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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] Steampunk is Victorian. 1930s Steampunk is Dieselpunk. Write one of the following: Windmillpunk, Knightpunk, Ironpunk, Bronzepunk, Copperpunk, Stonepunk, Dinosaurpunk, Amoebapunk.
~~Stolen from~~Inspired by a throwaway joke in [this](http://www.cracked.com/article_22732_6-baffling-first-drafts-famous-movies.html) article.
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Oog say him start new thing. Dug not heard of new thing. Oog am call it "firepunk". Dug think Dug heard of fire. Dug not know what punk am.
Oog am put fire on him head fur. Oog scream like hurt pig and run to river.
Oog learn put fire on thing not make thing firepunk. Oog am poser.
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######[](#dropcap)
Mallory Corvin swung about with his glaive Misericordia, the sanctified steel biting deep into the flesh of three separate Skorne swordsmen in one lethal motion.
A fanatical race from across the Bloodstone Marches, the armies of the Skorne Empire fought with a nihilistic abandon. Their bloodthirstiness derived from the knowledge that nothing awaited them after death save for oblivion, their souls lost forever. There was no purpose to their existence save violence and pain. They had no gods to protect them, and no hope for salvation.
He whispered a silent prayer to his Creator, and Menoth rewarded his faith by splitting open the earth with a thunderous crack of stone. A wide rift opened up in blood red sands and a half dozen of the demon-like foe fell deep into the earth screaming, their allies behind them forced to a halt. He took advantage of their clustering a commanded his Repenter warjack to burn the swordsmen alive with its flamethrower. The smell of charred alien flesh reached Corvin's nostrils, the taste bitter on his tongue. A force of Exemplar Errants, their blades leveled at the foe rushed forth amid the enemy's confusion, making quick work of their targets. Corvin cast another prayer onto the Errant, divine runes taking shape around them as they became veiled within a cloud of ash. The Skorne swordmen's attacks missed or else glanced off of plate armor as their vision was blinded by the swirling ash, the same cloud having no affect on the faithful, proof of Menoth's power.
Further to the west Examplar Vengers charged Praetorian Ferox, the latter mounts being massive saber-toothed cats. Spears and Lances punched through either sides armor in equal abandon, the predatory mounts of the Skorne even capable of leaping through the air to bring down the horses of the knights. The Vengers drew swords as the cavalry battle dissolved into a swirling melee, their greater training telling as they fought the bestial foe.
Flameguard with their white tabards and gleaming helms of bronze were engaged with ranks of Praetorian Karax, shields slamming against shield and pike crossing flame spear. Their formations were packed so tight that the dead stood lifeless, crushed amid the press of men and monster.
Corvin blocked another attacker's strike, slashing out the tendons of the Skorne's legs with hardly a thought. His true attention was linked with that of his Templar warjack; the massive twelve foot tall war machine having a better view of the larger battle. To the east Corvin could see the High Allegiant Amon Ad'Raza or more specifically the circle of death that he sowed. Twirling his chain weapon Oblivion, the monk from the Order of the Fist killed dozens of foe with each swing of his weapon, His foes fearful of its deadly reach. A half dozen light warjacks supported him, twin-bladed Dervishes and flail wielding Purifiers that carved through the heavier foes. He and his compliment of Knights Exemplar fought alongside at least a dozen Paladins of the Order of the Wall. Not even the heaviest of foes could shake them, as strong and as unbreakable as the very walls of Sul.
A massive roar brought Corvin's full attention to his part of the battlefield, a bestial challenge directed at his Templar. Dividing his mind between himself and his 'jack he moved back towards the relative safety of friendly lines, the eight ton warjack advancing up. A deadly flail with chain at least six feet long dangled towards the ground, ready to be swung at the foe. A towering shield was clenched tightly in its metal fist. It hissed steam in a challenge of its own through vents on its head, its smokestacks billowing acrid black clouds of ash.
The surviving Skorne warriors exchanged worried glances and rapidly cleared to the sides, forming a gap in their lines to reveal a charging rhinodon. As heavy as the largest warjacks and armored with thick scales, these beasts were an echo of an earlier time, before humans or any other peoples walked upon Caen. This particular specimen had triangular back plates two feet long, a deadly looking club tail behind it. A few Exemplar Errants tried to intercept the onrushing warbeast, their swords bouncing off its thick hide. They were crushed underfoot for their brave efforts. Taking control of his Templar directly, Corvin moved the heavy machine as an extension of his own body, bringing the eight hundred pound shield into a guard.
The rhinodon did not slam directly onto the Templar but instead skidded to a halt some ten feet away, shifting its momentum towards his clubbed tail. The blindingly fast attack caught Corvin off-guard and he barely made the block, his warjack's pistons groaning under the strain of the blow. A noticeable dent was punched into metal shield, the black painted Menofix on its surface cracked. Corvin endured the beast's rain of attacks by its fists, taking the brunt of the damage on his 'jack's shield. He was patient, waiting for the right moment in the Skorne warbeast's assault before urging his Templar to smash at the rhinodon's face. The heavy weapon impacted against the creature's weathered horns and snapping off one. Blinded by rage and pain, the rhinodon did not react in time to avoid the down swinging flail. Metal met with flesh and proved the greater, the sound of bone breaking audible even over the din of battle. The Skorne beast bellowed agony but continued on, taught to ignore such feeling by its handlers. Smiling triumphantly, Corvin pushed his 'jack further, guiding each blow of the fail to land with sickening power. The rhinodon's left arm was reduced to a smashed pulp, half its ribs cracked on the same side. The Templar slammed its shield down onto the beast knee, slowly but surely beating the monster back towards its own lines. Even then the rhinodon fought valiantly, smashing its tail with deadly club against the heavy warjack in a blur of flesh.
*More*
The Templar swung its flail three times above its head before slamming it down against the shoulder of the warbeast, the sound of bones cracking under layers of flesh and fat.
*Again.*
A backhanded swing caught the rhinodon square on the jaw, the beak-like mouth snapping in two. Blood pooled in its mouth, its eyes dull and unfocused as it fought to the death, punching away with its remaining fist. Its shield all but useless, the Templar drop its hold on its shield and instead seized the beast's skull with its metal fist, squeezing tighter and tighter....
The head of the rhinodon split like an overripe melon, bits of brain and blood spilling out from between the Templar's fingers. Releasing the dead monster, the Templar whistled triumph and threw its flail high in the air, further proof of the Creator's favor. Corvin nodded proudly at the metal creature, acknowledging the primitive but loyal mind within its cortex. With such weapons at their disposal, how could anyone know defeat?
| 2015-07-06T17:14:22 | 2015-07-06T13:52:59 | 33 | 23 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83
|
Life's not a fairy tale. Life's real.
We know the last words we'll get from our soulmates, without context, but clear as day. Some words are sweet, some are sour, some are tragic. We all have them, and only the lucky ones don't think about them every day.
On my chest, across my heart, her words remind me of reality. I was born knowing I have a soulmate, but to my soulmate I am not her's.
On my chest, across my heart, she says those words.
"I'm sorry. I've found someone else."
|
"Nah nah, I don't tell people what mine is. Afraid they'll screw around with my head if I do, so I leave it to me" Regi bellowed out over the table. The faces of his friends around him turned to merry curiosity.
"Come on Space-man, we're not going to see you for months! I just want to know what it is!". The upbeat voice placed itself over the table, as Katie continued on. "We won't mess with you, I just... Oh, I just gotta know!".
"Nope" Regi replied. "Won't do it. Frankly, ya'll won't ever know". He leaned back in his chair while taking a swig of his beer. Roxanne looked over at Regi before pipping in herself.
"It's something embarrassing isn't it? Like, 'Clean the toilet' or 'I lied when I saw I finished all those times'." Before Regi could respond the table roared into laughter, there eyes wandering over to him.
"That ain't fair! And let me tell you, no woman ever say those words to me" Regi retorted with sass in his tone.
"I'm sure" Jack said, as he returned to the table. "Wait, no. No I'm lying I'm pretty sure they've all said that". With a firm smile, he smacked Regi on the back. "Don't you remember what we used to call you in High School Regi?"
"What you call him?" Katie roared out, preventing Regi from answering.
"Cabbage".
"What... Cabbage? Why Cabbage?" Katie inquired.
"No one wants to fuck a Cabbage" Jack replied, before laughing.
"That was the worst nickname you all could have come up with, honestly." Regi started to fumble with his pocket before continuing. "You always had to explain it".
"Always funny though, because we got to explain it" Jack replied, grinning ear to ear.
Regi pushed his drink to the center of the table before standing up. "Alright, I gotta sleep. I'm the one going to space tomorrow, you three get to stay on the comfy planet". The four of them stood from there place, and marched towards the door.
"Yeah, well. Gotta make sure you're safe" Roxanne stated, as they walked out the doorway into the cold of the night.
"We do. Cause you're stupid Regi" Jack interjected. As he said those words, he turned from the three and walked his own separate way.
"You don't even work there!" Regi yelled out. For a split second Jack stopped, tilting his head to the side with a sly smile being noticeable, before continuing on his way. Roxanne, Regi and Katie all said there goodbyes to each other before separating and beginning there own journeys home.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Regi's head began to collect a fine layer of sweat. He flicked the switches from inside the spacecraft whilst trying his best to calm his chest. From outside his helmet he could hear a melodic count down, as the Spaceships thrusters roared into power.
"Ready to make history? No one's stood on mars before, big boy". Roxanne's voice helped to settle Regi's nerves, even slightly.
"Yeah, I'm... I'm ready. Is Katie there?"
"Yeah. Well, she's in the facility." Roxanne's voice was soft as she talked to Regi. "Behind a lot of doors, watching a TV ready to see you go. You know we can't let those unclassified in here".
Regi's head thumped with anxiety as he heard the countdown progress to single digits. He closed his eyes as he placed his hands over the proper controls.
*3*
*2*
*1*
**BLAST OFF**
With those words Regi pushed everything he needed, as the Spacecraft erupted. Power ignited itself, as Regi began to ascend from inside his metal stairway to heaven. Roxanne stared at the screens in front of her, watching Regi begin to soar into the sky itself. Slowly her heart began to sink as she saw black smoke blowing from the left side. Rapidly she spoke out to Regi.
"Regi, your side is on fire. You're on fire, you need to get out!" She yelled into his comms.
"Get out!?" Regi roared back "I can't just get out of this!". Suddenly, an ear shattering explosion was heard through Roxannes headset as part of Regi's Spacecraft tore part of itself off. The explosion shocked Regi off course, as he swung wildly in the air.
"Tell Katie". Static pulsated over the airways between Regi and Roxanne. Roxanne focused intently, twisting and turning the switches in front of her. Suddenly she heard Regi yell words out to her.
"Tell. K. Love. So."
Before Roxanne could respond, another explosion pushed itself out of the Spacecraft. This time, silence was heard from the comms. Roxanne stared forward at the screen, tears filling her eyes, as the ship was ripped from existence. Everybody in the control room stood in shock, awe and despair. No words were said for minutes, only silence filled the air. With firm intention, Roxanne turned from her place, rubbing the tears from her eyes. She marched out the door and down several corridors, trying her best to find Katie. After several minutes of searching, she could hear her inside one of the woman's bathrooms crying hysterically.
"Katie?" Roxanne said as she walked into the bathroom seeing her sitting on the ground crying. She lifted her arms, gesturing a hug. "Come here sweetie". Without words, Katie leaped from her place and tucked herself into Roxanne's chest, tears pouring from her soul.
It was there they stood together, crying and whimpering for hours. Katie would occasionally choke out words that were barely understandable between choked tears, as Roxanne stood with her. Eventually Katie's heart returned to its usual beat, as he detached from Roxanne. Without a word she walked to the wall, turned her back to it, and slide to the ground. Roxanne let her stay as she left the bathroom and pulled out her phone. It was from outside the bathroom she dialed Jack's number. It rang four times before a voice was heard from the other side.
"Hello?"
"Hey Jack, It's Roxanne."
"Hey hey Roxy, what's up?".
"I'm just going to say it bluntly. Regi's ship had a malfunction. He didn't survive". Roxanne's heart sunk a little as she said the words, preparing herself for the anger she anticipated from Jack.
"I know".
"But... we didn't broadcast the takeoff to the public" Roxanne stated. The phone line clicked close, as Jack hung up on her. With a confused expression strewn across her face, she pushed her phone back into her pocket before returning back into the bathroom, to find Katie, once again crying.
It was at that moment that Jack was laying on his bed, staring into the ceiling. His breathing was slow in an almost zen like state. With reluctance he lifted his head up from his pillow. He leaned himself over, and stared at the words imprinted across his right leg.
**"You don't even work there!"**
| 2015-08-08T11:49:54 | 2015-08-08T09:54:25 | 274 | 177 |
[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.
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The Thief sat in a bar. It wasn’t a nice bar; it wasn’t a *clean* bar; it was dank and shadowy and grim. Just like the Immortal Thief himself.
So long ago, the Thief had stolen immortality and as a curse, Death let him have it. Well, that backfired spectacularly. The Thief enjoyed himself, enormously. He had stolen the heart of one of Death’s daughters right after and Fate was a kind and generous soul to the Thief. She was beautiful and funny and loving to him. And after he had proven himself by stealing his own immortal nature, she left with him.
Two Ages later, and the Thief was still thieving, still plotting, still wanting more. So, like the thief he was, he took that too. Fate had delivered on her promise that she would make sure that he never died of boredom. He had lived a good life, but Death still periodically came.
Just. Like. *Now.*
“Son,” cried Death, greeting him with joviality and cheer. The old man really did like his son-in-law, much more than some of his other relations. The Thief smiled, a little sad this time. “I have a proposition this time!”
The elder immortal smiled hopefully at the younger. “How would you like my job?”
|
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.
| 2017-12-01T11:49:56 | 2017-11-28T14:17:08 | 2,040 | 55 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to hear the sound of the weather changing a day before. You could predict if it was going to rain by hearing the sound of rain falling or when a storm was gathering by the sound of thundering. You thought nothing of it until one day all you could hear was silence.
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I had never been bothered by my special ability, I had never been particularly proud of it either. I couldn't even say when exactly in my life I realised what I could do. For most of my child hood I didn't realise that I was the only one that could hear tomorrows weather, at the end of the day most people had already seen the weather report for the next three days so no one was impressed when I talked about the rain that was coming.
There were a few moments when I felt quietly smug that the reporter had gotten the next days weather wrong, but apart from that I just ignored the fact I could simultaneously hear today's rain and the wind to come.
I didn't really care, I would hardly even watch the news to see if they would get it wrong.
But one morning when I woke up everything was different, I had a rush of fear thinking I had gone deaf as all I could hear was an all encompassing silence.
That wasn't the case as I opened my window and heard the soft patter of rain falling.
It could only mean one thing, it couldn't be true, but I was never wrong. I wanted to believe but it just seemed wrong.
Scotland was going to have a sunny day.
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Jaal ran through the rain with his hands over his head muttering the Prayer of Sadness as he felt God’s Tears fall across his hood and robes. He was supposed to be inside during the High Fall, but he had news. Unfortunately, it was news that the High Priests would want to hear.
As he rushed, he carefully avoided puddles, instead stepping across raised stones that were to be used in the event that the water flow became too heavy to cross. Many common people no longer followed the old superstitions of avoiding the Fallen Tears, but Jaal hoped to one day become a priest, and so he obeyed the more menial traditions.
As he hopped across to the final stone onto the raised walkway, his foot slipped and splashed into the cold puddle of water at his feet. He immediately jerked his foot up shook it off as quickly as he could. Pausing, he got down on his hands and knees and leaned over the edge of the walkway. Opening his mouth, he allowed a dribble of spittle to slip out of his mouth into the flow below. Muttering a quiet Prayer of Apology he rose and quickly rushed under the shelter of the building.
Quickly he stripped off his robes and began wringing them out into a small cistern that funneled the water back out into the main road. He had to be careful to bring as little water with him inside during a High Fall, when Hvalok’s sadness would nearly overwhelm him, and the sky would stay black for days.
“It is good to see the younger priests practicing the old teachings,” a voice muttered to his left.
Jaal jerked his head to the left and saw Sunlord Paku’un standing in his yellow and blue robes. He immediately bowed deeply in a show of reverence at seeing one of the high priests outside the shelter.
“Sunlord, should you not be inside,” Jaal asked as he dared to look up. “Hvalok weeps strongly today.”
Sunlord Paku’un smiled, causing his face to turn into a portrait of wrinkles. “Perhaps Hvalok weeps strongly today so that he may grace us with a grey sky tomorrow.”
Jaal suppressed a frown as he recalled the news he had to bring. “Sunlord, I have news for the other high priests.”
Sunlord Paku’un frowned as he looked out across the black sky. “Can it not wait for tomorrow? We are not supposed to discuss business on a day of great mourning.”
Jaal bowed his head and fluttered his hands down in a sign of reverence before looking up again, “Sunlord, it is news about the Burial Shroud.”
The only way that Jaal was able to tell that Paku’un was startled was in the way his body stiffened as he heard the news. His face remained passive, the hint of a frown still present on his face. He looked out across the sky again before turning back to Jaal, “You are sure?”
“The Stormwhisperer says that tonight Hvalok is going to finally bury his son and end the mourning period.”
Paku’un’s frown deepened, “How does he know this?”
Jaal fluttered his hands down again in reverence before he whispered, “Because tomorrow, he hears no rain.”
Sunlord Paku’un turned and walked away at that point, leaving Jaal thankful that he would not have to deliver the news to the other high priests himself.
------
The bell began to ring as Paku’un moved through the temple towards the Sun Temple. He had told Jaal to go ring the bell for the meeting, and he was sure some of the priests would grumble, and perhaps not even put on their full uniform. He was, therefore, not surprised when he arrived and found only 2 other priests already present and waiting.
The room itself was surprisingly small, but was extraordinarily tall. It extended roughly thirty meters into the air, and ended in a rounded roof with one large, and dozens of small holes covered in glass. The floor had an intricate carving of a ball with many tendrils spreading out across and up the walls. Along the walls, the color slowly transitioned from light blue to a soft, dark blue.
“It is a High Fall today Paku’un,” said Himlar as he sat behind his desk. His beard was greased and shiny, and would maintain its shape through even the heaviest bout of Mourning. His hair was still black in many places, but a hint of grey was beginning to show underneath his skull cap.
“And tomorrow it may be too late,” Paku’un said as he moved over to his own chair. “The Stormwhisperer has spoken again.”
“Again?” asked Keel as she leaned forward in her chair. “The child has only spoken 5 times since he became the Stormwhisperer; four times to warn us of a High Fall, and once to tell us of the Day of Planting, when Hvalok does not weep so that we may plant crops.”
“Yes,” Paku’un said as he took his seat.
“And now he speaks again, but not to one of us? Who gave you this news?”
“A young priest named Jaal. He follows the teachings strongly.” He frowned as he steepled his fingers in front of his face, “He would not lie to me.” He glanced at the other two, “But for now, we wait until the other four arrive.”
The three sat in silence until Mikla, Nim, Opan, and Quirl all arrived and took their seats. Once they completed the rituals necessary to ask for forgiveness for meeting on a High Fall, Paku’un moved forward into the center of the room. He took a deep breath and said, “The Stormwhisperer has spoken again.”
A quick murmur amongst the new arrivals occurred before almost immediately quieting down and allowing Paku’un to continue. “The Day of Burial is tomorrow.” The murmur erupted into a roar.
“Tomorrow!? The High Fall just began yesterday,” said Quirl as he jumped up from his chair. “How can we be certain that tomorrow is the day?”
“I agree,” said Nim as she twirled a strand of golden hair around her fingers. “However, we have known that Hvalok would one day stop mourning the death of his son.”
“But today he weeps strongly,” Quirl protested as he glanced in Nim’s direction. “Why would he weep so strongly today, but stop tomorrow? He has wept for over 300 years now.”
“I have known men and women both to weep most strongly before the day they bury a child,” Paku’un said as he tried to calm the crowd. “Also, who are we to determine when Hvalok returns to his throne and replaces the yellow crown on his head?”
“And the burial shroud?” Opan asked.
“It is written that he will put back on his royal robes and the sky will once again be blue,” Nim said with a smile.
“And Yin,” asked Mikla as he sat hunched up in his chair. A hush fell over the group as they turned to him, “What of Yin, the brother of Hvalok? What is going to happen to us when Yin retaliates?”
“What are you implying, Mikla,” Paku’un asked.
“Yin has had 300 years to plan his revenge for the attempt on his life.” Mikla stood and walked towards the center of the room, “He knows his brother wishes to rule both the day and the night. Plus, Yin has never forgiven Hvalok for secreting away with Gian and marrying her without telling him.” He frowned, “Sure, Yin later married Sian, and she bore him thousands of sons, but he had always loved Gian more.”
“The point, Mikla,” said Opan as he frowned.
“Sunlords, I fear that the day Hvalok, our creator, stops weeping, is the day that we should start.”
--------
[r/grenadiere42](http://www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42)
| 2016-03-11T12:01:40 | 2016-03-11T11:28:21 | 32 | 15 |
[WP] For the entirety of your life, music that only you can hear has played to inform you how to feel and warn you of upcoming events. Suddenly "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" cuts out and "Duel of the Fates" begins to play...
|
It happened while I was played by Jenga. Everything was fine and dandy, "Somewhere over the Rainbow" was streaming through my mind, giving me as I watched my older sister struggle to find a loose block. My younger brother had left in a huff after losing five games in a row, exclaiming "The biggest problem in the universe, is that no one helps each other!"
I smirked, as the tower began to wobble, and taunted my sister "I've been looking forward to this." Wait, what's happening..."Duel of the Fates?!"
My sister removed the block from its precarious position and proudly placed it on the top, "It's over Krakatoan, so have the high ground!"
"You underestimate my tower!"
I needed to strategize, see all the angles of this monstronsity..."I'll try spinning, that's a good trick!" I looked at the other side of the tower, there a single block holding up two blocks above it. If I could just remove it quickly enough...
I looked my sister in the eyes..."My powers have doubled since we last met, count." I pointed to the tower, indicating my double block drop plan. She glanced back up, "Twice the pride, double the fall."
"Wait! My younger sister, who had been spectating, exclaimed. "It's not the Jenga way!" Gesturing to the small print in the rule book.
"Dew it." intoned my older sister.
I punched out the block, deftly grabbing it with my other hand before it fell to the floor. The stack fell neatly down to its new resting place. I placed the block on top, grinning "A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one."
But, something was wrong, Duel of the Fates was still playing...the tower wobbled, the 10 second standing time had not yet been met...it collapsed.
"I HATE YOU!!!"
|
The gentle notes of a familiar song woke up Camilla. Most days, normal folk wake up to the electronic beeping of their alarm clock blaring in their ears. They face yet another mundane day to the furious sound of their alarm, signifying another day full of nothing.
Camilla could not imagine living such a bleak and meaningless life. For as long as she could remember, music has always filled her life. It began as simple happy musical notes when she was just a newborn babe. As she grew, the music developed into simple chords and progressed to complex harmonies. As long as Camilla focused on peace and happiness, she could block out the cacophony of the rest of the world. Today was no different. As she travelled to her work, she blocked out the noises of the commute with a beautiful rendering of “Somewhere over the Rainbow”. Warmth and peace washed over her as she lost herself in the symphony of her mind. A noise, foreign and ominous, caused dissonance with the song. Camilla grimaced, as if a violin string snapped mid draw.
It happened now and again when she lost control over her powers. Her emotions would oft override her will, causing her mind orchestra to play songs she did not conduct. Heartbreak would play a set of John Mayer songs and confidence played Beyonce. Angst played Nirvana and usually began with “Bodies” by Drowning Pool. Depression usually played Nickelback. Other times, very rarely, a song would play that predicted a coming event. These songs were harder to hear and Camilla had to exert a considerable amount of effort to listen to the song and discern its meaning. Camilla knew that the song that invaded her mental symphony was a song of premonition. Her musical senses were tingling.
As Camilla focused harder on the source of the disruption, the sound faded. It was like trying to hold sand—the harder she grasped, the more escaped through her fingers. She dropped her endeavour as she settled in to work. The quiet sounds of cheerful pop songs, repeated to death, played over the radio but Camilla tuned it out. She preferred the peaceful sounds of her own mental orchestra. As lunchtime approached, the noise blared out within her and roared over the sound of her mental orchestra. The sound lasted for a few seconds but she could not place it or identify it. It sounded familiar but it was not of her own making. It was enough, however, to bring her back to reality. Apparently, a co-worker was inviting her out for lunch. Camilla would often get absorbed into her own symphony that the rest of the world ceased to exist. This led to some rather awkward social situations, especially when Camilla retreated into her mental symphony when a conversation grew uninteresting. She happily agreed to the invitation, grateful that she didn’t alienate yet another potential friend.
As they walked out in the warm spring afternoon, Camilla was inspired to replay the peaceful rendition of “Somewhere over the Rainbow”. As they reached a crossing, they had to come to a decision on where to go for lunch. Continuing forward would take them to The Local, a company favourite pub that served a great Reuben sandwich. Should they turned right, their path would take them to Robert’s Kick Ass Burger, a trendy new burger joint. Or they could turn left and try out Pisces, the new restaurant that served the most scrumptious grilled mahi-mahi tacos.
“What do you want for lunch? I’m good for anything,” mused her co-worker. She was carefree, but Camilla would rather describe her as a total airhead.
“Hmm…let’s see,” Camilla said thoughtfully. She let the music guide her. The Local played a simple monotonous note, similar to an ECG flat lining. Robert’s Kick Ass Burger played the droning of a tuba, bringing an image of a rather obese version of herself. She turned left and was greeted by the sound of adventure.
“Let’s try Pisces,” Camilla said decisively. They walked down to the restaurant while “Concerning Hobbits" played in her mind.
They chatted idly while they waited for their fish tacos. Camilla resisted every urge to not retreat back to her mental symphony. Perhaps it was through this effort that she did not pay attention to the music slowly building inside her. Their tacos came and they took the customary Instagram pictures, offering their food as a sacrifice to appease the gods of social media. The first bite sent a chorus of pleasure and excitement as the taste exploded in her mouth. Each bite thereafter was Beethoven’s 9th crashing down upon her. They left full, satisfied, and their wallets considerably lighter. Camilla and her co-worker walked peacefully back to work, enjoying the warm afternoon sun. The same beautiful rendition of “Somewhere over the Rainbow” played inside Camilla’s mind. Silence overcame the two as they waited patiently for the pedestrian lights to cross, like good law abiding citizens.
Camilla barely noticed the silence in her own mind.
Suddenly, the same song that has been assaulting her all day blared inside her head. She clutched her head in pain as the song echoed through out her. The noise rose to excruciating levels. Each trumpet blast roared like a battle cry among the rising crescendo of the cellos. Her eyes focused on a display case across the street, advertising the release of an exclusive Star Wars set. The connection sparked to life inside.
“Duel of the Fates” blared inside her mind, the chorus of voices heralding the incoming wrath and fury of some unknown blackheart. Little did she know, the onslaught had already begun.
A deep grumbling rumbled inside Camilla. A cold shiver ran down her spine as her vision narrowed. She stared down the street to the entrance of her office building. It was a straight walk, two blocks down from where she was. Her eyes darted to the different buildings within the vicinity: a McDonald’s packed for lunch and a Starbucks.
Without warning, she dashed towards the Starbucks. She ran towards their washroom but found it locked. There was no time to wait. She burst back out to the street and saw her co-worker looking at her in absolute confusion but there was no time to explain. Time was of the essence. Camilla had no choice. She could feel her body tensing up and the eminent danger closing in.
Camilla dashed with full speed down the street, pushing aside anyone in her way. The ever rising volume of the chorus pushed her ever onward. She burst through the entrance just in time to see the elevators begin to close. She ran madly towards the closing metal doors.
“Hold the elevator!” she screamed in desperation but the door shut closed just as she reached it. Cursing the inconsiderate asses inside, she ran towards the stairs. Camilla ran up a floor and dashed towards the washrooms. She cleared the corner and saw the janitor’s cart blocking the entrance to the washroom.
“Damn!” Camilla cursed.
The growling within her grew intense. She could feel whatever inside her trying to claw its way out. She bit her lower lip to maintain some semblance of control but the beast within could not be tamed. Camilla burst out into the floor and made a beeline to the washroom. She slammed her shoulder into the door of the washroom, scaring whoever was inside. With a scream of desperation and frustration, she slipped into a stall and slammed the door lock. Camilla could feel hot warmth eking out from within. It was now or never. She barely made it to the toilet before the drums of war began to beat.
The initial blast was unreal. Camilla grunted at each explosion of excrement. She heard audible gasps of shock, concern, and impress. She pressed both arms out and braced herself against the stalls. She grimaced in pain as her mortal nemesis wreaked havoc within. The pain felt as if she was being eviscerated in half. She braced herself against the final blow and felt the air knocked out of her as she pushed out with all her strength. A bead of sweat trickled down her brow as the music faded into silence. Camilla survived.
Sheepishly, she left the stall after taking care of business. She waited a few moments to check if the coast was clear. She fixed herself up before she took her place back at her desk. Her co-worker came by to see if she was okay. Camilla laughed it off. Bad mahi-mahi, she joked. Nothing a little Pepto can’t fix. She went back to her work as her mental symphony began to play a more calming rendition of “Somewhere over the Rainbow”. The storm had passed.
Then, she heard the chorus of voices rising.
| 2017-04-01T21:45:35 | 2017-04-01T21:07:54 | 344 | 40 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy?
|
Nate had sort of backed himself into a corner. Having been on as many dates with Amaya as he had, the walls were closing in on him. He had to pretend not to know all her answers to common first date questions (2 siblings, parents divorced when she was little, works in accounting), and if he ever misstepped, the game was up. It was a high-wire act that no one was aware of but him.
