drugged to avoid too much struggle. She looked up. His fist brandished the knife and raised it high. Tears streamming in her eyes.
Time seemed to pause. Each second an eternity of inaction. Then the silence was broken when she spoke:
"Remember me, brother. Remember my life. Remember what I fought for"
His vision went black, he heard the knife swoosh and a women's scream.
Then he lost consciousness.
---
PS my first response on here.
| 2014-09-18T19:36:07 | 2014-09-18T18:39:41 | 112 | 73 |
[WP] It has become a law to hibernate during the winter with the help of a machine, but there is a glitch, and you wake up halfway through winter and find the reason why the government made hibernation manditory
Edit: Wow this got more popular than I expected it would
|
The law came into effect ten years ago. Five years ago, they began enforcing it, and made hibernation machines available to the public at no cost.
They claimed it was due to rapidly dropping temperatures - making life in the winter impossible, unless you were in stasis - only a skeleton crew remained active during that time, buried deep in heated bunkers, close to the Earth's core.
Too cold to survive.
As I glanced around the empty streets, I realized they were right.
Shit.
|
As the sun gleaned through the window, Olanna rolled over and opened her eyes. She blinked, bringing her hands up guard her face. "That sun's so bright" thought Olanna as she sat up. She looked around and then looked at the clock on the desk. 9:37 AM 2 Jan.
Olanna spun around to look at the head of her bed where the large canopy that looked like a hairdresser's dryer blinked a red light. She kneeled and dragged her finger over the control panel, trying to find a reset button or a signal to get a technician to come help. She blinked and blinked and wiped her eyes. Her head felt light. "That machine is strong," she thought. Too woozy to read, but too restless to stay in bed, she got up and walked down the hall towards the kitchen, stretching and scratching all the way there. It was there that she first truly looked out the window. She could barely remember what winter looks like since the hibernation law was passed 17 years ago. Outside, the sky was a piercing blue, and a light dusting of snow covered the small backyard, picnic table, and twin maple trees she planted 2 years ago. She looked over into her neighbors' backyard and saw their swing set at rest, tucked in to a blue tarp, dusted with snow, some leaves that were never raked up, and the t-ball post in the middle of the yard.
While brewing tea, she looked through the directory to find the contact number for hibernation machine repair. She found nothing. Maybe this wasn't supposed to happen. The kettle whistled and she poured the water into a cup. She held the cup in both hands, squeezing her shoulders up, finally feeling in touch enough with her body to detect how cold it is when you're not under the hibernation machine. She walked to the front of the house and looked out the bay window at the neighborhood. All the houses, like cookies from a cutter, were single story, with the door towards the right side of the house, a single door garage to the left of that, and a bay window that sticks out of the front of the house just enough to let you creep on neighbor's farther down the street than normal windows allow.
"The road's plowed" thought Olanna. She knew some government people and medical persons did not hibernate, but surely they did not bother plowing with just a few people driving about. She sipped her tea. Her body shook at the sensation of ingestion, something it was not planning on experiencing for another month and a half. She sipped again and finally tasted the nice honey flavors in the tea. She kept looking out the window, enjoying the view, enjoying the quiet. It felt as if she started hibernation yesterday, but it was almost two months ago!
As her eyes bounced from house to house to tea mug to house, she began to notice hints of little footprints in the pathways from doors to driveways. She saw that Miriam's house and Gretchen and Aaron's house had the little markings, but Joe's and Eric and Thom's did not. "Why their houses?" She looked farther down the road and saw that Jennifer and Alan's house had the markings, but Silvana's house did not.
As she thought about what separated the houses, she looked down at her own path and saw no little markings. "Children!" she muttered out, her voice not responding too well from the months of disuse. "Those houses have kids." She looked back up and down the street, remembering that Joe had a daughter, "but she's at University."
A chill ran up her spine as she imagined the children walking out of the house. "I need to call the police," she thought as she turned to find the phone. Just then, a large truck, like a truck used to transport money between banks, came down the road. She heard it whine to a halt in front of Miriam's house. turning around, she saw a little boy get out of the back of the truck along with two men in white lab coats. The two men looked up and down the boy. "Julio. That's Julio!" Olanna tried to say, realizing it was Miriam's son. She watched as the white coated men turned around and grabbed another boy from the back of the truck. He was dirty, thin, unkempt, and in distress. "Julio? she thought, wondering if that faded, worn down soul could be him. "Then who is that?"
The tall, polished Julio grabbed the straggling boy from the two men. He bent his head back and clamped his teeth into the scraggly boy's throat and ripped it out. He chewed and bit more, pulling more and more away from the throat of the boy until his head and shoulders were detached. Olanna's tea spilled over her mug as her hands shook.
Just then, the upright boy spoke: "Voice acquisition is complete. You may move on to the next house. Thank you." The two white coated men took the corpse and the head and threw them in the back of the truck. Julio walked back up the path and into his house.
The two men drove slightly farther down the road and three girls of different ages got out of the back of the truck in front of Gretchen and Aaron's house. "Their daughters?" The same process of throat evisceration took place, as three struggling girls were brought out one at a time.
Olanna watched the truck drive down to Jennifer and Alan's house as the three girls walked inside their house. She spun around and sat down on the bay window seat. Her mouth hung open, her eyes rarely blinked. She shook her head side to side. "Did I ever do that?" she thought, remembering that she was just 6 when the Hibernation law was enacted. She got up and walked over to a mirror. Her dark smooth skin was tight around her strong cheek bones. Her hair was still braided tight on her head. She looked down at her fingernails, white and pink. She looked back up and met her eyes in the mirror. It was then that she notice her right eye was slightly less open than her left. She leaned in and pulled the eyelid back. She saw a hint of dark blue and stumbled back, dropping her tea mug to the floor. She looked again, pulling back her eyelid to see a solid blue mass above her eye, where it should have been pink. Her other eye was fine.
Just as she sat down, tears streaming down her face as her body ached in confusion, the door was broken down and in walked a tall, strong woman wearing a bright yellow trench coat. In her hand, she held an object that looked like a TV remote. Olanna recognized that the woman was Dr. Flyer, her gynecologist. "Dr. Flyer?" Olanna began to ask. Before she could finish, Dr. Flyer spoke, "How many times do I need to keep resetting your stupid machine?!" Dr. Flyer pressed a button on the remote and aimed it at Olanna.
----
As the sun gleaned through the window, Olanna rolled over and opened her eyes. She blinked, bringing her hands up guard her face. "That sun's so bright" thought Olanna as she sat up. She looked around and then looked at the clock on the desk. 10:12 AM 7 Jan.
| 2015-01-25T15:26:13 | 2015-01-25T14:18:55 | 81 | 40 |
[WP] Aliens are afraid to invade Earth. Not because of humans but because our solar system is a nest for 8 Guardians/Leviathans.
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It had been tried before, always ending in failure.
The world, small and blue, stood out as a conspicuous failure to convert the last holdout of sentient life in the galaxy.
Missionary invasions had worked everywhere else. In all other cases, soldiers of the church brought the staff and the beam, the truth and the light, the core of value and the matrix of eternity. There was resistance in some cases, true. But in the end always success. Always.
But these... ..."humans" they called themselves... ...were especially beloved by their protectors. Sometimes worshipped as a pantheon, sometimes as a unity, but always there. Even when they lost their myths and their faith, the leviathans stood in the shadows jealously defending this one pocket of space.
A few attempts had come close. The greatest of all even tried once, sending his own begotten son, but he would not return. At least, not any time soon. The grip of the eight was far too tight.
Earthlings had a talent for duplicity and hate, vanity and rage, cruelty and oppression unmatched by any other creature in the galaxy. They were the only things really like themselves that the leviathans had ever found.
Monsters have their favorites too. And no one was going to touch this world without their permission.
|
> ##### Transcript - 2215 Hours Day 1 - Expedition Alpha Bravo - Unit 6 Encounter
Unit Commander (UC): Fresh Air, do you copy?
Fresh Air (FA): Copy Ultra 6.
UC: We are at 10 clicks, Fresh Air. Awaiting orders.
FA: Copy that Ultra 6, continue your descent to 11 clicks.
UC: Copy that.
********
> ##### Expedition Alpha Bravo - Unit 6 Encounter Debrief
> ##### Private 1st Class - Martin Johansen - Page 2
...continue our descent to 11 clicks. Commander Scott relayed the orders to our unit and we continued. Private Micheals and I connected the pre-laid communications line to a portable relay and began to un-spool new line as we went. We did a field test of the quick evac system and it was confirmed functional.
Sergeant Mallorey manned the primary borer, which was ordered to the front of the of the line. It took about twenty minutes after receiving the order before we were on the move again.
My suit's heat dispersal remained optimal, although we were seeing approximately one degree Celsius increases in temperature every 100 meters. We covered about 300 meters over the next six hours. Nothing abnormal occurred.
At approximately 0420 hours, Sergeant Mallory hit an unmapped deposit of some kind. I think he said sapphire maybe, but something very hard. Forward progress halted and we requested a high density drill bit be sent down the tube. Fresh Air reported one was dispatched and would arrive in 33 hours. Commander Scott ordered us to make camp.
**********
> ##### Transcript - 0910 Hours Day 2 - Expedition Alpha Bravo - Unit 6 Encounter
UC: Fresh Air, do you copy?
FA: Your coming in a little choppy Ultra 6, but we copy.
UC: We're experiencing some turbulence down here Fresh Air. Anything to be worried about?
FA: Nothing abnormal on the local scans, Ultra 6. Looks like a little belly ache, that's all.
UC: Copy that Fresh Air - just wanted to confirm, put the gang at ease.
FA: Copy that.
********
> ##### Expedition Alpha Bravo - Unit 6 Encounter Debrief
> ##### Private 1st Class - Martin Johansen - Page 4
The new bit arrived at 1100 hours on day 3. We passed it forward towards the borer and Sergeant Mallory began the installation. In order to get to the drill head, he needed to back up the borer a couple of feet. He did so, but then became startled. Something about the mineral deposit shifting. I think he was concerned about a cave in.
The Commander radioed up for a scan. Everything came back clean. .7 on the richter scale I think - but within normal ranges. Command gave the OK to drill, but the Commander and Mallory went to a private comm for a few minutes. When they got back to shared frequencies, Mallory switched out the bit. Took about an hour and then the Commander ordered us forward.
********
> ##### Transcript - 1206 Hours Day 3 - Expedition Alpha Bravo - Unit 6 Encounter
UC: Fresh Air, resuming drilling.
FA: Copy Ultra 6
[20 second of radio silence]
UC: Cave in, cave in, retreating up the tube!
FA: Negative Ultra 6, last scan came up clean, there's no...
[Speakers overlap]
UC: Everybody up tube! Fresh air we have a localized seismic event, moving...
FC: ...sign of a cave in Ultra 6, we have, Jesus Christ what the fuck is that...
UC: ...up tube, up tube! Mallory's gone, the borer fell through. Negative copy Fresh Air...
FC: Ultra 6, get up tube, there's a cavitation event occurring directly ahead of you.
UC: ...move your asses! Fresh Air, requesting quick evac activation.
FC: Activation approved, get your ass to the 10K marker. What are you seeing down there?
UC: [unintelligible]
FC: Negative copy Ultra 6, say again.
[Audio Reconstruction Incomplete]
UC: [unintelligible] towards [unintelligible] Mallo[ry] [unintelligible] saw bloo[d] [unintelligible] repeat [unintelligible] blood.
FC: That's a negative copy Ultra 6, status...
Unknown Transmission: **Saolamagəhnūansheeri. Saolamagəhnūansheeri. Saolamagəhnūansheeri.
Saolamagəhnūansheeri. Saolamagəhnūansheeri.**
[Transmission repeats 500 times over 57 minutes and 25 seconds]
*********
> ##### Expedition Alpha Bravo - Unit 6 Encounter Debrief
> ##### Private 1st Class - Martin Johansen - Page 4
Almost immediately after Mallory began to drill, it started. The whole tunnel shook like crazy, and we could see the carbon fiber reinforcements start to buckle. I was at the back of the line. About 100 meters ahead I saw the lights on the borer just disappear, and we all heard Mallory screaming on the comms about blood and then nothing.
I admit, I ran before the Commander gave the order. It's probably the only reason I'm alive today. Michaels waited and even the 20 seconds made all the difference.
I ran up tube as fast as I could. It got dusty real fast, so I just kept my eyes on the neon comm line I'd been laying. I heard some back and forth over the radio, but I don't really remember any specifics. I was, not in control sir, I'm ashamed to say.
It was around the 10 click marker that i heard the voice, if you could call it that. Same kind of thing from S1, only a lot louder. I could hear it *through* my helmet, not just on the radio. It made the earth shake.
I kept running until i got to the the quick evac and hooked myself in. That's the first time I looked behind me and saw there was nobody there. Just darkness and that voice. The quick evac took 30 seconds or so to warm up and as it did, that's when it happened sir. The tunnel just fell away. I mean, like there was nothing under it. If I hadn't been hooked into the evac line, I'd fallen myself.
That's when I saw the lights of the borer, and Mallory's helmet all lit up inside, moving around. It's hard to gauge the distance, but I'd say he was at least a click away, on the other side of this new cave.
Then it started moving - the whole borer with Mallory in it. Not of its own power, but upwards, through the cave, like it was floating or something.
I told Comm Sat this, i know it sounds crazy and I guess it was too dark for me to see for certain, but I swear, right before the evac kicked in, Mallory's lights disappeared and, well, you know how your hand looks when you stick a bright flashlight up to it in the dark? Well that's what I saw. Just giant, glowing fingers closing in on him, and that damned voice speaking over and over.
Then the evac kicked in and dragged me up tube. Now, here I am.
*******
*******
NOTE: So this turned into a continuation or companion vignette from another prompt I wrote earlier today. I really enjoyed writing the other prompt and this prompt was awesome too, and since I'd accidentally set up the other prompt's entry in such a way as to make it compatible with this one, I decided to continue the progression of the story and effectively meld the two prompts into the same universe as I was writing this.
So basically [Part 1 Can be found here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7vcgqg/wp_you_wake_up_in_the_middle_of_the_night_to/)
| 2018-02-05T15:14:01 | 2018-02-05T14:07:15 | 2,481 | 392 |
[WP] A car pulls up beside a prostitute, soliciting sex. The door opens and to the surprise of both parties, they realise they are ex's from several years ago. Write from either perspective (NSFW?)
|
Her hair looks different, but it’s undeniably her. I’m either the main character of some fucked up, modernized Truman Show, or God just thinks it’s funny to pull a prank every now and then.
The expression on her face instantly tells me that she recognizes me too. It’s the same expression she made when she first told me she was a virgin. The same expression she made before she said “My parents want to meet you.” The exact same expression she made when she asked me if I was fucking her best friend, Maria. The expression that somehow perfectly balances vulnerability and excitement.
It’s only been five years since our senior year of high school, but she looks like she’s already gone through an entire lifetime since then.
Her homecoming dress is now a leather jacket and fishnets. Her youthful skin, once glowing, is now cracked and weathered. The same lips that gave me my first kiss were now being used to give head to anyone with cash.
Neither one of us speaks. The embarrassment is two-sided, and the questions we want to ask will only give us answers we don’t actually want to hear.
I close the door to my car.
The same car we used to make out in after the hockey games.
The same car she gave me her virginity in.
The same car she cried in when I broke her heart.
I drive off.
If I wanted to fuck someone from high school, I would’ve just stayed home with my wife, Maria.
|
Autumn approached faster than I wanted and the chill in the nights air was starting to make my teeth chatter. The car lights currently emerging from the darkness up the street seemed to slow down and I couldn't help from feeling happy that I would have someplace warm to go even if it involved something I loathed. The car was a very nice Audi and my spirits increased further knowing at least this guy won't be a broke man who refused to pay again.
As the car stopped in front of me, I pulled open my jacket to expose my chest and midriff, shuddering as my bare skin touched the air. I leaned my body forward against the passenger window and soon felt warmth against it as the driver slid the window down. He let out an approving "Mhm" and I bent down, approaching my solicitor.
As our eyes locked, we both immediately felt tense. His composure and positioning went from playful to uncomfortable as he adjusted himself in his chair. My somewhat attempt at being sultry and confident was wiped clean as I avoided his gaze again entirely. I felt tears well up in my eyes as I started to step away from his automobile.
My current situation began 5 months ago last may. I only worked as a teachers assistant and barely made enough money to pay my rent in the school year, never mind in the summer. As I approached desperateness, I responded to a craigslist add on a whim and was payed 200$ for a blowjob. I realized how easy the money came and I quickly moved onto selling myself directly in the worse off parts of town once summer fully began. I had planned to only continue until the start of the school year but I made more money from sex as I did from teaching. I finally had extra money to buy new clothes, new blankets, and food. I wondered if I kept up both jobs for the year if I could move into a better apartment, preferably one with heat, by next Christmas.
"Luce-" The familiar man said. I faced his vehicle but did not stand eye level with him. Instead I kept my gaze on a street light ahead of me but remained standing to show him I was listening. I wanted to look at him; take in his face again, his scent- but I was overcome with humility that he of all people had saw me like this.
"Lucy" He started again. "Listen, I had no idea you were doing this. I, I-"
"I know. It's fine. Just go." But before I could start to start off again, he spoke.
"You don't have to feel bad. I'm the one here looking to pay for sex." He chuckled. "You're getting money for something I'm giving it for. I'd honestly rather be standing in your shoes."
I knew his comment was made to cheer me up, but it bothered me. He knew nothing about my shoes for the past year. My shoes were dirty, filthy, old shoes that he would definitely not want to stand in. I stood still and kept my eyes on the streetlight until I heart his door unlock.
"Please, come in." He said as he rolled the window back up.
I wanted to just walk away- cut our unfortunate run in short to save myself from being further embarrassed but as the window rose, the heat slowly left the air, and I was reminded of how cold it had got.
I slowly entered his car and was greeted with warmth from the car and him. His previous shock had disappeared completely and he beamed at me.
"You look amazing. You really do. " He said to me.
I felt my face flush. Those kind words added to my warmth and I felt comfortable for the first time in a while. Gazing into his eyes I saw no pity or disbelief but understanding. Something about being with a familiar face made me forget about my current situation and for a second I was taken back to a time before all of this.
"As do you." I told him back. He looked surprised at my answer- pleasantly, and started to drive off.
"Look, you have every right to not want to come home with me. You are more than welcome to sleep at my place if you'd like but you don't have to. But I happen to be starving at the moment. Will you get a burger with me before you make a decision?"
Though I felt like I should of been humiliated, I couldn't be around him. If I had to choose anyone I had loved to see me like this, I would have chosen Peter. I was surprised and worried at how easy to was to let myself go with him again.
"A burger would be great."
We sat inside at Wendy's and I hadn't felt this normal in weeks. It felt as though everything had been the way it had 16 months before. We did not talk about how we had just reconciled yet shared jokes, stories, and friends. We took takes on imitating the funny accent our cashier had. I choked on my soda as Peter's accent turned more Australian than Indian and reminded him of a odd Australian man we met at a farmers market two years before. We both doubled over in laughter. Peter started to tell a story but couldn't even start it without laughing, which had me laughing. The only time I felt sad was when I realized we had both finished our meals.
My body and mind felt full as I left the restaurant. My stomach no longer grumbled and worries cleared my mind for the longest they had for a while. Though my worries grew once more as we both got in the car. He did not start it, but turned towards me, waiting for me to speak. Instead of telling him what I wanted to do next, I opened our hatchet.
"I heard you were back in town a few weeks ago. I actually wanted to see you but did not know how."
"I wanted to see you too. I figured you wouldn't want to see me though. And, I did not want to look for you and have you push me away."
16 months ago. Peter and I broke off our three year relationship. Peter was offered a job in a small town in Connecticut. He invited me to move with him there, he had dreams of starting a family and settling down, but I was only 25 at the time and did not want to leave my friends, my family, or my city. I expressed this to Peter and wanted to discuss everything- but Peter was furious I had not been excited for him and not as focused on our future as he was. We fought and said awful things to each other.. A lot of things I still regretted and I wondered if Peter regretted his words as well. I did not mean to hurt him by not jumping at his invitation and would of apologized, but he left soon after our fight and we had not spoken since. I often thought of him and how he was. I recently heard from a mutual friend he got a great job offer here and decided to return to the city life. Though I was happy for him, I knew we probably would not see each other. Or so I hoped.
"Peter, I never meant to hurt you by not moving. There is so much I have wanted to say to you, to apologize to you-"
"No. It is me who owes you an apology. I was asking a lot from you. I was selfish and uncaring. I did not think of how much you had already sacrificed for me, yet I was asking more. I didn't even let you explain yourself.I should of never left you."
I let his words dangle in the air as I was overcome with emotions. Everything he had said was everything I had hoped to hear since our fight so long ago. My eyes started to well up and I slowly rose my hands to cover my face but Peter intercepted them. He pulled my hands towards his face instead and I leaned toward him.
I finally felt passion again. Our lips locked and I wished they would never separate. Guided by his hands around my waist, I moved on Peters lap and wrapped myself around him. I never wanted to stop touching him, feeling him, kissing him. His taste was familiar and I wanted more. I slowly grinded into him and for the first time in a while I craved another human. I did not care about our past or our presents. I only cared about us right there in his cold car filled with our reconnecting heat.
| 2014-09-07T04:20:33 | 2014-09-07T04:01:11 | 290 | 74 |
[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.
|
By rights I shouldn't exist. With the pairing of bear and dove, they expected something smaller. A wolf, perhaps, or an eagle. Something fast, yet powerful. Strong, yet humble. No one prepared for me.
The marks determine one's place in society. My father, with his unequaled strength, led the tribe to greatness. My mother, in her compassion, watched over our people. It was an age of prosperity unlike any seen in memory.
At my birth there were cries of anguish and shock. I'm told my father fought bravely, defending my mother as she escaped. I've heard how his great arms bulged as he struck down his former companions, before collapsing from his various wounds. My mother told me of his cry of rage as the tribe closed in around him before turning towards her.
She escaped. Not even she can tell me how, but we lived. Thanks to my mother's love and my father's strength, I survived. I've heard the stories as long as I can remember. Ever since I was old enough to ask about our marks. Her dove with wings spread wide on her forearm. The creature coiling up my leg, around my torso, mouth opened wide across my chest, showing countless teeth.