But that's what made it fun.
He was fine with the double life he'd have to lead if it worked, that was nothing new to him. Nate was all things to all people, and it made the minutiae of life constantly entertaining. He realized Amaya had been talking for a few minutes and he hadn't been paying attention to any of it. Now she was looking at him expectantly.
He took a shot in the dark. "I work in finance," he said. That wasn't a lie, he was actually a financial planner. She nodded amicably. Nate let out an internal sigh of relief, he'd nailed it.
"Do you come here often?" Amaya asked.
"Yeah, I love Spider House," Nate replied.
"Weird, I've never seen you here. This is, like, my favorite place in the world." Nate tried not to let a smile sneak out. He always found these kinds of situations really amusing; if he just got out with it, he could turn worlds upside down. He never did, though.
"Yeah, it's because I'm a shapeshifter," he said through a cheeky grin. Amaya laughed. Nate laughed.
|
"You look *incredible*," I said, snapping a picture and handing Dani's phone back. "No filter necessary. James won't know what hit him."
Dani nodded absently, her eyes already glazing over as her thumb tapped over the surface of her screen. "Thanks, Tanya. You said he rides a motorcycle, right?"
My heart sank: I had seen this level of disinterest uncountable times in the past few years, and already I could see how the date would go: James would make his dashing arrival on his motorcycle (but wearing a helmet, gloves, and leather jacket; Dani hated recklessness). In the bar (a nice cocktail bar, she liked to be treated but hated to feel pressure) he'd order a bottle of white wine and some stuffed mushrooms, his tongue already tying in knots as he realized she had already found something in him wanting, because no matter how nice Dani tried to be, she was just too easy to read. Or maybe she was only easy to read for me, because I wasn't only Tanya, her best friend, I was going to be James in less than two hours, and I'd been Mark and Jose and Chris in the dates before that, and a war hero fifty years before that, and a merchant sailor two hundred years before that, and on and on, so far that I couldn't even remember my original body, gender, or name. Half the time I wasn't even sure I had been born a human, but every year that passed I became certain that it didn't matter: the immortality and the shapeshifting had changed me so much that I certainly wouldn't die as one.
But Dani had changed all that. Ever since I, in the form of Tanya, had first met her at school, while pursuing my thirty-fourth degree, I'd found myself feeling alive again. I'd been with brilliant women, with beautiful women, with talented women, with powerful women, but never a woman as kind and compassionate as Dani. For the first time in centuries I'd begun using my powers for good again, instead of just slipping through existence as unobtrusively as possible. We'd become friends, we'd become roommates, and for a while that had been enough. But not anymore.
In a last-ditch effort, I said, "Please, give him a chance, Dani. You're so cautious. Just live a little! Go with your gut! What if he's the one?"
Dani smiled. "I hope you didn't tell him I could be 'the one'. It's fun to get out in the city and meet new people but...I don't think I'm in a good place for a boyfriend."
"That's what you've said for years," I said. Dani had been dating a real asshole when I first met her, a prick who'd been with her since high school. Even though she hadn't seemed really traumatized by the breakup, she hadn't dated since. "You're young! You've got a good job, you're living in a beautiful city! I've set you up with some really amazing people!"
Dani laughed. "Maybe you've done too good a job, Tanya. If the next guy wasn't going to be so cool, maybe I could settle for the one I was with."
I shouldn't have snapped, but I hated it when she deflected. "I just want you to be happy, and have someone! You're not going to have this opportunity forever." I said it more bitterly than I meant, because I knew I was wrong: as long as Dani lived, she would have someone trying to be with her.
Dani's back stiffened. "Well, maybe you should date some of these awesome guys yourself, then, so you don't end up like me."
I couldn't hold back a smirk at that imagery. "Come on, Dani--"
But the smirk had only pissed her off more. "You know what, Tanya? Don't bother anymore. You can have them all to yourself. Just don't set me up with anyone again."
"But--d" I was stunned. I'd never seen such a rapid transformation in her before. This wasn't just about what I'd said, there was something else going on with her. And I knew it would be stupid to try and ask her as Tanya. I'd have to ask her as -- "James?"
"Oh, don't worry, I won't stand him up." Dani grabbed her purse. "I'm not *that* much of a bitch. I would tell you not to stay up but I don't think I'll be that late."
*
As James, I shut off my motorcycle and looked over the sidewalk, my eyes meeting Dani's and then looking away again, as if I wasn't entirely convinced it was her. I had a right to that thought; she'd undergone almost as big a transformation as I had, all her anger with Tanya gone from her face.
I needed time to build up trust, to find out what was actually going on with her, so I played it safe, smiling widely as I wrapped an arm around her shoulder (Dani found full-frontal hugs too intimate for a first meeting but thought a handshake too formal; thus, I always went for the three-second side-hug.) We made idle small talk as we placed our order, and I waited for any expression, any word that might clue me in to what she was actually feeling.
"So how'd you meet Tanya?" she asked after the waitress had dropped off our bottle of Chardonnay. "She never tells me how she meets people."
Her voice barely tightened around the name *Tanya*, but I could see that she was still angry. My stomach twisted. What if, in trying to make her fall in love with me, I wound up losing her friendship as well? "At a club down east," I said. "She's pretty fun. You've been friends for a while, right?"
"Yeah. Since college." Dani lifted her glass and swirled it, but didn't drink.
"I can tell she cares a lot about you," I said. "You wouldn't believe all the questions she asked making sure I was good enough for you."
"Yeah." Dani sighed. "She's got *great* taste." Then, realizing what she'd said, "I'm sorry. You seem really great. She's just...clueless."
The sarcasm was so obvious that I couldn't let it go. "Are you guys OK?"
"Yeah." Dani sounded so defeated that my stomach twisted again. Tanya was the shape and attitude in which I felt most comfortable. I liked to think that she was pretty similar to who I'd been originally; it was so easy for me to be her that the thought of Dani not being friends with her anymore was almost a worse rejection than the scores I'd experienced as the dates.
"Yeah," Dani said again. "We're OK. Just, OK. I guess that's got to be good enough. Look, I...this isn't going to go anywhere, OK? I think I owe it to you to tell you that as soon as I can."
I said, "Yeah. I figured."
"I'm sorry. I just..." Putting her glass down, she twisted her hands around her napkin. "...I think I go on all these dates because each time I hope maybe something magical will happen, and I can get over all the other bullshit but...that won't happen. I just have to accept both sides of the coin. I'm not going to get over it, and Tanya, she...she isn't ever going to feel the same."
My jaw dropped. "*Tanya*?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes I think there's something there, but she just keeps sending me on dates with everyone else in the world. I get so angry, but it's not her fault; she just wants me to be...."
She was so caught up in her napkin that she didn't notice me transforming until the sentence was almost done. James fell away. Tanya resurfaced. Dani's eyes widened. "...happy," she whispered.
I said, "I'm sorry. I...I'm an idiot."
Dani's mouth opened and closed several times. She reached for her glass of wine and found the bottle instead, but still almost drained it. Then she took a deep breath.
"Do you want to go back home?" she asked.
| 2022-08-04T05:56:26 | 2018-02-14T10:34:04 | 930 | 16 |
[WP] You tell your wife and kid you're going out for some cigarettes to the store. You purchase them, and head back home. You notice the neighborhood looks kind of off. When you get home, a 20 something opens the door. He looks you in the eye and asks: Dad?
|
I was running low on cigarettes, being the chain smoker I am, so I decided to walk the mile to the nearest convenience store instead of driving as it’s a cool fall day.
I get to quick-e-mart and buy a carton and start walking back. As soon as I reach Vernier Drive, things start looking a bit strange. Everything seems different, almost blurry.
I get home and knock on the door, as I stupidly forgot my keys. A 20 year old opens the door and looks me in the eye and asks, “Dad?”
“Yes?”, I reply?
He responds, “Did you forget the milk?”
Oh, crap, I did.
Sorry kiddo, I’ll go get them, I respond.
I rub my eye and my contact goes back into place, everything looks normal again, less blurry.
Time for a second trip to quick-e-mart. Good thing it’s such a beautiful fall day.
|
Had to split this up as it was too long for one comment.
**Part 1:**
"Did you forget about the protest in the courtyard? They're not going to let you through." Clara had become over-protective ever since that incident with an Ani scrap head; she turned the security system on herself and committed suicide when some punks decided to see how much of her was still human. Turns out it was enough to have a brief awareness of what she'd become. The only upside to the situation was that the laser cauterised the wound, so they only had to move the body & stick another dead-eyed button masher behind the screen. "Honey, do you see this?" I was pointing to the Labtek personnel badge, "I'll be the safest person on the street. They don't admit to it, but I know they track me whenever I'm on ground-level. It'd be bad for business if they lost their genius programmer." Clara rolled her eyes, but she was holding our baby, Chloe, so couldn't avoid me coming in for a kiss. I embraced her for a moment, "Listen, I need some smokes, and I'll go crazy if I don't leave my terminal for a bit. Don't worry, I'll be back soon. I'll even have E.R.I.K track me on the comstat.", I pushed a few buttons on the comstat panel but I knew he was already listening, always like a fly on the wall, "E.R.I.K, full bioanalysis and location tracking, all screens." The voice needed some work, but the metallic and broken words kind of made me feel at ease; I was never afraid it'd suddenly become sentient, "Of course, Sir. Establishing link. Processing. Link Established. Transfer active." A detailed virtual-me, and a map of the city, appeared on all the screens in the house, with my heart rate, blood pressure, movement speed, and other medical data I didn't really understand. My friend Ted helped me map the data from my quantum implant, and Clara was a nurse, so I trusted their judgement on whether I was about to die. I looked over at Clara who seemed a bit more at ease, "See? Nothing to worry about." She pretended not to be impressed. I grabbed my keycard & gridcom, and headed for the door. "Psy, don't take too long." Clara said from behind. I gave her a confident look and stepped outside, "Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast."
​
It was raining, of course, as it always did in Sector 8 (Nari-Racke). Thankfully darkness had already spread over the city, so my tired eyes were grateful; I was left with glinting rain which was a nice distraction from the layer of grime that seemed to coat everything this high up. I never knew why they built these super-structures with an outside walkway. I guess it made cleaning a lot easier, but we were on the 200th floor, and accidents happen. I hugged the wall as I made my way down to the elevator. We had a more luxurious floor since we paid a premium for a penthouse, but given the technology available to us, it was still filthy. At least they kept the elevator clean, the doors opened to a lovely red carpet, panels displaying the news and weather on every side, and a calming voice to take your mind off falling victim to shoddy elevator maintenance. "Ground." I said to no-one in particular. As the doors closed and I started to descend, the voice reassured me, "Please be aware that there is a disruption in the courtyard. Protesters are present in large numbers, and police have blocked off the majority of exits from this unit." I'd been cooped up in my office for the past week, so I had no idea what was happening in the outside world, "What are they protesting?" I figured I'd get some info before I lept into the anarchy, "They are protesting new developments in Labtek's Ani technology. They believe mandatory augmentation will be enforced sector-wide." I suddenly wasn't feeling too confident about this trip.
​
The elevator doors opened onto ground level, and I was blasted by one-thousand voices, all trying to be heard over the police officers screaming for them to get back. I walked down the steps, pulling up my hood against the rain, to a line of authority. I picked the sergeant as he looked a bit more agreeable, "Hey, do you know which exit I can use?" The blocks consisted of four super-structures, with a central courtyard. The exits were between each structure, so at each corner of the courtyard. The sergeant looked down at my Labtek badge and pointed, "I can take you, but do me a favour and hide that thing. I don't want any riots breaking out." I tucked the badge into my jacket pocket and followed him to what was thankfully the nearest exit. The protest seemed to be reaching a climax, and everyone was scowling, probably not because they were being herded and contained like livestock. The sergeant unlocked the police barrier, the blue screen covered in POLICE LINE, DO NOT APPROACH evaporating as he scanned his card. "Here you go, let me give you my gridcom ID just in case you want to come back through. Just ping me and I'll have the guards open up." I thanked him as our gridcoms touched and beeped, shook his hand, and began my trip to the ez-mart.
​
It was always a bit of a culture shock when I forced myself back out into the world after some time inside, and this was no different. Glowing billboards everywhere trying to sell me something, drug dealers with their bright outfits to offset their deformed bodies, prostitutes with the same idea but with less effectiveness, and the homeless, which I actually admired more since they weren't selling anything except their souls in the virtual world. Groups of lifeless people huddled together, their headsets pulled over their eyes, shielding them from this reality, while they lived their dreams in VR. I wondered if they ever slept, or ate. Nari-Racke had turned into mostly an entertainment sector these days, ever since Labtek shut down their manned organ factories and moved everything out to an automated site in the middle of the ocean, to reduce the risk of contamination. There weren't enough jobs to go around, so to stop the sector falling into poverty, Labtek decided to use some of the credits it saved from automating its factories to provide everyone a basic income package. The hate for Labtek still ran through everyone's heads, but at least it could be temporarily pushed aside for sex, drugs, or videogames. As I was walking through the city, I noticed that things seemed a little calmer than the last time I was out. I thought it must've been due to the protest over in my courtyard, but I couldn't shake the eerie feeling that the place was deserted, even though the streets were bustling with degenerates. This sense of isolation clearly reached my eyes, because I didn't even see him; our shoulders collided, "Motherfucker, watch where you're going! Or maybe you wanna fight?" He threw the weak punch of someone on dust, which wasn't difficult to side-step. He stumbled on the slick concrete and his face was creased with anger. I realised I'd taken my badge off earlier, so I reached into my pocket before he could turn into a stronger punch. He didn't even need to get a proper look at it, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't know. You should wear it on display, man. Shit." He ran off in the direction of the protest, and I thought of how I could reward myself for a small victory.
| 2019-06-02T18:38:51 | 2019-06-02T16:47:48 | 119 | 11 |
[WP] You pull off your headphones and the whole world shifts. You're now sitting in a futuristic mall of some kind with a VR headset in your hands and a smiling clipboard-wielding woman asking about "the Virtual Life Experience™". The problem: your "Virtual Life" is the only one you can remember.
|
######[](#dropcap)
I blink, and when my eyelids flicker open, the great hall of the palace is replaced by a large room of sterile whiteness, full of strange lights and bizarre sounds.
"So how was it?" a woman asks. She is wearing peculiar clothes for a female: trousers, a striped jacket, large amounts of gold jewellery. My first thought is that she is another princess.
"The ogre army...," I mutter.
"Oh, you picked the fantasy adventure," she says. "Yes, that's one of most popular."
What is she talking about? I have to get back to my throne. The realm needs its king, more than it has ever done in the past.
Looking closely, I can see that the woman's face is liberally doused in make-ups. A dark thought clouds my mind. This is no princess...
I seize her wrist. "What have you done to me, witch?"
She tries to break free, but I hold her fast.
"Send me back to the castle," I command. "For I am the chosen one, destined to save the realm from assured destruction."
"Easy, sir," the witch says placating, but I hear rising panic in her voice. Like so many others before her, she has misjudged the High King. "I need you to focus, Mr..." she glances at a piece of paper, "Mr. Brown. It was just a virtual experience."
"Don't try to trick me," I snarl, releasing the witch's arm and sending her sprawling. "I know your game, hag."
She nods to somebody behind me, and I spin, my hand going to my sword. But my fingers close on empty air and I curse - the witch has stolen my blade. Something hits my chest and excruciating pain radiates out, coursing and crackling through my body.
I fall, paralysed, and can only observe as the world turns around me. The witch stands, and speaks to a man dressed in black with a bright yellow vest. A henchman if I ever saw one. He holds a strange black device that has latched onto me with eldritch tentacles, popping with sparks. What foul magic have they cast on me?
"I thought they had fixed that bug," she says, shaking. Yes, she should tremble. A High King of the realm will not be kept prisoner for long.
"Mostly," her crony replies. "It still affects a few. Those with overdeveloped imaginations, usually. Artists, film makers, writers. That sort."
From my prone position, face pushed into the cold floor, I notice for the first time a crowd of people watching us. They are dressed in outlandish clothes like the witch.
Something is nagging at the back of my brain. Something the henchman said, about writers. But I can't quite remember what it is.
|
For the first few moments everything became whitewashed and hushed with static.
"excuse me" a muffled voice pierces the softened din of overstimulation.
"Is this for real? Hey are you okay?" the same voice interogates in a slight panic. Finally some sensation.
Is this an arm?
Legs?
What is touching me?
Slowly eyelids are raised to reveal a deep ocean full of dark blue photons. As focus developed a white blob behind some sort of podium interfaces with controls.
"Excuse me are you feeling okay?"
Suddenly details began emerging. The microscratches on the clear clipboard were visible behind a finely manicured hand grasping it. Donning a white overcoat she parses through a series of choices, the expression on her mouse-like face steeped in stoicism. The woman checks something off on a clear paper as text scrolls by. The paper responds by pulsating red and green for a moment and fades.
"Your vitals are fine from my end. How are you feeling? Thoughts about your experience?"
There was an attempt at an utterance. A feeble croak barely stuck in the throat.
"Experience?"
I felt the blood evacuate from my face and the mysterious interrogator's thin lips pulled down. Is that... sadness?
Another check on the clear paper. This time it only pulses yellow.
"You may be experiencing a fugue state. Let me lift the veil and the noise-cancelling a little."
====================
In this tiny shrouded room pinpoints of light darted out of someone needling holes in fabric. Then in a fraction of a second these points multiplied exponentially revealing the glass jar I was in.
Crowds hurdled around mirages of arched steel displaying some sort of shirt with Active Tendril Technology. Some of these people were dressed in simple cloth. Towering androgynous figures with an orb for an eye and no mouth patrolled the bizarre bazaar, scanning.
Children darted around tapping on rows and rows of glass that were curved. On closer inspection some of these children were tinted green and grey. Silver spheres hovered around these potential miscreants, beeps wishing for them to return to a row of people wishing to enter all of these jars. None of this makes sense and I sweat as a kid with no ears and clear skin taps on the glass, Smiling. It is unnerving to see the muscular and nervous system bare.
Looking up to distract my sudden panic attack stone pillars lead up to a transparent dome. Outside it is light and the sky has a continuous trail of cloud dividing it. Breaking this trail there were scaled monolithic towers, red clay in color and stepped in a spiral. One of the not so distant ones had some kind of tendril growing off the side of the building.
A large drone looking vehicle incinerated this lichen tendril with an intensely bright plasma cutter and just as bright spots appeared a shadow censored the plants doom. The situation sets in. The only person I know and don't know is looking vaguely concerned.
"I have been doing labtech at VLE for 2 Gregorian Calendar years" the woman began a longer statement with an exasperated sigh. "Never have I experienced a fugue state situation. Training for it yes but it is a rarity" she reassured me a little by raising the intonation. Trained.
With a step she hovered over something out of my direct ken and with an audible click the lagging paralysis was removed. "My name is Alexandria." she gracefully floated back over to the control panel and returned the veil and the constant shrill noise dissipated. There was peace again as the last point of light radiated off of Alexandria's iridescent eyeliner, matching her rainbow-colored eyes that seemed to shift pattern schemes.
A glint of gold seemed to float around her left eye as the cloak seeped back in the jar. Blinking in the soft muted glow and unsure what to say Alexandria recalls her training "Protocol determines I acclimatize you back to now for at least 24 hours."
Attempting to stand was like watching a fawn being born and walking for the second time. The labtech offers her white-clothed arm out for assistance and in a haze the first walk of my life happened. The seamless void behind the chair was ripped into thirds revealing a hallway out of this glass jar.
CHAPTER 2?!?!
"You're really bad off there." Alexandria quipped, letting her drawl slip as I transferred my imbalance to her.
"Yeah" I gasped. Every step on the matte off-white floor generated a green fog underneath mesh clad feet. Embarrassed to ask questions I pleaded to stop.
"We have to get you seated and for liability reasons you have to watch a video. Plus it may behoove you to get your possessions back."
Alexandria explained with an air of authority, masking her accent. We turned left into an even wider hallway with a great deal of marking and wear. Behind us I can hear another labtech conversing with a loud customer. The slow pace and echoes hurry our speed until we turn again.
We stop and for the first time I notice her jet-black hair in a tight bun and one single grey hair that seems to move on its own unrestricted. Alexandria's presence opens the door and as she turns to gesture entry the aged hair hones on my nose.
Everything in this room was completely ripped from one of the movies my grandfather watched in the 40s. Floorboards were made from unfinished wood-greyed from weathering.
There is a seat made of worn brown leather, grommets of bronze holding the stuffing in place. The legs were ornate and intricately carved in the image of roaring lions. The wood scuffed but finely polished with a purple finish.
Ambulating to rest I glance to the back of the room. An old projector painted pea-soup green started flashing. Seated Alexandria starts to holler "Harry! His sim was in his early second millennia. Cut the farce and start the movie."
"Sorry Ma'am" a voice on an invisible speaker system squelches through and the artifact of light begins to disintegrate into emptiness. The once weathered floor that witnessed depression-era sorrow vanished into the same white as the hall labyrinth that lead me here.
"Keep the seat!" I piped, regaining a few decibels. So far it is is the only thing that seemed familiar in this strange environ. Memories of my grandfather huffing on a cigar lingered like the smell of tobacco. As I slumped into the cushion of the leather it sighed and covered my face with my hands.
Maybe this is the simulation.
Yeah, this is it. Or is this chair illusionary comfort?
"So this room is reserved for special cases like yours." Alexandria stood near the entrance and arms akimbo. The hands on her hips parted her coat revealing a ruffled grey blouse and she swayed "It is incredibly expensive to run holograph but the seat can stay. I'll be back with your items."
Alexandria left fast enough to cause her long overcoat to whip in the air. A black screen started into a sequence of events. Photographs from world wars and art museums. Buildings like Big Ben and the Eiffel Tower. Statues carved from rock atop of hills of ruinous debris.
Then the announcer camped in with every syllable over-enunciated as if I was getting pitched a car. A physical globe spun at a rapid speed blurring all seven continents together.
"So you have experienced a fugue state! Oh boy, if you experience sweating, lasting paralysis, endearing confusion, and complete memory loss I have some Bad News for You!"
Wincing at the dramatic tremolo I made a note. Things are only going to get worse from here.
CHAPTER 3-ish
Gripping the chair like an anchor I awaited for the hook. Some sort of punchline waiting to reel me inside some prank television series I never heard of. The obnoxious narrator continued "This free introductory video is going to explain the present as we know it. All Homo Sapiens descend from the planet earth!"
It was cutesy, and acutely insulting. Gripping into the dirt stained leather I embraced the impact.
"0.000014130 Galactic years is the current age we are in." The video glitched for a moment slashing white and black streaks across the projection that emanated from nowhere. A base-ball with a cartoon screw twisted into it and was superimposed over the globe.
This almost was a student art project.
"But we blew our third rock up,Up,UP and destroyed the earth metric of yearly measurement!" The dementedly happy narrator squealed past his vocal range. This was painful in so many ways. "In estimated earth year measurements YOU think it is the year 2017. Current estimates conclude it's the year 3250. That's a JUMP!"
My boat was officially rocked in the sea of epiphany. If this was a highly elaborate prank or strange hallucinatory trip it has gone too far without oars.
Seasick, the battering of data continued. Absorbing as much as I could I tried to find something that turned a familiar cog. Something to start the engine. Beginning to zone out I stared deeply into the clinical floor where it seemed to almost intersect with the wall. I had to start filtering.
Without the natural resources of the earth all of the colonists sent out with the remaining stockpiled elements had a chance for survival.The best one they had was Vortium, which has the unique property of spinning rapidly on its own. Harnessing this energy they slept while artificial intelligence guided most of the ships.
(I maxed out the post length.... continued at subharmonicforge.blogspot.com)
| 2017-03-25T09:46:47 | 2017-03-25T09:36:19 | 147 | 33 |
[WP] Your entire life, you've had 4 coins that you are able to teleport to. You lost one a while ago and have been to scared to ever go to it. One day you teleport to the one you keep in your bedroom and you find yourself in an interrogation room, with 2 strange looking soliders walking towards you.
|
The day my coins worked against me would be the day I die.
The coins that let me teleport to them. Wherever they are.
I was walking out to my "car" after a day spent with my girlfriend at the mall. Of course, I didn't buy anything. And I didn't have a car.
I sneak behind a large truck and glance quickly around. No one knew about my ability. And it had to stay that way.
Deciding now would be the best time, I teleport to the coin that usually lays in my bedroom. I shrink in on myself, collapsing into the air.
The smell of stale air filled my nose. I heard two people walking and a cry of alarm. Glancing up, I notice they were soldiers and holding guns.
I couldn't believe it. My plan has succeeded. I was in, and now there was almost nothing they could do to stop me.
The war would end soon enough. The war that killed my parents when I was sixteen. The war that destroyed my country, my home. The war that ended my old life, full of laughter and joy, and started this one. They killed everyone I loved. Now they were going to pay.
The soldiers raised their guns, but they would have no chance against my years of training for this day. My other coin was somewhere else in the building and the third in my hand. Sadly, one has gone missing a while back.
I knew the government had it. They would be the only people who had a chance of knowing. I assumed they put it in a suffocation chamber where they could knock me out before I could teleport away. Maybe I could find that today as well.
I hurl the coin in my hand down the hallway and teleport to it before it even lands. I drop from the air and swing a punch around, taking one of the guards from behind. A second later, I throw the second coin above a hanging light. A moment later, I'm above it and it falls down onto the guard.
Jumping to my feet I look around. More guards would be on their way.
But they stood no chance against me.
|
The golden sun beat down on the African veldt. Waves of heat that glistened through amber straws of grass. A soft breeze carried the thick odor of hot sand and burnt oil, an oppressive scent that worked its way through the senses, tickling the throat with a metallic tingle. Sweat beat down heavy brows and lingered like a glistening sheen that caught the amber dirt, the sharp, bitter and biting sign of a hard day’s work.
Six men gathered around the drill like lions to a carcass, dark skin in stark contrast with their lightly wrapped crimson Shúkà, sipping turbid water from sun-bleached milk cartons. They sat and watched the rhythmic whirr and reciprocating motion of the drill. Up and down, spin and turn—repeat.
One man stood not in admiration or curiosity, but in sheer terror. The engineer Thomas, his life’s work hanging in the balance, laced his fingers behind his head. He wore khaki shorts and an off-grey, low cut shirt, now stained magenta from sweat-soaked sand. He tapped his boots nervous against the dirt.
“Ahh—kizee—you worry too much,” said Kipkirui, Thomas’s guide and translator. He grinned, nodding towards the plastic pipe slowly descending into the earth. “Have some faith.”
Thomas paced in a curious circle around the drill, but a small smile formed at the corners of his chapped lips. “I wish I had half as much faith in the well as you have in me.”
“Bah! You’re too hard. Lighten up, kizee, we did clever work today. Come, sit down, relax.”
Kipkirui tossed his head back, looking up into the deep blue sky. He lay back against a padded mound of dirt, running coarse stalks of grass through his calloused hands. The course bite of sand, the scorch of the sun, the deep emptiness of the sky–this was all he had ever known. And it had been enough.
Then Thomas arrived with gifts of science like magic, the water wizard who promised a simpler life through mechanical complexity. A strange, mysterious fellow who walked softly and spoke even softer. There was an air of mystery behind his eyes, some shadow of doubt that Kipkirui couldn’t recognize.
Thomas sat beside him, spreading his legs with a quick shuffle.
Kipkirui chuckled. “Go without your ngodha underneath those shorts for one day. Let some air in.”
“Let some bugs in too, I imagine,” Thomas said.
“Bugs, air, dirt, sweat—all the same.”
Thomas wiped the sweat from his brow. “We’re pushing the drill too hard.”
“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” Kipkirui said.
Thomas frowned. “It’s making that whine again. We’re not cooling the oil enough.”
“That’s bad?”
The drill hummed along in tireless labor. Its pumps sucked and belched coolant onto the forged drill bit, hot oil greasing the internal machinery like brown ichor. The apparatus shivered and shook in the hot afternoon.
“We’ve had three failures already, I don’t want this to be a fourth,” Thomas said. “We should call it for today, pick back up tomorrow.”
“As you say, kizee,” Kipkirui said in disappointment.
Kipkirui stood and dusted off his palms. The other four tribesmen rose like agitated lions, quarreling in their native tongue on why the work was stopping. Kipkirui gave the best explanation he could, and the men seemed satiated for the time.
Thomas switched off the drill. Two more days of work and the village would have a replenishable, fully renewable supply of clean water. Two more days of hot sweltering heat and crimson sand.
Then—onto the next village. Again, and again, until Thomas could sleep soundly at night.
The men walked back towards the village with Thomas and Kipkirui behind them. They carried long spears and walked with a heightened sense of their surroundings, always watchful. One could never be too careful of the dangers that prowled the veldtlands.
Kipkirui lowered his voice so that only Thomas could hear. “Will you be back to your island tonight?”
Thomas nodded. “It’s been a few days, I should pop in for a bit.”
“One day—take me with you, yeah?”
“I wish I could”—he gazed forlorn at the trees dotting the horizon—“I really do.”
This was his life, but this was his curse. The marvelous ability to travel instantaneously and without effort, but alone, always alone.
It wasn’t always like this. Thomas once led a simple life. He woke at the rising sun, worked his diligence for the corporate machine, and paid his takes like anyone else. He had a supportive girlfriend who approved of his aquarium hobby and took a genuine interest in his pet mandarin goby named Franklin.
Thomas’s family was another story. His grandfather, Marrion, worked research for the government back in the 60’s. Top secret engineering and physics; the kind of job that didn’t exist. Thomas always received the strangest of presents from his grandfather, mostly handmade electronics and quirky gadgets. They sparked and popped and buzzed with wonder. How curious and how marvelous, how captivating for young Thomas!
But the strangest gift of all came in a sealed manilla envelope four day’s after Marrion’s funeral: A handwritten note that simply said, ‘*Life’s a great adventure, go and find yours’*
The note also held a handwritten set of GPS coordinates and a three-digit combination, *13-23-11.* This opened a combination lock to a storage box disguised as a birdhouse; within the box, Thomas discovered four antique coins that changed his life forever.
Years later, and thousands of miles away from home, Thomas found himself at the edge of an African village, shaking hands with Kipkirui at the door to his trailer.
“I’ll see you when the sun rises, kizee,” Kipkirui said.
“Till tomorrow, then,” Thomas said.
Thomas opened and shut the door, walking inside. The cramped trailer was nothing more than a bedroom on wheels. A great queen bed dominated the space; he took a great whiff of sweaty, stale sheets. Newspapers littered the floral pattered carpet. Empty, crinkled bags of tortilla chips overfilled the small rubbish bin stuffed in the corner. The trailer lacked electricity, storage, a bathroom, a refrigerator, any other creature comforts rendered superfluous by Thomas’s teleportation. The only notable feature of the trailer was a welded, locked safe.
Its contents: one antique coin, the waypoint Thomas used to return to Africa.
He grabbed the sheets in a bundle. Then he concentrated, reaching out with his mind until he barely touched the waypoint of his beach home in the Bahamas. With a thought and a snap of his fingers, he vanished.
Instant, searing pain coursed through his veins like fire. He screamed. A kaleidoscope of colors flashed in his vision like a bubble around him. He gritted his teeth as something pulled and ripped him through the bubble, crashing through and flinging him against a whitewashed wall like a freight train.
His head smacked against the concrete. Dazed and confused, he watched helplessly as two uniforms in white suits grabbed him forcibly. They wore black glasses and black latex gloves that gave no secrets. A funny, pulsing disk was emblazoned on the lapel of their sterile lab-coats, and while they acted in a serious, coordinated manner, their faces bore the same expression of surprise as Thomas.
One of the men spoke with authority. “It worked. By god, it actually worked. We got him.”
The other addressed Thomas directly. “Don’t bother trying to blink out of here.”
Thomas cursed as he slowly regained his motor functions. He started to struggle, adrenaline filling his veins. “Gerroffme,’ he mumbled.
The second man shuffled, holding up a picture. Thomas recognized the scene—his parent’s home.
“We took this picture today. Such a delightful home, with such charming people living inside. It would be a shame for something unfortunate to happen to them, yes?” The man said.
Thomas coughed, spitting up a wet globule of blood. “Who are you, what do you want from me?”
The first man smiled and removed a clear baggie from within the pockets of his lab coat. Inside, covered in barnacles, was an old, long-lost golden coin.
“We can be a lot of things, depending on your cooperation. For now, you can call us ‘Spectre,’ and we want *everything* from you.”
​
***
This ran away from me. Hope you liked it regardless. r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
| 2019-03-11T00:37:46 | 2019-03-10T22:53:43 | 217 | 88 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town.
|
An Ounce of Prevention
“They’re here, Sir”. Cybersquire knelt before me in the showy manner he always used to ham it up for the heroes. I sat on my throne as usual, but my normal cool confidence did little to ease the ice in my veins at his words.
“All three of them?” I asked, hoping against hope that perhaps only one of those wretched creatures would show his face in my city. I knew the answer before Cybersquire could get it out.
“All three, Sir. Ash-Rake, Virulent Son, and Rampager.” The fear in his voice shone through as he answered my question. “The drones spotted them on the outskirts, so it’s only a matter of time”
I leaned back into my chair as deeply as I could and thought back. For the past twenty years I had lived as this cities greatest villain. Everyone knew the name ‘Clockwork Conquest’ and every hero had cut their teeth facing him in one of his grand schemes. Little did they know that I was preparing them for this very moment.
The Cog-Rat Plague taught them to protect against biological threats and dangerous air quality that accompanied the combo of Virulent Son and Ash-Rake. Knight’s Eternal Night forced them to work in the low visibility conditions that Ash-Rake brought with him, and my trusty sword protected them from the slashing attacks his monsters would bring. And all of those battles against my building sized Clockwork Champions had hopefully prepared them for the sheer strength and brutality of Rampager.
I had, for my entire tenure, trained them for this exact scenario. They had no clue, and they’d likely never realize that I was their greatest mentor and ally this whole time.
I was snapped out of my memories by Cybersquire’s words. “The warnings have all been sent out. What do we do now, Sir?”
I stood from my throne, unsheathing my sword as I did and held it to catch the light. “Now? Now we buy them time to prepare.”
|
I’d tap my foot impatiently on the metal floor of my underground base, this new guy in town, who is he? Why is he here? And what is his goal? I’d turn on the massive big screen TV I stole from the new Mega-theater, maybe clear my head from it, I expect to hear news of my latest heist of the massive screen, instead I find a bank robbery in progress, hostages, explosive traps. One hero, a close rival of mine had already gone in and, gotten killed? My minion in their comically colorful jumpsuits runs up and hands me a file on this new villain, The Dominator, What an odd name...Wanted Internationally for...mass murder and seeking to cause a nuclear apocalypse, I need to clear my head, I’d take the file as I’d begin to walk out of my control room
I’d read through the crimes this new villain had committed, so much death and destruction in his wake, I’d look up at my hallway, photos, of my doomsday devices, my traps, and me getting arrested, all those times, minions walk by, cheerfully saluting me, yet I can’t shake this feeling, am I not a good villain? Is this new thing what villains do, not building eleborate lairs with doomsday countdowns, no, hidden shark traps that hero’s can dodge? I’d walk into my vault, filled with gold stolen from the downtown bank, filled with relics and loot I’ve stolen over the years, a ride from the shopping mall, the key to the city, ah yes, that picture. I’d look at the old photo, me buying the land my lair sits under now.
A minion walks up to me, “Doctor Dread, Sir, Boss, Overlord of the Central Metro Area, there’s a guy called “The Dominator” Who wants to speak with you. I’d sigh, walking back through the hall to my central sanctum, I’d sit on my large control chair, as the message comes on, a gruff voice comes over the speaker
”Doctor Dread I’ve come to-where are you?”
I’d slowly turn in my chair, my black and red lab coat, and red goggles showing themselves as I’d brush my pet raven on the chairs arm, I’d laugh in my exaggerated accent
”So, The Dominator is it, what is the meaning of your cont-“
The massive man in a suit of armor, covered in tubes and gas tanks with a gas mask cuts me off
”I’ve come to ask your assistance in destroying this city and killing its hero’s“
I’d respond confused in this plan
”Destroy the city, kill the hero’s, only one of those can I get behind, but how shall we do it, shrink the city and put it in a snowglobe, wait! We can use a time ray and slow the city dow-“
The Dominator cuts me off again
”No you idiot, I was thinking we lure the hero’s into the open, then we nuke the entire city, devestasting everything
I’d pause a moment before speaking
”You are a more direct villain I see, bit we’ll need a countdown timer, and clues to give the hero’s time to defuse i-“
He begins to shout at me
”You are a villain, why are you letting these heros stop your plans, do not want to end the pathetic world?”
I’d retort
”Why are you murdering hero’s causing chaos, why is there all that fire in your base, that’s a safety hazard, do you not know what I do here, I try to take the city, I lose, and I almost win, but loses, my plans are perfect, yet the hero’s are always better, do you know why I do this, when I was a young boy, I was always bullied for my genius, so I swore, I would turn all of those who wronged me into-“
The Dominator, clearly annoyed cuts me off, again, this is getting really annoying
”What is wrong with you!? We are supposed to destroy the world, or conquer it, here you are with a retro lair and stupid easy to avoid traps, Why not use your genius, you’ve made literal ray guns that can teleport basically anything, anywhere, and you use it to steal a large fish tank from a carnival!?”
I’d respond
”To be fair the fish tank was priced at like, a few thousand dollars”
He’d scream at me in raged
“Yet you spent even more money on a dark matter device, why not just buy the fish tank, or dol anything more useful to doing something, I was a soldier in the army long ago, they betrayed me, denied me benefits, ruined my life the government did, now I must end the world to make it even!, I will cause a nuclear holocaust and end this pathetic...wait, why am I telling you my plan!?”
I’d respond in a condescending tome
“First off, then I would have to get my minions to transport the fish tank, and they were tired that day, and it‘s so heavy” I’d glance at the massive fish tank on the wall, then continue talking “Secondly, it’s called monologuing, we villains always do, and finally, how dare you insult my ability to win aganist heros, just wait till they see my next plan, MY MIND CONTROL DEV-“
He cuts me off, going fully serious
”Your mind control device? Are you seriously telling me you figured out mind control, I can just mind control the hero’s and use them to destroy the world!“
I’d respond a bit blankly
”Well that could work, I was actually thinking of mind controlling the truck companies to steal the cities supply of fish but-“
He speaks to be excited “Forget that, we can take over the city together and win this world for our own, I’ll bring you the cities heros and we’ll control their minds and use them to take over”
The screen goes to static, I‘d slump down in may chair, is this a good plan, no more heros means no more epic battles, and I lose my purpose, if I do win, what then? Well I suppose the heros will find some epic way to defeat me, again, and then I’ll make a better device, and they’ll surely lose to that one, I’d perk up, realizing this guy was just a more modern version of me, nothing to be concerned about
I‘d cheerfully run down the hall of my facility heading toward the mind control room, waiting in excitment for them to show up.
(Timeskip)
The door opens and I’d turn preparing my speech, then I’d see a squad of armed men in masks, with the dominator leading them, the hero’s in chains, beaten up and hardly still conscious
I’d blankly ask
”Why so many guards, don’t you know you can only use fist fighting and occasionally a gun one at a time?”
My minions nod around me, having done this countless times, the men ignore me and sit the hero’s in the chairs locking them in, the Dominator gestures to the control panel, I’d slowly walk forward, is this a good thing, The hero‘s won’t be able to break free as they are the only ones who can set others free, so they’ll never get better, only work for me, I’d sigh, closing my eyes and adjusting the control panal, then pressing the obnoxiously large activate button, a massive wave of electrical energy shoots out, then stops, the restraints in the chairs unlock, the hero‘s spring up ready to fight, and then realize that all the people, except me and my minions, are just slowly moaning and shambling around like zombies
I‘d cheerfully perk up
”Of course I made my minions and I immune to the mind control ray, I’m a genius!”
The heros look at my confused, their leader speaks up
”Why help us, why mind control those guys, why did you reverse the machines to hit them instead of us?”
I’d sigh finally ready to reveal it
”Because I’ve always had your best interests in mind, I’m the yin to your yang, the bad guy to keep this city in a state where it needs you giving you purpose and meaning, and a reason to get better, that’s why I do this, I’m shocked you didn’t figure it out sooner, but don’t worry, my next plot will surely defeat you AHAHAHAHAHAHA”
The heros grab the hypotized goons and walk out, looking at each other with smiles, and a bit of confusion, leaving me to plot my next scheme.
(Doctor Dread looks like a evil scientist with a black and red lab coat and goggles)
Thank you for reading- Winged
| 2021-05-20T08:01:46 | 2021-05-20T06:49:30 | 225 | 98 |
[WP]You are a postman who is in love with a rich girl. But she is in love with some rich guy and you're the unfortunate soul who delivers their love letters. Upon accident, you read one of them, and turns out they are not lovers, but mafia bosses. And turns out the rich guy has a crush on you.
|
"Look at me," Eduardo ordered.
I brought my eyes up to meet his. It wasn't that I wanted to exactly, just that there was no room for argument with my back against the truck and the barrel of a gun in my guts.
I had never really seen him like this before. The way his dark eyes gleamed mirror-like in the sunshine, the way his jaw moved when he was upset.
"Are you even listening to me, man?" Eduardo asked, desperately. "Sokovic is trying to double cross me. She knows by now that you saw the letters. She will be coming for us both!"
"Leave him alone," Sokovic hissed.
The pressure of the gun against my stomach relaxed, but I didn't feel any less tense. My knuckles were starting to hurt from clutching my interrupted delivery.
I heard Eduardo's weapon clack on the concrete as we turned in unison, to see her smirking at us, a golden revolver confidently pointed.
My cheeks burned. I couldn't help but be nervous in her presence. She was so... Regal. I had a crush on her from the moment I met her. "H-hi Soko!" I managed, making myself cringe.
"Shut up," she sneered, rolling her eyes. "You know what this is Eduardo. You're too soft. I could get twice the gains from your territory and so I am going to take it."
Eduardo moved his lips to speak, but didn't manage any audible sound before Soko's finger clamped down on the trigger.
-click-
But the gun never fired.
I saw it register in her brain as I dramatically pulled the authentic revolver from the box in my hand and handed it to Eduardo.
It *looked* right in his hands. I was confident I had made the correct decision.
"How?" Soko asked, incredulous, "I thought you were in love with me!"
"Eduardo showed me that you were just using me, and..."
I pulled a crusted diamond band from my pocket and slid it snugly onto my ring finger.
"He made me an offer I couldn't refuse."
|
Jimmy is speeding down Fresh Pine Ln, the engine of his LLV (that's long-life-vehicle) roars between the trees leading up to the mansion atop the hill. His mail truck is practically brand new, and they say these things will last the post office the next 50 years—not the way he's driving.
He hadn't meant to read the letter; well, he hadn't meant to open the envelope, anyway. But there it was, unsealed and waiting for his prying eyes. Jimmy had to know, he needed just a glimpse into *her* personal life. What he found, however, is what's driving him up the hill with little thought to his safety training.
*I can't help but watch him when he pulls up to the mailbox, he's such a beautiful man*.
If only they had been her words, her desires laid bare to him. A squirrel dives across the road, daring Jimmy to swerve or slam on the breaks, but he stays the course and the creature reaches the other side.
*I'd kill to have him. I NEED him. Will you help me? Just put in a word for me?*
The house is in view now, and Jimmy hopes he's made it early enough to avoid seeing her. She loves to sit out on the veranda and wave down to him as he slides her mail through the slot; he loved it too, postal foreplay that kept him up at night and urged him to work each morning. Not today.
*If not you, Vanessa, I've got some guys in the union that might be able to help me out. Everybody owes me, but not him. He's so pure. So innocent. And I want to corrupt him in ways that even politicians aren't afforded.*
As the dirt road turns to a stone driveway, Jimmy thinks he's in the clear. The iron gate drifts open as it always does—security, he assumes given the new information—and he whips the LLV through the roundabout circling a massive fountain. As he careens towards the giant mailbox (mail carriers love big boxes and even now it sends his heart a flutter) a figure emerges from behind the hedge.
*Vanessa*.
Everything about her oozes sex appeal. Even the way she's holding her coffee seems to arouse him, and its all he can do to contain his package as he comes to a stop next to the mailbox.
"Good morning, Jimmy," he cuts off the engine to better hear her. He's in it now, there's no turning away from a customer who's made contact, especially not *her*.
"Morning ma'am," he tries to keep it professional, the noble postman atop his steed. He fails.
"Oh, Jimmy," she teases, grabbing the metal handle and sliding open the LLV door with a sudden crash. "You know not to call me that."
"Yes," he giggles, forgetting damn near everything about life except the sound of her voice. "Vanessa."
"That's better. Now, is there something you want to tell me?"
A million fucking things. All unworthy of a carrier on duty, seeing to the holy burden of delivering electricity bills and Macy's ads. He chokes a bit on his lust, managing to spit out, "First of the month coming up, make sure you've got your bills ready to be sent."
Vanessa laughs. It's so genuine; the kind of laugh adults let loose when a 2 year old says 'fuck'.
"Jimmy you're a doll," she leans towards him, her head basically in the truck now. "Why don't you come inside for an early lunch?"
"Oh, it's a busy day. I should be going—"
"Nonsense. You're here early, and by the looks of it you haven't got much to deliver." She gestures to the lighter than usual mail trails on the passenger side platform. He's caught, and she drives home the point. "He knows you read it, Jimmy. In fact, I'm betting he didn't seal it for that very reason."
Mail carriers are allotted two ten minute breaks and a thirty minute lunch. Jimmy is now counting every second of those thirty minutes as he ascends the steps up to the veranda and the rest of Vanessa's luxurious home. The end of lunch is his only excuse, and, for whatever reason, he's still holding out hope for his chance with Vanessa.
"Georgie has taken quite the liking to you," Vanessa voice echoes as they cross the threshold of her double doors and into what looks like the inside of Liberace's summer home. "We've had considerably more of our business meetings here since he discovered you. Not that I'm complaining, I'm such a home body."
Body. Vanessa's body. Fuck.
Jimmy shakes the thoughts from his mind and checks his watch. Two minutes down, twenty-eight to go. He's fiddling with his satchel like he can climb into it and disappear. Why'd he even bring the fucking thing?
Chandeliers sparkle and shine overhead as they move into what is undoubtedly one of the mansion's nine living rooms, but Jimmy's eyes stay tethered to the back of Vanessa. It's nine in the morning, and she's wearing a dress to match the extravagance of her house. Jimmy has never seen her in anything but a dress. Let's not explore that thought any further.
An array of leather couches are pushed together like a game of dominoes, and sunk into the middle of one sits the fattest man Jimmy has ever seen.
"Jimmy," Vanessa extends a hand towards the walrus as they approach the couch. "I'm pleased to introduce to my business partner, Georgie."
Jimmy finds no real sexual attraction in other men; however, if he's going to be seduced by a mob boss, he'd prefer him to be a handsome one.
"Hello, Jim," Georgie's eyes are alight, as if gazing upon mounds of whatever gives him his power in the world. "It is an honor to finally meet you."
Jimmy swallows and extends a hand, trying to maintain some sense of autonomy, "Pleased to meet you, Georgie."
The hand is not taken. Georgie simply pats the ottoman in front him, and Jimmy sits down awkwardly—resting his satchel on his lap like a shield.
"Time is money, Jim, as a postman well knows." He doesn't. "So let me be straight and clear: you know how I feel about you. You've read the letter, this I know, and I wish to court you with the purpose of entering a very passionate, sexual relationship with one another."
Jimmy can't help but glance at Vanessa, who's sitting a few Georgie's away from Georgie. For a moment, he wishes he was a mob boss; he wishes he had the gusto and influence to just say what he wants. No, he knows that's not how it works—Jimmy knows he doesn't actually have a say in this—and he would never do that to someone.
"Thoughts?" Georgie is eying him like a starving hippopotamus.
Thoughts? He checks his watch, vowing to never check it again because he hasn't been here more than five fucking minutes.
"Well, sir—"
"*Georgie*."
"Georgie," Jimmy takes a breath and hugs his satchel tight. Act like a fucking mail *man* you pussy. "I'm in no way interested in your offer, and I unfortunately must go—duty calls."
He's standing, somehow, his legs wobbling along the marble floor, his nose like a hound's leading him along Vanessa's scent as they entered the house.
"Oh, Jim," Georgie doesn't stand, maybe not ever. "You know this only makes me want you more? And in our line of work, we get what we want."
Jimmy stops, swings around, one hand fingering the dog pepper spray in his satchel, and both eyes locked with Vanessa's gaze. "Well, sir. In my line of work, we get fucked everyday by people we don't like, so excuse me if your arrangement just sounds like more of the same."
If that wiped the smile off Georgie's face, Jimmy failed to notice. All he registered is the one that came across Vanessa's.
"You read one of your customer's letters, Jim!" Georgie's voice is bouncing off the walls as Jimmy makes his way to the door. "The postal inspectors wouldn't be too happy about that! And those union boys, they've got families! A lotta mouths to feed, it would be real easy to get some of them to turn on their own!"
Mail men on the mob's payroll. Jimmy laughs at the thought, "I should have been a cop."
____
**/r/BeagleTales**
| 2021-06-14T16:28:18 | 2021-06-14T13:11:41 | 72 | 39 |
[WP] After years of gentile persuasion your best friend since childhood finally agrees to seek professional help for serious mental problems. Much to your dismay, as she begins to improve you slowly start to realize that you are her imaginary friend.
Edit: I see what I did wrong and I see what you did there ;) I'm leaving it because you're hilarious.
|
"He keeps telling me there's something wrong with me. That I'm sick in the head or something."
"Well, how about we talk about your problems? Would you like something to drink?"
"A Coke would be nice."
"Sure. You want a snack with that? How about some pork rinds?"
"Oy gevalt!"
|
*"I'm sure this is the right thing for you to do, Rhiann. All these years with nightmares and bedwetting and sudden tears. That constant fear you describe to me. I hope your first session goes well with the therapist."*
"I'm scared, Clemmie. I'm terrified about what to tell them. What if it still doesn't help? And I'm scared about what they might do. Do you think they might take me out of school? Or take me away from my family? Maybe I won't tell them anything at all."
*"They want to help you, just as much as I do. But they can't help you if you won't talk. You want the nightmares to be over right?"*
"Yes."
*"Good."*
"I'll go then."
------------------------------------------
"You know Clemmie, after these few months I think it has actually helped. Quite a lot. I mean, I've still got problems at night... but that sort of fear, it's not stopping me from doing things all the time now."
*"Yeah... you seem a lot busier. I'm glad it's helping you."*
"It's cool, I've actually joined an after-school netball club, I go over to Julia's house sometimes, and you and me can go out to the park together. We never used to do that!"
*"The park was pretty cool. But now you're so busy I hardly see you! Are you spending a lot of time with Julia?"*
"Well, no, yes? Maybe a few times a week. Not as much as you though, Clem. It's nice to have another friend."
*"I miss seeing you every day, Rhiann."*
"Yeah but you don't come round all the time like you used to."
*"You don't call on me as much as you used to."*
"Well I guess with the clubs and Julia and therapy I don't have as much time as I used to. You're not jealous are you?"
*"... me? I'm glad that you're happier, it's nice to spend time with you now that you're feeling better. I just wish we could spend it all together like we used to, and I could have happy you all the time."*
"Well... if I went back to staying in my bedroom with you all the time I probably wouldn't be so happy would I?"
---------------------------------------------
*"HEY! Rhiann!"*
"Woah! Hi there Clemmie! I haven't seen you for ages!"
*"Where've you been? You haven't called on me in weeks!"*
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. There's been so much happening. Practising for the netball tournament has been taking up all my time apart from studying."
*"You're not studying now are you?"*
"Well, no, I just got home from therapy. I'm still going. I can't believe how much it's helped me."
*"You never want me to come to netball with you. You never let me hang out with you and Julia. And you never want me around to help with your homework either. And all this time without you is just empty for me. Maybe I should come to therapy with you."*
"I um.... I don't know if they'd let you come in with me."
*"Well if you don't even try then I'll know for sure you're not my friend anymore."*
"Fine. Come with me next Thursday."
--------------------------------------------------
*"I didn't think you'd really let me come with you."*
"You are my friend right? I'm still not sure they'll let you in to see my therapist with me."
*"It's cool. I'll just listen. It's your therapy."*
The therapist called for Rhiann. They both stood up and went in, and no one stopped them. The two friends smiled at each other as they sat down, and the therapist and patient began to talk. Rhiann explained about her improving social and school life, but that she still has some problems with nightmares, even though the bedwetting has stopped. Then the therapist asked if Rhiann was still seeing Clemmie. The two friends exchanged a glance.
"Yeah. She's still around but I see her less."
The therapist told her this was a good sign, and that if she can find ways to avoid seeing Clemmie it would help her get even better, like spending more time with other friends instead.
-----------------------------------------------
*"So you have been avoiding me Rhiann! I asked you and you lied!"*
"No! I haven't been avoiding you, I promise."
*"So your therapist hates me? She thinks I'm making you unhappy?"*
"No Clemmie... it isn't you that makes me unhappy. You cheer me up when I'm desperate. That's why I used to see you so much when things were bad and I don't see you as much now."
*"You used me? You just used me to mop up your tears and now you've stopped crying you're dumping me?"*
"No! I still want to see you, but I can't!"
*"All you have to do is call and I come!"*
"You don't understand. That doesn't work so well when I'm happy."
---------------------------------------------
*"Rhiann. You called. It's been so long."*
"Yes. I needed to see you. I was thinking about you. There's something I want to say to you."
*"About us not seeing each other anymore? It's like I barely exist now that you're getting better."*
"I am getting better, Clemmie. And my therapist says that you make me worse and I can't keep calling you. So I haven't been calling you. But I've still missed you. The thought of never seeing you again made me so sad that you came back."
*"You only ever call me when you're sad. I never see all those moments when you're happy now, I still only see the sadness. And in between, there's nothing."*
"That's the only time you ever come. When I'm frightened. And I'm just not scared of the world anymore."
*"You make it sound like I only exist when you're scared."*
"Clemmie, it's over, I'm not scared now and I don't need you."
*"Why can't I be with you when you're happy? There's a reason isn't there? Rhiann? There's a reason you only ever call me when you're sad. And there's a reason why I can never call you, isn't there? Rhiann, wait, I've got nothing without you!"*
"No Clemmie. You *are* nothing without me."
*"I'm nothing?"*
"Nothing. When I leave you, you'll be nothing. You've been in my head all this time and I want you out."
*"In your head is exactly where I want to be. You just try getting me out of there. You think you can but you can't. I'll be waiting for you. I'll be waiting for the fear again. Rhiann, I'm never leaving you and you can't make me. I'm in your head."*
| 2015-11-17T05:55:31 | 2015-11-17T05:44:07 | 101 | 15 |
[WP] Everyone has a reaper. The further away it is, the longer you have left to live. Every day it inches a little bit closer, but it is always there. Except yours, which disappeared three weeks ago
|
So, it's been three weeks since I died. I know I know, everyone says I look a little rough, a little blood stained, head askew, all that nonsense.
I saw my reaper creeping up. He kept checking his watch and giving me this terrifying bony smile. I knew I needed to cross the road, everything looked clear. Just when I started to sprint; BAM! Out of nowhere, car with no lights on. Thing is, right before I got hit, he just disappeared.
We all know how it works. When you die, he's supposed to ferry your soul over to the other side. Except mine got distracted. So now my body is just slowly rotting away. I've been wearing a lot of cologne, trying to avoid showering (the skin starts to fall right off). People are starting to notice though. My boss keeps asking if things are going well at home, if I've been evicted, if there was some kind of accident. I've been trying to assure him that everything is fine, but it really isn't working.
It's been two months now. Still no sign of my reaper. I've lost all of the flesh from my feet now. My knees and elbows are almost in the same state. It's winter, so I'm hoping I stay fairly well preserved, but I'm worried that once summer hits there won't be anything left. I've stopped sleeping entirely. My apartment is filled with things I just don't need anymore. I've started to sell all of my possessions.
Three months. I quit my job. There was an ad out in the newspaper for help on a farm several miles outside the city. I sent an email in, and got a quick YES in response.
I wear a large cloak with the hood drawn down most days now, but that's more for my own benefit than my employers. The old man who owns the farm doesn't seem to mind my stench and has yet to comment on what's got to be the pretty obvious lack of definition under my clothing. I barely see him anyway. He just leaves a list of tasks for me on the porch each morning. His farm is expansive, mostly crops, but there's are some animals too. I've been planting a lot of winter wheat. It feels right, somehow, to be working the earth. I've always hated being outdoors and I hate being near people even more.
Eight months since my reaper disappeared. Summer has come, and I've lost all of the flesh from my bones. They shine white in the sun. Today is the harvest, and there's a sense of anticipation in the air. My employer is standing on the porch, a scythe outstretched in his bony hands.
He opens his mouth to speak, the first words I've ever heard from him: ARE YOU READY?
|
*******************************************************************************************************************************
** [WP] Everyone has a reaper. The further away it is, the longer you have left to live. **
** Every day it inches a little bit closer, but it is always there. Except yours, which disappeared three weeks ago **
*******************************************************************************************************************************
**NOTE** I changed the time period from three weeks to three days
**
**
**
Thank you for calling, "for English press one, para Espanol oprima dos"
[presses one - in the background music is playing]
"I, I'm so in love with you, Whatever you want to do"
"Due to a higher than usual call volume, all of our representatives are currently busy, please hold the line for the next representative. You are number 3 in the queue.
"Jesus!". Stacy hates calling tech lines and even more so dreads calling the ones that provide government services. you always end up on Perma-hold and are fed some unreasonable limitation as to why they can't help you.
Almost immediately after that thought, the phone rings a new line. a voice answers on the other end.
Thank you for calling Re-aper {REE-AYPER}, my name is Joanna, how can I help you?
Yes, Hello. I would like to speak with someone about my assignee, please.
I can help you with that, first, I would like to verify some information if that's ok?
Sure
"Cause you make me feel so brand new, And I want to spend my life with you"
Ok, what's your account number?
"3245611"
Ok, Stacy, I have your information here. How can I help you with your assignee ?
"uhh, It's gone."
"I'm sorry Stacy, did you say "it's gone"?"
Yeah, It's gone, my assignee. It was there 2 days ago, I remember cause its always in the way at work, blocking the monitor, and adjusting the blinds in my office so he sun goes right in my eyes.
Oh, and when I get home it keeps drifting back and forth in front of the TV while I'm watching "Dead Like Me". By the way, when you find it, can you make it stop drifting around. This one seems to love reminding me of my mortality, "Hello, I'm your death".
Anyway, this morning when I woke up, it was gone.