A leviathan. That is the word my mother heard uttered before the elders ordered my destruction. The only forbidden creature, an omen of destruction for the tribe. They were right.
I stand now on a hill overlooking my former people, camped by the water's edge. I watch the mothers pull their children in from the rain. I can hear, over the howl of the gale, the men discussing their latest hunt. As I close my eyes, savoring the moment, relishing my anticipation, I hear my mother's cries in my memory, her pleas of forgiveness, not for herself, but for the people who tried to kill her. I think back to that night, as she lay dying in the wilderness that was my home.
A fury as ancient as my animal wells within me at the thought. A hatred as deep as the ocean in which the leviathan lives. The storm within rages as the rain around grows heavier. I've returned to the water. I've returned to my people, bare-chested, that they will see the source of their destruction. As I reach the first tent, the fury boils over, and over the storm my roar can be heard.
|
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.
| 2017-11-08T05:54:13 | 2017-11-08T05:45:47 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] The magical races enslaved magic-less humans centuries ago. To expand their empires, the magical races travel and conquer different dimensions. They soon stumble across and try to conquer a magic-less world full of humans. It did not go well.
|
"Tripod set?"
"Yep"
"Okay, wind is North North West and 6 knots"
"Adjusting, range?"
"832m and these guys aren't serious right?"
"Scope is set and shot is ready...and what?"
"I mean bringing a magical army through a rip in time and space is one thing but lining them up and preparing to charge an entrenched foe is just a whole new kind of stupid"
"Well I'd assume they've never encountered warfare like ours before"
"Still though there's been a few skirmishes, you'd at least think they'd have learned something about our tactics and weapons"
"Probably thought they were our elite druids or something"
"You think so?"
"Fucking no, how am I supposed to know a fancy magic elf king is thinking? Speaking of is he done talking?"
"Nope still going"
"Do you know what he's saying?"
"Nope, nerds are still working on it. You canctake the shot anytime you know."
"I know I'm just waiting for the right moment"
"Which moment would that be then? And is .50cal really necessary?"
"I'm not saying and we don't know how effective his armour will be so it's better to be sure"
"We know exactly how ineffective all their armour is you're just a sadist"
"I enjoy my work is all"
"Mhm just take the shot, you are the signal for the artillery you know that right? We're about 2 minutes from some seriously angry radio chatter"
"It'll be worth it I..."
"Shush shush he's turning around, raising his sword and...
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!"
"What?"
"Well one, warn me when you're going to shoot that was so loud and two, did you need to blow his fucking arm off"
"I was disarming him"
"Sadist"
"It's not like it's going to matter in 5 seconds anyway"
"Oh yeah here it comes, Jesus they are giving it to those poor bastards"
"Is the king still alive?"
"C'mon man"
"What? They started it"
|
From realm to realm they traveled. Dominating, enslaving, destroying...
Their gift granted them near God-like powers; with their Magic they ruled all. Their birth right, as they called it, Eldest, First Light in the Heaven, Guardians of all Creation...
Bullshit! That what we call it.
A hundred thousand worlds they have conquered and enslaved. Their Magic destroying, cowering all who dared to stand before them.
Can you even imagine the wealth of a hundred worlds, let alone a hundred thousand?
3 centuries and some years ago they tore the Veil into our world. They thought we were like all the other worlds they had conquered.
We showed them the Might of the ProTerran Alliance. For 300 years we have fought and held them at bay. Our technology against their Magic.
Like the ebb and flow of the Tides; we have advanced and retreated. Stormed ahead only to be driven back as some unthought abomination, some Eldritch horror savages us.
Yet we hold firm, steadfast. We have seen the rise of the powers of our Sun, we have refined the Cosmic Flux into instruments of pure lethality.
On this, the Eve of the commencement of the 323 battle season; our Spring Equinox marks the beginning of the End for the Fae, fuck the Eldest, their time has past. The might of Earth is arrayed infront of them and this season our technology will be their downfall and obliteration.
"Secondary Adjunct to Minister of Eastern Operations"
Personal dialog:
After 22 years of study I have found it! The key to their power and their defeat.
I am getting ahead of myself in my excitement.
Commity Members: for those of you unfamiliar with the intricacies of the war:
The Eldest wield untold levels of power. Magic was a fairy tale in our oldest stories. A dream of If and Maybe perhaps. They are able to weird the fundamental forces of Existence itself at will.
We have separated them in several categories based on their attunement to the powers the weild.
The Shamans: wield nature itself. They can control the life, growth, and death of living beings. How many millions did we lose to starvation when our crops rotted over night in our fields? Do you remember the terror when our pets all turned against us? Only when we engineered our crops to grow underground, away from the sunlight could we feed ourselves again. Only from the ashes and blood of our animals could we create ones free from their touch.
The Warlocks: how I despise the Warlocks. It was them that murdered my family, in the dead of winter, on the Solistice Night. Half frozen we huddled together under our blankets, curled around the fireplace.
Those Twilight years were dark and beyond deadly for so very many across our forces. 7 years of constant death and loss; burned and frozen, drowned and torn apart across our planet. From our losses we learned and grew ever stronger.
The very Elements of nature hunted us, slew us, ate us!
When we withdrew from the surface down deep into the combs and rebuilt our cities we controlled the elements then. No longer could the Warlocks drown us in the spring Rains, burn us in the summer scorch, freeze us in the winter wilds or even rob us of the very air to breath.
The weight of a hundred thousand worlds has fallen upon us, century upon century and year over year, decade over decade we remain!
We have seen loss and ruin and returned it 10 fold. When they burned Kaliphrea city to ash we stormed Gorfal world and tore it from their cold dead fingers.
Remember brave, courageous fighters, we fight not just for our world but every world and realm held in terror by the Eldest.
We no longer fight stick and stone against their magical sway but bullet, bomb and electron, proton and neutron against the might of the Gods of Heaven itself and we hold firm!
Now it comes, the day of reckoning...when the might and power of the Eldest is ripped from their grasp and used against the. From the fall of Trion to the destruction of Morwynn our vengeance will be brutal and burn across the known Verse.
The link has be found!!!
I Tersas, third Son of Quiltin, Primary Adjunct to Fergilog, Honorable Minister Outright of the Eastern Wastes...
Have identified, quantified AND Nullified their ability to cognitively control the energies of existence!
Within the Null Void Sphere the Eldest are powerless. From Warlock to witch, daemon to shaman, Pixie to HellKnight they are now rendered as useful as a new born babe.
No longer will their powers Rage across our ranks, never again will a soul be ripped from body by their Necro's.
At the first light of daybreak at the agreed upon time, this Seasons battle will bring an end to this War and the Proterran Alliance will stand victorious once and for all.
The NVS has been deployed across the entirety of the front line, no magic will ever again destroy a human life.
Robbed of their ability to cast destruction upon us our forces will dance across the fields of Eldest bodies and free world and realm from their grip.
By this hour tomorrow Earth will be free and bring Freedom to all held by the Eldest.
Edit: Eldest perspective...
"The time draws nigh Cradril, the Seers flail at the portents! Bloodshed and death never before known will follow this day. Their moon sits upon the Hunters Crook, the Celestia peek above the horizon.
This day the "Trog" will forever regret their arrogance."
"Hold your thoughts tightly sister son! These Terns have earned your respect though you under it not. For nearly a third of a cycle THIS planet, THESE Terns, have held off the Eternal Mist.
NEVER in our history! Not once in 457 cycles has anyone dared to turn our sway; to push away the Offering like these Terns!"
"What do they call their cycles here Nookti?" Cradril asked tersely.
"Years, my Arch" Nookti replied quietly.
The rebuke stung his eyes and ears, perhaps he had misread his lords stance?, the tilt of his head?
This realm affected all who came here after a time, the light was wrong, the air was heavy. It wore you down over a cycle or two. In variably all soldiers, Wilders and Moon-born would have to leave to escape the affects of this Realm.
None had remained along as Cradril, he fought the Realm as he fought the Terns, quietly, resolutely, tenaciously...nearly a third of a cycle he had directed the Eternal armies.
The tiny Terns had proven to be an unrelenting annoyance. Their lives measured in breathes yet they fought and died like the Gods of Old.
In other circumstances they would be fascinating to study but we stood on the Morn of the Equalizing.
It was the start of the campaign, our Wilders strength began to peak and we could turn aside and negate the Tern abominations.
No Realm had ever learned to use the Flow to power stone and steel. How? How had the Terns of this Realm, with no connection, been able to harness the Gods Will?
A question for another day. Today would be momentus. The final fall of the P'Tern's great gathering.
"Bloodshed and Death" the Seers promised!
Nookti curled his fingers eagerly awaiting first light of the final Equalizing on this wretched Realm....
"Lord Cradril! LORD CRADRIL!"
"Look to me. You see me?" Nookti shouted over the roar of screams.
"The Wilders...they have all fallen. They..., they cry that it is gone, the Flow has been stolen from them. We have to RETURN!"
"WE CAN NOT STAND AGAINST THE TROGS WITHOUT OUR WILDERS"
Slowly, Cradril stood, blood masking his face and blinding his right eye. Where had it gone wrong? The SEERS cried of Bloodshed and Death for our enemies. He thought silently.
This Realm pushed you, punished you, forged You. Few others in the Eternal Armies could have survived that blast but Cradril knew it was his time here on this Realm that has strengthened him so that he could survive. Survive long enough to see the Eternal Mist burned away.
What Infernal contracts had been made? What Sacrfices given?
Craddril watched as Fist upon Fist was obliterated. How many souls lost?
50000 to a knuckle, 5 knuckles to a finger, 6 fingers to a fist, a dozen Fists just gone in a blink.
Tears streamed down Cradril's face as he stepped forward to give the signal for surrender!
| 2022-08-13T14:06:55 | 2022-08-13T12:29:05 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] You wrested the government from the tyrant. You ruled well, at first. But now there's talk of rebellion. At a presentation, you almost shout how you've given everything for this nation. But the words freeze in your throat. Those are the exact words the tyrant said before you overthrew him.
|
"I've given everything for this nation!" He screamed as my knife plunged into his chest. Now, almost one full year after that event, I stood at the podium, ready to utter the exact phrase. The phrase that–if historians are right–was muttered before the tyrant took control from the President.
"I've given everything for this nation. That's what the last two rules have said. What I want to say. But that's a lie. We will never be free, as it's clear that the throne. The office. The entire capital is cursed. Cursed to repeat events. Governments falling due to their leader giving everything. So, I am here to actually do that. As of today, I step down as ruler. The unrest, should it continue, can look at today as their downfall. For I am sacrificing everything to save the lives that need not be lost due to senseless bloodshedding. There will be no more government in this city. The election coming up shall also select the new city to house the leader. I pray that, whomever gets the position, learns a valuable lesson. You cannot be a just leader without failure. And failure will always teach them how to sacrifice all for the sake of a nation that may despise their guts." I couldn't bear to answer any questions, so I left.
Much like how my parents left me in that alleyway twenty-seven years ago. How innocence abandoned me four years into my life as I watched a woman get murdered in cold blood twenty-two years ago. How love for the corrupt government left me thirteen years ago.
The way life seeped out of my predecessor a year ago.
Perhaps, the next generation or the one after it will learn the bitter truth before violence breaks out. That no matter what is done, you will always fail. And those who don't learn from them shall meet the Reaper earlier than expected.
|
I almost fucking said it...
Who had I become? My mind whirled a moment as I sat behind the desk of many great and many awful leaders before me. I pulled my hands from my temples and slammed them on the desk's cold surface. The thought nagged at me as it always did, although, this time I didnt fight it.
'You are what you hated.'
My vision blurred a bit from the salty substance escaping the prison I imposed upon them. My eyes gazed up upon the flag I helped create and proudly flew to symbolize a new beginning. ...But this was just another season of the same drama, wasn't it? Just as the saying goes, power had corrupted me... same as it does everyone.
The truth was what I spoke at first. Difficult as it was to do so, I told it every time it was demanded of me. Lies were too easy, and the first time I uttered one to my people I promised myself to not make a habit of it. I promised to only use them to buy time. Time to create a plan, time to work out the kinks, time to relax a little and enjoy some peace for myself. But soon, I was entangled in them. Snared by my words and unable to wriggle free. I found myself indulging my hunger while the people starved. I vacationed while the people were still homeless. I enjoyed 24/7 medical treatment whenever I may need it while the people had none.
My hands grew as cold as the desk and my face paled at the acknowledgements I was finally making. The selfishness had to stop. The double standard couldn't be tolerated any longer. If I fail to bring about the change I promised any longer the cycle will continue. And while I still held the enormous weight of this burden I could not shirk my duties any longer.
I wiped my eyes, took off my expensive blazer, and rolled up my sleeves and called my secretary to inform her that I need my cabinet to meet immediately. Surely they will be upset. But it's time I make good on my promise. In a three days, I will address the issues after we hammer some things out.
*briefing room 3 days later*
I refused the make-up personel. And the wardrobe people. I told the cooks that morning that making breakfast was unnecessary. This moment needed to be genuine, not Hollywood.
"You ready, Mr. President?" My secretary asked.
"I've been putting this off for far too long."
The camera man began the countdown, "5...4...." then proceeded with his fingers for the rest. At 1 I just stared in silence for a moment.
"Good Afternoon, my fellow Americans, I'm sure you know who I am." I paused a bit and looked down at the podium. "I am a failure...." I gave those words a moment to sink in.
"Yes, you heard me right. I am a FAILURE!! ...After you all followed me and my vision for a brighter future, I began with the greatest intentions a man could have. I was idealistic and bold. And for the past two years I have lost my spine and given up my ideals for the choices that were easy. I have come to realize that I was weak when it came to the temptations of power. I let you all down in favor of myself and those around me." (I could only imagine how well this was going in certain living rooms around the country.)
"But, I want you all to know that I have a plan. And if I am allowed to live long enough to see it all the way through, I hope that you all will see that it helps us all. First of all, I have written an executive order that prohibits, now and forever, all lobbying to government officials. Along with that, I have made insider trading punishable by death for government officials. I have also instituted term limits on all government leaders forevermore. No one shall be allowed more than two terms in any form of office nor will a member of the senate ot the house be allowed to make more than 50,000 a year. I have also made it a prerequisite for anyone who wishes to go into government to study and pass a test on the constitution and a basic psych test. And whosoever abandons or fails to uphold their oath to the people of the this nation will be thrown in jail forever."
"Furthermore, I insist that all americans must be given access to honest and non biased news free from political influence. No longer will a person be able to simply change a channel to be told HOW to think or WHO is in the wrong. All news sources must simply report the details. Not the opinions. Written news is still open for opinion sections and comedy channels must have a disclaimer played before each segment. Anyone who knowingly and callously lies to the American people about an event to spin a narrative benefitting their political agenda will find themselves in jail. There is no more room in the world for lies nor tribalism. We are all ONE nation, ONE species, and ONE family. So, with that in mind, I am also announcing the end of the political party system. Red or Blue doesn't matter. We are all here to work for the American people. Not the other way around. Every candidate will have to run for reelection using government approved funding. No fundraising will be allowed for a candidate. The last two weeks of September every year will be known Voter Awareness Weeks. Work will be prohibited as much as can be safely done. Where in the first week, all candidates will be broadcast on TV for their state and local area. Then, the second week will be for the presidential decisions. Voting and counting will be completed by the end of the year and we will keep our January 20th inauguration day."
"The richest people will be taxed by the same percentage as poor people. Meaning that if a woman working 45 hours a week grosses 750 dollars but only gets to take home 500 of it weekly, then a rich person who makes 750,000 will only bring home 500,000. These tax laws will stay in effect until we find a better way or someone who is better at math. Law enforcement personnel will have to retake conflict de-escalation courses to continue their service on our streets. And I hereby decree that any officer willing to commit to our newly designed two year training course will recieve the course for free and recieve twice the salary as police officers who refuse to take the course. We want our police to be safe and more training will only ensure that. Teachers will also be better compensated for their extraordinary service to the youth of our nations. And I propose a new incentive to train new teachers. Teachers will now start out of college earning 75,000 dollars a year and an additional 5,000 dollars a year if they should choose to spend a portion of the summer breaks learning new methods and keeping up to date with new material. So that America's children will grow in the best possible learning environment. I am also guaranteeing that all Americans are entitled to a college education and making it free to students and adding a 1% tax for 5 years to those who choose to accept it. Then, the tax will be gone.
And.... let's see, weed is now legal. All criminals in prison due to a marijuana related charge is hereby pardoned. And fossil fuels are going to be slowly worked out of our nations infrastructure. Anyone who chooses to leave a job in fossil fuels for a job in green energy will recieve a 1% tax break for 5 years and free trade school training for their desired green energy substitute with guaranteed job placement.
How will you pay for all of this? You may ask. I will tell you. We will stop investing hundreds of billions of dollars into building the very weapons we have to send our troops over seas to fight against. We will stop bailing out corporations that engage in shady business dealing and we with the Equivalency Tax on the wealthy and unwealthy. America will be what it was always meant to be. A government FOR THE PEOPLE, BY THE PEOPLE."
I nodded my head at the camera and smiled. Good news was, I wasnt going to have to worry about revolutionaries killing me anymore, now, it would be my senators and congressman. Did I even remember how to live on 50,000 dollars?! I didnt know anymore. But now things would have to work wouldn't they? The gunshot I heard behind me said that I was in trouble, but i was no longer afraid.
(Sorry for the length, but I had fun with this one. I bet that's how Thomas Jefferson and them felt writing the first constitution. All like, "OOH! Good idea, Benjamin Breezy Franklin imma totally write that down, yo!" Lol let me know if I forgot any good ones.)
| 2021-02-13T21:06:19 | 2021-02-13T20:07:26 | 125 | 64 |
[WP] You are kidnapped by a dark cult, who sacrifice you to their eldritch god. When your soul arrives in the being’s domain, the deity profusely apologizes and offers to send you back if you get rid of the psychopaths who are slandering his good name with bloodshed.
|
"On one condition." The man says to the giant quasi-corporeal amorphous being in front of him.
"So long as it is within my power, and within reason... i dont see why not, and again, so sorry about all this."
"No worries, especially not now. Give me a suit of power armor, a double barrel shotgun with plenty o shells, and play 'the only thing they fear is you' throughout the complex while i take care of buisness." A face materializes from within the multicolored amorphous mass, a look of surprise across its shifting, indefinite features. The corners of its multifaceted lips slowly creep upward, a smile breaking across the shimmering multicolored approximation of an androgynous human face.
"Oooh, I like you. It will be done, and afterwards, you keep the suit."
"Well, this day just got a *whole* lot better."
|
“Ga-aah!”
I shouted, my body shooting up from its seated position, as I felt the movement of a tentacle around my foot, my eyes widening before I shoved the creature off of me, hiding a bit of a screech right back down in my throat. I didn’t know what the hell had happened, I didn’t know where the hell I was, I didn’t even know if I was in heaven or hell. What I remember however, was frightening.
I remember being dragged outside of my home, men standing at massive heights of six feet and four inches, or more, all taking my pitiful six foot two frame, and pinning me down. Multiple men, pushing me into my sofa, me hearing my table break and seeing the cold and unforgiving barrel of a shotgun pointed at my head to force me to comply, as I was stuck in the neck with some sort of sharp object, likely a needle. I remember that they began to strip me then and there, before dragging me along, as I passed out.
The last thing before that, I remembered that I was explicitly in a forest. A forest. A place full of trees, with absolutely no sand, looking up at the full moon being blood red. I remember I, a minority, wanting to actually beg for those men in white hoods, or those men in white masks, before coming to these men in black robes. Their laughter deafening, and their skin revealing marks of some language I couldn’t understand, and had never seen, before I felt my ankles get shattered. It was only the pain which shot through my body that told me I was tied down as I tried to retreat and pull back from them, only to feel said wrists just like my broken ankles fail to kick back against them. The amount of fear I could absolutely feel coursing through my body, if I could put a feeling someone would understand on it, was akin to drowning in a sea of fire, and that fire had become a raging inferno when I saw the blade come down, right onto my chest, hearing their chants and seeing them stab into me, feeling blood pour out of my mouth as they called for some figure, raising their hands into the sky in triumph, the light of the blood red moon shining on me as a burning sensation coursed through my body, feeling as if my soul itself was leaving into an eternal torment.
“I’m so sorry. I thought your soul was in a slumber, please forgive me please.”
My head snapped into the direction of whatever was talking, and I could feel my eyes slowly widen as the light blue colored sight seers appeared to try and help my brain make sense of what I was seeing. On the beige sand, was something which sounded as if it stood at a normal human’s height, but in truth was farther from it. It had to have at least been 10,000 feet tall, upon its tentacles were gigantic bulging eyes, and rows of teeth, with a changing color between green, black, and brown, shifting as it moved. I was horrified.
But more than that. I was pissed. Pissed because I knew this meant that the only reason I died, the only reason I was stolen from a home I had only bought but a month ago, the only reason that a life I had gone through of racism, classism, and colorism, and yet managed to still come out on top, was ended……was because of that thing. That thing. That. Disgusting. Thing.
“You-“
“I know. I know. I am super sorry, I don’t know what the hell happened. I had tried my best to send the world a positive message and yet this is happening and, fuck, oh my god.”
“Oh my…..god? What the hell are you, a demon?”
The creature seemed to look down at me, as a gigantic eye seemed to fall the thousands of feet down below, slamming into the sand and sending it everywhere as it covered my body, making my black afro be a practical birds nest.
“I am what you humans would call a God, and before that, I am Shig-Rah-No-Thek.”
I didn’t even want to pronounce that name.
“So why am I here. Why are you playing these fucking games. Why am I…..cursing at you?”
It was an honest question. A moment ago, I was fearing human beings who simply stripped me and stabbed me, and yet now, I was screaming at this, thing. Something which would have likely ripped my soul into nothing but shreds beyond atoms.
However, after seeing this, after the proof of a soul was shown, and now knowing a god existed, I guess logic was not something which mattered.
“Around me, people feel at ease to be themselves, and feel fine in opening up. This is what I am truly about.”
I was shocked at his last sentence. Not because his people contradicted that statement, I know plenty of Christians, but it was because of the sadness which came in his voice.
“I’m super sorry about them. Please understand that what happened was not supposed to happen. Let me explain.”
The same tentacle which wrapped around my foot, was now wrapped around my torso, lifting me up into the sky slowly…..and yet I didn’t feel scared.