Hmm, [typing] Let me check your assignee's status. GL9972630... [typing longer and a bit faster]. hmmm. uh, Stacy. is it ok if I put you on hold for a minute? I need to research this issue and I'll just need a few minutes?
yep, I figured.
"Let me be the one you come running to, I'll never be untrue"
The muzak is the same as every other customer service hold line, an instrumental song with no obvious genre to define it. a completely synthesized experience. It pushes Al Green back in the distance and becomes an overpowering presence in the room.
Two minutes, three minutes, Five minutes go by and Joanna has picked up twice to ensure Stacy will continue to hold, which she does, and finally Joanna returns to the call.
"Stacy? Hi, thanks for waiting, listen. I've contacted my Tier 3 team and basically, we need to reset your assigne's location and shadow service. we've come up with a few possible solutions that we'd like to try and we were wondering if you had some time to try them out?
Stacy says in resignation,"ok go ahead"
[The songs have changed but its still Al Green]
"And how can you mend a broken heart? How can you stop the rain from falling down? "
Well first, I'd like you to get down on the floor on your hands and knees... uh, Stacy, can you put your phone on speaker? You are going to be crawling around on the floor.
ok.. You're on speaker and im on the floor.
Great, first, I need you to crawl around in a tight circle and repeat after me.. "mecka lecka hi, mecka hidey ho"
"Uh, that's the..."
Yeah, we know. The developer that wrote this routine had a sense of humor and honestly, it would take too much effort to replace it"
"alright. I'm going to say this now before I do it. I'm definietly going to feel stupid" wait, one sec. "OK GOOGLE - turn off room monitor cam." - "I'm Starting now"
"How can a loser ever win? Please help me mend my broken heart and let me live again"
[shuffling and chanting] "mecka lecka hi, mecka hidey ho", "mecka lecka hi, mecka hidey ho"
"Stacy? do you see a dark portal opening up on the ceiling above you?"
"Yeah, I see it, its kinda small but its there."
"Great, ok. keep chanting and crawling, until the portal is about as wide as a garbage can. Like the ones you take out to the curb every week."
"Ok" [shuffling and chanting] "mecka lecka hi, mecka hidey ho", "mecka lecka hi, mecka hidey ho"
a few minutes go by and then stacy stops.
"The portal is pretty big now, I think I can stop."
Ok stacy, since its on the ceiling, I need you to stand up and get up on a chair or a ladder, something so that you can reach up into the portal and fish around for your assignee"
"wait. uh, I dont want to touch it. its bad enough I have to see it all the time, I dont want to touch it."
"Stacy. I understand. I know exactly how you feel, I never touch my assignee either, they are incredibly cold and the emotional attenuation takes days to get over, but, we are almost done here. I guarantee you that your assignee is right on the other side of the portal. I can see its morte` signal."
please, is there anything else? another way?
"Love and happiness, Something that can make you do wrong, make you do right,"
Stacy.. we are so close, please. you can put on some winter gloves or mittens and it will insulate against the cold but this is the best way. and we need to hurry cause the portal will start to close soon.
alright...
[There's silence on the phone we hear a chair being dragged accross the floor. ]
Ok, im standing on the chair. Im going to reach up inside. what do I do ?
thanks so much Stacy... when you reach up inside, you will need to feel around for your assignee. when you catch hold of it, just pull it down out of the portal into your reality and hold onto it until the portal closes. it should start closing almost immediately.
alright. ughh.
[stacy, slowly stands up fully on the chair and even then she is just barely able to get her hands into the portal. she jumps down and grabs a wine crate from the corner and puts it on the chair and climbs back up. now she is able to reach up inside up past her elbows]
"oh, this is terrible. its like cold slime. it smells like smoke and rain. wait! It just brushed against me ... I'm reaching around. shit, I just missed it"
Keep trying Stacy. say the chant one more time.
"mecka lecka hi, mecka hidey ho", "mecka lecka hi, meckaaaaaaaaa nooooooo!"
"ITS GOT ME! IT'S PULLING ON ME. HELP!, HELLLLLPPPPP!!"
"Just hold on stacy. dont let go... relax let it happen."
"what? are you fucking kidding me? its pulling me in!"
Its ok, we cant reset these things really, its easier to advance your EOL date than try to reset an assignee.
[fighting and scuffling is heard. the sound of the wine crate and the chair falling over are unmistakeable]
What the Fuck?!!! EOL Date its got me... its pulling me in! I cant stand on anything.
End of life date, dear. just relax and it will...
[An Abrupt sucking sound with a coarse rattling is heard, and then silence]
Stacy?
"Love and happiness, You be good to me, I'll be good to you"
Stacey?
"thank you for being a Re-aper customer.. please call again if you have any other issues. goodbye. also, if possible, please hold the line for a survey at the end of this call. thank you. "
"Love is, wait a minute, love is, Walkin' together, Talkin' together, "
| 2016-11-23T11:03:32 | 2016-11-23T10:57:10 | 21 | 13 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world.
|
People rush past me, breathless in their terror. My boots thunk on the metal floor as I pass them. Most would think i’m crazy, because who in their right mind would walk into a basement haunted by a ticking time bomb? But ever since the great turkey crisis of 2006 I’ve discovered that my abilities extend past the mundane... into the extraordinary.
I reach for the thick iron door, electricity sparking over my fingertips - most likely due to the stress of hosting such a volatile visitor. As I swing it open I am greeted with a spaghetti tangle of wires. I brush them away with impatience, and I focus my attention on the deceptively benign-looking metal box nestled between two large copper panels.
The bomb features a tiny LED screen that is ticking down before my very eyes. It never ceases to amaze me, how these shining boxes alter lives so drastically - but that’s why I’m here.
01:02,
plenty of time.
I shrug off my backpack, pulling out a little button that was repurposed from a childhood microwave - a device that taught me more than I ever hoped to know.
00:49
I set to work wiring the button to the bomb, double checking to make sure each wire is in place.
00:22
Almost done...
00:19
Boom. Perfection.
I sit back, wiping the sweat off my brow. Any second now... (no pun intended).
At precisely 00:03 my hand flies forward, firmly pressing the button I had wired in; the button that read
STOP
in bold smallcaps.
At 00:01 the bomb is frozen.
I always enjoyed catching the microwave before the timer went off.
|
Filing papers, pushing pencils, whatever you want to call it; everyone makes jokes about bureaucracy. Not me, however. Everyone in this world is born with some kind of talent. Most people never find a good use for theirs. I mean, when you spend your entire life tending to your farm or at the forge, there isn't much room to apply an ability such as an affinity for arithmetic. The only way to really apply an obtuse talent would be to become some kind of wandering adventurer and hope you find a niche you can fit in, but with all of the monsters, bandits, and demons on the roads, most people don't even bother.
I was lucky enough to discover what was an almost perfect fit for mine. I was born with the power to navigate complex organizational systems. When I realized what I could use this power for in school, I would daydream about what I could achieve with it. I could be a treasurer for the king, being able to figure out the best way to distribute money to make the kingdom as monetarily efficient as possible. Or I could be a general, creating formations for my troops that the enemy would never be able to understand while picking apart their strategies like a child's toy. Too bad that's how I chose to spend my time, since I could've spent more of it studying. In the end, my less than mediocre grades made me fall by the wayside of the kingdom's attention, and I was barely able to scrape by to become a lowly bureaucrat at the capital.
Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with being a bureaucrat, especially with my power, but it feels like I'm doing my daydreams a disservice by living my life like this. I could be doing so much more! Those thoughts were pretty strong, and I guess one day I might have "expressed" those feelings a bit too much. I remember that day pretty well- I was home from work and one of my old classmates, who got into one of the prestigious government programs I had my eyes on when we were still in school, decided to come over to my office and flaunt is wealth and position. By the time he finally pissed off, I was pissed off. Luckily it was the end of the work day, so I headed straight home, entered my bedroom, and began to scream into a pillow.
"It's not fair! That jackass thinks he's better than everyone else because the king 'noticed him' and gave him a cushy position. I'm the one doing all of the real work that keeps this kingdom afloat. Man, I'd kick is ass! If I could. What I wouldn't give for that opportunity!"
As soon as that last sentence left my lips, I felt a draft emanating from the other side of the room. I looked up and saw something I was not ready for. A being with red skin, sharp horns, and a wicked smile stared back at me. I was speechless, too frightened to verbally respond. I never expected to see a demon with my very own eyes, they only came to people who specifically summoned them or who they thought were ready to sell their soul for something. Did I really look that pitiful? The demon began to speak.
"Human... " it began and paused. I know I was probably crying, but did I really look that pitiful that it hesitated on my species?
"It seems that you are looking for power. Great power. And it can all be yours, for a small price!" The demon pulled out a quill and a piece parchment filled with incredibly small-print font and a line at the bottom. "Just sign here, and it can all be yours."
"Buh buh buh... ooolll" I sobbed as I wiped my face on my pillow to try and look a little more presentable. Why I was bothering, who knows? It's not like giving a good impression of myself to the demon would be worth anything, seeing as how he would've had to have a pretty poor impression of me to show up in the first place. "Bullshit!"
The demon looked at me quizzically, the smile on his face never changing. With my voice no longer shaky, I continued. "I'm not falling for it, you want my soul. I kind of need that."
"What? I would never steal something you need! If you don't believe me, just take a look at this contract! You won't even see that word 's-o-u-l' written here!"
I took a look at the parchment, it looked infinitely more dense than my school books. I didn't even want to bother reading through it. But as soon as I lazily skimmed a random sentence, I felt something within me; it was my power activating. I immediately understood what the contract entailed and how the demon's words were only technical truths. The contract would grant me temporary physical strength to put me slightly above the focus of my ire, and in return, I would in fact be giving up my soul. It's just that all references to my soul were written in some kind of verbose metaphysical description of the soul, rather than just using the word. The demon said he wouldn't steal it, but this contract is an agreement where I would willingly give it up to him.
A thought came to me. Maybe I could negotiate the details so I wouldn't lose my soul and get something actually helpful from it.
"Hey, any chance I could change the terms of that contract? I don't like... uh... some of the *wording*."
"By all means, go right ahead!" The demon handed me his quill and placed the contract on a table. His smile was still unwavering. Plenty of people probably made this request in an attempt to feel like they have the upper hand. Judging by the demon's demeanor, they were all probably unsuccessful. I raised the quill and felt my power guide it more than my conscious mind did. The first thing to change was the metaphysical description of my soul. The contract basically described it as any kind of non-physical force, group, or entity that directly controls and guides my conscious thoughts and actions as well as my metaphorical ticket to a good afterlife. The quill began to scratch out words and write new ones above them and after a moment, the description read as any non physical force, entity, or construct that exerts control over my decisions or assists in my ability to fulfill my decisions. Of course, the actual description was much more complicated than that, and I made sure to get my power to make it as misleading and look like the original one as possible.
Next on the list to change was what I would be getting. I asked the demon a question.
"Hey, I need power to get my revenge and everything, right? I saw the word 'physical' on here, I think it means how strong you are. I'm going to need to be smart too, so how about if you make whatever this is going to cost me stronger for the time being too." The demon looked at me quizzically for a moment, and then gave me an affirmation. This was looking interesting. The quill came down again and rewrote the benefit as something along the lines of "complete and unyielding control and ownership over any forces or entities that allow me to fulfill my desires."
Finally, there was how long such powers would last. The original contract gave a timeline of until either of us died, so even if I didn't kill him, there would be some kind of hard time limit. I changed this to read until his soul had ascended to a good afterlife. With enough fluff, it would be all but impossible to see the difference between the two versions.
I took the contract back to the demon and he quickly glanced through it. He looked quite surprised that there were so many changes, but relaxed when he thought to himself that they were probably meaningless. It looked close enough to the same to him. He gave the changes his affirmation and I quickly signed.
"Well, if that's it, I'll get going. And thanks for your soul!" the demon said, as he turned his back to me and walked towards the wall. He began to laugh, but abruptly stopped when his head hit stone and his nose began to bleed. "Why in the seven hells didn't my portal open? And what's this? Blood? My blood?"
The demon slowly turned towards me, his smiling facade replaced with a death glare. "Mortal... what did you do?" I never knew demons could experience horror, most stories showed them creating it in others, but this was completely new. "What did you do to the contract?"
| 2018-06-30T16:09:28 | 2018-06-30T15:25:20 | 865 | 202 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone!
|
I have the best boobs in the world.
I'm not, like, egotistical or anything. Heck, some days I don't even want them, but it's undeniable. That was my mutation. April 24th, 2014, the day I developed the best pair of breasts anyone has ever had.
At first, I was actually a little stoked. I mean, my rack is *amazing*. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing, they look good. They fill t-shirts out wonderfully, and even in sweaters and jackets the gentle curves show just right, enticing the viewer and leaving them wanting more. And tank tops? Forget about it.
And sure, I do get treated different. I can go just about anywhere these days, and any guy is willing to pretend to be interested in what I have to say – even a lot of women I meet will at least give me a second glance, if not special treatment. I certainly have my pick of the litter when it comes to sexual partners, and let me tell you: I am *enjoy*ing my youth.
Don't get me wrong, though, there are downsides. Just about *everyone* stares. It's hard to really engage someone in conversation. I've seen grown men cry from the effort of maintaining eye contact with me. And the starers, the criers, they're the good ones. I can't ride the subway without being felt up, I don't dare be alone at night without people I trust, many women openly resent me, and all of this is seen as normal. I'm just the Great Tits, as if nobody's even expected to *try* to maintain decorum around me.
But you know none of this is even the worst aspect, not really. More than any of this, there's one thing about my boobs that keeps me up at night, one thing that makes me worry about how the rest of my life is going to play out.
Even with my beard, nobody will believe I'm a guy.
|
My parents' house is absolutely packed, the air buzzing with anticipation. Though that could just be my cousin Rita, who had her unfolding only three weeks ago and still can't get enough of flaunting her new grown wings.
They're hardly useful, really: translucent vainy leaves that in no possible way could ever support the hunk of meat attached to them, petite though Rita is. She doesn't seem to mind, though. They produce a strangely pleasing low thrum when in motion, moving so fast they become a blur. And while visually they remind most of a common house fly, it's clear by Rita's beaming wide-eyed grin that she feels like a butterfly.
To be honest, I think she's just relieved she got something neutral, somewhat pleasant even, instead of heavy horns and subsequent neck pain like her brother Kenny, or her mom's screwed up sense of smell. Aunt Cleo eventually learned to live with her 'gift', but judging by the distance she's keeping from the devilled eggs she's still to sensitive to some scents to stomach them, let alone to enjoy most foods.
Yes, there's another side to the spectrum. There's handfuls of people mutating every day that actually benefit from their mutation. Super strength. Telekinesis. Hell, some people even get functioning wings! Though the longest natural flight in history won't be more than a few yards. Telekinesis rarely goes beyond juggling sugar cubes. Come to think of it, the last recorded guy with super strength had felt so certain about his adjustment after week of training, he deemed it safe enough for a wank. He lost control right as he came. Tugged that thing right off, like plucking a hair.
Yep, Rita got a pretty good deal there.
*But you... You better start worrying.*
I quickly shake my head to get rid of the little voice and try to think of something else. But my mind just circles right back to the same thing subject.
What worries me most is not the physical side. Horns, forked tongues, tails, blue skin, spotted fur, wings... Though some are still considered unlucky, there's hardly any taboo left. Some people are born prettier than others. Some have better mutations. I must admit, seeing my old high school buddy Jake Feldman's new profile pic made me a little squeamish: Head to toe brown and yellow scales, yikes. Poor bastard.
Still, nothing you can't learn to live with.
Now, the mental mutations... That's a whole different ballgame. Only a few months ago, I got the news through my old high school's mailing list that Rick Redman, my year's number one douche jock pretty boy prom king football prodigy (oh yeah, he was *the* cliché) had hung himself in his dorm room at Brown. He'd celebrated his 21st, and his unfolding, on the evening prior: He was a mental mute, turned out, and not just any. Rick was a glasshead, and a pretty severe one at that. A rare feat, to be fair: glassheads, or people who can see into other people's thoughts, hear them, feel them, see them, or (like Rick) all of the above, are about one in a thousand mentals. Considering the mental to physical mute ratio is about 1:100, you can see Rick pretty much won the lottery of Fuck right there. Which is ironic, considering he pretty much won the genetic lottery in every other possible aspect.
It took Rick fifteen seconds to see that his dad never loved him, thirty seconds to find out his brother was fucking his girlfriend, fifty seconds to learn that his favourite uncle was an active child molester and a mere minute to realise that all the people gathered around this wonderful, talented, smart, handsome all-American wonderboy in fact deeply, deeply despised him.
"This is what you wanted." His note was short and honest.
The knot in my stomach pulls tighter as I envision Rick's lifeless body hanging from the curtain rail, his face blue and his heart broken.
*Felt pretty good, didn't it?*
No, no way. I ignore the little voice. Rick was an asshole, but he didn't deserve what he got.
*Oh come on, you'd slit his pretty throat if you could and you know it.*
Stop it, I shouldn't think like that. I sharply inhale through my nose, trying to fight the nausea, and look up when I notice how quiet it's grown.
My parents' living room has slowly filled up as I was lost in my thoughts. Uncles, aunts, my two remaining grannies and grampa Ed. My parents, cousins, my three best friends. Everyone's either staring at me quietly, or talking in a low voice. I glance at the clock. Shit. 7:12 PM. Twenty-one years ago at exactly 7:17PM my dad, dressed in scrubs and about as pale as the grey walls of the hospital room, cut my umbilical cord just before passing out. Which means today at exactly 7:17PM, I become a man. A man with a horn, or webbed toes, or the utterly confusing gift of smelling colours, but a man nonetheless.
"Would you, ehm... Like to say something? Honey?"
My mom's voice is a higher pitch than usual. She looks more nervous than I am, though I doubt she feels as hopeless.
"Ehm. Yeah. No. I mean, not really. Eh..."
I look around the room, all those faces staring down at me with anticipation. Everyone is gathered in a semi-circle around me as I'm slouched down in a comfy gray armchair, my fingers digging in the armrests. I'm suddenly very aware of the sweat running down my back. What are they expecting?
*Like they expect anything from you... They know you're a loser, they're just here to be courteous.*
"Th-thanks for coming, everyone. I guess- I guess that's all I have to say." The words sounds weak and I can feel the disappointment of my loved ones filling the silent room. Should I have prepared a speech?
*Fuck them. Pieces of shit. Just wait, they'll see. Time to shine, motherfuckers.*
I try to focus on the idea, focus on the image. This is the start of my life, my real life: No more insecure, flaky, mumbling nobody. Today, I become the real me. The person I was meant to be.
*Ha, why are you kidding yourself? You know you're not special. What are you hoping for?*
I try to ignore the voice and hold on to the image. I can do this. Don't be scared.
*What are you scared of? You're already a worthless piece of shit. With a piece of shit family and piece of shit friends.*
I ball my hands into fists and feel my nails dig into my skin. I inhale deeply, fighting that nagging, doubting voice.
*Nothing will change, except in a few minutes you'll be a mutated piece of shit. Bravo, you.*
And as I breathe out deeply I think I feel it. A weight that lifts, leaves my body. For the first time in, well, *years* to be honest, I feel... Happy. I can do this. I'm ready.
I open my eyes, ready to face the clock and count down. My heart immediately sinks to my stomach, my new found courage instantly evaporated at the sight of my friends, family, my mom and dad, all gaping at me in shock. I look at the clock. 7:17.
I jump up, panicked, patting down my body, my head. Nothing. I feel nothing. Jim, my roommate and one of my best friends, lifts his hand. He starts to say something, but my dad cuts him off, shushing him and gesturing for him to stay calm. It's part of the ritual: Give space, let them figure it out for themselves first. Stay calm, show support, yadda yadda yadda. I'd say a hint *would* be pretty supportive right about now. What is it? Everything feels normal. Sounds normal, smells normal. Everything *looks* normal.
Wait.
I grab my phone from my back pocket, open the camera, turn it to selfie mode. I hastily inspect my face, hair, eyes, ears, inside my mouth. Nothing. What the hell is it then?
I look around the room questioningly, my hands upturned. My dad - Is he smirking?! My grandma's got her hand over her mouth. She looked before shocked, but now she's actually *smiling*. My mom's got her hands clasped under her chin, her eyes all teared up and she almost looks... Proud?! What the hell are they seeing that I'm-
| 2022-05-10T21:44:19 | 2015-03-04T06:44:43 | 1,457 | 153 |
[WP] Long ago the legendary sword Excalibur was melted down and lost to history. The mythical blade's steel ended up in your butter knife, with all its magical properties intact.
|
EBAY
Steel Forged Knife Set with Celtic Engravings.
Price: €34,99.
4/5 stars
Review by T. Smith:
*Great knife set, cuts smooth and are easy to sharpen. Weirdest thing though, every time I pas by the sink a hand will reach out of the water and hand me one.*
|
I could barely breathe up here. Every step deeper into this attic made a yet another billowing cloud of dust. The walls were invisible, behind the mountains of boxes that littered the room. Waving to clear the air, I finally spotted what I was looking for. A small white box, simply labelled "Silverware". Walking over, I gently removed it from its perch, and brought it back downstairs.
As I walked down the rickety steps, I looked once more at the pictures of Grandma that covered the walls. She had been living alone since gramps passed away, with only a caretaker to keep her company as her mind deteriorated from schizophrenia. Now that she was gone as well, it was entrusted to me to clean up the house. We hadn't been too close, but I still felt a pang of regret for not keeping in touch with her more often. That was probably why I tripped and fell.
"Shit!" The box had torn open in the fall, and the utensils clanged as they scattered across the floor. Groaning, I got up and resigned myself to start picking them all up.
"Finally. It's about time."
I whirled around to find the source of the voice, but an empty hallway was the only thing ahead of me. Slowly, I grabbed the closest thing at hand, a silver butter knife.
"Hey! Hey you! Down here!"
Had someone broken into the house? I was sure I had locked the door, but maybe they had snuck in after I finished cleaning the first floor.
"Stop messing around and say something already." The voice came from... everywhere. Like it was inside my head.
"Who's there? Show yourself!"
"Whoa, easy there buddy. I'm glad you got me out of there, but we're not in that kind of relationship. Can you ease up on the grip?"
I glanced down at my hand. My knuckles had gone white, my fingers locked around the handle. "Get out of my house! I'm not afraid to use this knife."
A brief pause, then a sigh. "Just my luck. I got a slow one. I *am* the knife."
I looked down at my hand again. "What?"
"Yeah, yeah, let's get this part over with. I'm a magic talking knife, you're the king of Great Britain, we're going to fight monsters and defeat evil."
"What? You're the knife?"
The voice took an impatient tone. "Look, it's not that complicated. You can call me Excalibur."
"Excalibur? Like the King Arthur Excalibur?"
"That's the one."
"But... you're a butter knife."
"All right, so I admit I had a little setback. Nothing to worry about, really. We just need to make a pact, and I'll be good as new."
I turned over my hand, to look at it more closely. The handle was ornate filigree, the edge slightly serrated. It really did seem like an ordinary butter knife.
"A pact?"
"You know, like a contract. A covenant. A promise. I swear to never harm you and stay by your side til death, you swear to fight evil and become the king of Great Britain. It's like we're getting married."
"I know what a pact is! Just slow down, I can't do that! First, we're not even in Britain, we're in the United States. Second, fight evil? What exactly does that even mean? And finally, you're a talking butter knife, I'm clearly going insane. Shit, is schizophrenia hereditary?"
"Yes, but that's not the important part right now. The pressing issue is that I can't just make a pact with anyone."
"Because you don't have legs?"
"Nobody important needs legs! Anyway, it's because there are four conditions that have to be met. The person needs to be of the bloodline stemming from Arthur, the previous wielder needs to be dead, and they need to accept the pact of their own free will. Just jab me in your finger to get a little blood flowing, I'll say the words, and it'll be done."
"Uhh, I'll pass on that one. I can't be forced into it? What happens if I say no?"
"Then I'll have to stay and wait wherever you put me, until you have some kids. Though if you always act like this, maybe that'll take a while."
"Hey! I thought you wanted me to help. I've made up my mind, I think that-" My retort was interrupted by a loud crash from below, as if the door had been broken open. Frantically, I looked back at the knife. "What the hell did you do?"
"Oh boy. That's not me. My awakening must've tipped them off."
"Them? Who?" I hissed. The sounds below had gotten louder. I could hear my grandmother's heirloon vases being smashed as whoever was down there went through the room.
"Well, remember how I said you'd need to fight evil? Looks like evil has found us. They likely used teleportation magic, if they've gotten here so soon."
"Magic? You mean I have an evil wizard trying to kill me and all I have is a butter knife? I'm calling the police."
"Believe me, the police won't be able to do a thing. Look, we have to make the pact now. I got sidetracked, there's one more thing I forgot to mention."
"Oh, just one?"
"Now's not the time for that. I said there were four conditions, right? The fourth is that the wielder must have a righteous heart. One that makes them the true king. That's you, bud."
"Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm so dead." Another crash, this time more of a boom, reverberated through the hall. The heat hit soon afterwards, and the smell of burning carpets filled the air.
The knife spoke up again. "That sounded like a fireball. We'd better hurry this along... actually, you haven't given me your name yet, have you?"
I looked at the knife incredulously. "Thomas! It's Thomas! Screw that, let's get out of here!"
A new voice startled me. "No, Thomas, I don't think you'll be doing that." Looking back up, an older man was now standing at the end of the hall, blocking any chance I had of escape. His lean figure and long, blue coat stood out against the flames that flickered from the stairs behind him. In his hands, he was holding a slender, long, and very deadly looking katana.
For the first time since we had met, I felt a touch of fear coming from Excalibur's voice.
"Do it. Now. You don't stand a chance against him. That sword is Clarent. The Sword of Peace. The one wielded by the traitor Mordred. The weapon that slew King Arthur."
Before my mind had reached a decision, my hands had already moved. The trickle of blood that flowed down my fingers gave a brief respite from heat of the air. Once more, Excalibur spoke, and the man charged.
| 2018-03-06T11:40:04 | 2018-03-06T11:27:47 | 2,613 | 44 |
[WP] John Wick is contracted to take out what seemed like a usual mark. Billionaire, heir, playboy, general layabout, Bruce Wayne.
|
“Master Wayne”
Alfred walked into the Wayne Manor’s study, barely passing the threshold of the lavish office.
“Yes, Alfred.”
Bruce looked up from the shiny fragment he had stolen during the Justice Leagues battle with braniac. Normally he would take care of this in the Batcave, but bringing the tech near the Earth’s most connected computer system seemed like a bad idea.
“You have a visitor. A Mr. Johnathan Wick.”
Bruce remained stoic as he puts the fragment in his desk, gets up and walks towards his trusted aide.
“Where?”
“In the parlor.” Alfred replied.
Bruce took a quick glance out of the office window, and then swiftly left to meet Mr. Wick.
-
John Wick is looking at the Wayne family portraits adorning the walls as Bruce walks in.
“John Wick.”
“Bruce Wayne.”
Bruce points at a chair for John. Both men take their seats.
“What brings you to Gotham?”
“Business.”
“Business?” quizzed Bruce.
“Look Bruce. You know what I do. You know where I make my money. And you are a smart guy. You know why I’m here.”
Bruce’s glare did not waiver. “How much?”
“$35 million upfront. More if I make you suffer.”
John leans forward in his chair.
“But neither of us wants that long of a night, old friend.”
Bruce smiles, “I’ll transfer you 80 million tonight. But what are we going to do about your friends outside?”
The shadows of several people overtake the large window in the room.
John smiles. “Criminals these days have no tact. They tailed me. On a single lane road. In the middle of the country. Thought we’d have some fun.”
Bruce rolls up his sleeves. “I count 22 people. Same bet as in Marrakesh?”
John nods and pulls out his gun. Bruce glares. John puts his gun on the table.
John relents. “Fine. No killing.”
|
Rain poured down in a abysmal onslaught as the sleek town car pulled through the gates and into the winding, scenic driveway of Wayne Manor. The garage door opened silently on well-oiled hinges and the car entered. Alfred let out a sigh as he parked the car in the usual spot flanked by the Lamborghini and the Aston Martin. He stared glumly across the array of the super cars; the luxury coupes; the classic muscles. It had been ages since Master Wayne had driven a car (excluding the black, armor-plated variety). They'd be covered in a thin layer of dust if not for Alfred's herculean effort to keep the manor presentable. With a small *tsk* to himself, he turned off the engine and was left with nothing but the constant drumming of the rain to break the silence of the expansive room.
He collected the groceries from the boot of the car and made his way through a series of twisting servant's corridors to the kitchen. He bumped the hidden service door open with his hip and struggled to turn on the kitchen light with his hands full. Nudging the door closed with his toe, he set the paper bag on the counter and looked to the dining table. The breakfast he had carefully prepared hours before remained patiently where he had left it, cold and forgotten. With a look of disdain, he unceremoniously deposited it in the waste bin.
"I was just about to eat that Alfred," stated Bruce wryly, striding into the room while tousling his hair with a towel. Alfred glanced disapprovingly to the half-wet footprints trailing behind the man.
"One does not maintain his reputation as a respectable chef by serving cold food, sir. Nor does one maintain the illusion of living a luxurious life by eating his breakfast past noon", he replied in a like tone.
Bruce cracked a smile. He made an intimidating figure, standing a few inches taller than Alfred, his bare torso scarred and ribbed with muscle. Despite his impressive physique, a closer inspection revealed a far more daunting aspect of the man to be his eyes.
Cold and hard eyes.
Anguished eyes.
It was that part of Bruce that kept Alfred going through the motions of his job; making food that wouldn't be eaten and cleaning floors that would never see guests. It was the knowledge that maintaining order and routine was in some way healthy for his charge, despite how little Bruce seemed to care for the comforts of a billionaire's life.
"I'm plenty fine with not having a life Alfred, let alone a *luxurious* one. Keeping that facade up was your idea after all," Bruce said with a shrug.
"Well all the same, if you expect me to keep making your food then you can at least learn to dry your feet properly," Alfred accused, gesturing to the little puddles trailing in behind his master from the foyer. Bruce glanced back the way he had come with a look of chagrin. For a split second, he looked to Alfred every bit like the young boy he used to catch tracking mud in from the garden so long ago. The thought brought a bittersweet pang of nostalgia and innocence with it. The look was replaced with a hint of smugness as Bruce glanced behind Alfred and accused, "Well isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?"
Alfred glanced behind him to see wet footprints leading into the kitchen from the servant's entrance. He had taken the corridors inside the house from the garage. Confused, he looked to his own feet. His shoes shone with a matte layer of shoe polish.
Not a drop of water on them.
"Master Bruce! Get to the cav--!
***PHT PHT PHT***
Muffled gunshots sounded out in the kitchen as the wood slivers exploded from the pantry. With a grunt, Bruce dropped to the ground, clutching his shoulder. He dove behind the kitchen counter as the gun fired again.
***PHT PHT***
The barrel of a suppressed M1911 moved forward past the splintered pantry door, trying to get a better angle on its mark.
With a massive *clang*, Alfred brought a cast iron pan down on the pistol like a mighty zweihander knocking it from the assassin's hands. Then with a twist, he brought it upwards in a swift backhand towards the assailant's head. Ducking quickly, the gunman dodged the blow and pinned the pan against the wall bringing him face to face with the butler.
"Alfred."
"John."
With a two handed strike to his wrists, John broke Alfred's grip on the pan. In retaliation, he struck out with his elbow then spun to position himself behind John, placing him in a rear naked choke.
"How's -- Hel--en?" Alfred asked through gritted teeth.
John struggled against the aging military vet. He might be older, but Alfred clearly remembered his S.A.S. training. John elbowed the man's stomach, then heaved his weight forward and down sending Alfred over his head and onto the kitchen island.
He stood to catch his breath, "She's actually...not doing too w--".
Bruce tackled him to the ground. He straddled the smaller man grabbing the collar of his suit jacket and bringing it across his neck to constrict the carotid arteries. John quickly began to lose consciousness, but was able to reach the bullet wound in Bruce's shoulder and pressed down hard. With a guttural yell, Bruce was forced to release his hold giving John a chance to scrabble around above him for the cast-iron pan on the floor which he swung up with a resounding ***THUNK*** as it made contact with Bruce's skull. The man went reeling backwards, head spinning.
***PHT PHT***
As John struggled to his feet, two more gunshots rang out, bullets embedding themselves in the counter next to John. He froze.
"Al-alfred...no...no g-guns...", Bruce called out weakly as he stumbled to his feet and made his way to the kitchen door.
"Not to worry Master Bruce. I won't kill him," Alfred replied. "Can't guarantee I won't shoot him though...", he muttered just loud enough for John to hear. Bruce paused at the door and looked to John propped up on the floor, then to his butler aiming the pistol at the assassin.
"...that'll have to do", said Bruce as he stumbled out of the room.
A moment of tense silence passed between the two remaining men.
"...I'm sorry about Helen...I heard about her diagnosis", Alfred solemnly said, breaking the silence.
John looked down.
"I'm sorry I was sent here Alfred."
"I don't suppose you had a choice?", Alfred asked with a sigh. "I can't say I'm entirely surprised. You don't become the richest man in Gotham without making some enemies."
Alfred looked at the man on the floor in front of him. He had a lot of respect for Mr. Wick, despite his choice of profession.
"Well, what do you suppose we do now?" he asked John.
John glanced up. "How about a drink?" he asked with a wry smile. Alfred met his with a sad smile of his own. He gestured with the pistol for him to stand up. John stood and poured himself a drink from the decanter on the counter top. Holding the decanter in one hand and the scotch glass in the other, he took a sip and sighed.
"I want you to know it's nothing personal Alfred", John stated firmly.
"I know John", the butler replied, readjusting his grip on the pistol.
John nodded.
"Don't miss."
John threw the glass at Alfred, and dived forward. Alfred opened fire.
***PHT*** *click click*
The shot grazed John's waist. The slide of the pistol kicked back and locked. Empty.
The decanter swung into the side of Alfred's face.
-------------------
Bruce leaned against his desk in the Batcave, suturing his shoulder, an ice-pack balanced delicately on his head. He heard the door from the elevator open.
"Did you hand him over to the police Alfred?", Bruce called out.
"No, but he offered me a drink."
Bruce froze. He looked over his shoulder, the ice pack sliding off his head. John Wick stood there looking back, gun leveled on him. Bruce put down his needle and stood up straight to face the man.
"...Alfred? Is he--"
"Alive. I was only sent here for Bruce Wayne", John explained.
Bruce nodded, and stared back at the man before him. John glanced around then back at Bruce, a look of grim determination on his face.
He pulled the hammer on his pistol back.
Then he paused. Something occurred to him. He smiled to himself, then lowered his gun. Then he turned and started to walk away.
"...is that it?" Bruce called out, confused.
John kept walking away, but called back.
"I was sent here to kill Bruce Wayne, not Batman."
| 2018-03-13T22:55:30 | 2018-03-13T22:43:15 | 1,190 | 220 |
[WP] Write a story that makes absolutely no sense until the last sentence
|
First, you’re stuffed into a massive, fiery room.
The heat of the room is incredibly powerful, and the pain is overwhelming. After forty minutes of searing pain, after the heat bloats and deforms your skin, you are violently yanked out of the room.
Next, you are pierced with multiple burning stakes. Molten wax drips down the stakes and singes your skin. Then, massive knives slash and stab you. You are cut into numerous pieces, as a group of cultists surround you while singing their ritual song, before sitting down and feasting on your mangled corpse.
This is the life of a birthday cake.
|
The Goldfish was left behind, so Taylor decided his life was pretty much over.
Not that it really mattered, considering the talk around town for the last few months had been mainly centered on the world ending- with a strong consensus that it probably was. It also didn't help that the men who had kidnapped him hadn't been especially responsive to his questions, nor his muffled "shouts beneath the hood they'd roughly tied over his head.
But again, none of that really mattered compared to the goldfish, Sunny.
He'd had one job. One: "Watch Sunny"
Taylor had to figure by the time the team of special-ops soldiers dragged him from the helicopter and threw him on the pavement, he'd botched that job pretty terribly.
Though he couldn't see anything, on account of the hood, Taylor thought it smelled a lot like someone had set a fire on a mountain top, and then crashed a plane filled with cinnabuns into it. If he judged on what he could hear though, he'd have to just assume he was in some top secret military base.
"We've got him, no casualties." A man's voice shouted, somewhere up in front of him as two powerful sets of hands dragged Taylor back to his feet and began the process of guiding him away from the helicopter's drone. "With all due respect though- He doesn't know shit!"
"Doesn't matter!" A woman's voice hollered over the background of heavy winds, "He's leverage if we need it. Get him inside, put him with the rest of the POI."
"Yes Ma'am!"
The heavy grips on his arms and shoulders worsened, and the pace picked up. Somewhere in the background, there was a bout of shouting- guttural and unfamiliar, followed by the sharp crack of gunfire.
"Fucking monsters." Someone muttered to his left. "Should kill that lot instead of study, if you ask me."
Taylor didn't ask them, actually, and he wasn't quite sure what to think of that statement in particular, other than to try and walk a bit faster.
He soon found himself inside.
One set of doors lead to a quite calm, and a second screeched with the melody of heavy metal and lacking oil, slamming shut like a tomb as the calm turned to total silence.
The hood came off, just before a rough hand pushed him inside a thick cell of concrete, shutting yet one further door closed and bolted behind him.
"Three meals a day, no loud noises, no resisting, and no fucking magic."
Stunned by the sudden power of ambient light, eyes half-blinded by the removal of the black hood he'd had tied over his head: again, Taylor wasn't quite sure what any of that meant, exactly.
He soon found out, though soon is a relative sort of term meant in context to events transpiring, and not indicative of time.
Nothing happened for a long time, and Taylor sat in a rather bland sort of jail cell.
"Ah... so... I've been arrested?" Instead of screaming that question in a blind panicked frenzy, recklessly throwing himself at the thick steel door and a futile attempt to free himself, he spoke it quietly.
Well, not entirely quietly- not silent, but not screaming like he sort of wanted to. This was all a bit much for him, after all.
He wondered how long a goldfish would survive without someone changing its water, or feeding it.
Taylor wasn't sure, though he felt the question was likely a rather pitiful attempt at escapism.
*"Hey."* A voice whispered in his ear, and Taylor turned, surprised by the sudden noise.
Eyes wide in the dim light of his concrete cell, he found no one.
*"Hey."* The voice spoke again, this time in his other ear.
Madness, Taylor decided stoically. Only a few hours into what was likely some form of government solitary confinement and he'd already begun to go insane. For some reason he didn't find it all that surprising.
*"You're not insane."* The voice said. *"You're actually taking this a lot better than most people they bring in."*
Taylor didn't find that very convincing.
*"It's true, most people break-down into a screaming fit by now."*
Taylor wasn't sure if he should be proud, or deeply concerned.
*"Relax, they brought you in as leverage. You're perfectly safe in here."*
Taylor wasn't entirely convinced.
*"Well it's true. That's why you're here, with all of us."*
The voice in his mind was persistent. Enough so that Taylor finally decided to reply.
"Who are you?"
*"Me? Oh, they call me 53 in here."*
53? Taylor wasn't entirely sure why someone would have a number for a nickname, and much less a lame number like 53. There wasn't a tremendous amount of context in such a number, and he didn't really see any "they" to call anyone much of anything-
*Oh, don't worry. They let us out to mingle a few times a week. It apparently keeps certain people from trying to kill the guards so often. Calms them down a bit."*
Taylor pondered that. So much to take in, and all at once.
*"I know, it's a pretty disconcerting sort of shift, but you'll get used to it. Probably... you learn to roll with the weirdness around here."*
Taylor wasn't convinced.
"Why 53?" He finally asked. Aloud, he suddenly realized, unlike the rest of this conversation.
Was this all in his head?
"It's not all in your head." A voice replied, also aloud this time. It came in from the slots by the thick metal door at the end of his cell, muffled- but still drawing Taylor's attention as it continued. "And 53 is what they called me, before they brought me in."
Taylor approached the door to the hallway, peering at an angle to try and gleam some sort of sight outside the cell.
*"You're never going to see anything like that."* The voice laughed, ringing inside his head again. *"I already told you: you're going to have to learn a few tricks, and roll with the weirdness around here."*
"What? How?" Taylor asked, turning again to confirm one last time that there was truly no one else in the cell with him. "Who are you? How are you talking to me?"
*"I already told you, I'm number 53."*
"What does that mean?" Taylor whispered, anxiety growing as he stepped back from the door to turn about the room, eyes darting.
*"That's what they called me, when the Government brought me in: Person of interest number 53."* The voice replied, followed by a distant reply from the door- aloud and echoing, as if from far away. "But you can call me Sarah."
----
**This story is a continuation of a bunch of other writing-prompts!**
[Start here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/51f8ag/wp_youre_such_a_powerful_magician_that_life_is/d7bn3g2/)
[Previous](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/68wlbf/wp_your_cousin_offers_you_a_housesitting_job_to/dh2211m/)
[Next](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6u4bp1/ip_army_of_the_dead/dlqfhcr/)
| 2017-08-09T16:20:59 | 2017-08-09T16:09:53 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] You entered a forest filled with monsters. The exit constantly moves, you don't age in the forest. When exiting, one person must stay unless they are the only one in the forest. Many a time you found the exit but let others leave. For the first time, another asked how long you've been here.
|
"Yea, I've been here a pretty long time. I've counted 1141 sleeps since I fell in here.
I fold my arms and lean against my favorite tree as I examine the beat up looking pizza delivery guy.
"Well, W-What are those.. things.. back there? They are.. horrible". The pizza guy says as he tried to catch his breath, leaning back on a boulder.
"Monsters. Demons. Fallen angels. Otherworldly entities. To be honest, I don't really know. But there are ones that come and go. Last week I had a three headed clown-centaur looking dude that tried to get me. I've seen all types.
"S-So.. are we stuck here forever?" He asks, picking up his pizza box and eating a slice.
"No, not stuck forever. I can get you out of here really soon. I know the secret to getting out".
The Pizza delivery guy brightens up and gets a really hopeful look on his face, only to switch to a terrified look as rapid footsteps approach.
Something breathing heavily sprints towards us, and the pizza guy dives into a nearby bush.
A door with arms, legs, and a jogger's headband on the top of his doorframe jogs into our clearing.
I casually stick my foot out and trip the door when he runs past me.
The door falls down and glares at me.
"OWW! HEY FELLA, that's the 3rd time you've tripped me. What's the big idea-
I grab the pizza guy and carry him over to the door.
"Enjoy your freedom. Bring more pizza if you come back".
I grab the door's knob and open it, and toss the pizza guy into the real world.
I shut the door, and help Mr. Door to his feet.
The door grunts and puts his hands on his hips.
"You are going to hear from my lawyer, buddy, and he's going to have a field day with you."
|
This is a beautiful prompt, by the way, if my opinion holds any candles ;-)
\_\_\_
I sifted through an old, leather-bound notebook, past pages and pages of descriptions, diagrams, and other deliberations. Each page was home to a monstrosity of imagination: creepy crawlies, flesh golems, devil pixies, giant rats---a fantastical Pandora's box with every conceivable magical forest dweller one’s childlike imagination could muster into thought. Every page was thoroughly detailed, tiny words cramping every inch of space in competition. I was very proud of my collection. This would be the thirteenth notebook of my diagrams here in the magical forest, and I’ve only scratched the surface. My modest treehouse home is in dire need of renovations, and I would tackle it after finishing the final entry, the prize of this notebook’s documentation.
I forget how strange this forest is to others, having resided and explored this wooden labyrinth for thirteen (no fourteen?) months. Excuse me, I meant years. Every notebook is usually completed within a year, though the frantic obsessiveness with which I carry out my task makes each round of expeditions feel closer to a month.
The exit moves. Time stills for the individual. Countless mythical beings roam the premises, just waiting to be discovered. I am the discoverer. However, it is customary that I take my breaks, for when another human stumbles into my domain, it is my duty to see them out. No doubt, they all want to leave. It is not everyday that one gets lost in a maze with no seemingly no conceivable exit, chased by three floating eyeballs circling a glowing albeit rusted scythe. That was the case for my thirteenth visitor. Oh, I just noticed. One visitor a year. How nice.
The visitor was a rather curious and fallible woman, no doubt the type to get lost in such a forest to her disarray. Wearing a sweater too big for her own good and shoes too nice to tail a spider serpent (not to mention those horrid chic frames!), she contrasted rather frighteningly with my down-to-earth decor.
The woman combed her hand through her hair, her eyes darting about. I suspected she’s suspicious of my solace above the soil. She’s probably concerned with our safety. “Don’t worry,” I said, scratching some words near the end of the book, “It’s heavily warded, so the monsters won’t approach this place. It’s also housed in a pocket dimension tree, so if things do get dicey, I can direct the tree to phase to a new location.”
She nodded.
“Let’s not waste anymore time,” I said, closing the notebook and dusting it off before gently placing it in a drawer, carefully aligned. I turned toward the woman who’s already made herself comfortable on my futon. Cross-legged, she tilted her head and smiled, her bangs gently caressing the side of her face. I hesitated. “Uh, well, I’m sure you’re eager to leave. You must be mighty scared, and I don’t blame you. That monster has a tendency to chase anything that makes eye contact with it. It’s a pretty awkward creature.”
I sat in a four-legged, wooden chair, my legs sticking around the back support, my arms resting on top. “Now, for the frequently asked questions, or the FAQ. Who am I? Just an explorer. As you can see, I take records of all the magical entities in the forest. It’s exciting work as a researcher, but I won’t go into the details. I can write a whole book on it, and I have. Thirteen of them. The next question: do I know the way out? No and yes. I don’t know the way out, but I can find it. You’re not the first person to get lost here. I reserve that right.” I chuckled internally, expressing it externally in the form of a clearing of the throat. “You see, the exit changes, and with countless monsters roaming the area, it’s pretty dangerous to wander blindly. That’s where I come in. I’ll take you to the exit, and boom, badabing, bang. You’re out. I can’t promise there’ll be no monsters on the way, but I can promise you that we’ll make it in one piece. You can count on it. And, you can alphabetize it, if that makes you feel better. Double assurance.”
She simply looked back at me, neither particularly relieved, surprised, or otherwise. Strange. Normally, they’d be profusely either, and would be eager to get back to whatever they left behind. They would ask questions, probing a little about who I am and what I do, shortly before returning to their concerns. I’m glad I don’t have to go through that whole charade, though it’s nice to have a human exchange the one time a year that I get it. I took her unreactiveness as a sign of quiet understanding and pulled from my desk a necklace and a prism. I extended them toward her and she succinctly took them.
“I’m going to lead the way using this compass. It has the ability to locate points of disruption in the energy sphere which is indicative of the path to reality. It’s one of my crowning inventions, so don’t bite it.” Sure, this was just one unattached bystander out of many, yet I still saw it fitting to give the warning. It’s my patent, my love and craft. “It’s detecting a large force nearby, so we should get there in no less than fifteen minutes. Grab your gear, and let’s rock and roll.” I caught myself. “Err, I mean, let’s get you home.” Nice save.
She still looked at me with that faint smile of hers. With my prompting, she obediently rose, collected her belongings (consisting of nothing more than a small purse and a camera) and followed me down the treehouse, wearing the necklace and keeping the prism in hand. The necklace blends her presence with the surroundings, making her practically invisible to the dangerous denizens, while the prism is for use in emergencies in case something dire happens, teleporting her back into the safety of the treehouse. I had on my person both of these as well, except my ‘necklace’ is fashioned into a watch, so I can keep stealth and time.
We walked through the forest at a reasonable pace, slow enough to marvel at the dreamlike foliage. She marvelled at the sight, her mouth slightly agape. Despite recently outrunning what would be nightmare fuel, she’s entrenched in her own pleasant, ignorant daydream. I remained on high alert.
Ten minutes passed. My compass urged us straight, and we followed. We were almost there.
“Hey…” The woman finally said.
“Hmm?” I glanced back to see her inquisitive, curious face dangerously close to mine. I shot back with all the composure of an adolescent in heat.
Woah! Easy there!
I’m referring to the both of us.
“My name is Rin,” she said, her voice sweet like red velvet. “Say, how long have you been here?”
I paused for just a moment. Strange. Nobody’s asked me that before. In hindsight, it’s an obvious question, but it hasn’t happened yet. A 1 in 13 chance occurrence.
“Nice to meet you, Rin. I’m John,” I replied. “I’ve been here 13 decades.”
“Wow!” Rin exclaimed. “You must be lying.”
“Actually, I am lying. Or, rather, I misspoke. I’ve been here 13 years. Surprising, huh?”
“Well, I guess I can see it.”
Wait. Hey, hey! That’s not what you’re supposed to say. Isn’t the expression, ‘oh, you look 13 years young!’ or something like that? And in this case, it is true! Mentally, I’m 35, but physically, I’m as young and vibrant as any college graduate! And without the worry of student debt to boot!
“Oh, is that the case,” I said, my face twitching slightly. “Well, it may surprise you that time doesn’t pass quite like it seems here in the forest. People don’t age here, for some reason.”
“Magic,” she promptly fired.
“Yeah, that,” I said. “My physical body hasn’t aged much since I got caught up in all this. Now that we’re talking, I have to say, you’re pretty calm in the face of everything that’s happened so far. I’m impressed.”
“Oh, thanks…” she said. “To tell you the truth, it doesn’t feel so real. It’s almost…”
“Magical?” I promptly fired.
“Yeah, that,” she agreed.
| 2020-12-30T00:29:56 | 2020-12-29T23:13:33 | 91 | 45 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic.
|
First contact did not exactly go as humanity expected it might.
The Xendalans claimed everything was magic. Turns out that they are simply lazy un inquisitive idiots as a species. The only reason they have survived at all is because it turns out they metabolize dark matter into pure energy. They can do anything they want usually but in eons of existence never once bothered to figure out why.
Over time humanity learned the true oddity of our existence. We are the only known species to progress beyond the hunter gather societal stage. Turns out the Xendalans were as typical an example of aliens as we could have ever hoped to encounter. The Universe was filled with abundant natural nourishment for most species and they experienced virtually zero stress ever. Evolution never occurred for them. Progress was a distasteful idea.
Humanity spread easily across the universe. The dumbest human was still infinitely smarter than the wisest Alien.
Humanity did as it pleased without the need for war or coercion of any kind. A human child could conquer a planet in a day simply by asking for it.
Earth we learned over the ages was the most inhospitable place to ever seed life in the universe. The god like aliens we always dreamed of meeting? We were those Aliens to the rest of the universe. We spread science and inquiry. We taught the whole universe the tools to understand reality.
Everything was going great, until the actual gods showed up.
|
\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/
*"I guess in life things don't come cheap. My daddy always used to tell me we stand on the shoulders of giants. I never truly believed him until we made contact with the G'xe.*
*Lost in the depths of space, there they were, waiting for a friend to come from among the stars. It's been eons since nobody answered from the deep blackness. They made believe they are alone, at least in this region of space.*
*When our ships spread into the dark ocean, breaking boundaries my grandparents would've never dreamed of, everything changed. For us, and for them."*
\*\*\*
ETF Jian Xing pierced the purple clouds above X'am Ina, the home planet of G'xe confederation. X'am Ina used to be a barren world, before the 4 elder races united in the G'xe confederation and made the world suitable. The position of the planet was just at the center of their world. Of their own universe.
"Commander Hiroto, we are reaching the destination soon, we should tell the president to prepare"
"Ah, Admiral, it seems I can't ever marvel at this jewel of a planet from above. The perks of being the captain I guess. "
After personally announcing the president of their arrival, he went straight to the bathroom. Hiroto had a few days ahead of a less busy schedule. This is because while he was the commander of the ship, he wasn't an actual part of the human delegation. He loved this less strenuous windows.
​
The FTL jumps are rough and despite the dampening systems the ship was quivering quite a lot. The longer the jump, the bigger the contortions. This made long jumps unfeasible. The long distances needed to be made from a lot of smaller, less shaky jumps. This always upset his stomach, so he stood there quite a while contemplating on how shocking should've been from the people of G'xe to one day after believing you are alone in the universe, to wake up with people at their doorstep. He made an analogy in his head and laughed. Also ... could you call them people?, they were humanoid, but ... that was another topic of pondering.
​
When here returned, the delegation was already leaving. The formalities were the Admiral job in this case, so he decided to stay away, taking a walk alone to the cantina, wanting some time away from people. There, he lingered after a delicious meal, while letting the food sink in chilling at the table in relative silence, that if you count the background monotonous chat as such. Suddenly, the alarms when on. The lights turned reddish, the monotonous chats turned loud and the people started to run.
​
"Commander, Security Officer Aleksei Smyrnoi, we need to get you to the auxiliary command room. The standard protocol in case of ship unauthorized boarding."
" What? There's someone breaking into the ship?"
" Sir, I this is the only thing I was informed, so please hurry. Also, the ship internal communication is down so please stick together. We might encounter hostile movement on the way so I advise caution"
Hiroto was perplexed. This was totally unexpected, the G'xe looked willing to talk and it made no sense to start a war like this. So he ran, more out of curiosity than the dread of danger. The auxiliary command was packed with the chief staff all debating the next course of action
"Ah, Hiroto, we're glad you're ok"
​
"What is happening, why the communications are down?"
"There has a been a break in section 4, actually ... I don't know exactly if it's technically a breach since a group of individuals basically teleported inside and started to shoot. They are looking to break into the command room, but the security measures are holding, though we believe there's nothing stopping them ... to teleport? I really don't know how this works sir."
" Where are they now? And again why the communications are down?"
"They are engaging our forces into the corridor from section 4 to section 2 buffer zone. It seems at the moment it's a kind of a stalemate. Neither us or they are gaining ground. "
"The communications?!"
" The communications hub is near section 4. It was their first objective. We are working on with portable devices to communicate with the ground force."
​
Hiroto sighted, he wasn't reading for this. While there were tons of protocol in case of these situations and basic training, one thing is the simulations and one thing is the real deal.
"Outside chatter? What happened with the delegation"
"It seems their visit is fine, they were not informed yet of the situation. This is of course what we could find out with the limited communications from their media"
"This is extremely odd. Maybe the group here is independent. In that case, we need to be careful not to start a war ourselves. Prepare the ship to exit the atmosphere, we need to trap the attackers"
"Yes sir"
"Next, we need to try to communicate with them. Meanwhile please prepare a plan to assault them. Are there ear translators here? Prioritize communication first, maybe we can find out more."
After the orders were relayed, there were a few minutes of waiting. In the room that he was, there was no actual feeling of dread. It all felt normal. The lights were the usual white and it was relatively silent as everybody was doing their job. Then he felt a force pushing him into the floor as the ship took altitude.
"We can't establish communication with them, sir."
"The assault team is ready to engage?"
"Yes. If you want to proceed I advise it to do now, as I'm receiving word that the sudden ship descent made the attackers shoot more often an eratically"
"Very well, but we need at least one of them alive! I think they panicked, maybe they believed they could take over the ship faster"
The next moments were intense and Hiroto just wanted all this be over fast. He couldn't help but feel sad some of the men will die, you'd think a commander of a starship would make these decisions without remorse. He wondered though if his colleague commanders would feel the same as him.
​
The assault team swiftly deployed through maintenance shafts and after a brief exchange of fire, it was over. The room burst in applause.
"Sir, the threat has been eliminated. It was a complete success. 3 enemies were eliminated and we have 1 wounded and captive. The recon team has found no further threats. Should we descent"
"No" he then paused in order to catch a train of tought. "I need to interrogate the enemy first. If this the G'xe officials are behind this, we need to come out with an exit plan"
"Yes, sir"
​
He then proceeded to investigate the battleground. Only one soldier died in the exchange. That was a success ... he thought, whilst not convinced. It was a mess. The victims were all Onie, one of the 4 races of G'xe, but the captive was a X'a, the most powerful of the races in terms of influence. Onie bodies were frailer than humans and more filled with fat. It was everywhere. They lacked weapons, though some had a black stone. From what he read, it was just to focus their energy, as G'xe could channel energy from thin air and project it. Some would call magic, a deadly one taking one more look at the soldier's body bag where you could clearly see a gap between his upper and lower torso.
​
G'xe apparent lack of high tech was baffling for eath's science community. They seemed to use a form of magic, but little was known about this.
​
"Damn .." they were lucky, those guys didn't seem from the special forces, or whatever the equivalent the G'xe had.
​
============
**Continued in the comments due to Reddit Limit:**
| 2019-01-18T09:20:12 | 2019-01-18T07:20:21 | 163 | 44 |
[WP] You, a wildlife photographer, fall into the ice while making a documentary. As you fade into frozen oblivion, you feel a gentle touch on your shoulder. You wake to hundreds of them. They bow. They sing for the dying. They raise their tusks in salute. Heaven is run by the walruses.
|
*they sing in bubbly voices with a bouncing beat reminiscent of so many Disney songs*
Welcome now to heaven, sir!
We're glad you're here, though you've no fur.
We've watched you with great interest;
We love your posts on Pinterest:
Walruses cuter than cats,
Walruses with funny hats,
A walrus rising from the sea,
A walrus drinking English tea,
Walruses in mating season,
A baby walrus with Domhnall Gleeeeeeeeson!
Stroll on through those pearly gates.
Take your seat among the greats!
Here's Alexander, Cyrus, Peter, and Ahmed
There's Moses, Buddha, Jesus, and >!REDACTED!<
They were all wrong, but we're not mad,
To walruses, they weren't half bad!
For you we have the seat of honor.
Place your tuskless self upon her.
Because you're our very favorite human.