“I am a God of peace. True peace, and true understanding. I believe in the rights of the protection of Earth, and the Universe as a whole, I believe in the equality of the creatures my father created, I believe in everyone having a right to love, and I gave more than enough for everyone to live a happy life, but a sector of my people seem to have started to take people and become….”
I looked shocked when I saw a gigantic blood red water droplet hit the ground, splashing and making an oasis on the ground as the creature began to cry.
“They changed my message of peace and rewrote my books into messages of war!”
I heard him weep, and admittedly, I felt like the awkward friend trying to console a friend.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sure someone will truly put an end to them.”
I could feel eyes all over looking down at me, a slight bit of a scare inside of me, until I heard the cheer inside of his voice.
“Could you?”
“What? How, I’m literally dead-“
“I can bring you back. And then you could stop them and truly spread my word again…..please?”
“…….you’re a middle brother aren’t you?”
“How did you know?”
“You’re really pushing for this, not in a brat way like a younger one, but not so authoritative like an older one.”
I sighed. I knew that what I was going to say was about to be the dumbest thing I could ever say….but.
“I’ll do it.“
“THANK YOU SO MUCH!”
I held my ears, shutting my eyes, before opening them and looking around.
I was back in the real world. And those men were dancing around, before pausing, and looking at me with eyes which felt like they were cowering in fear.
I didn’t realize how tall I got.
-KILL THEM. PLEASE KILL THEM-
-Hey Thek, relax. Also how are we talking right now?-
-Connection as my only blessed follower, it makes it strong.-
My hand reached out, and in a flash, shadows came around the men and cloaked them, crushing them down into dust.
-There’s more.-
-I figured.-
I sighed once again. This felt like a sitcom rather than something serious, and by the gods, Thek included, I knew this was going to be more of a pain than an issue.
*Though I guess every older brother helps a younger one, or at least they should.*
| 2022-07-10T00:45:32 | 2022-07-10T00:43:43 | 120 | 49 |
[WP] Valhalla does not discriminate against the kind of fight you lost. Did you lose the battle with cancer? Maybe you died in a fist fight. Even facing addiction. After taking a deep drink from his flagon, Odin slams his cup down and asks for the glorious tale of your demise!
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After listening to grand deeds of everyone at the massive table, Odin slammed his jug down, sending mead in a sputtering fountain. His good eye squinted and his finger pointed at me.
“Your turn, newbie!” he roared. “What’s your glorious battle?”
The room was suddenly quiet and all faces turned towards me. I had the attention of war veterans, freedom fighters, vigilantes, and most of Asgard. I had heard their tales of grandeur, of their strides, and their final battles, and now the time had come for me, a lowly register attendant at Wallmart, to justify my place amongst these heroes.
“Right,” I said, standing up. I was so fucked. “Uhm, okay, so…”
“Go on,” Thor shouted from his place next to Odin. He threw up his jug and smashed it to splinters with his hammer. “Let’s hear it!”
And at that moment I thought, ‘fuck it!’ and cleared my throat.
“It was a night in icy January – the winds were so cold that all the animals had died in the woods. I thundered down the road on my steed of blazing metal, stopping for nobody!”
In reality, it had been a mild winter but the news reported a few birds dying to some virus. My steed was, in fact, an old rusty Buick, and I had accidentally driven through a red light.
“I parked… err, I mean left, my trusted steed in the stables of a tavern notorious for its villainous patrons. See, I needed a drink after the long strenuous ride.”
Nods of approval could be seen around the room.
“After a few rounds, I ventured back outside in the blistering cold. Things were getting heated and I required my weapon.”
I had accidentally spilled my drink on a lady and needed to write her a check for dry cleaning.
“That’s when I saw it, a message written in blood,” I said lowering my voice to a whisper. “It was more than a challenge – a declaration of war – and at that moment I swore on my honor that I was going to see the battle to the end.”
I died the same night from a heart attack while writing a lengthy letter to the local government, attempting to fight the parking ticket.
|
Sorry for formatting: this is my first time and I'm on mobile.
"Well let's hear it!"
The slam of his flagon onto the rough wood table punctuated Odin's request for my tale. "A man like you must surely have died only in great battle! Tell us, were there many women left weeping at your demise? Your friends, your brothers, they must be, even now, seeking vengeance on the warrior who took you from their lives. Come, tell us the story of your life. A good tale is better sustenance than all the brown beer and red meat in Valhalla!"
The Allfather was staring at me where I had been seated at the high table. I could see the interest in his eye: of course someone who had moved so quickly through the ranks, been requested by table after table to join them, would have to have lived a life worth living, died a death worth recounting. That interest turned to sadness as, I realized, Odin didn't look just at me, but through me.
Cheers and shouts of encouragement were taken up by all. By now, most of the warriors of the Halls knew me. I had downed drinks with the strongest of Vikings, and matched them drop for drop. Drinking had always come easy for me in later years. I joked with the Spartans and Marines alike. A well told joke can hide the scars of war, and I had collected jokes all my life. I swapped stories with the oldest men, who had lost their battles after long fights with disease and age. They recognized me for what I was, but in those Halls I was beyond their wisdom and care. If anyone noticed the elders were the only ones not demanding me to tell my story, no one spoke up. And if Odin tried to quiet the yells and outright roars echoing through the Halls, he was not fast enough to stop me from being lifted onto the nearest table. Then, it was too late: my story was requested, and no challenge goes unanswered in Valhalla.
I waited for the crowd to quieten, and began to speak.
"The story of my death begins three years ago, or seven, or twenty, depending on how small of an attack could be counted as a first. Three years ago, that's when my enemy started to make himself known. That was the beginning of the last battle of my life."
As the realization that I had been in a lifelong war hit the great men at the tables, the whispered conversations between neighbors stopped. Meat went untouched, and beers were nursed. I took a deep breath, and continued.
"I was at the prime of my life back then: new house, strong job, and a great wife. In my homeland, we have a saying, 'made in the shade with a glass of lemonade', and let me tell you, that lemonade was fresh squeezed and sweet. I was so strong at the time, I didn't even notice the occasional attack, didn't notice it was coming from the same source every time, didn't notice that it was starting to happen more often. Looking back, it's so much more clear...."
A kind old man, naval officer by his uniform, passed a flagon up to me where I stood just below the candle chandeliers. I took a sip, trying to wash down the lump in my throat.
"Now most of you I've met by now. We've laughed and drank, we've enjoyed each other's presence here along these rough cut benches and beer stained tables. Since I've arrived I have been made to feel like a man returning home, welcomed by his new friends and brothers. The man you see before you is the man I was back then. But in the last three years I have fallen far. Had you seen me but an hour before I arrived, you would not believe who I am and who I was are the same people."
"Those first attacks, though increasing in frequency, were small at first. Imagine a punch here, a kick there, maybe a small cut on occasion. In youth, I believe we all could take a hit like that and still feel invincible. I did. So I earned a few scars? Who hasn't? I let things continue, I let things escalate, never guessing how far they would go."
At this point, all eyes were on me. It suddenly occured to me that I might not have the strength to finish my tale. Dave, an accountant who had made it to Valhalla and was known as one of the fiercest men here, caught my eye. His clenched jaw let me know he already knew my tale. He had seen it many times of course. His nod gave me the confidence to go on.
"It was one year, six months, and three days the first time I realized I was at war. I lost my first battle that day. My wife kicked me out of the house, and the battle happened as I left for my brother's. I was hit harder than ever before, and from an unlikely source. It was my wife herself that attacked. It wasn't the first time, but it was the worst. All other times it had seemed negligible, a tiny hit almost accidental in nature. This time though, there was no doubt it was intentional. And no, she wasn't the one behind the assaults, only a tool, an unwitting weapon in the arsenal arrayed against me. I'll never forget that day... At the time, I still didn't know the name of my enemy. However, he had made his presence know."
"In the following months, he hit me time and time again. Each time was worse, with less time to recover between attacks. Five months later, I finally learned his name. An old acquaintance of mine, a friend of a friend really, had fought him as well. She had never won, but she showed me the weapons best used against him. She told me of things to do to shield myself, she told me of a sanctuary where I could learn to fight him. I never went. Maybe if I had..."
At this point, I looked down to realize my beer was empty. The soft drip that hit the bottom of my mug seemed oddly loud to my ears in the silence that I had trailed off into. A blurry figure passed me a fresh drink, and a giant warrior of ancient time laid a large hand on my shoulder. A deep breath and a deeper drink, and I continued, determined to finish my tale.
"Three more months passed, and in that time my job really took a hit. The fights had left marks on me, and my boss was noticing. The aches, the pain, it was all making my work performance suffer. I realized something had to change, or I would lose the last part of what I had once considered the perfect life. And so I fought. I fought with everything I had. I didn't care the weapon, I didn't care whether my wins were for the battles or for the war, I just fought. And for a time, I won. And just like that, I felt my life returning. I was promoted at work, I got a new house. I even patched things up with my wife. I thought the war was over. I let my guard down. "
"Five months ago, my wife attacked again. By then she knew the battles I had fought, she had seen the scars left behind. At first I couldn't fathom how she could betray me a second time. Until I remembered the scars I had seen on her, until I noticed the similarity between hers and mine. Even to this day, I don't blame her for what she did. Attacking me, eased her own pain for a while. It focused out mutual enemy onto me. However, this betrayal cut me worse than any physical blow I had received. I don't believe I ever fully recovered."
" Those of you who have fought on the wrong side of wars know what comes next. For five months I fought, and fought. But I was assaulted on all fronts. Blow after blow, hit after hit, I was knocked down into a shell of my former self."
A marine to my side cleared his throat, and in a moment, I realized I couldn't go on. I couldn't stand here before so many brave warriors who had fought for their lives, and tell them how I died. How dare I stand here at all?
Suddenly, though all the room was blurry, and my eyes half closed, I noticed the Allfather staring down at me. The only clear sight in a watery room. And in his eye I saw understanding, and acceptance. I had to finish.
" Last night, my enemy finally caught up to me. He found me, sitting alone in my car in an empty parking lot, and he beat me. He hit me with everything he had. I called for help, but no one was around. My friends, my family, none answered their phones. I fought back with everything I had, but this time I couldn't hold out without help, and help was no where to be found. He won, for the last time. Raised in the south, I had always carried a gun, but never once considered using it. That night, the enemy did. The gun was lifted to my head. The barrel pressed against my temple. And I pulled the trigger."
| 2022-10-21T23:29:50 | 2016-10-31T22:00:07 | 327 | 22 |
[WP] When you die the afterlife is an arena where you face every insect and animal you killed in your life. If you win you go to heaven, lose you go to hell. Your job was an exterminator on earth.
|
"So, basically, you have to re-kill everything you've killed, all at once. That's gonna suck for you, Mr. Exterminator."
I go out into the arena. There's a countdown.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6-
"GOOD LUCK, YOU FILTHY MURDERER!"
3, 2, 1, GO!!!
A door opened up on the other side of the arena. The crowd waited anxiously... then booed, disappointed. Only a few spiders crawled out of the door.
"I thought you said you were an exterminator! What the hell?" they shout, outraged.
"Yeah, but I was a really shitty one."
|
Clancy stood confronted by a white, ethereal being, with its hood drawn, floating low above the ground. The dark hood covered it's features. He looked down behind him to see a skeleton staring back up at him. in the dark recesses of his eye sockets, he could feel an existential dread that was unexplainable. It asked gently, once again.
Why have you chosen a dark path in life, and killed gods creatures"?
Why indeed...
When I was a kid I already knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. Hell I was already doing it for free. There is something about watching life leave the eyes of an animal. It was the only thing that genuinely brought a smile to my face. I was alive in that moment, when watching those pupils dilate, and all the subtle, gentle work I put into this animal came to one final moment of fruition.
Of course I didn't have anything against most animals. They we're just fair game. Our society frowns upon it sure, and yes it was mostly illegal depending on the type. I am a man of rules you see, I just don't go killing everything that would tickle my fancy. I would have been jailed before I even got started. But sometimes you can get away with a little treat.
It's like masturbating you see? If it we're legal, and socially acceptable, would you go around public jerking off into all the pretty ladies little dolled up faces? Can you imagine the orgasmic orgies that would happen, the jizz would be flying all over the place. Facial after facial. Now replace all the sex with killing instead, and the climax is when the life leaves the eyes of my dance partner. It's an unattainable dream unfortunately, better to hold off for lesser prey so that I can keep going. Now I could only manage to kill 3 people in life, before it started getting real suspicious. So I backed off, because I can always kill animals, and I even got paid for it!
The being floated gently to the ground and withdrew its hood, showing the face of a young boy with jet black hair and almond shaped eyes. It was one of the boys I had killed!
"I understand Clancy, thank you for the explanation. My death at your hands makes sense. It seems to me that you we're born like this, born with the undeniable need to kill".
Clancy stood staring at the boy, the cat had got his tongue this time.
"Yes, it uh, it wasn't my fault"! Clancy looked away, yup still surrounded by that bright fog. He had been walking through that fog for what felt like a year, stumbling, sometimes coming across the bones of those who gave up. Never rest was the rule here. It's why all those damned skeletons littered the ground here, if they stop to rest then they wither away. They always stared at him, it kind of drove him mad.
"Wait, I don't even know your name boy"
"Silence! you never bothered to learn my name in the mortal realm before you killed me, why learn it now. This was your second trial Clancy. After the walk of willpower, the ascended always get first dibs on confronting their killer, and they have the final choice in the matter. I was your first trial, and I have the choice, I can purge your soul through holy fire by the will of god, or I can let you move on to face your other trials. Heaven is constructed for the individual. You will live out eternity with the ultimate freedom of choice. Is this something that you would like to do Clancy, would you like to attempt to make it to Heaven"?
"Why I do believe so, yes yes, I think I deserve heaven. God made the earth pretty shitty for me, so I want his finest treatment".
"Then I forgive you, good bye Clancy, and good luck in your final trial".
The ethereal being began to fade.
"But wait! What is my final trial"?
As the boy disappeared into the mist, his voice softly echoed out.
"To face the remainder of those you have killed in life, the other half, the ones who are damned, or the ones who never had a soul to begin with"!
Suddenly the mist cleared, and Clancy was standing in a field of grass and those lovely purple flowers he used to pick all the time as a kid. He could see a dark shape off in the horizon, with a low barely audible rumble. It was like it was some kind of stampede
He was slightly allergic to pollen, and he began to sneeze uncontrollably as his eye began to swell and tear up. Snot dribbled down his nose and he could no longer even see the horizon as his vision blurred.
He tried to wipe his eyes with the inside of his shirt, but he just smashed bugs into his eyes. Mosquitoes by the millions were now surrounding him. He swatted at them in futility. Every slap he made toward his body killed hundreds, but thousands replaced him. He had wished he never helped exterminate them from those Florida swamps during the Zika virus scare.
The rumbling grew closer, and he squinted his eyes trying to focus on what was coming. He could make out animals of all different sizes and shaped, all hideously, half rotten and undead. These are the damned and the soulless that the boy was talking about!
He heard the shrill voice of his ex wife screaming over the now thunderous rumble of the stampede.
"Here we come Clancy! Run, run, you brainless twit, you never know, you might escape, take my advice and try to be positive for a change"!
Those were the last words I had spoken to my wife as I ran her down and stabbed her repeatedly in the back. Now she said them back to me, sending chills down my spine.
She was riding my prize catch, a grizzly bear I had hunted with my .44. A mother bear, especially ferocious. Surrounding her was what seemed like all the mid size creatures I had killed. Raccoons, cats, dogs, rats, possums.
Clancy was focused too much off in the distance, he hadn't noticed the giant swarm of vermin at his feet. They crawled up his legs and began biting every square inch of his body. He rolled on the ground, but it was futile. He felt a stab of pain in his right leg as his wifes makeshift spear stabbed into him. He looked up and seen her skeletal maw beaming at him. A twisted smile for vengeful death.
"Why don't you smile more Clancy, try to be a more positive person, it's the secret to life"!
She jumped on his chest and bit off his face as the rest of his body was devoured by the vermin and creatures he had once exterminated. He felt every morsel of his flesh being torn and chewed, right until the bones were picked clean. There he lay, as the mist grew thick overhead. Even though his eyes were plucked out by those crows he had killed as a boy, he could still see. He laid there for what seemed like an eternity, but never at rest, just damned and cold.
Out from the mist he could see a ragged, tired man walking. He then heard a voice come from out of the mist.
"Why have you spent your life killing god's creatures"?
Clancy saw himself, standing there confronted by an Ethereal being in a white hood cloak. He watched his old self look back at him. He looked back up when the Ethereal being asked him again.
| 2017-04-24T01:48:58 | 2017-04-24T01:11:47 | 35 | 12 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
|
He was shaking, his hands on his knees, panting. His opponent, clutching his ribs smiled through cracked teeth.
"I'll admit. You gave me quite the run for my money. But I'm afraid, I'm simply too durable."
Mackanika looked up and spat out blood. "You son of a bitch backhand..."
Backhand grinned. "Naughty language isnt alright."
Mackanika stood up, balling his fists up. hitting his earpiece a few times.
"I think my friend, that I have won. You've expended everything against me." Laughed Backhand, straightening up and fixing his suit jacket.
"No. Not everything." Grinned Mackanika. "I'm sorry, but you've forced my hand."
"Oh?" said Backhand, watching impassively as Mackanika selected one last song. The music was played through the half-broken system, Backhand heard a familiar refrain of brass and guitars. He tilted his head.
"What on earth?"
Mackanika took on a new stance "You might be fucking durable Backhand, but I? I'm fucking unstoppable. And you are far from an immovable object."
Mackanika shot forwards as Backhand heard the beginning of the refrian
*"Standing here, I realize"*
Backhand's eyes widened, "No... No not like this... Anything but this!"
He turned and tried to run, the nature of Backhand's power made him able to absorb massive amounts of kinetic energy, effectively nullifying said energy. But no matter how much he was able to absorb, he had a limit. Everybody has a limit. And that day, Mackanika found that limit. After three hundred punches that were harder than anything he'd ever thrown; Backhand finally collapsed. Mackanika dropped to one knee, his eyes burning, shoulders heaving, sweat and blood intermingling.
"In the end... It has to be this way."
|
The crime lord’s hand snapped up to meet my fist, which detonated in a brilliant green and white explosion on contact. At such close range, my visor’s blackout mode was only able to dull the blast from blinding to a painfully bright flash.
“Come now,” a calm, cool voice intoned. “Surely you didn’t expect such a simple and, if you’ll forgive me, *flashy* attack to hurt me when I’ve survived so much worse?”
Blinking away the afterimages and wincing at my ringing ears, I reverted my visor to normal mode, though I doubted I would see anything unexpected. As the world came back into view, I was met with a gray haze rapidly rising away from the shrouded figure before me. Tendrils of smoke curled around an outstretched, unblemished hand, fingers wrapped around my fist in a steely grip. In mere moments the dissipating smoke revealed my opponent. He had the smooth, unmarred skin you would expect of a man in his mid twenties. The lean muscles outlining his physique spoke of the man’s dedication to physical superiority, though not to the point of bulging showiness that most people associate with such an ideal. He would never waste time and energy on such a fruitless endeavor, though he of all people could certainly afford it.
Lifting a soot-stained cloth from his nose and thin mouth, the man blinked to his bright blue eyes their coldness showing the only physical trace of his true nature. Casting a critical glance over the smoldering remnants of his once-fine shirt, his face twisted into a slight grimace.
“And you even ruined one of my favorite shirts! My third wife gave this to me for our twenty-second anniversary, I can’t simply replace it with an identical one! Was there really any point to such childish antics?” asked Father Time.
*It felt good*, I thought drily. I hadn’t actually expected that to harm the crime lord, but I’d wanted to vent some of my growing frustration. My team had all but failed at this point to eliminate the 356 year-old boss of the world’s oldest criminal syndicate. As the last member of the team still standing, I silently cursed HQ again for assigning us to one of the vain attempts they made every few years on his life, even though it had long since been proven to the world that Timothy “Father Time” Shepherd was untouchable and unbreakable. How could you be, when you were able to reverse damage inflicted on your body as it happened and speed up your thought process up to the point of near-flawless reaction time? Even Dead Drop, the world’s greatest assassin, hadn’t been able to bring the timeless criminal down. Despite shooting Father Time in the head from over two miles away to avoid being spotted, it hadn’t killed the old bastard. Footage of the incident showed the entry wound knitting itself back together even before the bullet had left the target’s head. Most of the analysts concluded that after using his powers to rewind injuries for so long, Father Time’s abilities had reached the point of unconscious and near-instantaneous activation. Of course, that hadn’t stopped the bigwigs from putting together tonight’s failed sneak attack against a sleeping target.
“Did you just admit that I harmed you?” I rasped. “I’ll chalk that up as a win, even if it’s only an emotional wound. They should pin a medal on me!”
The seemingly young man scoffed as he reached the hand holding the handkerchief into his pocket.
“A hollow victory, and one you’ll pay a price for I assure you.”
Drawing out a brass knuckle etched with symbols, Father Time pulled back his arm. Though Katy Perry’s encouraging lyrics granted me reflexes and punches that were, well, *explosive*, they didn’t enhance my strength enough for me to wrest away from my foe’s iron grip. Pulling as hard as I could, I was unable to avoid the strike. On contact with my torso, the air boomed and I was flung away by the force of Time’s strike. I hadn’t even registered the pain from the blow before I crashed into the compound’s brick wall 60 feet away. My suit’s cutting edge armor, courtesy of a hero with creation powers, were likely the only thing that kept me from dying on contact. As it was, my crumpled body screamed in agony. The rise and fall of my labored breathing burned with with the sun’s strength, intensified as I coughed up blood. The speakers in my ear sputtered and died, the technicolor glow of my fists following suit. Through bleary eyes, I could make out Father Time’s form pacing steadily towards me.
“When will you people learn?” queried the criminal in a weary tone. “I can’t be uprooted like some garden weed. I am Time itself, endless and unyielding. The greatest nations and mightiest heroes cannot escape its inevitability, no matter how much you might struggle against the endless march of Time.”