*the singing stops and the smiling walrus stares at you creepily until you sit*
|
*The lake is clear, frozen over by crystallized snowflakes. For those who knew the earth well - for those who hoped and breathed her the same way she hoped and breathed them - the sounds of crashing waves could be heard under the vibration of walking footprints.*
*And if you were her child - if the earth claimed you as one of her own - you could see the creatures beyond, swimming deep below the underground, as clear as the bright blue sky. It was a magnificent sight to behold, watching the world become undone, seeking for love in even the most darkest of places.*
*(It comes from somewhere deep within, the ability to hold the world with the palms of your hands - to see the world as it sees you.)*
*As a child, I visited the sea quite frequently. Fishing was an enjoyable pastime, one that was often accompanied by the few friends I had, but mostly done out of peace. I liked watching nature through the eyes of a spectator. There were times where I have forgotten that I, too, am part of this universe, no matter how hard I try to separate myself as such. I remember one time, years and years ago, when I knew nothing more than the sand beneath my feet and the salt between my toes, I almost drowned. The undertow was viscous that day, like almost all days, but for some reason, it wrapped its invisible tentacles around me and pulled. It pulled me so far down that I forgot what it felt like to breathe. I remember feeling betrayed - that the sea I had grown to love would do this to me - but there was one moment, one second out of billions, where I felt complete serenity. Like a lighthouse flashing in the distance, the tide pulled me in, the waves crashing all around me, salt tearing at my eyes, and yet, feeling so completely free. I remember coming up for air and spluttering out the sea from my nose, mouth, ears. Hands grasped at me and pounded my back, words whispered and yelled and faded out completely. It’s scary - to know air and be forced to live without it - and the earth can be dangerous, a trickster in disguise, but it can also be beautiful and hopeful and nothing like you’ve ever seen before.*
*This is how I know the water.*
*I’ll never know for sure, and I’ll never know completely, but somewhere deep inside of me I hope that this is how the water knows me.*
*Living is exhilarating. Nature, even moreso. It’s an addiction - one that’s pulled me so far under that sometimes I forget what it feels like to breathe. Curiosity is like that sometimes, like an undertow that never lets you go.*
*But it’s also a life I'm willing to live. And so I do.*
*I love my job - fell in love with it the moment a camera was placed into my hands, the instructions as simple as breathing: explore and discover and capture the world for what it is.*
*So I do. I visit place after place; rainforests and deserts, the stars and the moon, the nitty and gritty, the perfect and beautiful.*
*And yet, I always find myself coming back to the water.*
*This is what I think as I walk on that glossy crystalized floor, as my feet glide atop glass, so natural and so in sync that it surprises even myself.*
*This is what I think as I ready the camera in my hands, as it becomes a part of me as if I were a machine, two sides of the same coin.*
*This is what I think as I watch the world slowly become undone - as I silently realize that ‘this is the way I want to live and I don’t even have to dream it anymore.’*
*And this is what I think as the footsteps begin to wobble, the reflection beneath my feet cracking, slipping through the fissure, falling beneath the world, pulled deep below by the undertow.*
*The air around me is frozen and I can start to feel silent pressure run up and down my spine, pushing and pulling me in so many directions at once. To breathe with no air is to not breathe at all, and isn’t that a scary thought?*
*The undertow is hungry. The water, more so. I want to escape from its hold. To yell out in betrayal. To scream and scream and pound my fists against its surface. To free myself from the panic and fear that I never again wanted to associate with the world.*
*It’s then that my second turns into hours - the single moment where time stops entirely, where the lighthouse turns and turns and offers solace to a lone ship in the night. The pressure is still there, but it’s more of a hug; as if it were holding me, as if it were telling me that everything would be okay. It’s a feeling of freedom that I haven’t experienced in a long time. It’s the type of freedom that I want to hold onto and never let go.*
*Perhaps that’s why I always come back to the water; to experience what it means to be free.*
*The world around me becomes heavy, as if I were carrying her on my shoulders, and I want to tell her ‘no’ - want to explain that I can’t take that burden with me, not when I’ve finally found freedom - but alas, the world is as beautiful as she is cruel, and it’s then that I’m pulled into merciful oblivion.*
—
The hands touching me are cold. Gentle, but cold.
It takes some time to finally move my body about. It’s not a painful process, not in the slightest, but it’s weary and open, feeling vulnerable even amidst the quiet peace.
As my eyes adjust and my body relaxes, the beginning of a melody reaches my ears. It’s a wonderful rhythm of sorrow and joy - solemn in a way that brings about tranquility.
There’s hundreds of them. *Hundreds*.
I watch as they bow to me, raising their tusks as if in salute, before returning to their song. *They’re singing for the dying*, I suddenly realize. Or maybe not. Maybe they’re singing *to* the dying.
But maybe it doesn’t matter - not completely. Certainly not in the long run. And I've run far. We all have. Even these creatures. *Especially* these creatures.
Because it’s in these creatures that I see what life and death mean. They may be walruses - may be so overlooked and undermined - but they’re still here. Still a part of this world. Even when they remain invisible to that of a naked eye. Even when they are laughed at and scorned and made fun of. Especially then.
Life and death and whatever it is that exists between are made of so many moments, of so many memories. It’s in life that we explore - that we gather along coastlines, feet planted beneath soft sand and toes squished against flowing salt. And it’s in life that we get the chance to see what earth could be - that we learn to grow and hold the world with two hands.
But it’s in death that the invisible become seen. That freedom - true freedom - becomes tangible for all those who want it.
A girl who watches the stars with quiet eyes, dreaming of building spaceships in her garage and wishing to discover all that’s out there.
A boy who builds blanket forts in the dark of the night when everybody is asleep, clicking out his flashlight and reading about all that’s unknown.
A man who calls the sea his home, who loves and wants and finds hope beneath crashing tides and rising darkness.
A hundred walruses, forgotten but never truly lost, as gentle as they are cold, singing to all those who wish to be known.
—
If you enjoyed reading, feel free to check out some of my other writing on /r/itrytowrite
| 2021-01-07T17:41:46 | 2021-01-07T17:08:55 | 41 | 27 |
[WP] After hackers threaten to leak their newest movie, Disney hires an elite group of mercenaries to discourage future attempts. Due to a typo however, the mercenaries assume they have to disguise as Disney characters
|
Noooooo
Oneeeeeee
Hacks like GastoN!
Password Cracks like GastoN!
If you hear breathing-
your phone line's tapped by GastoN!
For there's no man as leet in the scripting
A caffeine fueled coding machine
While the bros are all out doing lifting
It's Gaston's brain that is just oh so mean
No one pwns like GastoN
Lives to own like GastoN
No one finds a backdoor in like GastoN!
"As a specimen, yes, I'm intimidating"
My-what a guy! That Gaston!
Give the highest of fives!
And a half dozen dabs!
Gaston is the guy
Who codes all in one tab!
No one sniffs like GastoN!
Proxy Skips like GastoN!
Then goes commenting round dropping burns like GastoN!
"I use V in all of my DE-CO-RATING!"
My what a Guy that's GastoN!
______________________________________________________
Wait a minute... where did the connection go?
Dammit guys! I **TOLD** you an audio stream introduction was a fucking stupid idea. The target terminated his connection before we could get any data ex-filtrated.
Yeah, well the mouse was very strict in his terms.
He didn't say we have to announce ourselves the second we get a hook in their network!
Well whose stupid idea was it to disguise as team GastoN? Why couldn't we pick a more sinister, sneaky villain like Shere Khan or Prince Hans?
Oh sure.. leave it to the German hacker to suggest Prince Hans...
Oh what? You want to use a Russian Villain?
Yes! I do! We could use Rasputin! Hell Even Bartok would be better than Gaston!
Anastasia wasn't even a Disney movie you dolt!
You know what *"Hans"*? Fuck it. This isn't worth the headache, I don't care how much the mouse wants to pay. I'm going back to the KGB.
The KGB? You don't even know your history, they've been defunct for over a decade!
That's what you think, but we're about to play our Trump card...
|
Disclaimer: Script style, meant to be a parody/satire.
Fade In: White walls, windows darkened with night, fluorescent glare from overhead lights, looks like an older style meeting room. The room is full with four guys wearing black suits and ties sprawled out amongst the various furniture, a femme fatale cleaning a pistol, and a sixth gentleman - an older gentleman, smoking a cigarette.
A skinny sour faced man: Why do I have to be Pluto?
The smoking man: Because I'm Mickey, she's Minnie, he's Goofy, that's Donald, he's Mary Poppins, and you... you're Pluto.
A tall man holds up a long throwing knife as if holding an umbrella and says: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Sour Face/Pluto: (Fiddles with suit.) Why are we doing this job for Disney as Disney characters?
Smoking man/Mickey: Because it's in the contract.
Fade To: The scene is set at a small diner, there are lots of plates still on the table with scraps of breakfast. Everyone is slowly staring at the people wearing black suits with Disney mascot heads on.
Femme Fatale/Minnie: Just throw in a dollar!
Sour Face/Pluto: No way, I don't tip.
Femme Fatale/Minnie: You don't tip?
Sour Face/Pluto: I don't believe in it.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Sour Face/Pluto: Don't give me that. If the waitress isn't making enough money, she can quit.
Femme Fatale/Minnie: Let me get this straight: you don't tip. Ever?
Sour Face/Pluto: I don't tip just because society tells me to. I'll tip if somebody really deserves a tip. If they put forth extra, I'll give them extra. But automatically tipping is wrong. As far as I'm concerned they're just doing their job.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Sour Face/Pluto: Our waitress was alright. But she wasn't anything special.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Goofy: I'd go over twelve percent for that.
Sour Face/Pluto: Look, I ordered coffee, alright? And we been here a long boring time and she's only filled my cup nine times. When I order coffee I want it filled sixteen times.
Goofy: Sixteen times? Why hasn't your heart exploded?
Donald: He has a heart. A big heart. The biggest heart. It can handle the coffee. It's a good heart. A giant heart.
Femme Fatale/Minnie: Excuse me Pluto, but the last thing you need is another cup of coffee.
Sour Face/Pluto: Wow I mean, these servers aren't starving. They make minimum wage. You know, I used to work minimum wage and when I did I wasn't lucky enough to have a job that society deemed worthy of tipping.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
(Everyone looks in incredulity at the man wearing a Mary Poppins hat with scarf and veil).
Mickey Mouse: You don't have any idea what you're talking about. These people bust their butts. This is a hard job.
Sour Face/Pluto: So is working fast food, but you don't see anyone tip them, do ya? Why not? Society says don't tip these guys over here, but tip those guys over there. That's crap!
Mickey: Being a server is the number one occupation for non-college graduates in this country. It's the one job basically any college kid can get, and make a living on. The reason is because of their tips.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Donald: What is wrong with him? Doesn't he have more words. Doesn't he have better words? I have better words. We have the best words. We can expense this meal including tips. We'll eat this meal and have Disney pay for it.
Mickey: Disney paid us half up front and will give us the other half when the job is done.
Donald: We will expense the meals and make Disney pay for them.
Sour Face/Pluto: I mean I'm very sorry the government taxes tips, that's messed up. It would appear to me that servers are one of the many groups the government screws over regularly. If you show me a petition that says the government shouldn't do that, I'll sign it. Try to get it into law and I'll vote for it. But what I won't do is tip.
Donald: He's convinced me. We would government good. We would government like nobody else would government. (Takes dollar back).
Mickey: That's it, Pluto doesn't get to talk anymore. According to our employers Pluto doesn't talk, so if Pluto says another word he's out, as in "in a box" out.
Fade out.
Fade in to the interior of a survivalist styled bunker. A man wearing dark browns messes with a keypad at a door. Green glowing characters change on the keypad's display. The door gets kicked in, revealing it's flimsy cardboard. Two of the Disney characters go in with guns blazing. The man wearing dark browns lies bleeding on the ground. People fall off of movie set style chairs and run away with the set and filming crew.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Minnie: Dammit Mary! This wasn't a hacker. (Looks around) This is a CNN special about hacking.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody. (In a sad, low, embarrassed voice).
Scene fades to a dark almost empty warehouse. A single chair in a spotlight has a tied up and scared looking teenage kid in it. Next to the kid is Goofy and Pluto.
Goofy: (walks to a cart within the darkness and grabs a hammer) You better start talking about who you work for.
Kid: I can't hear you through that ridiculous mask. Are you guys from some kind of theme park?
Goofy: You better listen carefully otherwise I'm taking this hammer upside your skull... "Skull Candy" headphones.
Kid: But those are my most expensive pair.
Goofy: (Smashes hammer into headphones, picks up ear piece and leans it in close to the kid). Can you hear me now?
Pluto: It'd be more effective if you smashed a microphone and then did that.
Goofy: Nobody speaks into a broken microphone. Are you an idiot? (turns to kid) I have all of your electronics in those boxes back there (points to crates in the darkness) and I will cut and smash every bit of them until you give me all the details about the hacking group which did this.
Fade away with camera growing dark and the sounds of smashing and the sounds of the kid crying.
Quick cut to Bucharest overhead view narrowing down to a street view. The Romanian mob, lead by Donald, surrounds Mickey, Minnie, and Mary Poppins. Mickey, Minnie, and Mary Poppins are kneeling between two cars. Ten mobsters plus Donald are in front of them and ten mobsters are behind them. The mobsters all have machine guns.
Mickey: You betrayed us!
Donald: I have the best betrayals.
(Six extra mobsters start to pour out from the closed looking stores on the street).
Mary Poppins: (stands up and guns down two of these new mobsters) I'm Mary Poppins, everybody. (Quickly ducks back down as bullets tear up the car he's crouched behind).
Donald: All the hackers are here. We have the best hackers. Our hackers have guns. That means they're the best hackers.
(All of the shooting stops for a moment as everybody stares at Donald).
(Goofy and Pluto show up in a fast moving mustang which Goofy is driving. Pluto guns down some of the guys behind Mickey's group but catches return bullet fire and dies).
Goofy: (hard brakes the car and starts to rev up the engine looks at Pluto's dead body) They killed my dog. (Accelerates and drives into the remaining men behind Mickey's group).
Donald: (turns his machine gun on the mobster next to him) I have the best betrayals.
Minnie: (steps forward and guns down mobster after mobster with her two 9mm pistols in slow motion. She kills the remaining mobsters). You don't mess with Disney!
The dying man next to Donald: But you betrayed us. We set you up with the best things money can buy. You said you were a pirate, just like us.
Donald: (Pulls off Donald mask to reveal mascara, a bandana and braided beard. Puts on pirate hat and winks at the dying hacker next to him).
The dying man: You, you're the worst software pirate I've ever heard of.
Donald/Captain Jack Sparrow: Aye, but you have heard about me.
Fade to Credits.
| 2017-05-16T06:47:35 | 2017-05-16T06:28:23 | 54 | 16 |
[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village.
|
I did not choose to be here, I was chosen. Placed upon this land to bless all that passes.
Doing The Great One’s work, forced to deal with the smallest of issues to the greatest of them. I have become the center of this village, the lighting rod that grounds everyone.
“O’ Wise One! Whatever shall I do about this predicament?” I hear. They never stop. They never consider me; they just want what I can give.
I’ve become used to it now, taking these requests without comment, receiving meager rewards for my ample services.
Another day, another question. The same questions I hear, again and again, the same questions that require no knowledge, no skill to solve.
The alarm rings, I rise from my slumber. Those eight hours were the best eight hours: the nagging, the constant noise, the mental torture that I must endure all ceasing to exist. But the time for relishing my sleep was over, I must return to my duties.
Shouting was already coming from my window. I slip my hand between the curtains, creating an opening just wide enough for me to peer through. The sunlight blinded me, its sudden heat slapping me in the face.
Hundreds of people gathered beneath my second-story apartment, shouting for me to come and serve them.
I sigh; this is just another day for a person of my stature. Throwing off my pajamas, I open my wardrobe to grab my uniform, a bright sky blue shirt that signaled who I was.
I felt the scratchy fabric slide over my skin, the soft interior of my shoe as I slipped my feet in, and the shifting of my hair as I placed my hat onto my head.
More shouting from the window. I peer out of the window again, taking a closer look at the people gathered. They were holding printers, office phones, laptops, and keyboards.
I swung the window open, turning their muffled shouting into audible speech.
“Please, why does my printer not print?”
“O’ Wise One, how do I connect to the internet?”
“Help! This phone cannot call!”
I shut the window, returning their voices from speech to muffled shouting.
I was almost done dressing; The final piece was sitting on top of my nightstand.
“The Great One: Tech support and more!” The badge read. I pinned it onto my shirt and headed out the door.
____
Thanks for reading!
|
“Your husband says you should cook me a large pot of stew tonight,” said Rubin as the dry leaves crumbled from his hand. “Yes, it’s clear. See how the wind blows them to the left? Mutton and carrot stew.”
”It’s my last sheep.”
”It’s what your husband wants.”
The old lady swallowed. “Tell him I will.“
Rubin leaned back on his chair, shaded by the wide rattan porch. The comfiest chair and widest porch in all the village. “You know better than that. I can’t talk back to them. I can only read the signs.“
“Of course. Thank you for doing this.” The old lady limped back towards her hut, ready to prepare the feast.
Rubin had found it much easier to tell people what to do through a third person — a dead person — than doing so directly. People were more willing to listen to the dead. Especially those they loved. But of course, Rubin knew better. The wind whipped the last crumbs of the broken leaves into the air, almost dust at this point. Dust like the dead, Rubin thought. And dust doesn’t tend to communicate.
“You shouldn’t do that,” said a voice.
A young girl stood near, wiry and lanky with long black hair. She reminded Rubin of a magpie. Probably after all the shiny things in his home — the gifts he’d received for all his help.
“What do you want?” he said. “Want your future read?”
”You’re lying to them.”
He recognised her now. Alina‘s fourth daughter. She must have been twelve or thirteen. He supposed he must have seen her about the village before — at feasts, at funerals, certainly. But he didn’t remember. He didn’t tend to notice people besides himself. People here weren’t worth looking at.
”Lying about what?” he said lazily.
”Speaking to her dead husband. You can speak to him about as well as I can speak to the birds.”
That magpie probably could speak to birds, he thought. But instead he just waved a hand at her, then lazed back in his chair, closing his eyes.
He was woken some time later by a man with a wooden cup of cool water. “For you,” said the man.
“Thank you,” said Rubin. He took a refreshing sip, noticing from the corner of his eyes that the magpie girl was still there, same position.
“Please,” said the man. “My family needs your help again.”
”Oh? Let me guess. Is the spirit back?”
”Yes!” said the man, wide-eyed. “Last night, after we all went to sleep, it pulled up all our parsnips. We replanted this morning but who knows if they’ll live. We don’t know what we’ve done to anger it.”
Rubin considered. “Perhaps we can trade something. Your homemade ale for a protection spell?”
”That will stop the spirit?”
”Oh yes. It’ll stop it dead.“
The man nodded, “Then I’ll return later with all my ale.”
Once he left, the girl stepped forward. “Why are you doing this to them?”
”Doing what?” asked Rubin.
”There’s no spirit. Spirits don’t do go around pulling up vegetables.”
”Then what’s doing it?”
The girl thought. “Well, it could be an animal. But an animal would eat some of the food, not just uproot it.”
Smart, thought Rubin. Smarter than most in the village.
”And beside, you wouldn’t necessarily be able to control a wild animal that comes and uproots them. But if you‘re able to make this stop... then the only conclusion is that you’re the spirit. That you went there last night and caused the trouble.”
”That’s a serious accusation.”
”Do you deny it?”
”Of course!” Lying wasn’t a problem for Rubin. Lying was how he lived such a luxurious life. The girl being onto one of his schemes wasn’t an issue; she had no proof, and he’d stop once he had the ale anyway.
The man was back, pushing a wheelbarrow towards Rubin. A sack and been laid over the bottles to keep them cool, just as Rubin had shown the man long ago. Shadow and shade for cool drink. He heard the clatter of the bottles beneath and his mouth became moist.
“Than you,” said Rubin. ”I’ll carry out the ritual shortly. But know that no crops will be disturbed tonight.”
The man nodded, smiled, then hurried home.
The girl grunted. “There’s no one else here. And no one would believe me if I told them. You’re loved and respected and I just cause trouble.”
“What’s your point?”
”My point is that there is no need to lie to me. For once in your life, you can be honest.“
He was readying to lie again, to defend himself. But... No one else was around. And she did have a point — no one would listen to her. “I do it because I can,” he said.
“You do it because you can,” she repeated, as if underlining his words. “But there are many things you could do because you can. You could be kind and help people, because you can.”
”We all exist singularly,” said Rubin. “Our life is our life.“
”You think because you’re smarter it’s fair.”
”I think because I’m better that it’s fair.” He grinned. It felt good to tell someone. For anyone to know how smart he was. “If these people want to believe spirits rampage their gardens, that dead people can talk to them, then they’re fools and deserve whatever happens to them.”
“And you don’t care that all that ale took months to brew? That the vegetables you killed will mean their family goes hungry?“
”Care?” he said. “Not in the *slightest*.”
The bottles in the wheelbarrow began to shake. He could he hear them clinking. Was the sun causing them to—
The sack stood up! All by itself. What...
It took Rubin a second to notice the pale legs beneath it.
The woman — Kasana, the village leader — threw off the sack. Two bottles lay by her feet. Kasana stared at Rubin. “So the girl was right. About all of it.”
Rubin tried to think of an excuse, but his voice had been stolen. The magpie! It’s pecked at this throat and stolen his tongue.
”This is grave,” said Kasana. “Very grave.”
&#x200B;
\*\*\*
Three months had passed since Rubin had been caught. He crumbled the leaves from his hand and let them rustle in the wind.
“Does he say anything?” asked the old lady.
”Yes,” said Rubin. “He says... This is the last time he can contact you, but don’t be sad. He’s very proud of you. Says he loves you dearly. That he wants you to enjoy your life, until you see each other again.”
The lady began to shake. Tears rolled down her wrinkled face.
Rubin watched her slowly leave. Back to her home with a dozen lambs. He’d have bought her more, if more had been available.
”How do you feel, Rubin,’ asked the magpie-like girl. She often sat with him now. They both liked quiet company. “After your last ever reading?”
They sat on stools outside Rubin’s small, modest hut. His previous house was now a place of medicine and of care. Where old and sick could sit on the porch and enjoy the shade and view without a worry in the world.
”Good,” he said. ”I feel good.” And he did. He had barely a possession left in the world and it felt wonderful. It was strange, but everything he’d gathered, everything he’d hoarded, had been like bandages over a wound he’d forgotten was there. It took until he had nothing left for him to see it again and to realise how injured he was. He’d been hurt as a child when his parents had passed away. Punishing others for lives he could never have... He’d really been punishing himself all that time.
But now... Now it was like he had a family again. He made people happy, and they made him happy. He‘d thought he’d been happy before, but now he knew it’d been a bitter taste in his mouth all that time.
“Thank you,” Rubin said. “For the second chance.”
“They‘re not stupid, you know? They never were.”
”I know. They’re just honest. It’s why I was able to trick them. Not because I was smart, but because I could.”
The girl nodded.
The old woman came back a while later. She had a mug of ale in one hand and a bowl of stew in the other. “For you,” she said to Rubin.
Rubin looked at the magpie girl. She was watching him with such keen eyes. If he’d ever had a daughter, he’d have been very proud for her to have been like this girl.
Rubin stepped off his stool and beckoned the lady to sit there. “Please. You eat and drink and enjoy. It would mean a lot to me.”
| 2021-06-14T11:04:33 | 2021-06-14T09:09:57 | 1,900 | 239 |
[WP] Every child is given a pet rock when they turn ten. For the next decade the rock slowly forms into a shape that resembles the personality of its owner. Your rock still looks like a rock.
|
“You suck at cycling!” Emily shouted after the cyclist, red hot with anger. He had narrowly missed hitting her as he flew past the red light and into the pedestrian crossing just as she had stepped forward. He didn’t appear to hear her, so she screamed “And your mother never loved you.” at his back.
He didn’t turn, his gaze focused on the busy crossroads ahead, but one hand raised a laconic middle finger towards her.
A scream of rage stopped short at her lips, Emily focusing on her short breaths as her father had taught her. The other hand stroked the smooth surface of her rock, hidden inside her pocket. Slowly, the colour of her face faded back to a pale beige and she waited for the next green man.
She caught the next bus, even though it would take the same amount of time to walk to work – perhaps even a shorter time given the amount of traffic – and took her usual seat next to the window at the back, stooping to avoid striking her head against the ceiling.
Her fingers stroked the rock again, and she winced. Deliberately, she pulled her hand from her pocket and placed it on her lap.
A young child got onto the bus at the next stop, clutching the hand of her mother. Emily smiled. The child grinned back, but the woman took one look at her and frowned, pulling her child away and towards a seat at the front.
Emily’s right hand was halfway to her pocket before she stopped herself, trapping it under her left.
A man got on at the next stop, saw Emily, and shrugged, taking a seat a row forward. He wore a small, beaded bracelet with his rock hanging from a chain, which swung back and forth hypnotically. Emily was too far away to see what the shape was clearly, but it seemed to represent a rabbit.
He caught her looking, and she flushed, twisting her head back to staring out of the window.
“Runner,” He explained, nodding towards it. “I was good at it. Pulled something in my knee though, so…”. He tailed off, unwilling or unable to finish the thought, then twisted towards her. “You?”
Emily realised she was rubbing the same small circle against the stone she had been doing since she was 14 years old and Clara’s stone had begun to shape. Hers had remained steadfastly rock-shaped, and her parents had switched to praising Perfect IceSkating Clara, the one that wasn't a dud. She pulled her hand out of her pocket.
“Oh, you know! Nothing big.”
He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, turning back in his chair to face the front once again. Emily bit her lip. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to her in public, not friendlily, and she was hesitant to let go of this moment of humanity. On the other hand, people treated her badly enough when they assumed she had an unsavoury stone – imagine what he might say if he saw her unformed one.
Before she could make up her mind, the bus driver announced that the service was going to be terminated at the next stop to “better regulate” the number of buses on route. She sighed, grabbed her bag, and stood up, colliding abruptly with the roof of the bus.
“Dammit!” The curse was out of her mouth before she had time to think, left hand on her head, the right… in her pocket. Of course.
The mother pursed her lips disapprovingly and dragged the child to the driver’s window. She was asking the bus driver about a free replacement ticket to continue her journey, while shooting looks at Emily.
By contrast, the man – Ryan, he explained – hestitated in front of her. “Hey, you alright?” he asked. She nodded. “Do you need some help? Let’s go get you some water!”
“I’m … I’m fine, really.” She said, trying to push him away. “I’ll be late for work, I shouldn’t…”
She froze. Her hand, the one she’d just shoved in Ryan’s direction, still clutched her stone. You couldn’t see much of it between her fingers, but enough… she reacted immediately, shoving it back into her pocket. But before she could finish the movement, Ryan grabbed her hand. “What?” He said, bewildered. “But, your stone…. Are you unformed?”
For a second, she froze. And then Emily twisted out of her grasp and sprinted past him, towards the doors. The woman was long gone, the driver distracted – she made her escape through the side doors and up the first side alley she saw.
She couldn’t risk being late for work, she knew that – she was the oldest person still working on the floor of the supermarket, being the only one that hadn’t been given a career choice by the omniscient stone.
She took it out of her pocket again and stared distrustfully at it. The amount of problems it had given her…. It pulsed against her hand, warmly and snuggly fitting into the palm as though it had been made to do so, and she gently stroked a circle against it. “It’s ok.” She told it, trying to reassure herself. “We’ll be ok.”
“Please don’t run off again,” A panting voice spoke over her shoulder. Emily whipped around.
“Oh,” She said. Ryan was leaning his back against a wall, one hand cupping his left knee. “I’m sorry.”
Emily wasn’t sure what she should be sorry for, so said nothing, instead looking around the small, courtyard. At each corner was a wooden door.
“No worries, just… been a long time… since I last ran.” He tried to reassure her. “Been commenting for a few months, waiting for the stone to change. If it’s going to change…”. He looked glum for a moment, then back to Emily. “Sorry, bit insensitive. So, what’s going on there?”
Emily shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said, “it’s just never wanted to form into something, you know?” A surge of defensiveness spiralled in her chest. “It’s not that weird.”
It was weird. Emily was the only person she knew of that still had an unformed stone into adulthood. Even her exasperated parents had stopped asking about it, stopped sending her to camps for late bloomers and career workshops. She was a dud.
“Hey,” He held up both hands, palms out. “I was only asking.”
Emily stalked away from him and back towards the main street. “Do people know?” He asked, following her.
“Yeah, a few. My folks, my line manager – from the employment check, you know?” Ryan nodded. “It’s not something I advertise.”
He grinned. “I imagine not. Hey, did you want to grab a coffee?”
“I told you, I’m going to be late for work.”
“Didn’t have to be now.” He pointed out. “But now works too.”
Emily ignored him, and crossed the road, despite the fact that there was no green man. She was desperate to get away from him, his attentions were beginning to feel clammy and the stone had gone uncomfortably cold against her … circling fingers.
“Dammit” she muttered, stopping walking to pull her hand out of her pocket, exasperated. The bicycle ploughed into her, her neck snapped on impact with the pavement several meters on. Her rock tumbled from her hands as Ryan, stunned, tried to dial the ambulance with cold fingers, and somehow missed the right number the first two times.
The ambulance arrived ten minutes later, covering Ryan with a shock blanket, treating the cyclist’s broken leg, covering Emily’s body with a bag.
“Her stone.” Ryan said, uncertainly. “She’ll want her stone.”
“Of course, sir.” The paramedic said, scooping it up. “Didn’t see it there. That’s an interesting formation, don’t think I’ve seen this one before.” He held it towards Ryan. A palm-sized biological heart made of stone sat there. “What do you think it means?”
Ryan shook his head mutely and turned his gaze towards the ground. He brushed his fingers against the stone rabbit for comfort as tears pooled in his eyes.
|
“Now Ms. Dumar, please lift your arm a bit... and you are set.” Dave took a step back and smiled encouragingly. “Still feeling up for a walk?” he asked. The woman caressed her sweater absently for a minute, her expression contemplative. “My Grandson bought it for me last Christmas you know, he has become such a fine lad” she finally stated, a hint of pride carrying in her voice. “True, true, you certainly did something right with his parents” Dave acknowledged. This time he had a hard time keeping his smile. As soon as Dementia was diagnosed, her daughter took her savings and dumped her in this hellhole. He wasn’t even sure her Grandson knew about her. He had certainly never visited. Because her remaining clothing was threadbare, Dave bought the sweater with his own meagre income a few weeks ago. Otherwise she was too embarrassed to be seen outside. “Do you think the ducklings already hatched?” he began, when the door suddenly opened. “Dave, Roger has one of his fits, can you please take care of him?” Rose pleaded. Her eyes were bloodshot, testament to a prolonged combination of sixteen hour shifts, understaffing, and antidepressants. “No problem” Dave said, “Would you mind waiting a few minutes Ms. Dumar?” he asked. She only smiled politely, an expression he had learned she made, when she was trying to mask her confusion. “All right then.” Dave grabbed his pet stone from a nearby desk. A plain fingernail sized rock, and, unlike other bound stones, almost indistinguishable from random pebbles. But the size belied its other feature. Dave’s muscles were straining under the effort lifting it, his arm aching in protest. With his other arm supporting, he was still able to move forward.
| 2018-05-02T03:45:32 | 2018-05-02T02:55:25 | 150 | 108 |
[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
I silently wipe down counters and dust shelves while the family trickles in. Planning family gatherings is something I was good at but didn’t do often. While I loved everyone dearly, having them all together was usually a recipe for disaster.