I registered his words through a haze of pain, and silently agreed with him. Nothing and nobody could prevail against such a force. Time answered to nobody, and everybody eventually met their end because of…
A thought flickered in the back of my mind, then flared up into a crazy, half-baked idea that no sane person would try. But then again, Father Time has dealt with countless sane people throughout his life and it hadn’t done anything for them. I twisted my left arm, groaning in pain from the motion, revealing the cracked but functional screen of my music interface. I quickly navigated to my playlists, then scrolled all the way to the bottom to one consisting of 5 songs, simply labeled “Don’t”. Choosing the third one, I prayed to whatever god there may be that my backup speakers still worked and hit play.
From the speakers concealed beneath my shoulder pads, the haunting chiptune of Lavender Town filled the otherwise quiet night. My breath fogged in the air’s sudden chill, and I felt rather than saw the grass wither away from where it had touched my skin through the various tears in my suit. Struggling to my feet, I rose to my feet and faced Father Time.
The ancient criminal rolled his eyes. “What a surprise,” he stated, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yet another person who refuses to give up.”
I charged him, hands reaching out as if to grab him. Dropping smoothly into a wide stance, Father Time caught one of my arms in his hands, pivoting around it and letting me crash into the ground. Rolling over despite my body’s angry protests, I rose to find my enemy staring at his hands with a puzzled expression. Deep purple stained his palms, faint smoke rising from the marks.
“What on Earth is this?” Father Time asked, in a higher pitch than before. “Why is this injury not rewinding?”
Surprise flitted through me, before being replaced by a growing sense of grim victory.
“It’s not an injury, per say. It’s just a taste of the one force in the world that brings about the end of time.”
“Wh-what do you mean?!” the crime lord asked in a shaky voice, even as the purple marks turned to a dully gray.
“Death,” I spoke in a grave voice.
I may have been a touch dramatic in my delivery, but for this bastard who had stood atop a mountain of death and destruction for most of his life, it felt appropriate. I lurched towards him, arms reaching out. Father Time shrieked and stumbled backwards away from me, his cool countenance replaced with raw terror he likely had not felt in centuries. His heel caught on a rock and brought the man crashing to the ground in a screaming heap. I was on top of him in an instant, the man’s normally inhuman reaction time having vanished in his panic. I grabbed ahold of his shoulders and pinned his thrashing form to the ground, triumph and adrenaline dulling the pain of my myriad injuries.
Father Time screamed and babbled incoherently as he bucked and twisted desperately under my necrotic hold. But nothing he did stopped the purple stains from creeping across his body in a wave from wherever we touched. As purple gave way to deathly gray, Father Time’s struggle grew weaker and weaker. Finally, with a choked and shaky exhalation, the crime lord’s body relaxed, his weakened limbs flopping to rest on the wilted grass below.
As I rolled off of the body and onto my back, the final noted of the eerie melody faded away. The last thing I remembered was thinking that I should probably write a letter to my college philosophy teacher and apologize for calling the class useless, before exhaustion and pain swept over me, and my vision flickered out.
| 2022-05-17T13:11:07 | 2022-05-17T12:08:27 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] At 11am, you get a message from a killer named "The Beauty" a famously attractive yet deadly serial killer. She says that you're next, but if you survive until midnight, she'll spare you. However, everytime she kills you, you get thrown back in time to the moment you got the message.
|
Beep, beep. The phone buzzed in my pocket. Sure enough, as I took a look at the message, it was sent by an unknown number, signed off simply as 'Beauty.' Just like the previous 13 times that I have received the same message.
"Dear Detective, I'm sorry that you have to receive this message, but your name has been chosen as my next target. TLDR: Someone rich wants you dead. But tell you what, I always love a good challenge, so if you're still alive after midnight tonight, I'll let you go. Xoxo."
I smiled as I finished reading the message. The famed femme fatale. Rumoured to be one of the prettiest woman alive. More than any of the shallow celebrities or models.
My fingers slid cheekily across the keyboard. "Before I die though, mind if I catch a glimpse of my killer?"
"Sure, why not? ;)" came the reply, followed by a picture. My heart still jumped a little when I received the picture, even after seeing it for 10 times. It was a picture of her lying down on a lavish, dressed in a revealing night gown. Her long red locks of hair flowed down the bed, her figure something to die for. Literally.
They didn't call her the seductress for no reason.
I slid the phone into my pocket, careful to repeat the steps that I had painfully created after many tries. Leave the office at 5pm. Walk straight to the hotel two blocks down the road, purposely ignoring the figure following several feet away. Check into room 1103, intentionally delaying the process. Feign surprise when you spot the attractive female figure lying on the bed, half naked.
"Hello there, handsome," she purred longingly at me. The eighth time she did so. I slid next to her, removing a small pouch from under the pillow, throwing it to the floor. There was a flash of disappointment on her face but I pretended not to see it.
My arms pulled her close to me, and we then engaged in a passionate love making session. One that still blows me away. Her smell filled me with ecstasy, the soft touch of her skin unlike anything I have felt anything before.
As the knife slit my throat, my blood spilling unto the bed sheets, she gave me a cheeky smile. "I win, Detective."
In between the gurgle of my own blood, I returned her smile, before saying weakly, "See you again tomorrow."
/r/dori_tales
|
Cell phone buzzes while I'm lying on the couch listening to "Desperado". I wasn't expecting any messages, but I look down at the screen. Not a number I recognize. I swipe my finger up the screen and select the icon.
"Hi sweetie. I'll kill you today. Unless you survive till midnight. Let's have some fun :) --The Beauty"
My heart froze in my chest. The Beauty: a vicious, uncompromising serial killer they'd been chasing around the city. She'd killed five men in the past 3 weeks. I badly wanted it to be a joke. I texted back:
"How did you get this number?" Immediately my phone buzzed again.
"Shouldn't you be running?" My window shattered and a knife flew past my head. Adrenaline kicked in. Off the couch, computer on the floor, no shoes no time, slammed the door behind me, wreath fell with the force, down the hall, tearing around the corner outside, and into the street. Busy. Calming. Lots of witnesses. No one can--
A sharp pain just below my ribs. A purring voice in my ear as I gasp.
"That wasn't very fun. Oh well." As I fall, and the darkness seeps into my vision, I see a woman with shimmering eyes lose her bored pout and begin to scream for help. "My husband, my husband!" A crowd gathers in the waning moments of my vision. She blows me a kiss and runs.
------
"Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy, she'll beat you if she's able--"
My phone buzzes and I wake with a start from the dream. My eyes struggle to adjust to the mid-day light. Shit, I overslept again. Look down at my phone. This can't be.
"Hi sweetie. I'll kill you today. Unless you survive till midnight. Let's have some fun :) --The Beauty"
The same message from my dream. I look down. The same thin sweater, the same torn jeans. The same underwear with the same shit stain. This time I don't bother to text back or tempt fate. Immediately I'm up, down the stairs. Back on the street, eyes peeled for anyone that looks like her. I feel a slight brush from behind and swing my elbow hard. She goes down, laughing. There she is on the sidewalk in a red dress. Her hand holds a long knife. She spits. Blood.
"You are fun!" She shrieks, joyously. I turn to run again and get down three city blocks, turn left, go another five blocks, and turn into a coffee shop. The barista looks at me oddly as I pant, trying to regain my breath.
"One small black coffee, hot," I manage, bent over slightly. I pay cash. The barista hands me my coffee and I take a sip. The warming sensation travels down body, brings me to life. I take another sip, then I see her--
The Beauty.
Standing behind the barista, somehow now in an apron with a nametag. It says "Morticia". She frowns and shakes her head in disapproval. I feel my stomach seizing.
------
"Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy, she'll beat you if she's able--"
Phone buzzing wakes me up again. I don't even bother to check the messages. I'm outside in an instant. I see the red dress, run in an opposite direction. She's gaining, so I slow my pace just enough--
Catch her off-guard, trip her into a rose bush, grab a large branch from right nearby and hit her in the back of the head hard as she's starting to get up. This time I run farther. Change direction more. Wind up in a convenience store two and a half miles away. I look at my phone and there's 2 new messages. The familiar one, and a new one.
"Feisty is sexy. I'll still kill you before midnight. Don't be shy sweetie ;)"
I run my eyes over every inch of the store. Bored cashiers chatting about football with one of the customers. Two people browsing, an older man filling up a mesh basket with Diet Mountain Dew, a teenager putting chewing gum in his pocket. I move slowly around, continuing to sweep the aisles with my eyes. Settle on a sealed bottle of iced tea. I pay for it, step just outside, back to the brick wall, and drink the whole thing. The tea is sweet and cold.
8 PM passes and I'm still outside the store, clutching the empty plastic bottle with pale fingers. My eyes dance around the parking lot as the light begins to fade. An employee comes outside to smoke a cigarette and sweep up trash.
"You know you can't stay there all night," he says dully, pausing near me. I nod. I continue to look around, feeling as paranoid as I look, and slowly break into a run. I make it almost home when I trip on my shoelaces. I curse loudly, knowing this is it. Just like that she's above me, her foot pressed into the small of my back. The pressure is firm. I feel her soft skin at the point that my shirt doesn't quite cover.
"I thought you were feisty, but you disappointed me, running and hiding by the cameras like a widdle bunny wabbit," she says in her mock-pouting tone. The pressure increases on my back as she leans in to whisper in my ear. "You're just like they all are, scared and boring." She stands up straight. She sends her foot sharply into my spine, shattering it. I yelp, then she turns and stomps again. This time on my neck.
-----
"Don't you draw the queen of diamonds--"
Phone buzzes. I'm tired of running. I sit up, wait for the knife to fly by my head. Continue to wait. Phone buzzes again.
"Aren't you going to run?"
"No," I say aloud. I reach for the baseball bat underneath my couch. The front door opens, and she is there. Smirking, though less confidently than before, in her red dress and bare feet.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" She asks in a sickly sweet tone, hands clasped behind her back. She moves toward me. I swing the bat and connect with the arm that goes up to block. I hear a bone shatter. The knife is in her other hand, she ducks under the bat and shoves it towards me. I move aside but it still gets me slightly. I look down. My stomach is bleeding from a cut about three inches long. We both kick upwards at once, disarming each other, and pause for a moment. Eye contact. Emerald shimmering. Her bare foot makes contact with my chest, breaking ribs, but I grab it and slam her against the wall. The first time I've seen her smirk fade as she cries out in pain. I've further shattered her same broken arm. I ease up for a moment in unconscious pity. She reaches toward that arm and pulls another knife from her bra. The smile is back.
"This was beautiful, really, but...a promise is a promise!" The knife flies, spinning, from her hand, and I watch it bury itself between my eyes before my consciousness is jolted back to--
-----
"Don't you draw the queen--"
I don't even wait for my phone to buzz. Throw it against the wall. Grab kitchen knives, bat, hammers, screwdrivers, as I wait for her to get bored waiting and come inside. Eventually she does. I'm ready. As the door opens, I knock her down with a cast-iron frying pan and run to the coffee shop. Eventually she's there. 5 PM. I order my coffee, pay for it, walk over to where she's half-hidden behind the barista in her apron and shower her in hot coffee. Then run back to my apartment. Stand out front. She's in an alleyway waiting, not realizing I walked around the opposite way. Now she has a gun. She's getting desperate. 7 PM. The sun's starting to wane in the sky. I go inside, wait with the door open, until she finally comes in. Throw the hammer, but she ducks under it. We fight again. The gun goes skidding across the floor, and I reach inside her dress to grab the knife. I throw it across the floor, out of reach. We're lying on the floor, both exhausted from running and fighting all day. For me all day five days running. The light has gone, and I feel her fall asleep on my chest. I close my eyes, and when I open them again she's not there.
The adrenaline starts coursing again, I whip my head around in confusion. She's standing by the window. I leap up, race over to where the gun was kicked. It's still there. I grab it.
"Relax, sweetie, it's 1 AM. You survived. Congratulations." She opens the window, turns to blow me a kiss.
"I just--" I level the pistol at her. "I just want you to remember we had a beautiful day once." I pull the trigger.
| 2016-12-14T20:54:15 | 2016-12-14T20:39:27 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] When someone is murdered, their name appears on the skin of the killer. You wake up with a name on your arm and no knowledge of how it got there.
|
I stared at the ink on my arm, shocked and horrified at how it got there. How did it get there?
I was terrified but I got out of bed quickly and called her number.
The ring tone went on forever, and the moment I heard her pick up the call - when the ring tone went off and there was a pause, before her voice saying "Hello!" in her usual cheery voice - I hung up the phone.
If she was okay, then why was the name on my arm? Could this be a joke? I tried rubbing it off my arm, but it wouldn't come off.
Then I got a call. My roommate.
"Dude, where are you? You gotta get here. Quick, there's no time." As quick as he had called, he had no sooner hung up. There was urgency in his voice, along with desperation. I was confused, before the message came in.
Her address.
I ran, and ran, her house was less than five blocks from mine. As I ran I called, but every time I called, it went to voice mail. Come on, pick up, come on. Pick up like you did the first time.
I stopped outside her place, seeing there was a cop car outside her place, and I saw that her door was open. Was she really?
I walked in and everyone inside stared at me. Blankly I took in the scene in front of me. Three policemen, her roommate, my roommate.
And then her. She lay right on the sofa, lying uncomfortably straight; her hands were on her stomach.
And she wasn't breathing.
I walked over to her and dropped right next to her. What had happened? Why was her name on my arm? Why was she dead?
And then I saw the letter under her hands, with my name on it.
With trembling hands I took it and opened it.
It was short and simple on one side, long and wordy on the other. But I never got to the wordy side. I now knew why her name was on my arm.
"I could never live without you. I'm sorry."
**edit:** thanks so much for the gold, it's my first time having a comment prompt blow up so much!
|
[I revised the story added a much better ending. It was late last night and I was tired! Part 2 is in the replies]
[Part 1]
All things considered, it was a pretty normal morning. I stretched when I woke up, looked at the clock, regretted how quickly minutes passed and then climbed into the shower. I checked the completely foggy mirror after I had once again successfully conquered the morning grogginess. I made a mental note about the dark patch across my chest and told myself to prioritize follicular maintenance sooner, rather than later. Running my hand across my chest to see the extent of the damage, I found that it was nearly entirely bare skin the entire way. Eyebrows furrowing, I looked to confirm which had failed me more, my sight or my hand. It seems I needed to make an appointment with the eye doctor instead, because what I found was a large tattoo, boldly strewn arm to arm across my chest. A tattoo of the name of my former landlord, John Kikaner. There's two unspeakable ways to get a tattoo, one is by hiring a black market tattoo artist and supplying exorbitant amounts of "insurance" money... or killing someone.
I stared and stared, wondering if I could maybe remove the tattoo piece by piece or maybe I could find some kind of flaw, somewhere. Minutes ceaselessly rolled by, my skin getting more and more red as I began rubbing, scratching, clawing at the pitch black words etched into my chest. Blood began running and I came to my senses. Thinking back on the events of the last few hours, I couldn't find anything I did that could have even inadvertently killed a man.
*Surely my friends didn't do this to me. They don't have that kind of money and even if they did, while I was asleep no less, it would be hurting right now, wouldn't it? I didn't even notice it until I saw it myself. I guess Patrick’s surveillance cameras would have caught something, even.* Patrick was my neighbor, he was as paranoid as can be. He recently moved in and immediately set up cameras in corners everywhere thinking no one noticed.
I have the same routine every day and I didn't notice any tattoos yesterday, so it must have been yesterday. *What happened? What did I do?* The fear built on top of itself, more and more every second I thought about it.
*I need to know what happened.*
I decided to call off work for the day for extraneous personal circumstances and take the matter into my own hands, before some police officer hands it to a lawyer. I had no legal connections, I'd be doomed if I set foot in a courthouse. I put a medical bandage on to cover my broken skin and made damned sure my chest was fully encased in clothing, taking on my leather jacket over my usual shirt on this fine Summer day.
I drove over to my former landlord’s house and found the police had already started an investigation. It was a rural neighborhood where people very kindly concern themselves whenever something might be happening to a neighbor. A murder in a place like this would draw out every neighbor. Someone must have seen something. A crowd of five people had begun forming on the opposite side of the street from Kikaner's house. I walked up to them and asked, "Hey, what's happening here? Did John finally lock himself out of his house?" I made up something as fast as I could. I made a plan, but I didn't know what the steps were. It had also been two years since I met the man, so it was better to be vague.
"Didn't you hear?" said a woman standing closest to the police tape barrier. "John's dead. Someone killed him in his sleep. I heard the officers say it was a vicious stabbing. Ten stabs to the chest! Can you even imagine who could do such a thing?"
"My god, I had no idea" I replied. "When did it happen?"
"Last night at around 3 AM. I never even thought someone like that could be in *this* neighborhood."
It seems I didn't need to do any investigating, she had all the answers I needed. *I wonder if she'd suspect me if I ask too much more* I contemplated. I could have passed myself off as the nosey type, I'd have fit right in. I decided to play it on the safe side and not risk any more questions. I wanted to have a plan, with steps, and a proper goal this time. I saw two police officers exiting the house and start talking behind an ambulance. I walked around as stealthily as I could to the other side of the ambulance from them and did some eavesdropping of my own.
The first officer was already describing the scene of the crime, "... bloody hand prints on the walls and doorknobs, shouldn't be too hard to get some prints. Whoever this guy is, he doesn't seem like he planned it out too well."
"Let's just hope he didn't skip town then" contributed the other officer. "Well, if he does, at least some other county has to deal with him. Say, did you really wake up with a tattoo on your chest? Right where the knife wounds were on the victim?"
"I did" began the first officer. "It was a hell of a time trying to calm down my wife. Even after I confirmed with other officers I had been working all night when Kikaner was killed, she still insisted on spending the night at her brother's."
*What? He can't be meaning he has the same tattoo as me. Of John Kikaner's name across his chest.*
The first officer's radio chimed in with a crackling female voice, "unit one-four come in, please, over."
The first officer replied, "uh, please restate the request, did you want unit one-four alpha or beta, over?"
The radio crackled, "Mark Steinsman, quit the joking and give the radio to a real officer. Maybe one that..."
I trailed off, losing track of the conversation. That name she said, the officer's name, *Mark Steinsman.* That was my name, too. *But he has a tattoo as well? He said he had a bullet-proof alibi and isn't guilty, surely that must mean I'm not as well. I couldn't have done it! Someone else did, undoubtedly, but... if there are two Steinsmans here, how many more are there?* Nearly reeling from the thought that I may not be guilty after all, I bumped into the concerned lady I had talked to before. She told me to be quiet or get out of the way.
Unfortunately, her talents do not include stealth or silence or honesty. The policemen had instantly stopped talking and I heard the sound of gravel crunching under shoes, getting louder very quickly. The lady must have been a great athlete seeing as she was already half way back to the crowd by the time they rounded the ambulance and found me standing there.
Annoyed, the first policeman confronted me, "Hey, what are you doing? Were you eavesdropping on us? Are you a reporter?" They strategically surrounded me to pin me against the ambulance's side, giving me no choice but to answer.
"No, of course not, I was just out for a walk." I explained.
"That's an interesting choice of clothing for a walk this time of year. What's your name?"
I suddenly wished plans were easier to make and thoroughly regretted not making more of them. I stuttered for a second and hesitantly said, "M-Mark Steinsman."
They both looked shocked, but only for a second.
The second officer, the police Mark Steinsman, said, "That so? Do you happen to have your ID with you, sir?"
I pulled out my wallet, one thing I finally managed to do right today, and handed him my ID, complete with everything one would need to know my name.
"I see," he said, thinking for a second. "Can you come with us, sir?"
I went with them, into their car and they began driving away. I looked back and saw the lady peeking around from the other side of ambulance again at me.
They took me to a courthouse. It took a few dozen minutes to get there, but the awkward silence between us all was almost comforting. In all its craziness, the day seemed to be quite humorous, in its own way. Two Mark Steinsmans in a police car. Going to court. Ha ha.
They escorted me in the main doors and walked for another five minutes down a huge hallway, fitted with ornately crafted mantle pieces around every one of the spaced out doors. All of them court rooms. All of them in use. We reached our designated room and I was deposited in a large box filled with chairs where the defendants were supposed to be, directly in front of the judge's podium. The police Steinsman entered as well, leaving the other officer to join the witnesses.
"A little early, are we?" said the imposing judge whose stare made me forfeit my will to answer.
| 2017-03-24T15:58:18 | 2017-03-24T15:35:22 | 2,344 | 400 |
[WP] You're a vampire hunter. However, upon finally being accepted into the Hunter's Guild, you realize something. All the other hunters are unwilling vampires who want revenge against the one who bit them, and they want to know what YOUR reason for hunting is, seeing as you're only human.
|
"*All of you?*" the newly initiated vampire hunter hissed as he looked around at his fellow slayers.
"We didn't ask to be vampires," the... *vampire* vampire hunter before him said. "*None* of us. It is a curse, a blight upon our hearts."
"But why do you hunt your own kind?" the human continued, hand on the hilt of his sword.
"They're *not* our kind, Rhodri," the vampire protested. "No more than the worst human criminals are your kind. And... we think that we can kill the Elder - the progenitor of vampirekind - that our curse might be broken. That we might turn... normal again." He looked down at his pale hands with palpable disgust, the black veins visible through his skin a constant reminder of his bleak situation.
"We just want to return to our lives. Our families," the vampire said gently.
"You're still vampires. You drink human blood. "
"Only as much as we need! Only from the willing, for money! And we never, *ever*, kill!" the vampire yelled.
The human relaxed his posture, finally releasing his sword. "Good," he said. "The Elder vampire is... he must be stopped. And if you're with me, that is more than enough for me."
"Why do *you* hunt him? We all share a reason, but you, a human, unspoiled by the blight - why do you?" the vampire tilted his head. The human looked down.
"My sister. Glynis. He... he bit my sister."
"I'm sorry."
The human extended his hand towards the vampire. The two nodded slightly as they shook hands.
"Good hunting," Rhodri said. "And when this is done, when he is dead, burned, his ashes scattered to the wind... if you're still vampires..."
The vampire looked up at the human.
"I won't hesitate for a *second* to drive a stake through every single one of you, drop you where you stand," Rhodri smiled. "Same way I did Glynis. Because *you are monsters*."
|
The corner table was dark, so dark that even in the night black bar it appeared to be covered in shadow. It reminded me of the dark spots that marked ocean sinkholes, sinkholes that inspite of whatever scientists said made the mind wonder about monsters. As my mouth dried up more and more with each step towards it I wondered if that portion of my human brain was what made me so nervous. Or was it that I already knew there was a monster within the black, waiting, watching, stalking.