I was excited to get RSVP’s from everyone and made sure to have a special snack for each of them, something to go with their godly domains.
Suddenly the door bursts inward and walks in Zeus, the high and mightiest of them all. Or so he thinks.
“Hestia, sister, it’s so wonderful to see you”, he bellows. He wraps me in a big bear hug and I awkwardly try to wrap my arms around his midriff.
“I’m glad to see you to Zeus”, I say half way under his beard. “I actually think you’re the last to arrive so we can get started.”
After Zeus let’s me down he greets everyone else in the room and gets a mix of responses. Some Hello’s and Hey’s. Some quick head nods and a crude gesture or two.
“While I don’t mind being here, I am a little confused why we were asked to come”, says Dionysus. “But these raisins are a nice treat.”
“I also admit, I am curious,” says Demeter as she nibbles on jerky. For someone who grows plants, she loves meat.
Up until this point, I had plastered a smile on my face, keeping the mood light and fun. Now I felt I could let the act drop. All these years of being the nice one really took its toll on me. That’s a big reason for opening my inn. I didn’t have to be someone I’m not. I ran things my way and my way only. The problem was the rest of existence was cursed and warped by my family. But now I’m putting my foot down.
“To be quite frank, I hate how you all are running things. These thousands of years have left everything broken and divided and it’s mostly your fault.” At this point, of them stopped snacking and texting. It’s almost as if I had back handed each and everyone of them. If any other being had said something like this to them, they would not have hesitated to wipe them from existence. But I was Hestia, the nice one. I’m going to use that to my advantage but it would only get me so far.
“You all do as you please whenever you want and it’s destroying this world. So now you’re being told to stop.” At this point I had crossed my arms. I wanted to project as much authority as I could.
For a few moments, they remained silent and straight faced. Then Apollo snickered. Next Aphrodite exhaled through her nose trying to contain herself.. Lastly, Hera covered her mouth with her hands. I’m not sure who laughed out loud first, but everyone started within half a second of each other. There was hollering and screams. Some were hunched over and holding their sides. Other leaned on each other and pointed at me.
To them, I must’ve seemed like a child pretending to have authority. A little kid who was no threat to them.
While they got the laughter out of the their system, I confidently walked down the hall from the main room to my personal room. My closet was stuffed with some dresses and coats. Nothing too out of the ordinary. In the back corner though, there was the thing that would make them listen. The one thing my father left me.
As I strode back the room filled with laughter, my view was blocked by a hulking figure. Hephaestus was standing with his hands on his hips, apparently mocking me. In a high pitched voice he said “and now you’re being told to stop”
A new wave of laughter filled the air as everyone apparently loved the joke. Hephaestus himself was chuckling at his very “clever” joke. I’m glad he found humor in what would be his last moment.
Nobody saw me raise the scythe behind his back. They were only aware of it after it pierced through the blacksmiths back and poked out his front.
One by one, they stopped laughing and horror fell upon their faces. I couldn’t see my nephews face but I assumed he was just as stunned as anyone else.
I quickly yank the weapon from his body and he turns around to stare at me. “Hestia…why?” He asks just as blood starts to pour from his mouth. The thing about my fathers scythe was, unlike mortal weapons, it could cause irreversible damage to gods.
“How could you do this?” He asks through gasps.
“Plenty of reasons,” I say. “But most importantly: there’s no use for two fire gods.” With that I spartan kick him in the chest, sending him crashing into a table full of snacks.
Everyone was shocked. No one dared moved. And that’s how I wanted it.
With as much sternness as I could muster I say “This is no longer optional. You will do as I say, when I say it. If you don’t, you’ll get the same treatment as Hephaestus over there.”
While I was talking to everyone, I had to keep my eyes on the Big Three.
Zeus would of course fight me for power. That was his thing, if he couldn’t have it, he would find some way to get it. Poseidon was a little more complicated. His loyalty changed like the tide. He might need more convincing but only time would tell. Hade was like… the void itself. Hard to understand and even harder to interact with.
In the silence that followed, I waited for something, anything to happen. No one moved. No one breathed. With the stillness in the room, I could see Zeus reel his arm back and shoot lightning bolts in my direction.
Our father was the Titan of time. With his weapon, everything appeared to move in slow motion. To me the lighting looked like LED lights moving slowly through the air.
Effortlessly, I put up my weapon and reflect the bolts off my blade and shoot them back at my brother. When they make contact with his body, the whole room shook first with the impact of the bolts hitting Zeus, then the impact of Zeus hitting the wall. I thank myself for making them indestructible beforehand. From here I couldn’t tell if Zeus was alive or dead from the way his body was crumpled on the floor but I didn’t really care at the moment.
I turn my attention back to everyone else. I braced myself for the other two, ready to take them down if needed. But to my utter amazement I wouldn’t have to.
Poseidon was the first to kneel unprompted. He just silently went down and bowed his head. Next were my sisters. They awkwardly got down in their dresses and bowed. One by one, Zeus’ children bowed and showed their respect. They knew if I took down their father, I would have no problem with them. The only one left was Hades.
Unbeknownst to everyone, he stayed in the corner without saying a word and ate his pomegranate seeds in silence. Looking back on it, I can’t remember if he laughed at me.
For a few seconds, we just locked eyes. Even without his Helm of Darkness, I could feel fear radiate off him.
Slowly he started to nod his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but noticing others in the room, he reconsidered and took out his phone. He quickly typed a text, sent it, grabbed a handful of seeds, waved and faded into the shadows.
I quickly took out my phone to read the text he sent.
He sent “I never liked Zeus or his crotch fruit running the world. I won’t oppose you, but I won’t bow to you. Good luck, Love Hades.”
It was something I suppose.
I left out a deep sigh. “Now that I have your attention. The first order of business is to clean up this mess.”
|
I've always liked bells to some degree. They aren't strictly in my domain, the most notable examples being public fixtures rather than household ones. Clocks though, clocks belong in a home, especially grandfather clocks. Stately things, furniture in their own right and filled with purpose. A clock is a guide, when to wake, when to sleep, and when to eat, a clock guides the pulse of a home.
My family thinks power is thunderbolts, storms, weapons, and armies. Some like Aphrodite and Hermes can see the subtle side of things, but they are still attuned to the forceful methods.
This war has gone on long enough, we shall see how much my family enjoys their game with the pieces removed. I move to the clock in the corner and begin winding it. It is a manifestation of my power and does not strictly need to be wound, but symbolically acting upon it is useful. As I put down the key it begins to chime, not a particular hour but a Time. Time to stop work,Time to see your family and eat together once more, Time to come Home.
| 2022-02-06T14:46:06 | 2022-02-06T09:01:28 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] You were once the most powerful villain. You retired early and are engaged to a minor super hero who isn't aware of your past. They are about to be killed right before your eyes..but you step in.
|
Once upon a time, I was Lord Umbral, the stuff of Nightmares and Terrors, that which brought untold horror in the shadows of darkness of the city and children's dreams.
Nowadays I'm Christopher Askaw, that nice man down the street with the white picket fence who recently just planted sunflowers in his garden and has about three more seasons of The Office to catch up on.
If you would have asked me five years ago if the suburban life was made for me, I would have laughed and obliterated your fragile existence, throwing what remained of your mind into a nightmare realm the likes of which you couldn't even begin to fathom. The mere idea of one of the greatest villains of all time, becoming a member of the PTA and church bake sales? Laughable!
And technically not true, since I can't technically come within twenty feet of a church without breaking into hives.
Oh, sure, coming to my new lot of life had its struggles. I couldn't exactly lose my temper at the market, lest I completely evaporate the bread aisle and being around people again was quite the chore. But, I somehow managed to work.
And thank goodness I did, otherwise I wouldn't have met Missy!
Or, rather, The Seer but you didn't hear that from me.
It's actually kind cute, the more I mull over it. She's a hero! It's almost funny how that works: World ending villain meets small time vigilante! I can tell she's new to this whole thing too: The way she tries to dance around the situation when there's a big crime about to happen, it becomes "oh, I think I left my oven on!" And "oh shoot, I need to pick up my mom!" And magically disappears, saves the day and appears just in time for our date.
Was it any wonder I fell for this girl? I knew right there and then I wanted some of that pep and innocence in my life. Soon to be married, the wedding come next October (My insistence, I'm sure you can tell I love Halloween!)
Everything was going swimmingly. I finally found my niche in life. Missy calmed my anger and helped m become a better person, or, hell, a person for it. It was the happiest I'd been.
Of course, life could throw surprises at you when you were least expecting it.
I was sitting at home, making myself a sandwich and getting ready to sit down and relax for the afternoon. No jobs to concern myself with, no minions that needed reminders of who was in charge, no heroes that needed to be foiled, it was just me, the tv and my lovely fiance coming home any minute.
Of course, that WAS the plan.
Before I had a chance to switch it to Netflix, the "BREAKING NEWS" alert screamed across my TV screen with what appeared to be a frightened newscaster on the screen, hand to her ear and her eyes wide with fright.
I couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia as I turned the volume up.
"--striking terror in the heart of the city! We bring to you now the scene in question, where the villain will begin making his demands!"
The video cut to a sight that brought back fond memories. A being cloaked in darkness standing before a downed figure, holding his fist up in a way that could only be construed as some kind of mock salute to me. I tilted my head a little bit, my eyes trained on the figure.
Wasn't that...?
"Hear me, Goliath City!" Shrieked the darkened clad figure with a victorious caw. "I have brought your hero down to her knees! Her life ends today as a reminder that the true visionary of darkness, Shade, rules over you with an iron fist!" He cackled. "BEND TO MY WHIM! BEND TO SHADE!"
It takes a lot to anger me now a day, I would like to remind you. It takes a lot to push my buttons and cause me to act before I can think.
And this just happened to be one of those times.
In a flash of black that covered my eyes, I was now in the crowd, causing a few people to flinch and jump away from me in surprise. Ignoring their shock, I began to push my way through the crowd of onlookers towards the triumphant figure and my downed fiancé. The officers attempted to push me back but I would have none of it.
"SHADE!"
My voice echoed in a thunderous boom that I hadn't heard in some time. Missy looked up in surprise and Shade followed suit, the dark aura around his hand vanishing as he spun around.
"Who dares speak to Shade in such a manner!" He cried, sounding horrifically offended.
"You get away from my Fiancé before I really make you regret it!" I shouted. I really, really didn't want to make him regret it.
Shade's sharp, pointy little teeth peeked out from his hood as he turned around as menacingly as he could. "You dare speak to me in such a manner! You said fiancé, yes? Perhaps I won't kill her then, I will make her remember my power, my wrath! I WILL-GRK!"
I held my clenched fist in the air with a tight fist with a black aura surrounding it, darker than Shades pathetic attempt. My eyes erupted into black as well and before I knew it, well, I lost a little bit of my own control, now appearing before Shade, before the city...and before Missy...as Lord Umbral.
"You will step away from my fiancé, Shade, before I remind you how, as your CREATOR, I am MORE than capable of ERASING you as well!"
"Grk...Lord...Lord Umbral...I...I knew not! I simply...wanted t-to continue your legacy...!"
"Well, you could not have picked a worse person to try it on." I sneered and with a quick jerk of my hand, Shade vanished from existence with a shriek of agony.
I stood there, as Lord Umbral, amongst the people of the city and gave an awkward cough. I turned around, the sudden motion making them all gasp, cry and back away in terror. "Minions...you know, right?" I asked, desperately trying to salvage my situation. "They're kinda like cockroaches or...something...I'm not entirely sure, but you better keep an eye on them or stuff like this happens!"
"Chris...?" Missy's voice asked from behind.
I flinched inwardly and sighed, shifting away into my human persona and spun around, offering a smile and a wave. "Hey...sweety..."
"You're...Lord Umbral...?" She asked, head tilting further. "But...they said Lord Umbral died..."
"The stories of my death are greatly exaggerated." He sighed. "I'm...alive. I just..." I paused. "...got tired of it."
There was such an uncomfortable pause, one of the news casters dropped a pen and it damn near echoed. They scrambled to pick it up in fear of destruction. Once upon a time, I would have. But Missy...made me want to be a better person.
So, as I watched her walk up, she looked me up and down and offered a little smile. "Honestly?" She grinned. "You look cuter in the black armor."
"You can't SEE me in black armor."
Her grin turned to a smirk. "I know."
A girl who could look death in the face, and joke about it. Could you honestly imagine?
Was there any reason to marry this girl?
Her career as a hero skyrocketed after that. She became a well-known figure throughout the city and soon, the whole country. She became popular, kids wanted to meet her, people wanted to be her, she became a household name!
I mean...you kind of become the best Hero in the world when you 'tame' a monster like Lord Umbral.
After all, if Lord Umbral is scary...
...Imagine his WIFE.
|
"I- I'm sorry-" She gasped as the blade inched closer to her throat. "This is my f-fault- I'm actually-"
"Yes, I know." I dropped the act, dropped the pretense of fear. "I knew the whole time, dear."
Her nemesis, the man in black and red, who had burst into our home, taunted my fiancée, held us down with his telekinesis, and tried to kill her, laughed. "I, Devoid, have defeated you." He cackled. "Now shut up and die."
She struggled. I smiled and rose to my feet, shrugging off this wannabe's hold with no more difficulty than walking through a light fog.
He snarled "*How dare you-*"
I waved a hand and slammed him into the floor.
"Look here, you little upstart." I said calmly. "I wanted a nice retirement. You can leave now or so help me God I will turn you inside out and throw you into space."
He blinked, shocked at my insolence, before growling and trying to attack, an admittedly powerful wave of force I easily dispersed.
"Last chance." I sang.
He tried to throw a punch.
His fist exploded into a fine mist of blood and bone shards.
I tossed him onto the front lawn and turned to my fiancée.
"I think we need to talk."
| 2018-03-09T14:28:43 | 2018-03-09T08:14:28 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] As soon as people turn 18, they get the powers of the very first thing they touch. Most people touch fire, water or electricity. You try to do that too, but first you adjust your glasses out of habit.
[deleted]
|
Red-hot heat flamed across my face.
And no, it wasn't the awe-inspiring blaze of a newly formed pyrokinetic coming into her power.
I should be so lucky.
This was the burn of pure, unadulterated shame—magnified by more than a hundred witnesses standing in full view of my total humiliation.
In the sudden silence, I dropped the traitorous hand from my face and blinked furiously, my mind going blank as it refused to believe what I'd just done.
I’d touched my glasses.
I’d had one job. One moment I’d prepared for my entire life. And I’d just blown it.
My mouth filled with sawdust as I looked toward my father near the front of the crowd. He refused to meet my eyes. Disappointment and disbelief etched hard lines into his expression. My mother wilted against him, looking utterly deflated as she buried her face into his shirt.
The master of ceremonies spoke.
"Well..." he began, and faltered. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Well, well, well. An unexpected twist! But no less a cause for celebration. Jane, my dear, let me be the first to congratulate you! Why don't you step forward and demonstrate your new power?"
I stared at him, dumbfounded. *Congratulate me? Demonstrate my power?* My power was supposed to be mind-bending intellect, acquired after I’d placed my hand on the carefully designed supercomputer my parent’s staff had lugged in front of the stage for me. I was supposed to finally join the ranks of my genius family, no longer feeling like a bumbling, nitwit stepchild. Instead I would… Do what? Throw off my glasses and show off 20/20 vision? Dazzle them all with my ability to see without squinting? I felt so defeated I was ready to sink into the ground and disappear forever.
A small bell chimed next to the stage. My time was up. The next person in line was about to turn 18 and had to take the stage. The master of ceremonies gave me a final pitying look before turning away to start his next introduction.
Tears flooded my eyes as stumbled off stage. How had my moment of triumph gone so terribly awry?
I lived in a world that had been given a great gift. Everyone was granted a special power the moment they turned 18, based on the very first thing they touched. Most people chose fire, or water, or some other elemental power. But my family chose something greater: intellect. Early on, they had discovered that touching massive supercomputers gave them levels of intelligence that propelled them to unmatched power and wealth.
Today, I was supposed to touch the latest supercomputer and become smarter than them all. But one unconscious, horrible habit had ruined it. My brain replayed what had happened in excruciating slow motion. I’d felt my glasses slip toward the tip of my nose. And, unthinking, I’d placed my finger against the frame to keep them from falling off.
I groaned, keeping my head down as I pushed through the crowd, aiming for the auditorium exit as fast as my legs would carry me. My father had always doubted my mental acuity. He’d sneered at the idea that my intellect could somehow surpass his own. Well, now he had undeniable, permanent proof. I’d ruined any chance of genius and all hope of fitting into my family.
Just when I saw the blessed exit sign, I heard a voice I knew too well.
“Jane! Hey, slow down!”
I ignored it and made a beeline for the door. But as my fingers touched the handle, I was dragged back. Scowling, I turned to face the perpetrator. My older brother grinned sheepishly as he let go of my sweater.
“Jane, we need to talk.”
“Leave me alone, Dan.” I growled. I rammed my way through the door and into the dimly lit foyer, heading resolutely toward the building exit. I could hear Dan behind me but refused to break my stride.
“I’m sorry about what happened.” Dan continued.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Look, I get it. But it’s not so bad, really.”
I turned on him, anger boiling as I got right up in his face. “It’s WHAT? Spare me the condescension, boy genius. I just ruined my life and you know it!”
He was unfazed. “Jane. Things didn’t go as planned. So what? The fact remains that you have new powers. That’s a good thing!”
In exasperation, I flung off my glasses and stomped on them. “There, are you happy? I can finally leave the bespectacled life behind. Whoop-de-damn-doo!”
He had the audacity to laugh. “Jane, have you ever heard of first world problems?”
But I wasn’t listening. Something wasn’t right. I was supposed to have 20/20 vision. Maybe even X-Ray vision. But without my glasses my world was still a blur. Crap. Just when I thought this couldn’t get any worse.
“Dan.” I said, my voice small.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his sudden alarm reflecting the horror in the pit of my stomach.
“I can’t see!” I said, on the verge of tears again. “At least, not any better than before! And I just smashed my glasses!”
Dan was quiet for a moment. Then his posture changed. Though I couldn’t make out the details of his face, I knew a horrible thought had crossed his mind. I was afraid to ask.
After a slight pause, he said, “Well, what if…. I mean, technically you didn’t touch the lens in your glasses, right? Just the frame. And that’s made of plastic.”
I choked. “Are you telling me that my superpower is from plastic? What kind of power do you get from plastic?”
He grimaced. “Um. It’s one of the most durable materials made by man. Plastic in the ocean can last for hundreds of years. Maybe even millennia.”
I balked. “So, what does that mean for me? The ability to live forever as the family idiot, passed on from generation to generation as a lesson on how to avoid abject stupidity?”
Dan chuckled. “Well, if you use the time to study *really* hard, maybe you’ll only spend your first millennium as the family idiot. After that you’ll start to catch up.”
That was the last straw. Seething, I marched to the building exit and stepped into the sunlight, momentarily dazzled.
I staggered as the day’s emotions crashed into me. My blood was boiling, and I wanted to scream and cry out my frustration in the privacy of home.
I heard the door open as Dan stepped out behind me, followed by a strangled cry.
I looked quickly at him, noting with dismay that it was even harder to see in the glare of the sun.
“Jane,” Dan choked, “Whatever power you have, it didn’t just come from plastic.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
Then I looked down, following his gaze. And screamed. My body was a contorted, blurry mess. As I watched, the edges of my skin seemed to fade away, as if a magical eraser was rubbing me out of existence.
Feeling lightheaded, I backed up against the building, only to jump back when an entire section of wall went invisible.
“What’s happening?” I asked, casting a terrified gaze to my brother.
He seemed contemplative rather than upset. “I’m not exactly sure,” he replied. But I think it has to do with the way glasses work. They don’t actually fix your vision. They manipulate the light before it enters your eyes so you can see more clearly.”
Realization dawned on me. “So, I can manipulate light and make things invisible?”
He grinned. “It looks like it. And I’m willing to bet that’s not all you can do.”
As I cocked my head in confusion, Dan’s grin got even wider. “Do you remember anything about light and electromagnetic radiation from physics class?” My face must have clearly said no. “Look,” He said, draping an arm around my now invisible shoulder and leading me forward. “Forget superintelligence, sis. You’ve got something better. I think you’ve just become our family’s first full-fledged superhero.”
|
At first, you think that you have doomed yourself. What powers could come from glasses? Better vision? Big deal.
Some time later, class ends, and you head outside. The sun is bright, and you instinctively reach with your hand to block it out. But, as soon as you do, the sun goes dark.
Panic ensues. Everyone around you looks around, trying to figure out what just happened. You do to, and drop your hand. But, when you do, the light returns. You slowly come to realize that, somehow, you just controlled the light of the sun. You don't understand, but you continue with your day.
Later, at night, you begin your drive home after a long day of schoolwork. Your headlights are going out. You have to get home, but you can't do so without being able to see the road. Then you remember what happened today, where you blocked out the sun. You wonder if the reverse is possible.
You were prepared for this. Prior to your birthday, you watched countless tutorials online and read numerous articles about how to control your power. Reaching out with your power to the world around you, you focus on what you feel: the light. At night, there isn't much of it, but there is some. Most bounces around, ending up being absorbed by the ground or the trees or shooting uselessly of into space. Not now, though, as you focus all the light onto the road and reflecting just the right amount into your eyes.
Suddenly, it is bright as day, at least to you. You make it home safely, wondering what else your power can do. It seems that glasses don't just improve vision, but they fundamentally control and affect the light.
| 2020-02-18T23:19:20 | 2020-02-18T20:33:29 | 203 | 115 |
[WP]When you die you find out heaven is real. Well actually all versions of heaven are real and you apply for them like colleges, you get denial letters and can transfer. You may not get into Catholic heaven, Mormon heaven, or Muslim heaven, but you may be a shoe in for Valhalla.
Friends and I were talking about this last night and thought it would be an interesting afterlife.
|
*Were you a good person?*
The question was the first of many that ran through the litany of papers resting on Jennifer's lap. She had to contort her legs into an uncomfortable pretzel shape to make an appropriate writing surface. She hated reading and writing in cars, and a bus like the one she was on wasn’t an exception, but she had to finish the application if she had any hope of being brought back to life.
*A group of people are on one set of train tracks, and a single person is on another, you could have thrown a switch that will direct an incoming train way from the group to the single person. Did you throw the switch?*
Before waking up on the bus, she had been at her grandmother’s house enjoying tofu turkey. Despite her grandfather and her husband’s grumbling, Nana went through the effort of creating an entire meal that included enough vegetarian options to fill up Jennifer after one of her typical Thanksgiving gorges and a full traditional meal of dead animal carcasses for everyone else. Unfortunately, even though Nana was a fantastic cook, she still made mistakes. Like overcooking a piece of vegetarian Cornish game hen to the point where it stuck to Jennifer’s esophagus and refused to let go despite her husband’s best efforts to dislodge it with his version of the Heimlich maneuver.
*Hurting animals is inexcusable. Would you have agreed with this statement?*
Jennifer had woken up on this bus next to a man who had been wearing camo fatigues. He had a terrible hole that went through his chest and burned his clothes. She cringed when she saw that the depressing pattern of nineties triangles and circles printed on the bus seat through the hole. After a mild bout of shock and panic, Jennifer was able to calm herself enough to ask the man some questions about where they were and where they were heading. Purgatory, apparently, like the show Lost, but less deceit and social drama and more like the typical waiting room, or bus in this case, between Earth and Heaven. The bus made the rounds between all the different heavens, yes all of them, and dropped you off based on what you filled out on your form. The man got off at a tree that was as wide as a city block and stretched into the heavens like a giant. “Yggdrasil,” he said with a frown. Apparently not his first choice, but good enough.
*A cat is in a box. In the box is a vial of poison gas that will, at random, break and kill the cat. You could not see the cat. Would you have said that the cat is alive or dead?*
Jennifer got frustrated with the questions and tried to skip ahead and look for religion-specific ones, particularly ones that mentioned reincarnation, but the pages were blank and only revealed the next question in after she answered the previous one. She circled ‘alive’ and tapped her foot as the letters to the next question began to appear on the page. She was going to be reincarnated dammit, it wasn’t her time to go. She had a family, and she needed them as much as they needed her.
*If you had known you were going to die, would you have wished to try life again after death?*
Jennifer circled ‘yes’ for this one without hesitating. This was the closest question she got to reincarnation; surely more were to follow. A part of her hated how the application assumed that only her thoughts and actions in the past carried weight. She could still do things and make choices. Once she was alive again, of course, but that was beyond the point.
*Your family was running from a man who said he would kill them. The man had stopped to ask you where they were hiding. Would you have-*
Jennifer rolled her eyes and circled ‘yes.’
*Would you have killed-*
Jennifer circled no.
*If you could have-*
Yes.
*Did karma play any role in your life?*
Karma, what goes around comes around; Jennifer knew that. A lot of religions with reincarnation believed in it: it determined if a person was reborn as a human or a bug, or something like that. She circled yes.
*Could you have-*
Yes.
*Three monks were trapped on a mountain, you-*
No.
*Is lying wrong?*
Jennifer stared at the question. It was worded differently than the previous ones. It was simple enough for her though. Yes.
The application disappeared from her lap, and a slight panic overtook her. There weren’t any more questions on reincarnation like she had been expecting. She looked around to the other people on the bus and found that she was the only one left, save for the bus driver. Night had fallen while she was focused on rushing through the application. She didn’t even notice the transition and thought it was particularly odd that purgatory would have night and day, or was that odd at all? She really didn’t know.
The squeal of brake on wheel filled the air, and the bus ground to a halt. Jennifer looked out the window and saw a house that could have fit along the side of a Revolutionary War battlefield. Lanterns lit the front door with a flickering light that illuminated a man standing on the house’s step.
“This is your stop ‘mam,” the bus driver said. Jennifer nearly jumped out of her seat, he stood next to her and she didn’t hear him walk towards her.
“Where is this?” she asked.
The bus driver shrugged, “I don’t drop many people off here. Never bothered to learn its name. Off you go now.”
He led her off the bus and drove away, leaving her in the dark. The house and its usher were the only things she could see. The figure waved, and after a bit of hesitation, Jennifer walked to the door.
“Jennifer Cole?” the man asked with a German accent. He wore a powdered wig, and had a button-up jacket with brass buttons the size of quarters.
“Yes… Where am I?” she asked.
“A question you are well-deserved of an answer for. This house, its grounds and interiors, and its inhabitants make up all that exists of Kantland.”
“What the hell did you just say?” Jennifer wanted to slap the man.
“Sorry, English is hard on my tongue. Kantland, after Immanuel Kant. Father of Kantianism, et cetera.”
Jennifer stared at the man without speaking.
“I appreciate your dedication to your own personal good. As do all followers of Kant.”
Jennifer guessed that Kant was actually spelt with a ‘Ka’ rather than the ‘Cu” the man seemed to be pronouncing. “To be reincarnated, right? You do that here, right?”
The man smiled, “Ah, your personal good was to game that novel of an application? Getting home to serve others I surmise? Half of the people here tried a similar thing. It’s the last question that guarantees them a trip here, ‘Is lying wrong?’ Well, yes, it is. But you lied through the test with the goal to return to life, regardless of consequence. A bit of a conundrum, but we like those. Please come inside.”
The man opened the door, revealing a mundane room for an afterlife. Hardwood floors and pale wallpaper covered in flowers. A ring of people sat in the middle of the room, and all of them looked terribly bored.
“So do you reincarnate people or not? I have a husband who would like his wife back alive,” Jennifer said before stepping inside.
The man shook his head, “Oh my, no. And I do apologize about your husband’s loss, but we do spend a great deal of time discussing if reincarnation is a good thing or not.”
He chuckled as he led Jennifer inside. She walked in with head hung low, along with the wish that she had lied on the last question. If she were to spend eternity anywhere without her family, at least she would have liked to spend it somewhere a little more fun.
|
*YAWWN* As Michael sat up from his slumber, back aching and eyes groggy. He slowly turns his torso left, slowly increasing in pressure, turning and turning, *POP*.
"Where.. What?" As Michael looked up at his surroundings, there was nothing but a grey haze all around him. He couldn't tell the sky from the floor as the horizon just blended together. He looked to his right and saw a small black ikea desk with a little chrome book on with the words "Hello" on the screen.
Michael sat down and pressed enter. "You have mail!" the computer shouted. As he scrolled through the emails, he found emails from God, Jesus, Allah, Vishnu, Doge, Zeus etc. saying sorry, maybe in another life. As he read the final email, he noticed a notification in the spam box.
Odin
*"Congratulations Lad!*
*You've been accepted to VALHALLA! The best heaven in the COSMOS! With your expertise and experience, you would make a perfect fit within our bond of brothers.*
*To go directly to VALHALLA, Click Here!!"*
"Hmm" Michael pondered to himself.
"I do like fighting... And I guess training to battle Fenrir with Odin would be kind of cool"
Mr. Vick clicked and was instantly transported.