I had not much reason to actually be afraid, I was now his brotheren in a way, but he was not like the other brothers. But of course that was why I had to talk to him, I had to learn his secrets, what made him so special that he was welcomed and even revered where others like him were shunned. I knew in part why and it was another reason for my nervousness, afterall only a fool would not harbor at least a shred of fear for something that had killed hundreds of his kind. Now I just needed to know how, and to know how, why.
My eyes could now see even in total darkness, not well but they could. Yet even as I drew abreast with the other side of the table I could barely discern his face. I would have guessed him 50 but I had been told he was 40 at most, his face weathered and wearing a permanent dark tan that made it even harder to see amongst the shadows. I wondered if that was part of his secret, he could hide in the night even from those who dwelt in it, thrived in it, existed only in it.
"Sit down new brother, and tell me what it is you want", his voice sit him apart if his dark complexion did not enough. It was low and deep, commanding but quiet. Compared to my own knife like hiss it was a bludgeon, a bludgeon that promised it could break the knife and it's wielder via its mere presence. I hesitated for a moment until the shuffling screech of a chair being moved signaled me to take a seat against the left wall.
I could see him better now that I was only a few feet away, the traces of grey prematurely gracing his closely trimmed beard and the hair that poked out from underneath his jet black beret, the dark brown of his eyes that scanned the crowd in front of him slowly and methodically. But the most striking thing was his smell, there was none. Even before I had...changed I could detect the slightest hint of smell on everyone I was with a handful of feet of, a trace of aftershave, a minor twinge of sweat and body odor, the barest hint of a lovers perfume. Now, now I could smell from 10 feet away what they had ate for breakfast as they sat down for supper, I could discern how their entire day, and from that lifestyle, was. It was why garlic disturbed us, because it overpowered all else and burned at the nostrils. It was another part of being a hunter, another gift that came with my curse. Yet inspite of this he smelled like nothing, not the bareness of sand or pure water, not anything. That was another part of why he unsettled me so I slowly realized, another part of what made him the monster of the dark, the monster of the unknown.
Somewhat loudly he cleared his throat, a signal I took it, for me to speak. "Why are you here", I hissed. Too anyone else it would have seemed like a threat, but somehow I knew he would understand.
"Isn't it obvious", he said slowly, his eyes never leaving their slow drift across the crowd. "Slightly elevated with a clear view of the bar and the crowd, both main entrances, close proximity to the third", at the last point his head ever so slightly dipped towards the service door just a few feet to his right. It was the first hint of movement I had actually seen him make beyond the repetative sweeping of his eyes, "darkness provides contrast and concealment, the corners protection". Slowly he took a sip from the glass of dark brown liquid in front of him. Whiskey I thought my nose could detect, but weak and cut with something strange, dirt like but not earthy, something that I had never smelled before. "Its an eagles view with the comfort and concealment of a den".
I paused for a moment before responding. He was right of course, any hunter could see the spots beautiful perfection with a mere glance at or from it. But that was not what I meant and he knew it. "You are not wrong but I think you know more what I mean", I spoke as low as I could, trying to hide the slightest twinge of frustration I already felt. This was part of a game, a test, one that I had came here to pass.
He took another drink, the strange odor again seeping into my nostrils as his slow movements disturbed the liquid. There was definitely whiskey in it I decided, but yet when he spoke there was not the barest hint, his breathe as clean as that of a bishop. "I am afraid I do not brother".
I picked my next words carefully, they had to thread the needle like tightrope of respect but not reverence for the game to go on. "Why does a man such as yourself old brother, do what you do, are what you are"
"Perhaps I watched too much Van Helsing as a boy".
"Movies do not make a man driven, they do not give the man the drive to gain the revealing of an organization such as the brotherhoods most inherent secret. Especially when that man is one who that secret is most guarded against."
"There are not others like me, others who hunt but don't bare fangs?".
His question was of course rhetorical. There were two or three I could distinguish amidst the crowd before me, but they tried to blend in as they mingled about, their faces a faximaly of the pale that I naturally possesed, their clothes matching the style of the general group. "They are not like you brother. Some are hunters yes, but they are mere tools. The upper heads of a network inherently needed to complete our tasks, someone to tell their followers that they are the true brothers and the handful of us they encounter are the necessary odd agents.", my gaze drifted between them as I spoke, they were here yes, but they were not truly welcome. Everyone they spoke too choosing their words to hide the fact that we were using them and that they were as replaceable as any other cog in a machine."The ones before us are merely hammer handles. You, you could be an elder if you wore a pale face. You are a monster amongst the monsters without having the inherent traits".
My ears detected the slightest note of a chuckle and for a moment I wondered if my foot had slipped off the tightrope. "I could have been one even with a dark face", I glanced again at him, my eyebrow slightly raised. "but I would rather be a scythe then a farmer", he added.
"And why do you wish to be a scythe", I said as I turned back towards the crowd.
"And why do you ask", he retorted.
"Because I wish to be as like you as I can, I wish to hunt like you do. Or at least as close as I can with my... limitations. And to do so I must know how you became what you are.", my eyes naturally fell on a normal amongst the crowd, following them as they drifted. They were an outsider, a weakling, prey.
"Why?"
"Because my drive is not like all the others here."
"Is it not revenge", he paused for a moment as a brother and sister drifted closely past. Arm and arm, hand in hand, apparently in seek of somewhere more remote. Both our eyes followed them until they had wandered far enough that our voices would again be lost amongst the noise of the crowd. "Is it not too kill those that made you this way", he continued, "too make them pay for allowing their gluttony starve you of a normal life".
I clenched my teeth as venom rose in my throat. The blackness of memories I kept on the edge of my mind welling up and threatening again to envelop me. "It is for revenge yes", I said with a painful slowness, as if every single word stung my throat, "but not the same kind".
For the first time since I sat down the man in the beret turned his head and his gaze to me. And when my eyes locked with his I felt a coldness unlike any I had felt since two pair of fangs had buried themselves into my neck.
| 2022-11-10T13:19:13 | 2022-11-10T12:42:12 | 749 | 26 |
[WP] Seasoned wizards only use dead languages such as Latin for their incantations. Those less experienced quickly learn why--as the meanings of words change, so too do the effects of their spells.
|
He was barely half way through the second syllable of his third word for "fireball" when I yawned. This is why I didn't like Latin. Precise? Yes. Exactly what you asked for? Certainly. But it was like being stuck in church. I glared at him.
"Ain't nobody got time for this." and his mind is suddenly clouded, distracted. "Smells like someone was barbecuing," and he explodes in a column of fire.
I just nod to the assembled mages and go to leave.
"This is an outrage! You have to stick to the proper forms!" the prefect shouted.
I shrug. "I did, words only. No gestures. What's the problem, yo?"
The prefect and his companions were quickly scouring the rulebook, looking for any rule I had broken, but they wouldn't find one.
"I challenge you!" shouts one of the younger ones. He's still older than me by at least 10 years, but compared to the rest he's young.
"Tide pod challenge," I retort, swiftly.
The poor mage looks confused, then alarmed as an object was lodged in his throat. He quickly coughed it up, along with a large volume of bubbling foam. He was vomiting up as much as he could, but swiftly passed out from acute poisoning.
Another older mage to my right started chanting the latin words for a freeze spell. They finally realised how dangerous I was, but I wasn't going to go easily. "ALS!" I shouted and he snap froze solid, a human iceblock.
The other mages looked at me warily. I gazed back at them, my expression daring them to try me.
Two of them lacked the wisdom to step down. They both started incanting their long sentences towards me. I had enough time to roll my eyes twice. "Fidget spinners." A hundred rapidly rotating spinning discs shredded my opponents. They took cover from the plastic and metal onslaught, their spells left abandoned.
They told me that Latin was the best language to use, as it the meaning never changes. They didn't realise that change is the most powerful part of language. And with the internet, nothing changes faster.
I'm the meme wizard, and I'll destroy anyone that comes against me.
|
The Magic of Doonya {Rough cut/ Ch.1-3}
By Clint G.
CH.1 History of our world
Magic is the trick of the trade in our world called Doonya.
Each country holds ancient houses as the rulers of the lands across three major continents; Ho’thaiya, Buenet’a, and my homeland Kol’dea.
Peace has ruled the lands for 200 years and armies have traded in swords for wands. Within each wand lies an encrypted spell that is forged by the members of the ancient houses and sold across the lands and seas as imported goods - providing water, fire, and nature to all.
To the North lies the continent of Ho’thaiya. Frigid planes and frozen lakes stretch over the biggest mass of land in all of Doonya. The Hebrew king, Mooshi, rules with his ice queen Haim by his side. Along with their one child, a girl named Shivah, and the kings older sister, Yael. they are the only ones capable of creating magic wands in their country. Their spells range from a basic cooling spell for a nice breeze to a spell that purifies streams of oceans, rivers, lakes and sea water for everyday use - providing one of the most important and versatile of magic.
South of Ho’thaiya is the colorful and vibrant land of Buenet’a. Blossoming in all the hues of the rainbow; it is well known that anything that grows, grows from Buenet’a. Ruled by the loving Latin Queen Fluera who is just as gentle as the beauty she grows. Together with her two twin siblings, Cecil and Cecilia, and her uncle hector along with his family; wife Izzah and son Panoh. They are those who create all the magic wands in Buenet’a. With spells providing wind travel, food and vegetation growth, as well as spells of convenience - such as the Vine spell - which can can be used for latching onto items and pulling them closer, my personal favorite.
Finally to the East lies my home in the fiery desert island of Kol’dea. My name is Ferris and I am but just a minor squire lucky enough to serve my country. Also lucky enough to be best friends with the young prince, Aydenn, the future flame of Kol’dea. Along with his darling little sister, Noorah, who is exceptional in crafting spells - they work with their parents; the Aramaic royalty King Basil and Queen Maryam in wand crafting. Various fire wands include fireballs either for attacking or practical use like a campfire. Also heating spells come in different amounts of preferred heat perfected to a precise temperature per wand for cooking, boiling and baking needs.
There also is the retired old king Azzam who no longer crafts wands but instead he writes and reads the history of our world, living on top of Gehenna mountain. Even though he no longer makes the wands, he implemented the innovation of steam, combining a small amount of water spell with his fire. steam has become fundamental for all travel from ships to trains and propelled the importance of magic in our world.
Although we live in a world run by magic, nothing thrills me and Prince Aydeen more than a sparred sword fight, and today is my day to best him.
“Ferris, my good friend! Are you ready to lose another match or are you going to give me a challenge?” Aydeen unsheathing his sword, strolled confidently towards me, as if he had already won.
“My prince, I have much more than a challenge ready for you.” I too unsheathed my sword and pointed it towards him, “Prepare yourself!”
Both of us charged at each other with all our might. When I think I have found an opening, he blocks me and when he tries to hit me I parry him back. A few times we clash perfectly until we hold a stance. He pushes me away knocking me down. Before he can pin me while I’m down, I swoop him with a swift kick tripping him down as I hop up.
“Well Ferris, looks like today might actually be your day” he smirks
Ch.2 Natures Wrath
Around this time, in the continent of Buenet’a the queen offers prayers to the earth and nature deep inside of sanctus forrest.
“Divinus Misericordia Por dimittetur illi” she chants over and over as all around her white beautiful flowers sprout from the ground.
“Uncle, you can come out, I can feel you through the roots.” Queen Fluera says calmly
From behind bushes sure enough is her uncle Hector. “My dear sweet niece, I should know better than to try to sneak up on the queen of the forest within a forest. Forgive me I did not mean to startle you”
“No, you did not mean to startle me, so what brings you here in my private hour?” Still so calm as she speaks, the wind blows her thick black hair through dancing pedals around her and the sunlight streams in between the forest trees, illuminating the queen.
Her uncle nervous. Sweat dribbling down his head as he is fidgeting around within his coat pocket “Actually you see, I want to talk to you about making some moves. We are the weakest country my queen, the only thing that guards us are the trees and bushes themselves and they provide no strength.”
“Do not think so little of what nature itself can do, we are the healers of the earth and the artists of the lands.” She says turning to him
he walks towards her “If a revolt of the worlds were to happen…”
“If a revolt of the world happens? Uncle who do you think would be the one to start a revolt? The world is at peace, what is it that you want?” She handles him very sternly.
Taken aback hector explains “I want our country to be stronger for all of us. you and the twins are the only gift my poor dead sister left me, I want you all to thrive.”
“But that is not your true intention for this surprise meeting, is it? Uncle, since before my parents died 10 years ago you’ve only held hostility towards our family. The forests chose my mother to rule and they also chose me- I did not ask to be queen I was appointed queen but no matter your feelings, I forgive you. You should know though, I will not give up without a fight. I speak through the vines and roots of our earth. I hear the whispers between you and your wife. You wish to usurp me. Pull out your dagger so I can show you the true strength of nature! corrumpam vineam eius!!” the queen summons vines from under ground and grabs a hold of her uncle squeezing him so tight that his dagger drops.
His face turns blue barely holding on, when suddenly;
“Perrit con Ventus” disguising himself within the wind is Hectors son, Panoh. With one fell swipe he slits the beautiful queens throat.
Her vines loosen control of Hector as she falls to her knees. The forest illuminates and hugs her one last time as she whispers “impetus”
“Father, we must get out of her forest, its going to die and take us with it.” Panoh grabs his father as the run out of the forest. From every corner the forest is coming to attack the two traitors closing in on them.
At the edge of the forest Hectors wife, Izzah, waits with a fireball wand in hand from Kol’dea. Together with her wind magic she creates a flaming vortex, just barely making it through the vines Hector and Panoh run past Izzah and she sets the Forest ablaze. The three family members embrace as Hector begins laughing.
“I…AM…..KING!” He exalts as the forest burns down behind him.
Back at the Buenet’a castle Fluera’s younger siblings, Cecil and Cecilia, receive a message carried through the wind as they watch their families forest burn to the ground.
“Sister!” Cecilia begins sobbing and runs to her brothers arms.
“Cecilia, we have to get out of here, there is no time to grieve or we will be next to die.” Cecil says bravely holding tears back from his eyes as the two run into the shadows away from the kingdom that was once theres.
In town the Mad Uncle Hector arrives with his family as townsfolk gather around him. “Oh dear God, my beautiful niece, our queen murdered in her own sanctuary. It was those Aramaic Bastards, they destroyed all that we have”
“The queen is dead” “we were attacked by Kol’dea” “those fires starters killed our Queen” “what about the twins” the townsfolk murmured throughout.
Hector putting on his best show rallies “The twins disappeared, abandoning their people when they need them most. No, this is not right. I will lead you! let me be your king and I promise you we will bring revenge for our Queen”
The townsfolk all kneel down hailing their new king. As Hector turns away with a grin from ear to ear.
(Continued in first reply)
| 2018-05-02T19:56:51 | 2018-05-02T17:46:30 | 109 | 11 |
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.
|
*Well that was a bust...*
**C'mon. I know you really liked her.**
*I mean I did but...I guess she didn't feel the same. Seems like that's been happening a lot lately.*
**You'll find someone. I know your heart. You're too good to be single forever.**
*Yeah, okay. No offense but I don't know how much that's worth coming from you.*
**Thanks, dickhead. It's not like I don't know every single thing about you that there is to know.**
*I mean, of course you do. You're just a-*
**Hey! There's that bakery you love! I think you deserve a cookie.**
*No way. What if she didn't like me 'cos I'm too fat?*
**Don't be stupid. Go get one! For me.**
*Fine. But I'm working out when I get home.*
He held the door open for the woman behind him. She thanked him and made her way inside.
**I'm excited for this cookie.**
*Me too. Which one should I get?*
"Oatmeal raisin, please."
**Oatmeal raisin, please.**
He chuckled a bit. *Jinx!*
**It doesn't count if she said it.**
*Well she can't hear you.*
**Which is why it doesn't count.**
He ordered his cookie and sat down, reflecting on his date. He heard her thoughts too but after all this time, it was easy to tune them out. Millions of thoughts a minute ran through his head. Hers and his. He sensed nervous ones racing through their minds.
*You okay there?*
**Finally.**
"Finally."
*Hm?*
**Turn around.**
"Turn around."
He turned around and came face to face with the woman who had ordered before him.
"Sorry?"
Tears welled in her eyes.
**I finally found you.**
"I finally found you."
His confusion turned into realization. His eyes widened, "Do you...do you mean?"
**March 4th, 1982. Blue. Mother's name Maria. First dog, Boston. Biggest fear, being alone.**
"March 4th, 1982. Blue. Mother's name Maria. First dog, Boston. Biggest fear, being alone."
*Oh...my god.*
**Last thing you masturb...**
"Last thing you masturb..."
"Hey!!!! I...I get it."
She laughed out loud and held her face in her hands, as if she still could not believe he was right before her.
*I can't believe you're real.*
They looked at each other until he gulped.
*Well please...sit down.*
|
"The voice. You know that voice in your head. The one that's your inner voice? Most people it's their own voice, they can hear it, speak it, even imagine the words coming out of your mouth. Some people, even think of it as someone else, like Morgan Freeman or something just to play around and have fun I guess. Most people can control their thoughts and inner voice. Not me. My inner voice is her. I can't control it, I can't stop it. Frankly, right now, shes speaking to me."
"And what is she saying Ryan?" The psychiatrist asked, leaning back in her arm chair. Lethar squeaking, chewing on the back of her pen with a concentrated look on her face, perplexed as to where I was going with this.
"She's telling me I'm not crazy. Not schizophrenic like you say. That I'm okay. I'm normal." I replied, while palming my eyes and rubbing them in frustration. At this point I'm unsure that why, for 37 years... as long as I can remember her inner voice was combating mine. Mentally I'd get into arguments with her, try and ignore her. No matter what I do she knows what I'm doing, saying, even thinking. All the time.
"To call your self crazy isn't right, maybe it's your thoughts rationalizing your feelings about your schizophrenia. Maybe you are.... trying to come to terms." She leaned forward to address me.
"Yeah.... maybe, maybe I am crazy." I was doubting my self, I knew what I told Dr. Skinner was bullshit. I knew it, she knew it, but the court mandated these.... mediations. I call them that because even though on paper its "helping" it's just wasting my fucking time. Just get it over with I say. One day it will be over. 25 years later since my episode, I'm still fucking here. Still talking about the same shit. Except shes helping me get through it, but I could never tell Dr. Skinner that. They would lock me away, her and I both knew that, and I had a lawfirm to run. Oddly enough successful people can too have problems of their own. Then again, what's it worth when you talk to nothing but your imagination.
"Your doubting your self again Ryan. I think your making progress, more and more each day." She stated while beginning to type what she has written in her notes. "I think that's a good place to end until next week. Don't you?"
"Yeah, thanks Dr. Skinner." I gathered my things and headed out. I knew what she was telling me wasn't what she was actually writing. Oliva knew that as well. That's her name, Olivia. She told me when we were kids. Like she grew up with me.
I walked out on the the busy street. I had to make it back to the lawfirm downtown before lunch was over. I had a meeting with a client who was pressing charges against her company for "unsafe working conditions" in reality, I knew it was bullshit, but I had to entertain the bullshit if we wanted to make money.
"I can take the south express line, should spit me out a block from the lawfirm." I thought to my self.
"Theres a delay Ryan, you'll be late." Olivia interjected into my conciousness. "If you take a cab you'll get there early. Trust me."
"Yeah yeah." I spoke out loud, but quietly as to not draw attention. The fact that my thoughts weren't my own, the lines get blurred with what you say and what you think sometimes. It's hard to keep track.
"Why don't you trust me Ryan?" Oliva asked, sounding upset.
"Because, your not real." I mumbled but put head phones in. It was a good way for people to, not look. Now a days they just think your on the phone anyway and ignore it. Everyone's face is in the thing anyway, surprised they even know where they are going.
"Like that! You wont say my name, it's been years since you've said my name." She whined.
"Again, your not real and I'm just having a fucking conversation to my self, and I'm still entertaining it by talkign to you." I said as I decended into the subway station. The previous subway car doors shut and I was left relatively alone on the platform, headphones still in.
"What is it going to take to convince you I am." Olivia began to bargain. Funny, shes never said anything like this before. So I decided to play into it, maybe I can.... break my self? I don't know. Maybe stop it from happening. "And no Ryan, your not going to get rid of me by 'playing into it' again." She said before I could finish my thought.
"One, stop doing that, and two, physical evidence would work. Again, your not real!" The subway car rumbled up to the station and I entered. I was alone, standing there. The car smelled like must and urine and just.... city smell. I hated it.
"Well if we meet, we can finally move to the country like you've always wanted. I know you hate this smell. So do I." Olive said.
"Yeah, sure. Let's make it happen then." I said to Olivia sarcastically.
"You don't have to be so sarcastic about it." Oliva said with a brashness that I could tell she was upset with me.
The car began to fill up at the next stop. I wasn't alone anymore. People were around, to many people, and would know I'm talking to my self so I decided to use my inner voice. "Well I'm crazy Olivia, I can't even take meds anymore because.... because it doesn't work." I was frustrated. I gripped the steal bar tighter.
"Ryan, please stop. I'll prove your not." She pleaded.
*Ding* [Next stop, 14th and Albany]
My stop. The car still barrelling through the subway line, lights flickering and the car shaking and creaking. My hand gripped the steel rail harder. I'm getting angry, not with her, or anything, with my self. All this time I've played into it, what's one more game I guess.
"Ryan, please. Listen to me." Olivia pleaded again, but I ignored her.
The car came to a halt and I basically ran out of there and up the subway station steps towards the street.
"Ryan!" She got louder as I approached the street. I always thought I could outrun my own thoughts. Ever since I was a kid, but I knew it not to be true.
"Ryan, watch out!!" Olivia shouted and for some reason I stopped just before I stepped into the street. A bus flew by, nearly could have killed me or put me in the hospital.
"Oh fuck!!" I exclaimed, hands on my knees breathing hard and heavy.
"Hey buddy you okay? You almost got flattened!" A stranger asked me who was next to me at the cross walk.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." I replied. "Thanks."
"Well sure but thank that lady who yelled to you." He stated.
My heart sank.
"What did you say?" I looked him dead in the eyes. I thought I only heard that.
"Turn around Ryan. Please." Oliva said inside my head, and this time out loud. It was her, long brown hair, blue eyes, exactly how she was in my dreams as a kid.
"Hi Ryan, it's good to finally meet you." Olivia smiled a beautiful smile that made me smirk.
"Hey buddy, you.... you uh... see her.... right?" I asked the stranger next to me.
"Of course, she looks beautiful, hard not to notice." He chuckled. "Oh excuse me." He said to a woman he bumped into as we walked across the street and she replied to him. I knew he was real too.
"Yes Ryan, hes real, I'm real.... your not imagining any of this and your not crazy, and I know your thinking 'did I get hit by the bus and now I'm dreaming this or dead?' But you didn't and this is real." Oliva knew what I was thinking still because that's EXACTLY what I was thinking.
"You're.... you're real!!" I exclaimed as we both lurched forward and held and kissed each other.
"Don't cry Ryan, I'm hear now. I'm not going anywhere, never. I love you, I always have and I never lied about that. Not once!" Olivia comforted me and pressed her head against my chest.
I'm not crazy. It's real. She's real. The woman of my literal dreams is real. I don't know if I manifested her. I don't know where she came from. She has a family. Shes been alive and has a life. I don't know if we were two souls who were connected in a past life. If that's something you believe in, or we were always destined to be together. We don't know. Probably never will. I know she's perfect. Everything I've ever wanted. Like she fell from the heavens. This is the happiest I've been in the 37 years on this floating rock in the vast nothingness that is our existence. Now I know....
I'm not crazy.
She's real. We are real.
I'm not crazy.
....I'm not crazy....
| 2019-09-14T13:20:46 | 2019-09-14T12:14:58 | 45 | 20 |
[WP] Scientist have created a machine that allow people a window into alternate realities. It becomes mainstream and people talk about alternate versions of themselves. Finally you decide to take a look only to discover that there are no alternate versions of you. You're the only you in existence.
|
"Oh that's more common than you think."
"What?" That wasn't the response I was expecting.
"I thought maybe I was in grave danger, or there was something wrong with me..."
"Oh goodness no, Mr. Robinson. You're life simply collapsed into a singular timeline due to an infinitesimal bottleneck. "
"That doesn't sound good..."
"Well it hardly matters frankly, alternate timelines can't directly influence each other unless one has Stein's Gate, but neither you nor I have that condition so it's outside the purvey of this discussion."
"So... timeline traveling bounty hunters?"
"Oh, I seem to have confused you even further. Allow me to concisely explain: Suppose you were trapped in a game show where you had to guess a number between 0 to infinity. "
"Ok... "
"If you failed, you were to be killed."
"Dark, but I think I can guess what you're saying. I was the only reality that happen to choose the right number... "
"Well, that normally isn't possible due to infinite choice distributions tending to be well clumped. For example, most people told to choose between 0 to infinity will probably choose somewhere between 0 and a trillion. So if people were actually put through this test and assuming the number is between 0 and a trillion, there are usually a handful of infinities that survive. But not all infinities are of the equal size or of the same distribution. "
"Ok, I'm back to confused again. Except this time more completely."
"I'm sorry, I do that alot. I hang out with people who think about this stuff way too much, " my doctor laughed sheepishly and tried again,
"It's a good thing I commissioned this visual aid..."
From his desk, my doctor pulls out a simple fit a shape into a slot kids toy. There was a star slot for the star piece, and square slot for the square piece and so on.
"Let's say that each timeline has their own shape like a star, square, or circle. "
"Ok."
"But for some reason, at a certain point. Only the timeline that had a 'square' shape kept you alive in it. Usually, it's a very precise blood pressure number like 1072..."
"A BP at 1072.0 over 80.0 will kill you... "
"By god, my doctorate is in theoretical physics, not medicine. Back off!"
"Anyways, since each shape is unique, only this particular timeline made it through the check to keep you in it. "
"So basically, something about this universe was *just* right for me to keep existing."
"Precisely."
"That's unsettling."
"Oh, that's true for everyone as they get older. The version of them that stays alive the longest is essentially the same as you except it happened to you sooner."
|
# The Saga of Singularly Sarah
Singularly Sarah skipped down the streets of the singularity, peering into Chicago Four and Mumbai Nine, drinking in the conflicting scents of gunpowder and spices as she sipped her morning coffee. A timer ticked away in the corner of her cybernetic eyes, painstakingly constructed to look exactly like a normal human pair except for when their colors changed.
Reykjavik Twelve grabbed Sarah’s eye again, with the glittering blisters of its rad-arcologies catching the sun and reflecting them through the pollutants such that the whole of the toxic fog bank seemed to be lit from within. Sarah loved the Alternates. She loved how easy it was to slip into them every morning, not quite there but close enough to inspire her. She loved the anonymity of the chaotic, foreign streets and the sense of adventure inherent to the almost known.
She did not love being Singularly Sarah however, and the powerful unknown that came with that.
“Two minute warning,” the soft, artificial voice of her PA spoke directly into her mind.
“Thanks,” she said. Nobody else thanked their PA’s, but then, nobody else was singularly anything.
Sarah jacked out early, watching the diffuse light of Reykjavik Twelve bleed out around the edges as the world faded back into Toronto One. She sighed heavily and unfolded from her half lotus. Her room was dark, the windows covered by heavy curtains and lit only by a single flickering candle that smelled of mahogany. Sarah blew it out as she rose and went to greet the day.
Singularly Sarah trudged down the streets of the real world, her unfashionably large hood pulled over her eyes, navigating Toronto One through muscle memory and the occasional direct to muscle fiber nudges of her PA. People looked at her. She could feel their eyes, but nobody looked in a way that was more than just looking. Sarah was grateful for that, it was not always the case.
The day held one mission, two assignments, and one overarching, as yet uncompleted goal.
Her mission: to get groceries.
Her assignments: to finish the write up on Reykjavik Twelve that her boss at the magazine wanted and to start the piece on Mumbai Nine.
Her goal: not to be recognized.
Singularly Sarah was a singularly shy person in a world that would not let that be the case.
The Asian market she was looking for was only a few blocks over. The owners there knew her both as a customer and as a reputation but they were polite people, past the age where such things mattered and she was grateful for that. Sarah walked into a musty room that could’ve been a basement in any one of the Shanghais, smiling at the still unpacked boxes by the door and the balding old man whose only concession to her existence was a simple nod.
Singularly Sarah shamelessly stocked up on instant ramen and frozen dumplings, and when she checked out her only interaction was a cheerful and heavily accented “Have a nice day!” from the teenage girl behind the register. She loved it.
She did not love her walk home.
A bitingly cold wind kicked up as Sarah left the basement market. She scurried along the street with her head down passing people doing much the same. She turned the last corner sharply, moving faster than her PA could track amid the blustering start of the snow, and ran headlong into a man in a business suit whose too-large, blocky cut was straight out of Chicago Four.
Singularly Sarah stumbled to her knees in the street, her ramen spilling everywhere as the man exclaimed a shocked “What the fuck?”
Then the frigid wind blew her hood back, and the man’s voice changed. “Oh fuck,” he whispered, “it’s you!”
Singularly Sarah was not singularly attractive, in her eyes or anyone else’s, but in a world of supreme voyeurs where no act was truly hidden and no form was truly unknown, uniqueness had become beauty. Her pale skin blushed too easily, her long dark hair tended to knot itself into little snarls whenever she worked, the world dropping away as the words poured out. Her features were fine, cheekbones high, lips full, but she’d always thought herself a woman who hadn’t quite come together.
The man in front of her must have been looking at the wrong person. The young professional in the awful suit gawked down at her, his eyes drinking her in like he’d never seen a woman before. “Holy shit, it’s you!” he said. “Wow, Singularly Sarah! Can I have your autograph? Or a picture? Or— you know what, I was headed to a meeting but it isn’t that important. I know this great coffee shop where they do those flaming espresso shots from Jakarta Two. How about—”
“No! Sorry, I’ve got somewhere to be.” Sarah said, gathering up a few of her ramen packets before giving up on the rest and trying to edge around the man.
“Are you sure? If Jakarta Two isn’t your style there’s a French place downtown that does escargot with real snails from Paris Four. I don’t even know how they got those! Technology really is amazing, isn’t it?”
Sarah did not want snails. She did not want him or any of the other eyes that stared at her. Singularly Sarah had been singularly shy as long as she remembered, uniqueness might have been her perfect curse.
She brushed past the business man who made a sound like a wounded animal at his loss, eyes no doubt following her all the up the street even though there was nothing special about *that* view at all.
“Hey, is that her?” She heard someone whisper in passing, the words not quite stolen by the wind.
“Can’t be. She’s not pretty enough,” someone said.
“No, it’s definitely her. There’s something about her.”
Singularly Sarah stayed just the slow side of a run. A few more men called out to her, one woman too, and the blush rose in her face, visible even with her hood pulled down as low as it could go.
Sarah hurled her few salvaged ramen packets onto her kitchen table as she passed, jacking straight into the singularity as she walked into her room and threw herself onto her bed.
“Shall I set a timer?” her PA asked.
“No.”
“But your article on Reykjavik Twelve—”
“No timers!”
Singularly Sarah slipped into worlds where she did not exist, where a girl like her could be cripplingly shy in peace and still hear people’s voices around her. She looked into alternative mirrors through her window into other people’s homes, examining herself unseen as a woman in Reykjavik Twelve did her makeup that morning in the crazed, colorful style that seemed to make up for the muted tragedy of their domed world. Each of them strove to be as unique as possible, none of them knowing that they weren’t.
Uniqueness was overrated. Sarah had found that out the hard way, especially as technology improved and people began to realize they’d soon be able to step all the way out of Earth One to speak and touch and cavort with the people they’d only been watching. As every red blooded male on Earth One realized that he would soon have infinite shots with the pretty girl next door Singularly Sarah’s stock had grown, the only truly unique experience in all the Worlds.
“Are you okay? I am detecting depressive symptoms. Would you like a serotonin shot?” her PA asked.
“No, not today,” Sarah said as she watched the Reykjavik woman put the finishing touches on her truly exquisite makeup. Sarah reached out her hand, gliding through the woman’s bare shoulder. She didn’t react at all.
The business man today had said a restaurant had real snails from Paris Four. If that were possible then the frenzy she feared was even closer at hand.
Singularly Sarah sighed, dismissing Reykjavik Twelve. The image dissolved before her, the beauty with the perfect makeup splintering apart like grains of sand in a stiff breeze.
The boreal forests of Earth Thirty materialized before her, quiet save for the call of some distant unidentifiable megafauna. “Article summary, Reykjavik Twelve,” Sarah said. Her work flashed before her eyes, the data transmitted in a fraction of a second.
“Prepare for dictation.”
“Prepared.”
Sarah had failed her mission and her goal but she wouldn’t fail her assignments. She loved writing about the Alternates, even as she hated their existence. She supposed it was the duality of man or some such pretentious thing.
The woman with the perfect makeup threaded her way into the article, deleted, rewritten, deleted again, and then finally accepted into the draft as a kind of celebration of iteration. Sarah tried to stress the uniqueness of every individual, how that woman might have chosen a different eyeliner than every other version of her that morning and what that might say about the fine details of her life and her unique Reykjavik.
She hoped it would stick with someone, knew that it probably wouldn’t.
Singularly Sarah, singularly shy, composed articles for a travel magazine amid the perfect groves of a far off but yet recognizable world. She finished her Reykjavik article and started in on Mumbai, seeing each city the way she wished someone might see her. As something really unique, a collection of fascinating wonders, not some gem to be seized upon for a moment or a day.
“Serotonin shot, please,” she said.
Singularly Sarah sighed gratefully as her muscles relaxed. Her writing was worse like this, but sometimes she just had to get through the day.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-06-02T07:05:11 | 2021-06-02T06:10:15 | 41 | 29 |
[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.*
|
*It turns out demons have demonic solutions, who knew.*
Words blast across the city, the same enormous flat screens that used to show advertisements and Knicks games now show strange, horned freak shows. The demons we got weren’t the ruby red, fiery incarnations of torment that Hollywood had lead us to expect. Instead they have skin like the mottled corpses of sailors lost at sea, kelp hanging from their skulls like limp, slimy hair or wreathing their knobby little horns. One is up there now, shouting at us in a voice that wouldn’t be a shout if the volume on every PA system around wasn’t cranked up to eleven.
“We come to help you,” he says, “we come to rid your tormented world of its ills. We come to clean your oceans, to scrub your air, to draw out the poisons of the earth and the infested filth that you call forests.”
I don’t buy it for a single goddamn second, and I think most people don’t, but there’s precious little most folks can really do about it. Turns out most of the politicians had been in the pockets of Big Demon the whole time, and the military? Shit, the Joint Chiefs had unzipped three different suits when the Hell rose up from the watery depths. First they tossed off their human suits and uniforms, then they paraded around for a moment like the good Boeing and Lockheed stooges they were, then right when everyone was getting used to generals that looked like NASCAR drivers they threw that shit out and literally stepped out of their human skins on live TV.
That was about the end of organized resistance, as far as most people are concerned. Me though? I’m not most people. I’m James Motherfuckin’ Bond, even if my birth certificate reads Jim Brewer, and I’ve got a cross dipped in holy desiccants to prove it.
So I watch, and I listen, and I let the demon’s words roll over me from the bigscreen as he enumerates the “new” ten commandments.
*~~1. Maintain humanity under 500,000,000 in perpetual balance with nature.~~*
*2. Guide reproduction wisely — improving fitness and diversity.*
*3. Unite humanity with a living new language.*
*4. Rule Passion — Faith — Tradition — and all things with tempered reason.*
*5. Protect people and nations with fair laws and just courts.*
*6. Let all nations rule internally resolving external disputes in a world court.*
*7. Avoid petty laws and useless officials.*
*8. Balance personal rights with social duties.*
*9. Prize truth — beauty — love — seeking harmony with the infinite.*
*10. Be not a cancer on the earth — Leave room for nature — Leave room for nature.*
Some of them even sound good, if you throw out number one like they did. In reality, the demon only says numbers two through ten, but I’m smart, and I did my reading even before these bastards got here, I can recognize the guidestones when I see them. I pencil in the real number one whenever I hear the list, then I try to keep my head down and not look at the smokestacks they’re putting up all over the city.
I don’t keep it so far down that I miss my marks though. Not all the demons are like the joint chiefs, conveniently tearing off their disguises for us all. No, some of them, perhaps even most them, still wear their human skins, and one of those is across the square from me right now. She’s gorgeous, as still skinned demons are wont to be. She wears a sundress despite the weather’s slow descent towards Fall, and her dark hair blows silkily in the breeze, no hint of kelp at all.
But I know what she is, she isn’t the first of their kind I’ve found, and the way she’s looking at the demon on the TV screen, with love and lust and pure, unadulterated adulation…even if she weren’t demon, I might be OK with what I’m about to do.
The girl finally turns the screen, smiling a private little smile to herself, and I follow down the warren of alleys into a land where the sun hardly even shines, replaced by the technicolor madness of late 21st century New York and the all encompassing heights of buildings that block out the real world. Despite everything the demon and his guidestones say about returning to nature, I always seem to find them in the least natural places.
We’re in a dark alley deep in the Black Sun’s territory now, and my vision is narrowed down to the periwinkle blue point of her dress. She knocks on a traphouse door and a gangster answers. I sniff the air, searching for the telltale scent of sulfur, but I can only smell the cloyingly sweat perfume the girl uses to cover up her own odor. Either way though, I don’t think the man who lets her in is a demon. He looks too scared of her for that. A human collaborator then, which was the only way he could’ve possibly gotten worse than traphouse guard.
I glance down, checking my .45 and flipping the safety off. I utter a quick prayer, not even bothering to translate my desires into English, and then I’m off at a dead run.
I reach the door as the last, flicker of her dress disappears inside and I catch it in my left hand, the hand with my cross. The human guard looks shocked for a moment, and then doesn’t look like anything else ever again as my first shot rings out.
The demon turns, her face twists in confusion for a moment and she’s so beautiful I wonder if maybe this time I’m wrong. Then her lips curl back, her pointed, sharklike teeth are exposed, and she darts away faster than even I can follow, flying the stairs like a bat out of hell. Men file into the hall in her wake, five of them, ten of them, such things don’t really make a difference, save that I might to reload soon if any more show up.
No more do and then I’m upon them. I don’t need to reload.
I stand in the hallway panting, the words of the demon on the TV echoing through my head as I catch my breath, especially the first rule, the implied one, or not so implied to a man like me. I utter the same prayer and turn to the stairs, but before I can set foot on them, the whole of the building shakes, and a voice echoes through like a siren’s call.
She hasn’t escaped, she’d never meant to. The woman I chase knows who I am, and suddenly, as the slithering, slippery voices of the demon-tongue wash over me, I realize she’s known who I am the entire time. Being here is part of her plan. She’s not a portal back to Hell, she’s opening one from it.
This is a summoning.
I run. I run as fast as my legs can carry me upon those stairs. I holster my .45, it’ll be useless against her, and I raise my desiccant coated cross to my lips, kissing it. It’s sharpened down to point at the bottom, right where Jesus’ feet are, and if I can get there quickly enough I can stop her ritual, ask all the questions need, and the plant it into her chest before anyone else arrives.
I sniff the air madly, trying to narrow down the voice that’s bouncing off the walls. I kick down one door, it’s nothing. I kick down a second and a frightened family runs past me. Then I kick down a third and she’s there, standing above an altar, one bloody palm pressed against the gem in it’s surface.
She no longer wears the dress, and her human is half sloughed off, along with all her beauty.
“Stop!” I shout at her. “Back away from the altar!”
She smiles at me, and the corners of her mouth falter, drooping down after only the slightest of upward turns, and then further and further as the rest of her human disguise molts off her scaled, inhuman form.
“Too late,” she growls, as a rift like a whirlpool tears open and an arm thicker than a tree trunk punches out into the world with a wet squelch.
Too late or not, I raise my cross and I dive into the room after her.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-04-29T20:53:00 | 2021-04-29T19:31:35 | 279 | 54 |
[WP] The devil mixed up your paperwork and gave you someone else's personal hell, which to you, is heaven.
|
"awwwww fuckin-!" I screamed, as the shells pounded the sand around me, then drowned me out.
I jerked the charging handle on the M16 that had been conjured into my hands, anachronisms aside. There were Germans on the beach ahead of me, but we were in some sort of semi-jungle and I was wearing a 'Nam era helmet and some sort of semi-futuristic chest rig with polymer and all kinds of weird shit. I set it to burst and charged up the sand. I took a bullet or two, but I could feel them slowly squeezing their way out of my body, the wound slowly and painfully closing behind them as I sprinted up the beach, firing wildly, laughing like a maniac. "FUCKIN-!" I screamed, before being cut off by a burst of MG fire. I dove into a foxhole that was previously occupied by some Germans and quickly noted that the ones still here were more.... robotic? Than expected.... So I was fighting Neo-Nazi Cyborgs in Vietnam? "FUCK.... YEAH!" I screamed, finally finishing my sentence.
In some other room in hell, an older man, much older now, mostly bald, but oddly like a stereotypical "friendly old man", always wearing a sweater, never swearing, sat in a nice wooden chair in a cabin. The cabin was small, wooden, but very well made. It was on a tiny island in a temperate area, of the climate equivalent of coastal Maine. The fridge was always full of good food, the TV had a few very nice channels, but nothing too intense, and there was a chess board that would seem to always clean itself up after a good game. There was very little to do here, and he was fine with that. He could finally retire in peace.
|
I woke up on a soft couch in what appeared to be a busy upscale hotel. People were walking by admiring the vaulted ceilings with a smile or looking at their own extremities and looking around as if they were missing something. Most people looked confused, a few relieved, a few more angry. I wondered about where the people were who were calling out for their loved ones. Those people who died in pairs or as families, in car wrecks or house fires, or boating accidents. I thought 'they must go to another place.' This place was obviously for the singles and the loners.
That was me. Forever alone. It wasn't what I wanted, but I wasn't exactly nice enough to deserve anyone. I didn't have the temperament for relationships of any kind. That's probably what killed me in the end; Sitting alone at work for years, then sitting at home after I got to fat to go to work, and finally laying at home until the money ran out and the delivery drivers no longer felt comfortable bringing food into my pigsty of a home.
I knew I'd die there. I thought it would be a heart attack as big as I got, but instead it was some kind of infection. At first just a little soreness in by back, then an itch, then what felt like wriggling, I couldn't reach it to scratch or roll over to see. I was just too big. Eventually I could smell the infection and by then it was too late to get help. My internet had been cut because I couldn't pay the bill and no one in the shit hole I lived it could hear over their own domestic situation to come to my aid. Slowly I got weaker and sepsis set in and I knew may fate and I was okay with it.
As I lay there on the couch feeling basking in the unexpected comfort a man leaned over the top of me. I say man, I mean manish, sort of. You could tell that he was meant to look like a man, but his proportions were off somehow. He was beautiful like a greek statue, but his face was too long, his skin pore-less and smooth, it had a pearl like quality, and his hair-line was too perfectly even, every little hair folicle right in a perfect line next to the other.
"Hello Dan!" The man said with a genuinely happy tone. "I'm Beel. If you'd like to follow us, I can take you to your room."
I looked at him and then looked around and saw the giant of a man standing next to him. He had to be almost as large as I was before I died, but entirely muscle. He had so many muscles and his skin was so tan and taught that it forced his face into a permanent look of surprised happiness - wide eyes, huge smile, perfect white teeth. It was disgusting, the only thing that disgusted me more than my own fat self.
Beel put out a hand to help me up from the couch. At first I just looked at it, wondering how he was going to help up a 700 plus pound tub of lard like me. That's when I realized that I was laying on a couch. Not hanging off of a couch. Not draping over a couch. Just laying comfortably on a normal size couch, without any pain or discomfort. Able to breath without effort. Able to move my arms around without feeling like I was swimming through molasses. It was then I realized that I was thin.
"So..." Beel look at me and then looked at his hand. I must have looked shocked at the idea. He just smiled as if I'd made him the happiest man ever with that look.
I took his hand and stood on two feet for the first time in years. It felt a little odd. I felt shorter somehow. My living height, when I could walk, was 6'4". I'd always hated the stupid jokes people would make about it and the staring. It wasn't like I was monstrously tall like a basketball player, but it was certainly enough to draw unwanted attention. As I looked around for comparison at Beel and the muscle-bound guy I was guessing I was now standing at about 5'11". Five whole inches shorter. It was my perfect height. Not too tall, not too short. Perfect. I must have somehow made it to heaven, even though I was pretty sure Beel was short for Beelzebub.
"This way please." Beel motioned, directing us to a flight of stairs.
I looked at the muscle-bound man and it looked like his face had tightened even more after seeing the steps. I wasn't sure that his feet would fit or how he was going to make his way up. But we continued on.
Beel nodded to the huge man. "Dan I'd like you to meet Dan." He laughed at that. "You know it's not very often that we get two people born on the same day who have the exact same death day. It's even rarer still to get two people who are also saddled with the same name. Danny Kay I'd like you to meet Danny Kay." He guffawed at that notion, although I didn't understand why it was funny.
I'd hated that name. My drug addict of a mother loved older movies and decided to name me after some actor. Not Daniel Roger Kay or Dan Michael Kay or any other possible name, just Danny no-middle-name Kay. I changed it on my 22nd birthday shortly after my mother died. I was now Daniel Scott Key. It was close enough to be familiar, but different enough to make me feel better. Sadly some other poor bastard appeared to have an equally stupid or addled parent. I wondered if he'd also has his named changed.
Then the "crunch" broke me out of my train of thought, as the other Danny crushed a stair step and almost broke the railing off. I was mortified. When I was alive that was my absolute worst fear; That I would try to go up stairs and fall right through or grab the banister and pull it down. I could see he must have had the same fear, as tears streamed down his leather-like cheeks as he worked hard to navigate the stairs, crushing one periodically, and making the rail creak and groan as he tried to recover.
Beel seemed to grow more delighted with each damaged step. He was practically glowing by the time we reached the second floor. It seemed like both an impossibly short amount of time and ages all at once as I had to listen to that nightmarish sound and watch Danny cry all the way up.
Finally we stood at a door with no room number. It looked nice enough, like any other door in any other hallway of any other fine hotel in the world. I knew it was too easy. I knew that I was already being tortured watching Danny come up those stairs and I knew that some new even worse torture was waiting for me on the other side of that door.
Danny and I stood there on either side of Beel as he made his introduction. He grabbed the door and swung it open like he was Monte Hall presenting a new car. Right away though I was horrified as the door almost bounced back closed. What I saw for that instant the door was open was an all too familiar sight of a hoarders house. My house, but even worse. The smell was like cat piss, oh God how I hated cats, and the walls looked like they had mold. My apartment had some mold but only in the corner. This was all over making the whole room smell of cat piss and mold and look like a dark prison cell someone decided to make into a city trash dump.
Danny continued his sobbing, now with a blubbering sound. He stepped back a step and I stepped forward accepting that this would be my eternal hell. Surprisingly Beel put out a stiff arm barring me from entry. He looked at me sternly and with his other hand waggled his finger, "No Sir! This is not for you Mister Kay!"
He stepped in front of me, pushing the door open further while smiling at the other Mister Kay. "Danny, if you please." He said with a smile. Danny took another step back. "Danny, now don't make this hard." Danny looked like he couldn't see through the tears and the tears had now come out of his nose along with snot and dripped down the front of his face onto his tank top. I was pretty sure he couldn't wipe his face even if he wanted to with those arms.
End Part 1 of 2
| 2016-05-28T15:41:50 | 2016-05-28T14:06:45 | 114 | 68 |
[WP] "Boss, it's been 15 minutes since he started having a flashback about his "challenges" and how much he loves his friends. Can't we just attack him already?" said the henchman. "No, no. We have standards." said the supervillain.
|
Common courtesy and standards.
You don't interrupt inner monologues, epiphanies and eurekas. Be it superhero or supervilain. It made the stories better for kids and schools and reduced internments in psych wards due to unfulfilled dreams or destinies or whatever.
20 minutes.
"Boss..."
"No."
The recknoning was about to come, the fate of the world, transcendence or obliteration. You didn't throw it into the balance because you were late for the yoga course.
"Yup!" excalimed the hero, "I'm good."
"Are you?" asked the vilain.
"Hell yes!"
"Well then..."
The vilain looked up to the sky, his eyes went to glass as he contemplated the way he had gone to arrive here. The sacrifice, the loss, the resolve. They would remember him as a monster, but he had only the best intentions at heart.
"My friend, can we just...?" asked the hero's sidekick.
"No! We do'nt attack while he has his final conceptualization on existence and fate, have you no manners?"
"But..."
""There is no but."
Half an hour later, the vilain came back to earth, ready to fight. But now the hero had to do the same again because in the meantime, he had another illumination.
Two hours later, the sun had gone down and the light was shit.
"That's not a good setting for a showdown of ultimate destiny," said the vilain.
"Agreed," replied the hero.
"Same time next week?"
"Sure."
They parted ways.
Under his breath, the henchman was muttering.
"Next, and then the next, and then... Shit's been going on for twenty years, I can't take it anymore."
|
"So, it's decided then. We're finally doing this?" Surelock said with a smirk tighter than her ponytail. She checked her watch. "If I start into him and you all stay asses to seats, you know what I'll do after I finish him."
"Don't worry, witch," Metropolon bellow, clearly drawing on his power to carry his voice across all of the cavernous Alcazar of Argonauts. "I speak for all of us when I say we're tired of the hero bit. The tides are changing. He’s living in a past that never was. This is the only way forward."
Apropos scribbled in his book of luck behind her. The hovering twins were staring at her, creepy as always.
"Eyes up. He's here," SoulTold spoke, sending a whisper's shiver across Surelock side. She held the pocket watch out and began to twirl the knob, letting herself begin to fall into the soft, halting clicks.
"Hermit, Bearer, and Hog Heaver, stand near the door." Surelock walked around the huge table, resting a hand against one of the leather chairs. The black faded to dusting grey under her touch. "We'll damage him from back here. Just focus on keeping him still long enough for me to sink my teeth in."
Hog Heaver belched with trepidation. "Is it enough? He's never been defeated before and usually there ain't much left of those that goes up against him." His shaking hand hovered over the neon green soda at his hip.
"He's never faced nine on one. On my cue," Surelock said, eyes pinned to the door.
The massive slabs slammed open, shaking the dust from the ceiling far above. It was amazing the hinges had lasted this long. "I got the alert. What's the situation?" the grizzled voice of Dig Deep resonated deeper than Metropolon through the hall. "Wait, why-"
Hog Heaver finished chugging the drink, spitting towards the muscled hero. His spectral hog was already forming from the dew, lancing tusks aimed straight ahead.
Dig Deep dodged left as Bearer jumped where he had just been, tripping over the hog before they both recovered. Hog Heaver was already summoning from a second bottle. Surelock focused on her watch, trying to tie the aura of the lock to the massive spirit of Dig Deep. It was doable, but she needed more time.
"Why are you doing this!?" Dig Deep yelled as a fist cracked one of the hogs now swarming him back to mist. He aimed another hammer fist down on Bearer before being blocked by Hermit's shell shield. Surelock heard the unbreakable shield crack, launching splinters all around to embed in the walls. She sweated as she strained to pull the watch’s influence further. It was getting warm in her sweating palm.
Metropolon launched shadow traffic, pushing Dig Deep’s advance back into the wall with a double decker bus to the face. Five lances from the silent Holographic Twins combined into one massive Harpoon, striking Dig Deep center of mass. He stumbled as Bearer finally managed to get a hold of him from behind.
Surelock felt her moment and seized it as the iron blood gathered on her tongue. She strained and snapped closed the pocket watch, freezing the strongest man alive as still as the stones. The leader of the Alcazar of Argonauts was locked just as he was beginning to stand, rearing back another unstoppable strike. His face was an untempered rage, eyes red as blood.
“Oh my god!” Hermit cried as he collapsed back in exhaustion. “That took me ten years to grow!”
“So now we kill him, right?” Apropos asked, twisting his feather.
“That wouldn’t be very sporting. I think I’ll just leave him here actually,” Surelock said. “He makes for a rather handsome statue.”
“Wait, y’all hear dat?” Hog Heaver said as he used a rag to sop up the sticky remains of the destroyed soda pig. “It’s like a guy yelling real far away or a kid crying like a baby.”
“That’s Dig Deep trying to activate his power,” Metropolon said. “Surelock, you assured me he couldn’t break through your magics.”
“He can’t. I’ve held armies without finding my limit. There’s no way he’s powerful enough,” she said as she licked her lips. “Let him have his little montage.”
“Then explain that!” Metropolon said, pointing to the pebbles of debris beginning to vibrate around Dig Deep.
Surelock dropped the red-hot watch to bounce on the polished marble. Something cracked, deeper than the foundations, deeper than the Earth. A thick mist surrounded Dig Deep now. The time lock held firm still, despite whatever the locked hero was trying.
“Dig Deep gains his power from reliving the challenges of his life and focusing on the love and friendship he found along the way. Real Saturday morning special stuff. Were it not for the emotional curve ball of us betraying him, he may have killed us all before we snagged him. No doubt he is ruminating deeply in there.” She sauntered over to look up at him and squeezed a toned cheek.
“Aww, how’s it feel to know all your friends were sick of your holier than thou savoir routine, big guy?” She puppeted his lips moving down into a frown. “Yeah, I’m definitely keeping him just like this. It's kind of cute to watch him struggle in there.”
Unbelieving, Surelock watched as his mouth moved back to the gaping scream of rage. The thin white lips closed and opened then, moving slowly at first then faster and faster into some deft muted litany. “SoulTold, what the hell is happening?”
“Something of great consequence,” the spirit offered, just before the mist enveloped them all. “Do you want to know what he’s saying?”
Surelock backed up, squatting down to pick up her watch. She looked down in horror to see it was slowly cracking open. “Yes,” she said, feeling a million miles away, crying in a bed somewhere, cold and hungry.
“Not love,” Soultold whispered, as though he might awaken. “He’s just repeating it over and over.”
“Looks like we’re in for a round two, B’s and G’s!” Hog Heaver yelled before letting loose a belch carrying some primal unnamed emotion.
Surelock held white knuckled fingers against the watch, trying to hold her father’s weapon closed. The metal seared its arabesque filigree into her, the opening now a slow and undeniable eventuality.
Dig Deep's fist started falling as a memory of digging a grave shot into Surelock’s mind. Backyard dirt fell atop a shoe box. A phantom father’s hand, gripping too strong. ‘Be a man, son. This is nothing. You should be glad it’s dead. My dad would have made me eat the ratty thing.’
A boy sniffling before breaking into sobs. The father does not comfort him.
She snapped back to reality as everyone in the room began yelling at once. Even the floating twins looked fearful.
“Surelock, do we attack again?" Metropolon asked. "Would that just wake him up faster? This was your idea! What do we do?” He was readying his skyscraper lance at the now crawling Dig Deep. His voice was weak now, breathy with rising panic.
“We die,” Surelock said calmly just before the watch slammed fully open past the hinges, breaking the thin bones of her hand far too burned now to feel it.
…
“Agony,” came the call through all of Carmeno City, as the towering Alcazar of Argonauts broke away from the skyline, crumbling into the sea. “Not Love.”
/r/surinical
| 2021-05-21T00:16:46 | 2021-05-20T21:11:37 | 73 | 13 |
[WP] They aimed at each other in silence. Neither of them wanted to pull the trigger, but they both knew that one of them had to.
|
I stared at her, more importantly, at the gun in her hand. It was pointed at me. I would have been upset, but my gun was pointed in her direction, so we were even. Tears were starting to flow down her face, as the moment stretched to its breaking point. She didn't want to pull that trigger. I knew that, because I didn't want to pull mine. The man in the corner sighed, leaning forward.
"One of you has to shoot the other. I don't care which. That's the only way for one of you to prove it." He sat back, safe behind his bulletproof glass.
"Do you remember?" I whispered, hoping he couldn't hear me. As he didn't react, it seemed that his glass also muffled sound. Or he was just being patient.
"Remember what?" She whispered, at exactly the same tone and volume as me.
"Do you remember the summer? The water pistol battle we had?" As I spoke, the hot day came back to me. There had been a standoff— much like this one— though the ammunition hadn't been nearly as dangerous. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.
"I remember. It was fun. We lost, I think."
"Yes, but before we lost. Do you remember what happened—"
"What are you two doing? Get on with it!" The man interrupted me. I took a deep breath. This needed to be fast. I had to get her to remember, to agree that it was the best course of action.
"I remember what happened..." She paused, tilting her head to the side. "But do you think that's a good idea? It will be difficult. And technically, what he's asking is the right thing to do." Looking at her, at her eyes that were as familiar as my own, I trembled. I didn't care if her existence was illegal. Didn't care that I should have pulled the trigger when I first entered the room.
"It might not be a good idea. But it's the best we've got." Watching her closely, I saw the minute traces of acceptance. And together with my clone, I turned, running for the man in the corner.
With one shot, I broke the lock on his booth. Falling to the ground, I shoved the door open, as another shot rang out. The man slumped, bleeding from the neck. An alarm sounded, but I was already up, grabbing his ID card. My clone had sliced off his forefinger, knowing we would need it to get through the doors. I grabbed her hand, and we ran for the door. It was time to escape.
|
The blood-tinted sky above was a fitting companion to the rust-wastes below. Howling winds blew with a melancholic sound through the ruined cityscape, where the sea from the east and the forest from the west were in middle of the centuries-long process of removing any sign that man had been there. But for now, in autumn, the red-rust and leaves of fall created a crimson scene for the two gunslingers. Deer absentmindedly observed the two thin figures that were staring at each other. The two gunslingers, humans, were aiming at each other. Completely and utterly silent, they stood, their ragged cloaks blowing in the wind, their eyes locked together in an unbreakable stare. Centuries ago, this event would have been a spectacle witnessed by hundreds, if not thousands of human. Today, the only witness who would walk away, would be the one to shoot last. Their guns might have started out as different types back in the day, when they were first made, but now after years of repairs, jury-rigging, replacements, and lack of perfect parts; they were both the same kind of gun. When the world dies, so too does its ability to create advanced weaponry.
They had no real desire to be killers. No real desire to end their counterpart. A year ago they had been the best of friends. Travellers, who moved together through the ruined lands, through tiny settlement after tiny settlement, working together to catch bounties, deliver messages, protect trade caravans, and generally being a part of the effort to keep the remnants of society from disintegrating. Two decades ago, they had been taught by the rangers out west, who had taken both of them in as orphans. They had learned to live of off the land, to act with justice first, and to react with emotions second. To never betray each other, or the Rangers, and to keep the old ways alive. A decade ago, their training was complete. They were fully trained rangers. Warriors of the wastes, heirs to a tradition harkening back to the legendary World Wars, where gods and men struggled against demons and corrupted men.
They had been a part of the wars to contain the snakehandling cults, and the campaigns against the flesh-salvation. They'd fought cattle-rustlers, oil-lords, and had taken down a bear together using only their knives after they had been attacked while they were out of ammunition. They had ridden together as soldiers in the coalition to hold back the Machine Nation from rebuilding a world of computers and unholy technology. In all but blood, they were as brothers. Sleeping in the same tent, telling each other tales under the stars, and training horses. All this they had done together. All this was what their lives had been. Adventures, friendship, and glory.
And today, each of them had to kill their best friend. They didn't beg for mercy, they didn't ask for surrender. They knew that one of them had to pull the trigger. No matter what. No matter how much they didn't really want to. But they both knew that they were right, and the other was wrong. That if they died here, the world-that-ended, would burn again. And this time for good.
One knew it would be a slow burn, if he couldn't walk away from this alive. A slow burn where more and more of mankind's knowledge would be lost. Until mankind settled back into the mud and the darkness, giving up the option for a future. An eternity of decay, which would only end when mankind finally lost the ability to think as the ancients had done. If they died here, mankind would never rise again. The shot that they had had as a people, as a species, would have missed. To walk away here today, meant that mankind would rebuild what the ancients had. The power to control machines, the power to rebuild the ruined cities. The power to harness and ride the lightning as mankind once did. If they died, then inevitably the various forces desperately trying to rebuild the dying world, would fail. And though the fall might last a thousand winters, it would be inevitable.
The other knew that it would be a quick burn. That if they died here, in this ruined city that served as a grave warning about the folly of the ancients, then the mistakes of the past would be made again. The follies of old that burned the world and nearly ended all of mankind, made the world-that-was into the world-that-ended. They remembered the horrors of old, told in hushed tones around the fires. Of invisible flames that corrupted the flesh. Of technology used by soulless and amoral humans to turn mankind into slaves. Of the poisons in the waters. Much of the ocean was still dead, and no fish caught there was even edible any longer. He knew that if mankind gained the power that they once had, they'd unleash an inferno upon the already ruined world, and this time there would be no embers of mankind left that could rebuild. No rangers. No world-fleets. No distant merchants from exotic Europa, no storm-warriors coming out of the warm deserts of Afrik. Nothing would remain. Only cold and dead ash. Even the beasts would be scoured from the Earth.
And so, the two gunbrothers, who had shared meals and water, waited for the other to make the first move. The two, who had sworn themselves to a sacred brotherhood, who had been the best of their years in the rangers, stood against each other in a cataclysmic battle. An event that should have been witnessed by the great and small, was only to be seen by beasts. A battle that would decide the fate of the world, and only the two of them would ever know about it. There were no words left. They had both tried to convince the other of the righteousness of their case. They had both spoken fairly and with honour. But they could not reach a consensus.
They could not compromise. For when the future itself is at stake, there can be no compromise, no half-measures. Only the moment, stretching into infinity, as the two gunslingers, the young rangers, aimed at each other with frightening precision. Each aimed for, and with, the heart. And yet they did not want to. For they loved each other, as closely as one could. Brothers in arms, each of the two owing the other one their lives countless times over. The memories of the times that they'd saved the other, that they'd been there for the other, raced through their heads. But love is nothing compared to duty. Compared to doing what is right. Such are the teachings that they'd learned. That duty matters above all else. That love must be cast aside, if doing so is in the service of the world. Such had been the teachings drilled into their heads as they were children.
One carried a machine. A small but perfect machine, that contained knowledge. All the knowledge of the old ones. All the knowledge that had been lost after the world burned. The other knew that it could never be allowed to be used, as the power and knowledge was too much. The other knew that they could tame the Machine Nation, they could rebuild the lost world. Both knew that they had to do it.
The flash of the guns were quickly followed by twin blasts. The gulls in the sky screeched. The deer ran. In the distance, wolves howled. One lived. The other did not. The one who lived, found that he wished he didn't. But he had a task to do. In the moment, it could have been either one of them. The one who wanted to rebuild the old world, and the one who wanted to let the old darkness die. It didn't matter. Both had done their duty to the best of their ability. And now one of them was dead. The survivor put back his gun into his holster, and then approached his dead brother. Though duty had driven him, his heart was heavy. He kneeled besides his lost brother, and holding the dead man's head in his hands, he wept. Wept over the necessity. Wept for the loss of a friend. The closest and most dearly beloved man in his life. Dead at his hands.
But weeping solves nothing. Instead, he opted to bury his beloved. He did not care that it was growing dark. He did not care for anything. Except for the digging. At that moment, it was all that mattered. When he was done, he picked up his dead friend, his closest companion, and placed him gently in that tomb. He wanted to say something. To say he was sorry. Because in truth, he was of course sorry. He had hoped his words could have swayed the dead man. That it wouldn't have come to this. Yet it had. And now only the duty remained.
The surviving gunslinger filled the grave with dirt, and made an intermediary marker over the grave, so that he might have a chaplain come out here later to sanctify the earth. It was the least he could do, as an apology to the man he had never wanted to kill. He left that place, his heart hardened, knowing what he had to do now. The world changes. And a gunslinger must go west.
For what else could he do, to ensure that the death of his closest friend meant something, than to fulfil his duty. And rebuild the world.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
| 2022-07-06T16:37:22 | 2022-07-06T16:30:03 | 72 | 17 |
[WP] Cats and Dogs see us as immortal and unchanging, simply because we can easily survive to be forty years old, while they struggle to survive twenty.
|
They baffle me, to be honest, these things. These giants, who feed us and love us. They’re so warm and adoring most of the time. But sometimes, they’re so uncaring and cruel. During the loud months especially, they seem angered by my pain. I suppose it’s hard for them to care much about my kind. They are huge and wonderful and we’re so small in comparison. Its days like these that I envy them. They don’t have to face death or pain or the ticking clock of time. They are ageless and unchanging. They don’t have to concern themselves with such matters. Maybe that’s why they take us in. They look after us, pitying us, hoping to make our short time with them special. Or maybe they just want the company.
It was a peaceful night when my best friend died. Max was the best dog I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. He practically raised me, after Mum and Dad got taken away. The bed feels empty without him. The garden feels empty without him. I feel empty without him. The giants buried him in the soft ground, down the back of the garden. I heard them say his name, amongst the muffled sounds they make so often. I looked at the smaller giant, and saw tears rolling down their eyes. It glanced down at me and I could tell, in that moment, she was feeling the same emptiness that I felt. Perhaps the giants are not as big as I had thought.
|
The mouse had landed in the pond, and now it floated out in the middle.
“See,” I told Frodo, who mewled lightly next to me, “this is why we shouldn’t play with offerings before we bring them home.”
“I wasn’t playing!” He padded in the water with one paw. “Besides, who’s gonna know?”
“I bet Twig will.”
“Yeah, but she’s been gone for hours. Who knows when they’ll bring her back?”
I twitched my tail, annoyed. “They went to see the syringe-man,” I said. “With my mother, that’ll take a while, believe me.” It irritated me that the Immortals had picked my mother to breed again. She was ten years old now, which is a lot older than usual to be having kittens, and she hasn’t been in terribly good health recently--you couldn’t see it on her, but she had told me the other day that she’d had pains in her stomach. So I was a little worried. Besides which I did not much approve of the mother of our house, House Daniel, mating with some brutish tomcat from House Linda. But the Immortals required tribute in return for the food and protection they gave us. So we had no choice.
I turned away and darted across the lawn, then slowed down in the brush and entered stalking mode. Maybe I’d be lucky and find another mouse before Twig came home. The back yard was big, after all. Sure enough, after creeping around a little, I found one of the critters, a little beige one. It would make a good offering. I slithered through the high grass, moving like a snake, and I was just ready to pounce, when--
“Here they come, here they come, they’re here, they’re here!” My ears stood upright, I peered through the grass. Walden, the little brown dog from downstairs, had come running out into the yard and up toward the fence. He was barking his head off, yapping, yapping, yapping, jumping up at the fence where he could see the thresher come to a halt in front of the house. I wondered sometimes if dogs like Walden had any concept at all of the threshers.
I looked down, but his incessant noise had scared off the mouse. Once again twitching my tail, I climbed the little tree and hopped onto the shed, and Frodo followed me, slipping as he came to a halt next to me on the roof. He showed me his teeth triumphantly. “And here she comes,” he said.
I tried to ignore him. Beyond the fence, Owner Daniel stepped out of the thresher, and he went around the back and brought out a travel cage. Frodo had been right. Twig was back.
We rushed around the side of the house and jumped in through the basement window, then climbed the stairs all the ways upstairs and home. Frodo started rushing around and told everyone, “Wake up, wake up! Twig is coming home!”
“Did you find an offering?” asked Kiki. Frodo blinked, then scampered off without a word. “Julius?” Kiki twitched her tail and cocked her head me with a sharp, inquisitive look. “No,” I admitted. “Well, we did, but we tossed it around and it landed in the pond.”
She walked off. I bit my tongue, cursing Walden for being such a lousy dog. I went over to the door and waited, my tail nervously waving from side to side. Soon, Owner Daniel came pounding through, holding the cage high above the ground. I could smell my mother, and I could smell the weird stink of House Linda on her. And then I realized that she was already in labor. I looked around in shock, meowed incredulously. I met Kiki’s eyes, and she meowed, too, and looked up at the cage.
Owner Daniel said something, said my name, and I moved out of the way so he could put down the cage and lift out my mother.
Twig had received her name because she had been so thin and tiny when Owner Daniel had found her. Now, she was the mother of our house, she was a symbol of strength and prosperity. But the way he heaved her out and put her in her nest, she looked so weak and brittle--I had never seen my mother like this. She had a frightened look in her eye, and she howled and gasped for air. This did not look natural--had she been going into labor, they would have noticed, we all would have noticed this morning at the latest, and they would not have taken her to the syringe-man. But here she was, already pushing.
Kiki, Frodo, and I gathered around the nest while the others all stayed away. Wheezing, Twig said, “Go away!” and we backed off. Frodo’s ears were flat against his head. He was just as worried as I.
Owner Daniel led us all out of the room and closed the door behind us, and we waited outside, right by the door, restless. It took hours. I found myself pacing back and forth, back and forth, scraping at the door. “How could they do this?” I said. “How could they do this to her, she’s too old, too sick, she can’t have children, they’re killing her!”
“The Immortals know what they are doing, Julius,” said Kiki. “They require tribute, and they have chosen Twig.”
“I don’t care what they require!” Rage welled up within me. “Don’t they realize what they are doing to her?”
“Owner Daniel can’t know everything--”
“Then why call him Immortal? If he is not all-knowing, why do we revere him?”
“Don’t be foolish.” It was Domenico’s voice that rustled the air as he stepped forward out of the shadow of the staircase. He was the oldest of all of us at eighteen years. He had six teeth left and his fur was starting to get thin. Other than that, he was a majestic black short-haired Brit. “When I was only a kitten,” he said, “My mother was ten years old, and even she did not remember a time when Owner Daniel was not around. And when you have kittens, and then they have theirs, they will still belong to Owner Daniel.” His look was stern, it went right through to my bones. “Do not question those who give you food and shelter.”
At some point, I heard my mother calling my name, meowing loudly and calmly, with just a very light shiver in her voice. Owner Daniel opened the door and looked out with his big, squinty eyes. I don’t think he really understood why Twig was calling out. I slipped through the crack in the door, and he said, “Julius!” and tried to stop me with one foot, but I evaded it. He came after me, but stopped as I came to my mother’s side and nuzzled her chin. She put a paw on my nose and looked me in the eyes. Her eyes were foggy green, tired. I looked down at her nest, saw the fluids, the blood--and the kittens. Two little kittens, a little brother and a little sister. I looked back at my mother and I knew that I would have to be the one to raise them. She wouldn’t make it.
“Julius,” she said, “my eldest…” Her voice was weak, but calm… very calm…
I purred and howled and licked her cheeks, pawed at her to keep her close, keep her warm. “I thank the Immortals for you and your siblings,” she said. “Promise me, Julius, to keep them warm, the children. Teach them to hunt, and to bring proper offerings to Owner Daniel.”
“I will,” I said. I could not find any other words. I purred and held her close, and moaned every few seconds.
“Then I am glad,” she said, and she sighed. “You are a good cat, Julius.”
And then, she stopped breathing. Blood came out of her belly when she relaxed her muscles and fell against my shoulders. And I howled and cried and I didn’t stop for a very long time.
| 2014-01-25T14:18:59 | 2014-01-25T13:48:08 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] “He’s dead....finally that son of a bitch got what he deserved” Charlie said as he reads the headline of the news paper. “Candy Extraordinaire Wonka has passed away”. Now, Charlie sits, and remembers the true events of the day he and the other children visited Wonka’s Factory.
|
When I was a child I idolized him. And only when I began to enter adulthood did I really see how much of a monster he was. His insatiable greed which drove his every decision, not to mention his childish recklessness and sick mind games. He was no better than those four children he so pretentiously derided as they were tortured (or "Punished" as he considered it.)
When I won the chocolate factory I was so excited, we both were. But for different reasons. Running a chocolate factory wasn't enough for him. It was necessary of course, as a reliable source of funding. But he wanted *more*. I was left to run the factory while he used the money to take advantage of the less fortunate. I should have known from that first day in the factory that he was a conman.
By the time I had arranged the appropriate legal avenues to have him ejected from *my* chocolate factory it was too late. He had amassed too much power, had too many devoted followers. Who knew a man that was practically a shut in could be so charismatic. But then again I myself had fallen for his charms as a child.
I read the article. "William "Willy" Wonka succumbed to the bullet wounds he received in yesterday's confrontation with Cult Leader Joseph "Joe" Bucket." On his deathbed he expressed his biggest regrets for allowing chocolatier Charlie Bucket to name his grandfather Joseph as his proxy until he reached the age of majority. The confrontation arose when William refused to provide any more prototype "Life Extender Licorice" to the 120 year old man when his supply had been exhausted. Joseph suffered a heart attack after firing the pistol and was dead when the paramedics arrived on the scene."
I fold the newspaper and begin arrangements for the burial of my last family member. He will be entombed in the family crypt alongside my other three grandparents. But unlike them I think I might leave his coffin upright. That bastard lied in bed long enough.
|
“There you go, Grandpa Joe,” Charlie sighed as he fastened his grandfather’s diaper.
“What’ssat sposed tuh mean?” Grandpa Joe slurred angrily, as he immediately began to wet himself again. “Wha’d you call me, you spiteful little bassard?”
“I didn’t call you anything, Grandpa Joe,” Charlie mumbled. Grandpa Joe had sat in bed for 20 years, smoking like a chimney, drinking whatever booze he could have delivered at his laundry wench daughter’s expense, and expelling his foul cabbage soup excrement directly into the bed. “The floor is too cold!” he would cry, whenever Charlie deigned to ask why he had crawled into bed at 50 and just given up.
“But why don’t you just put shoes on, Grandpa Joe?” Charlie would protest, year after year, as he toiled as a paper boy to feed his grandfather’s myriad bad habits.
“Don’t backtalk me boy!” Joe would snarl. “Don’t backtalk me, or I’ll hop out of this bed and beat you within an inch of your life!”
Charlie knew better than to protest when Joe finally crawled down from the bed and begin tap dancing at the sight of the golden ticket. Charlie wanted to give his mother a day – just one day – off from her horrible job, and to give her something beautiful. Alas, Joe had honed in on a tour through a chocolate factory as though he were *entitled* to it. And now, as Charlie sat him up on the changing table at the drug store near Wonka’s factory, he grimaced, for he knew Joe would not be able to last ten minutes without spewing his hateful venom about all manner of minority groups.
For a man soaked in his own vile leavings, Joe thought an awful lot of himself. God help you if you had a skin tone a shade darker than his, or else Joe would rant, and rant, and rant. Charlie knew that, having lazed in bed for two decades, Grandpa Joe’s pallor had an almost otherworldly, ghoulish quality, and he hoped against hope that none of the others on the tour were ethnic, or else the ranting would never end. Charlie had been in more than one fistfight to defend his family after Joe invited conflict with his hateful screeds, and he knew today was likely to bring about more of the same.
-----------------------------------
The tour began after a bizarre display by Wonka, where he feigned a handicap for the amusement of the crowd gathered at his factory gates.
“Amateur,” Grandpa Joe slurred under his breath. “You don’t go *walkin’ around* if you’re a cripple. You just don’t!”
“Shhh, Grandpa Joe, no one says cripple anymore,” Charlie pleaded. He knew it was in vain. Once Joe latched onto an idea, he would not let go. Grandpa Joe, after all, was the ghostwriter of Mein Kampf, and would not let you forget it.
“Welcome, welcome, one and all!” Willy Wonka cried. “You’ll all need to sign this contract before you enter my factory!”
“Don’t do it Charlie!” Joe cried. “It’s jewish treachery!”
“I beg your pardon?” asked Mrs. Teevee, aghast at what she had heard the old lecher grumble.
“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” Charlie said, horrified at what lay in store for the rest of the day.
“The hell I didn’t!” Joe screamed. It was the scream of a weak, shriveled old coward.
“No treachery here!” Wonka stated firmly. “I’m just protecting myself from any claims of malfeasance. Why, I had to replace my whole work force, due to the – uh, unorthodox nature of the factory’s manufacturing process. I just don’t want any more of the same.”
Grandpa Joe signed “I.P. Freely” on the contract, and laughed harder than anyone deserves to laugh at such a lazy, thoughtless joke. All the other guests signed their names, and stared at Joe with a mixture of disdain and pity.
“Well then, on with the tour!” cried Wonka, grinning ear to ear.
-----------------------------------
The guests filed through the impossibly small room to enter the factory, and were amazed at what they saw. A river of chocolate, trees made of gumdrops, and a hundred other fantastical items of which they could have only dreamed met their gaze. Wonka paraded around the room, singing to no one in particular, to shared confusion of the adults and children alike. After he ended his expository melody, Wonka directed the attention of the tour group to the workers across the factory floor.
“These are the Oompa Loompas!” Wonka beamed, “They are my most loyal workers. In Loompaland, they were chased by horrible Snozzwanglers, and Vermicious Kinids! Here, they work in safety and comfort, with all the cacao beans their little bellies can hold!” Charlie noted the color of their skin, and turned to see his grandfather boiling with rage. He knew what was coming.
“What the hell is this!?” Joe shrieked. “What in the bloody hell do you have those animals working here for?” The tour group was incredibly uncomfortable, and no one said a word. The Oompa Loompas looked over at Joe, confused.
“Oh my god,” Joe started, “Are you – are you telling me, that whenever I spent my hard-earned money on a Wonka Bar that I have to fight tooth and nail not to share with my daughter or grandson,” he shuddered, “They’ve been made by *them*?!” He was screaming now. Charlie was used to it, but everyone else shifted in place, unable to process how uncomfortable they were being made in real time.
“Of course, my good man,” Wonka said, “There hasn’t been a product that left this factory in the last 10 years that wasn’t made by one of the Oompa Loompas.”
“Filthy!” Joe began, “Their *skin* is orange. Their very essence is filth!” And on he ranted. For the better part of two hours, no one dared interrupt Joe, as he paced back and forth, tugging at his diaper as it chafed his milky thighs. Joe would scream for a moment, then recede into a calmer, measured cadence. As he grew more confident in his rant, the tour group began to disperse. Mr. Beauregard shook his head sadly, and dragged his daughter back into the impossibly small room from which they came, despite her vociferous protests. Ms. Teevee wept, and took Mike with her as she left the tour. One by one, the children and the parents left. But Wonka’s attention was unwavering.
“Tell me then, Grandpa Joe,” Wonka droned, eyes glued on the surprisingly charismatic old drunk, “What should we do with them? The Oompa Loompas, I mean. Filthy, filthy Oompa Loompas.”
“I’m glad you asked,” Joe sneered, “I’m glad you finally asked.”
------------------------------
Charlie didn't sleep for weeks. The screams of the Oompa Loompas were burned into his brain. For a man who had not left his bed for two solid decades, Grandpa Joe could wield a machete with surprising force.
"Oh, I'm going to feel that tomorrow!" Joe would joke, as he mowed down one after another with his remorseless slicing and slashing.
"Oh what a delight!" Wonka would cry as he pulled his dagger from the handle of his walking stick, so he may cut down the next Oompa Loompa.
"May I have one of their thighs for later?!" Augustus Gloop pleaded, hungry and German as he was. "I will roast it and it would be ever so delicious!"
More than anything, Charlie remembered the silence. The Oompa Loompas had tried to sing an impromptu song to rally themselves against the enslaught of Grandpa Joe and Willy Wonka's genocidal wrath, but their rhymes were sloppy and meter was inconsistent, so they could never muster the strength to truly resist. Once the last Oompa Loompa was cut down, Charlie remembered the silence was heavy in the air. That was, until, Wonka spoke.
"So, Grandpa Joe, tell me more about the *Jews*."
| 2019-03-21T10:38:18 | 2019-03-21T10:19:04 | 179 | 106 |
[WP] Following the death of Batman, the Joker is despondent. Crime without Batman is like a joke without a punchline. That people dare commit crime in his absence is an insult to his oeuvre of mayhem and to the craft itself. To protect his legacy, the Joker vows to keep the streets of Gotham clean.
|
Whatever the average person in Gotham thought about about Batman, deep down they'd known he was the only sliver of silver lining to the massive grey cloud that hung over them.
After the death of its last great defender, the city was sinking in a pit of depression, slowly but inevitably succumbing to urban decay and anarchy.
An ineffective police force, hamstrung by red tape and poor funding. Corrupt politicians who would say anything to get re-elected, but never followed through. Average citizens scurried to their gated and barred hovels like rats when the sun went down and even in broad daylight, they clutched at their bags and wallets, wild-eyed stares glancing around for those who might seek to relieve them of their meagre possessions.
Amidst all of this, there was one person who was more affected than others.
Not a kind soul down on their luck, as you might imagine, but the city's most renown and feared supervillian.
The Joker had once said to his now deceased arch-nemesis that he was nothing without him, and yet time had proved that the reverse was also true.
Without Batman there to counter the chaos he caused, everything just felt empty. Crime was running amock, anarchy of everyone's making but his.
Perhaps he could... no!
It was inconceivable. Unimaginable. Unthinkable.
And yet...
For the first time in months, the characteristic evil grin returned to his face.
Once again, this city would learn to fear The Joker. Only this time, it would be the villains that had to look over their shoulder.
Working with the police? Pah! Look where that had gotten Bruce, shot in the back by a rookie cop.
No... when he was done with these people, they wouldn't need any "administrative processes" other than an autopsy.
"Harley!" he called, his voice ringing through the largely empty warehouse. "Fetch me some automatic rifles and a few lads who know how to shoot."
"Sure thing, Mistah J!" came the answer a moment later, the glee in her voice totally unmistakable. Such a good girl.
"Now let's see here... last I heard, that old waddler had his headquarters near here just beyond the East-Side channel? Perfect."
He slides back the lid on a nearby crate, revealing it packed with enough explosives to demolish several city blocks.
"Hehe hehe. Heehehhehehehe. HahahaHAHAHA."
|
"Come on, come on, come on!" I screamed in panic at Gerald in the driver's seat but no matter how quickly he sped down the highway, I could hear the cops blaring their sirens behind us. I didn't see any other choice if we wanted to get away so I grabbed my rifle from the floor and aimed out the back of the car and blasted through the rear windshield. The sound was louder than I'd expected, I never thought I'd have to use it since it was only for crowd control after all but it did the trick. The rear window was ruined but I'd shot the cops' tires out as they spun uncontrollably along the highway as we sailed onto freedom. Ian didn't say anything as he had told me to never fire unless absolutely necessary but even from the front seat, I knew even he couldn't be mad at how I'd ditched them. Frank, meanwhile, slapped my shoulder with a typical "Nice going kid" and one of his usual Old Gotham cackles as we sped our way through the worn down Industrial section of the city. I let the gun slip from my shaking hand and I sat back down in my seat and trusted Gerald's capable driving to get us to the safe house. In truth, it was a pretty simple job, just a run-of-the-mill jewellery store heist but it had been my first, I'd bullshitted my way through to get to this point. I'd never held anything more than a glock in my life, but that didn't matter now. I'd have plenty of time to catch up, to get some more experience and make a name for myself in the underworld. After all, with the Bat gone, who was gonna stop us?
Frank pulled up to one of the countless abandoned warehouses in this section of the city but it was where we had planned this heist for the past few weeks, parking the car in the middle of the nearby parking lot which for some reason was littered with broken, busted up, abandoned cars. We quickly got out of the car and grabbed the loot from the trunk and made our way inside. I was straggling behind as I was looking across all the nearby rooftops looking for him. I almost laughed at myself, it was hard to break some habits and it was hard to get used to, like one of Gordon's sick jokes to make us slack up and then BOOM, the Bat gets us all with our pants down but nope, weeks had passed and nothing had been heard from him, not Bird Boy either - any of them. Seemed almost too good to be true in a way, but I didn't think much of it as I closed the door behind me as we made our way upstairs to what we assumed had been the old manager's office and we dumped the score onto the main table, the room illuminated with lights we had set up and the planning for the joint all over the walls and I could not help but look at it and wonder why they had only sent one cop car after us. Guess they didn't realise how much we had taken? This was a mountain for what we had managed to stuff into four duffel bags, shimmering piles of diamonds, gold and silver and it was all ours. I stood open mouthed as Frank slapped my back again.
"What's wrong kid? Never seen jewels before?" He chuckled
"Never so many..." I replied dumbly
"Well, get used to it. Perform...like that, and there'll be more of this in the future. Fuck up like that under pressure again, and you won't be a problem anymore. Clear?" Ian said coldly.
"Crystal," I replied, not understanding the problem. After all, shooting the clerk controlled the crowd which was what we were there for, right?
"Alright," Now we won't be able to shift this all in one night. I'll have a word with my guy and see how many hands we can get this stuff melted through so it can't be traced back to us. Now-"
But just then Ian was interrupted by the power shorting out as in a moment we were shrouded in complete darkness. I thought I heard something then that sounded like...laughter? I didn't have the time to contemplate whatever it was as Ian screamed out in anger.
"For fucks sake Frank, I thought you said you'd handled the power!"
"I did boss, I never make a mistake where wires are involved!"
"Well clearly you did somewhere so get down there and fix the goddamn problem. Gerald, torches!" Ian barked as the two of them rushed to obey the bosses orders. "Fucking amateurs, I'm surrounded by them. I can't be in the fucking dark much longer, dumbasses!
"Well-" I tried to interject before being interrupted.
"What?" Ian snapped through gritted teeth.
"Well, it's not like we have to be afraid of the dark anymore, is it boss?"
"Who said I was afraid, rookiee?"
"Well, I mean, we all were, until...y'know..."
"You were still pissing your pants when I was losing guys to it, don't you pretend for one fucking second you understand what it was like to sleep with one eye open wondering if tonight was the night vengeance comes crashing through your window." Ian's words were filled with a certain coldness but I could sense no hostility either. Did he mean to teach me something? Whatever the case, I didn't have the time to wonder as Gerald came back into the room with torches tossing one to Ian first who caught it deftly and then to me, who fumbled with it as it nearly slipped out of my hands.
"Hey, at least now we can see each other," I offered, trying to lighten the mood.
"Oh goodie, that's just what I wanted." Gerald cynically replied.
"Where is Frank?" Ian asked.
"How should I know? Perhaps we got lucky and he did us the favour of electrocuting himself to death," Gerald dryly replied.
"How would that be a favour?" I asked.
"Because it would mean all our shares increase. Right Boss?" Gerald smiled at Ian as if looking for approval but the look on the boss' face was one I had never seen before, a look of determination...and fear.
"He's been gone too long."
"So? He's always been a useless-"
"It's too fucking quiet! Take a glock, and sweep the ground floor. I'll search the rooftop and the kid can keep watch from here."
"Sweep?" Gerald asked with a laugh. "Sweep for wh-" He said as he stopped himself mid-sentence, as he realised the implication of what was being said. "Ian, you...you can't be serious. You're overreacting, we all saw the video. The Bat's dea-" But then, quick as a flash, Ian had grabbed Gerald by the scruff of his collar and pinned him against the wall.
"Sweep. The. Ground. Floor. Now." I had been used to hearing determination from the boss before but never this level of panic and fear, but it seemed to work on Gerald who wordlessly went downstairs as Ian turned to me. "I don't know what's going on, but whatever happens, you stay here. You'll be able to defend from here better than anywhere else and you don't leave till we're ALL back and if we're not within the hour, you take the keys, you leave and you get to anywhere else you know that's safe. Understand, kid?"
"Yeah, I-I think so," I replied. I had a million burning questions on my mind right now but I didn't think it pertinent to bring them up right now when things were so tense. The last sound I heard for a while was the sound of Gerald's footsteps echoing on the ground floor below before they too stopped, as he had likely gotten so far away that I couldn't have heard it no matter what and Ian had been walking around the rooftop for a while but the sounds of the roof creaking had similarly vanished as he must have gotten to the other side of the building by now, whatever they were looking for. Gerald's words rang in my ears but I could feel nothing but disbelief...could they REALLY think that *he* was alive, and searching for them? It just didn't make any sense. We all saw the video; Batman was dead, there was no doubt about it. Were they just responding to a ghost and being so irrational that even now they wouldn't come back when they must have searched their respective floors by now. But on the other hand...he had survived worse through his life and even then, he never seemed real, he LOOKED just like something out of a myth. The way he had ran through the fire to save me from the orphanage's flames was something I'll never forget, just as I can never forgive Gotham for putting Davies back in control of the home, nothing I can take from it will ever be a big enough repayment for that. I don't know why all these thoughts were coming back now of all times, but with the deathly silence of the abandoned factory, I didn't see many other options but to mull on this shit but by now, I had had enough. Disobeying Ian, I took a torch and ventured out into the factory, calling out their names one by one but to find that my owly replies were from the echo. And it was then that I heard it.
| 2021-08-23T22:27:56 | 2021-08-23T21:29:10 | 33 | 17 |
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