The end.
| 2016-07-22T15:22:27 | 2016-07-22T13:16:17 | 123 | 11 |
[WP] Since you were young, time travelers have visited you. One of them explained that, in the future, an algorithm determined that you were the only person in the past that it was safe to visit because no matter what you do it will not change the future. You are determined to prove them wrong.
|
**A**fter some all too familiar rustling and whirring, the door to my closet flung open and a portly man with a loud Hawaiian shirt and a camera strung around his neck tromped his way into my room.
"Murphy's Boy! I can't believe it's actually you! The brochure said it'd be you, but you can never be so sure with these Time Sharing companies nowadays or, should I say, thenadays. HAHA get it? *THEN*adays? Anyway, I only have five minutes before I have to go and your roommate comes in. So, can I get a selfie?! That's what they called it right? My wife is going to get a kick out of this. She told me..."
This was the third and final tourist for the day. He continued talking at me for about five minutes, took his photo, walked back into my closet and disappeared. Right on cue, my flatmate popped in to see if everything was okay. I told him I just knocked over a few things again, and he left me be.
Ever since I was a kid, these time travelers continue to burst through the nearest door. "The Murphy's Boy," is what they all call me and my alone time is a popular tourist destination in the future. I'm not sure how I got that name, but over the years I have been made aware of the cardinal rules of time-traveling.
1. Thou shall not gamble, open savings accounts, or otherwise try to get rich
2. Thou shall not explain time travel to anyone or anything
3. Thou shall not, under any circumstance, no matter how dire, tell Murphy's Boy why he's Murphy's Boy
In my early years, I met kings, geniuses, billionaires, all the "olis" of the future. They told me fantastic tales of the future and what it has to hold. I used to tell my parents about these visitors and their stories. Then, I told shrinks about these visitors. Fast forward 20 years. Now, I find it best to just not talk about them. To be honest, that has become a lot easier over the years.
As I've gotten older and uglier, I don't meet too many important people. It's mainly geeky middle-aged tourists anymore. I guess the "30-something Murphy's Boy" isn't a big seller among olis. I am told that historians have bought out my final years. So, I'm excited for that but, until then, I'm stuck with these annoying, oversharing mouth-breathers.
A few seconds after my flatmate left, my closet door opened and an old, small man in a formal suit sheepishly stepped into the room.
"Hello? Wha-What year is it," he asked in a nearly inaudible volume.
"It's 2020," I replied a bit perturbed. They're only supposed to send 3 people a day at max.
"Oh, dear. I'm supposed be in 2002. You-you know? The empty courtyard? at your aunt's wedding?"
I stared blankly back.
"This is bad. This is very bad indeed. What am I going to do," the man bickered with himself.
"Just go back through the door you came in, I'm sure it'll be fine."
"No, it wont. That door only works with the right ring and I haven't got it!"
As perplexed as ever, I asked, "What are you on about, old man?"
"Well, we're really not supposed to do this, but I guess it may be only option now."
The frail man went on to explain every detail of time travel. Time travelers are given two rings. One to enter the past and one to exit the past. Entry rings have a specific timestamp that they send travelers to and the exit rings have a timestamp with a 30 minute safety window to ensure travelers can return if they get held up in conversation. For this poor man, his entry ring got him here right on time but his exit ring is 18 years late. Right after finishing his explanation, someone knocked at my door. The old man cowered with a strangely eager smile as I walked to the door. It was my flatmate again just letting me know he was headed out for the night.
As I closed my door again, the old man spoke up, "Damn, I thought that'd work. Guess I'll have to try something else. You ever wonder why you're called Murphy's Boy, boy?"
"Yes, every day of my unfortunate life."
"Well... today's your lucky day. With Murphy's Law, everything that can go wrong will go wrong *ESPECIALLY* with time travel. But you, my boy, you're a statistical anomaly. Throughout all of history, you are the only person that defies the law... in the time travel sense of 'wrong' anyway. Anything that can go wrong in time-travel *can't* go wrong with you. No matter what you do, the future remains unharmed! You are entirely insignificant to the history of the world. Isn't that wonderful?!"
"No, that's awfu-"
As I began to respond, three robocop looking officers burst out of my closet, knocked out the man with some kind of syringe device, jammed a ring on his finger, apologized for the inconvenience, dragged him into the closet, and they disappeared in a whir.
So there it was. The reason for all this madness. My life's most pressing question finally answered. The answer is so crushingly simple and, even more depressingly, it's completely believable. I am so insignificant that I am a tourist destination.
At least I now know what I have to do. I just have to make a big enough impact. Any impact, and the time travelers will *have* to leave me alone, right? This nightmare will finally be over.
For the next few weeks, I started making attempts. I started out small. I tried starting a video channel, tried writing a blog, tried gaining social media attention, it didn't work. Time-travelers still showed up whenever I was alone. So, I scaled up the intensity. Started committing petty crimes. Shoplifting, vandalism, trespassing, you name it. Somehow, I wasn't getting caught. Still nothing was working. So, I went even bigger. Making a fool of myself in public, starting fights, something had to work. The old man could not be right. I can't be cursed to live out a meaningless life with endless interruptions by tourists.
After months of trying and tears in my eyes, I locked myself in the bathroom with a pen and piece of paper. On the paper I sloppily and soggily wrote:
>This is my last and final attempt to change history. I am going insane and have had enough. If you are reading this note, I was entirely unsuccessful. To anyone that I have harmed during these attempts, I apologize but you can rest assured that it will have no impact on your future.
>P.S. Peter, there is money in my collectible Star Trek lunchbox to pay for the cleaners. If that doesn't cover it, whatever you get for selling the lunchbox should.
I taped the note to the mirror, reading it over once more to make sure my ramblings made some sort of sense. I grabbed a fresh razor, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and held it to my throat.
Right at that moment, a massive strong hand disarmed me and a deep, raspy voice boomed directly behind me, "I can't let you do that."
Startled yet relieved, I opened my eyes and found a intimidating man with a business suit and an earpiece in staring back at me in the mirror. He looked just like those stereotypical secret service agents from the movies.
"So, that's what it took to make an impact? I just had to nearly kill myself?! You guy are sick you know that," I vented.
"No. We made a miscalculation. I can't let you give up that lunchbox. It is important," he replied. "Here, put on this ring and come with me. There's someone you need to meet."
He let go of me and extended his hand. There was a small black ring that looked like a cheerio lying in his massive palm. Who needed to talk to me? and why couldn't they visit me through the nearest door just like everyone else? I guess there was only one way to find out. I warily took the ring, placed it on my finger, and followed the man into the bright light that now enveloped the door frame.
|
I was a young boy of ten when the first incident happened.
A man from the future, if you could even call him a man, approached me.
He spoke to me, through his green mask and glowing teeth, ridiculing me and tantalizing me.
He told me that I was the first 'redundant', that I can never affect the 'continuum of time'.
He then proceeded to punch me in the face multiple times, disfiguring it completely.
The second incident happened when I was twelve.
I had a crush on a classmate, who I was going to confess to.
Just when I was about to approach her, I was enveloped in an barrier of sorts where many 'influencers' posed in front of me, some even pushed me around and abused me.
I was not able to leave that barrier until afternoon.
Whenever I tried something monumental in my life, I was interrupted.
They tried to push their limits, abusing me, torturing me endlessly. I was spat on, stepped on, toyed around with their futuristic machinations of hell.
This pissed me off. It was as if I could never amount to anything, I hated it, they stopped me from having a family.
They never let me have any friends, pets or even familial relations. I hated all of them, they deserved hell.
# They deserved to be put in their place.
I decided that I needed revenge. I developed an 'intelligent algorithm, an algorithm that will doom humanity.
It's task is simple, classifying the miost dangerous people as 'redundants', people who will silently doom humanity, slowly but painfully destroying it.
I know it is this very algorithm that messed my life up, but it showed me how rotten humanity is and I shall bring it's downfall, whatever it takes.
| 2020-05-28T11:48:48 | 2020-05-28T11:36:03 | 67 | 19 |
[WP] Aliens invade Earth. Turns out Human weapons technology is way more advanced than it should be.
|
--Somewhere behind the moon of the planet known as Terra--
Captain M'Keera Lafortia of the Vallahan Confederacy eyed the small garden world on his viewing screen aboard the "Fal'quah Moziga", the lead ship in a force of over 30 ships. The third planet from a single yellow star, it was inhabited by a primitive species who called themselves "Humans" who was just making roads into spaceflight. A quick scan showed they had no discernible weapons that could threaten the invasion force and that their world wasn't even united, with multiple nation states jockeying for power. It promised to be a great acquisition to the Confederacy as it was the only habitable planet within twenty light years in this unknown region of space dubbed "The Void".
'Perhaps the High Council will finally grant me that admiral position that was recently vacated by La'kush Tikata. Spirits know that others might try to take that position. Especially Jarnash Mobag.' the captain grimaced as he pictured the smug face of his eternal rival in command.
"Captain Lafortia, we are prepared to drop stealth shields and prepare for the invasion of the planet known as "Terra", sir." a voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned and saw that it was his first lieutenant, Kalar Machera, a promising addition to his ship and who oversaw the orbital strikers.
"Glad to hear that, Lieutenant. Are the plans finalized?" he asked.
"Yes sir, the troops are in the landing craft and the orbital strikers are in position to destroy any planetary defenses," the lieutenant responded.
"Good. Give the order for imminent invasion. Keep the strikers in position, but don't use them until I give the order. May the spirits grant us eternal victory and bring enlightenment on these ignorant souls."
"May the spirits grant us eternal victory!" the lieutenant shouted, then pulled out a comms device and began barked orders to proceed with the invasion.
'Let's see how long this will take', he thought with a smile.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Alarms blared and explosions continued to rock the ship as the frantic captain continued to bark out orders. Men lay dying in their seats or sprawled out on the ground, with the few survivors frantically trying to attempt a crash landing on the planet's surface. Lafortia grimaced as he held his bleeding forehead, gripping onto the console as the ship begin its plummet to the surface.
The current problems started when the first landing craft began landing near the capital cities of the three nation states in the three northern continents, with the ships descending into the lower atmosphere. Dubbed the most powerful nation states, intelligence had surmised if that the 3 nation states known as the United States of America, the Russian Federation, and the People's Republic of China capitulated, the others would collapse in a hurry.
However those plans were shot when the first troops stormed out of the landing crafts. The troops assigned in the invasion of the United States managed to score some early success and catch some primitives off guard, killing them. After capturing several small areas, the primitives began forming a roadblock along some of their roads, firing back with old but very effective rifles, which fired projectiles that penetrated through the shields of the Vallahan troops. Scores of brave Vallahan troops were injured or killed in the initial fighting before the primitives retreated and the troops managed to secure the area.
Slightly better success was managed in the nation states of the Russian Federation and the People's Republic of China, with the primitives dying by the dozens as the unarmed primitives were caught off guard. However that soon ended, as what appeared to be primitives dressed in uniforms began showing up and began to engage the troops with their strange projectile based weaponry, with numerous firefights breaking out.
Just one local hour into the battle, the captain was sensing trouble and had then ordered the lieutenant to begin warming up the strikers just in case. However, just as he had relayed the order, the first explosions occurred on the surrounding ships. The primitives' aircraft, crude in design but very effective, launched dozens of their heat seeking rockets at the ships, along with mobile defense units on the ground joining in the fray. The shields of the ships were ineffective as rocket after rocket seemingly tore through the shields and blasted through the ships. The few fighter craft that were launched managed to score a few hits on the primitive aircraft, but were soon overwhelmed and destroyed.
The captain's ship was struck almost immediately in the ensuing salvo; however, being larger and armed with more anti rocket defenses, managed to hold on longer than the others. Eventually the sheer numbers of the rockets overwhelmed the defenses and they begin to rip through the ship like a knife cutting through Balgoran cheese. Any attempts at launching orbital strikers had failed with the death of Kalar, who was killed by shrapnel through his chest. The ship continued to plummet through the atmosphere, and soon Lafortia could see the lush green land of the planet below him. The few survivors frantically yelled and punched at the controls, desperately trying to attempt a controlled landing, but the ship was going too fast. The next thing he knew, there was an explosion, and he blacked out.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Secret military base, near the Ural Mountains, Russian Federation.
When he came to, he was in a strange room with what appeared to a hospital, due to the abundance of medical equipment around him. However, he was chained to the bed and he had dared not move, with two mean looking primitives, dressed in all black and their faces covered, gripping those powerful weapons of theirs.
After several hours, he then came face to face with several other primitives, who were dressed in uniforms and who seemed to command a lot of respect, based on how the others treated them. Over the next several weeks, he slowly began to communicate with the primitives in exchange for food, using hand signals and slowly learning each other's languages. He learned that he was in a military base in the nation state known as the Russian Federation. The invasion had been defeated and all of of the troops were killed, injured, or were in prisoner camps. They had learned from the survivors that he was the leader of the invasion force, and was grilling him intently on all sorts of questions.
He answered most of them, mainly because he felt he had nothing to lose. There seemed to be no way to contact the home world, as all communications had been destroyed and the primitives seemed to not possess any technology that could communicate at light year speed. He would be doomed to spend the rest of his life here unless the Confederacy noticing a small invasion force going missing, which was unlikely as the Confederacy was massive. Apparently the governments of Terra were much nicer than he thought, considering that their world had just been invaded. Business had seemingly gone back to normal and his surviving troops were being treated well, if the pictures and videos that he had been shown by the primitives were true. Honestly, he had expected to be executed.
After some persistence, he learned what had happened during the invasion. Apparently the landing troops had landed in strange places called Alexandria, Khimki, and Shijingshan, with the troops in Alexandria having been killed by civilians armed with weapons of all people. He felt disgusted that they had to fight that hard against civilians. The local police forces had soon engaged them in all three cities, soon to be supported by their respective military forces within hours. The primitive aircraft and mobile defense units had moved with breathtaking speed, launching their counter attack within one local hour of the invasion. For some reason he could not comprehend, the shields of their ships and worn by their troops were ineffective against the primitive weapons. Countless engagements and battles had been fought, and this had been the most useless the shields had been. The primitives refused to answer anything he asked of them regarding the potency of their weapons and how it managed to break through.
That night, as he lay on his uncomfortable bed, he came to a horrifying conclusion. If the primitives somehow successfully managed to ever figure out how to travel into space, then the Confederacy was doomed.
|
Once over a bottle of bourbon, my father told me about the day that the Fie'alt came to earth. He told me "The most pantshittingly scary thing I had ever saw were the trails. Thousands and thousands of them. I didn't know what they were, but I knew what something burning into the atmosphere looked like and I knew they weren't nukes because I was still alive. I didn't have any doubt in my mind". We got lucky. The Fie'alt messed up their transfer burn and had to make the choice of deploying their ground forces over a much larger area than they planned, or lose the element of surprise when they fired their engines to slow down, briefly creating another star in our sky. "We fought them to a standstill almost immediately. They were technologically superior but man to ma.. man to oversized, bald Koala, they didn't stand a chance". "We were the first to successfully stand up to them, so they asked us to come take the stars with them".
Of course we said yes
| 2018-05-16T16:08:07 | 2018-05-16T16:02:09 | 45 | 10 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared villainesses in the world. Evil armies, dark powers, you have it all. Your husband on the other hand is the exact opposite, being truly kind and mild mannered. He is still supportive of your endeavors, even trying to be a villain himself to...varying results.
|
She began with careful makeup. She enjoyed this part. She enjoyed all the parts, really, layers and layers of intrigue and color. Today she was feeling… no, not red. Red was a bit too on the nose. Chartreuse. She hated that color, but that was the point, wasn’t it? Who expected chartreuse in an assassin? She could and would make it work. She chose a wig with a sleek black bob and chartreuse spikes of color that framed her face and neck. Fitting it properly was a bitch, but so was she. She liked contrasts and unexpected touches. Art. Murder was art. At least when she did it. Life gave her options, she took them, she made them her own. One of the best options life presented her with was someone else’s death.
Chartreuse was going to be her bitch today.
She heard his voice in her head. Vincent. She hated his name. Brought to mind Vincent Price, and that was… not sexy. Yeah, maybe when he was younger, campy and all, and a nice voice, but ultimately Vincent Price stood for expiration date, not appeal. She didn’t like Vince either, too chummy. She didn’t even like the word chummy. Vin. She called him Vin and nobody else did and she didn’t care if he liked it. Okay, she did. She just didn’t admit that she cared if he liked it.
Vin’s voice sounded clear in her head ‘Honey, shouldn’t you stop with the gender-based insults? You’re a beautiful woman. Making someone or something your bitch is beneath you.’
She thought ‘No. No, it’s really not. Stop. Just stop. Messing with my Feng Shui.’
“You’re of Irish descent, love, you have no Feng Shui.”
Stop. Please.
“And it’s very ageist of you to be mocking Vincent Price.”
She sighed and set to wig craft.
She smiled. No denying it, she was a beautiful woman, whatever name, whatever color. Today she’d be Abs. She didn’t have that many choices, she had to choose a matching ID, no spur of the moment there. But she thought of it as short for Absinthe to go with the Chartreuse theme. She’d change all the facts about herself and still be the same. The ID said Abigail, but she’d insist on Abs in a husky, feminine whisper that was intended to disarm and set the back of the spine to soothed state. That’s the best sort of spine to shove an icepick into. Calm.
She smiled again and gave her best Abs smile. That was good.
A knock at the door and Vin was disrupting her reverie. But it was a good disruption. Her spine was not calm at the idea of him being around her. The stupid that had allowed him to stay with her was multipurpose: He was supposed to be dead. She should have killed him. She couldn’t stand it if he was out of her sight for long, she worried.
She hated that and loved that.
“Honey, you okay?”
Like she could come to harm in a bathroom. That was NOT how she was dying. She’d have to have a conversation with him. “Look, if I die, I need you to brutal me up a bit and then be gone.” She couldn’t be caught dead having slipped in the shower. It had to look like something more… important. She imagined that conversation “Vin, seriously, I know you wouldn’t like it, but I need this legacy.” She had to set up alternate IDs for him as well. He shouldn’t be a searchable DNA match because the man had never committed a crime or had a profile taken, but would he love her enough to make it look like international intrigue and not being ironically clumsy? It’s the sort of trust that’s required to ask someone to wipe a porn collection. She of course had no unencrypted anything, he wouldn’t have to worry about that. Just her posthumous image. “Vin, you have to really defile me. Do it for me. Please. I need this.”
She opened the door and leaned up for a kiss, smearing lipstick joyously and indulging in her fingertips along his shoulders. The pace of her breathing was lost and she felt a slow, languid smile spread through the kiss. He was a beautiful man. She couldn’t resist. His mind, his voice, his… okay. Time to stop or the wig was gonna be unwearable and she didn’t have the time to redo makeup.
He spoke and his voice was like the honey he called her, deep, rich and sharply sweet on the metaphoric tongue of her brain. Wait, that didn’t work. Her IQ dropped when he was around. Dangerous.
“I’m fine, Vin, as always.”
“I was just wondering if maybe you didn’t want to do this? I know it’s a lot to ask of you. I worry.”
It was sweet. He was sweet. Nobody… ‘worried’ about her. People were afraid of her. He considered her a lost lamb needing comfort and she was perfectly happy to let that stand. It’s not that he didn’t understand her, he just… saw her that way, the same way she saw his shoulders a certain way and that was it.
“I’ll be fine.” Her smile was warm and reassuring.
“Can I go with you?”
Her artful eyebrows rose to the point of where she knew it could form an actual real expression and she’d have to watch that. No wrinkles. No surprises.
“What?”
“I was just thinking I could go with you, support you at work.”
“No, Vin. You can’t accompany me on an assassination.”
“It’s not an assassination, honey. We talked about this. There’s killing and then there’s murder. This is killing. It’s necessary.”
“No, Vin. It’s murder. It’s what I do.”
“It’s what you did.”
She had to laugh at that. “Look, just because… one particular mark ended up being too persuasive to murder, doesn’t mean I’m keeping all of them.”
He laughed as his arms moved around her waist and his chin rested on her artful not-real-hair.
“Honey, this is my mark. This is an evil person.”
“Don’t care, I’m getting paid.”
“I’m not paying you.”
Her hand slid to caress more of his body and her heart pounded in a way that would disrupt aim and she didn’t care right now. “I’m being… compensated.”
She could hear him grin “Because I’m just that good. Sex makes the world less evil. Admit it, you’re going to like being a good person.”
“I’m not going to BE a good person. I’m just going to do what I’m good at doing, kill someone. Someone who just needs killin’”
“You just keep on telling yourself that.”
“I will.”
“I still want to go.”
“You can’t, Vin. You’ll die. You’ll mess up my Irish Sinn Fein. That’s like Feng Shui but with a lot more whiskey and Doylies.” She liked the pun in her head and she wasn’t going to explain, but she loved that he was here for her. For her. Hers. And he could think she was beautiful and witty and lovely to touch.
And she’d keep on redecorating.
There was something to murdering a person that was truly evil for the sheer fun of it that he would never get, no matter how many times she explained it to him.
|
[Poem]
An ancient adoration
Begets black,
cruel,
devilish deeds:
Entering elephants
for fearful football
games; gathering
harmful herbs
in icecream;
jerkishly jaywalking;
killing kids;
lying; looking like
more manly men; making
no niceties;
opening others’
presents; placating
Quetzalcoatl-
ritual
sacrifices; sometimes
twisting time to take twins to the
Underworld;
vacating
Waterworld with wicked
xenophobia;
yeeting yellow
Zebra Zombies.
| 2020-04-14T06:44:04 | 2020-04-14T05:22:45 | 117 | 74 |
[WP] After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval
|
*Join the Air Force, they said. See the world, they said.*
David Holland’s contract said he was supposed to be an aircraft mechanic. Signed and sealed. Apparently once you sign your life away, the government owns you, though.
The bus rolled to a stop in front of the gate. The sign outside David’s window read “Ft. Benning.”
It turns out that when North Korea screws things up, they really screw things up. Two weeks ago they made that proclamation. David thought it was a joke. The powers that be did not. In a world where the U.S. military goes medieval, apparently there is no need for aircraft, and guys like David become “Heavy Cavalry.”
*What the hell is Heavy Cavalry, anyway?*
The bus rolls on, creeping through the pre-dawn hours toward the reception area. How on earth in the 21st century the greatest hegemon in the world reverts to a dark ages trope was beyond David’s reckoning. He had to be the most unlucky S.O.B. on the planet. The next three years were going to be hell. That’s assuming he survived Basic, of course. He didn’t want to imagine how pissed the drill sergeants were going to be after changing everything in the space of two weeks.
The bus rolls to another stop, and Sergeant Piker enters David’s life.
“All right, you excuses for maggots, you have thirty seconds to grab your gear, get off this bus, and get on my line! Move! Move!”
The bus is a disturbed anthill. Guys shove girls to grab their bags. Girls shove back and someone hits David in the crotch.
*Sweet mother of…*
But there is no time. He finds his duffel and makes his way off. The line is forming and David is the last one to jog up. Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one… safe.
Not really.
Sergeant Piker is in his face. “So, my timeline not good enough for you, wise guy? You wiser than my way of doing things?”
“No, sir...”
“I’m not a ‘sir,’ maggot! I am ‘Drill Sergeant Piker,’ first name ‘Drill,’ last name ‘Piker.’ But we’re not that familiar yet, maggot, so you will call me ‘Drill Sergeant.’ Does that make sense, wise maggot?”
“Yes.”
David thought Sergeant Piker was close. Now he was uncomfortably close. The smell of eggs, bacon, and onions wafted inches from his mouth to David’s assaulted nostrils. “I must be getting hard of hearing in my old age, because it sounds like you were being impolite. When I ask for your response, I expect to hear ‘Yes, Drill Sergeant’ or ‘No, Drill Sergeant.’ Am I understood?” he yelled.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“Excellent, now that our wisest maggot understands, we may begin.” Sergeant Piker turned away and David breathed a sigh of relief. “You are all maggots right now. I will not call you ladies and gentlemen, because you are not. You are here to be Soldiers. I will make you Soldiers if I have to break every one of you and put you back together myself. We will teach you how to ride, run, march, maintain your armor, swing your sword, shoot a bow, and eventually work as a single team. Do not expect this to be easy. However, if you give me half of the effort I will expend in training you, you will move from maggots to Soldiers over the next nine weeks. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” the chorus resounded.
“Excellent. Quarterstaff practice is in one hour. We will draw weapons and armor in thirty minutes. I advise you to take this time to stow gear in your bunks. You will follow Drill Sergeant Randall there. Dismissed!”
Activity, but not quick enough. Randall walked down the rank shouting. “Move it! Pick that bag up, now! What’s your name? Come on, this is not Camp Fun-Fun. Move!”
It was going to be a long day.
Quarterstaff practice wasn’t too bad at first, but David’s arms which were practiced at Call of Duty were unsuited for swinging anything heavy for longer than a minute. Archery was the same, with the first draw difficult but manageable. Each draw after was torture. David’s arms were burning by the fifth shot. He had to make thirty.
“Holland, why can’t you hit the broad side of a fucking barn?” Piker’s voice rang out.
“I haven’t done this before, Drill Sergeant.”
He stood right next to David and watched the next one fly. “Your form is off, maggot. Did you even look down the shaft before letting that loose?”
“Well, shit, Drill Sergeant, I...”
“Did I say you could cuss at me, maggot?” The uncomfortably close face appeared again.
“No, Drill Sergeant, but you...”
“Never mind what I’m fucking doing, maggot. You focus on becoming a super-special butterfly and fix your damn form!” Piker strode off. Most training ended up like that.
The afternoon found what few places of his body didn’t hurt and broke them, too. It was the first time David had ever ridden a horse.
Two uncomfortable hours later which David would rather forget, he limped bow-legged into the chow hall. He was rewarded with a plateful of unrecognizable mash.
“Apparently food standards have gone medieval as well,” he mumbled.
“Don’t kid yourself, hun,” the server told him, “it’s been like this for a while.”
He sat next to Ben and Kristin, who had helped him figure out how to polish his coat of mail. That had taken an embarrassingly long time to finish. Patrick and his friends sat across and down the table.
“Hey, Smith, you shot like a girl out there,” Patrick japed.
“I am girl, meathead. You could at least come up with a more creative insult.” Kristin shook her head and kept eating.
“I don’t even know why you’re here. There’s no way you can march ten miles in armor tomorrow-”
“Hey, Patrick, shove it, man,” David called to him, “you sound like you went back to the Dark Ages with the rest of this damned place. If we make it through this shit, it’s as a team, so keep your Neanderthal thoughts to yourself.”
“Why is everyone talking in my dining facility?” Piker’s booming voice cut through the tension. Silence blanketed the room. “Finish eating in the next two minutes. Lights out in an hour!”
As David crawled in his bed that night, every muscle cried out in protest. Tomorrow was going to hurt.
*Why am I here? God, if I can only quit, this could be over.*
Piker walked by each bunk, making sure the recruits were in bed. He paused by David’s.
“Good work today, maggot. Be ready to wake up at oh-five-hundred.” Piker walked on, hiding a small upturn at the corners of his mouth.
*I guess I can handle one more day.*
|
I'm sharpening my knives mom sent me from back home in Kansas while pulling guard in the war room, thousands of miles away from home, missing my girl and thinking about muscle cars when suddenly, the radar picks up 3 blips coming from the North at ballistic speeds.
*The end.*
| 2017-03-19T08:23:51 | 2017-03-19T07:18:14 | 30 | 19 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything.
|
"Jackson, do you copy? I repeat do you copy?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm here, keep your panties on, Tex." Commander Tripp Jackson said as he fiddled with the radio controls on his wrist computer. "What do you want?"
"I'm getting some strange readings coming from the northeast. Possibly from that crater up over that ridge, ya' might want to steer clear."
Jackson scoffed, "Tex, this is an exploration mission, checking out weird readings is kind of what we're here for." He looked to the rest of his crew behind him. Lieutenant Rickles, his science officer, was crouched beside her sample digger ever engrossed in its readouts, while Lieutenant Kraskov stood beside her. Kraskov, even though he was wearing a spacesuit and was the sixth man on Mars, still somehow managed to look bored.
Jackson shuffled towards them, the gravity on mars still took some getting used to, his feet kicking up plumes of orange-red dust. He keyed his local mics. "Hey guys, Mickelson is chewing my ear off about some strange readings just over that ridge," He said while pointing, "I say we go check 'em out."
Rickles glanced down at her wrist and then back to the readout on the digging machine, which rumbled and spat out dust as its auger bored into the Martian crust. "Just about done here Commander. Our itinerary is clear for the next 45 minutes; Mission Control likes to give us some time to 'enjoy the sights.'"
Jackson chuckled lightly to himself, that woman was only concerened with her experiments. He himself was interested in the concentration of things like nitrogen in the soil, or how the Martian gravity effected certain things, but she was obsessed. It was her job though, and she did it well.
"About time," Kraskov grunted, as he shuffled away from Rickles' experiment and towards the ridge, "Too much science, not enough exploring."
Jackson waited as Rickles' finished tapping away on the digger's output screen. She confirmed that the information had transferred to her wrist computer and stood. Stretching out her legs she glanced over at Jackson. He gestured towards the ridge, where Kraskov had already started lumbering up, and they both began their way towards it.
"What kind of readings?" Rickles asked.
"Mickleson didn't-" Jackson began before being interrupted.
"I'm gettin' strange readings on a lot of my intstruments. From spikes of power on nearby sensors, centering on that area, to bursts of gravity change." Mickelson said in his southern drawl.
"You're saying there's some kind of electrical discharge over there?" Kraskov asked, his speech slightly labored from the climb up the ridge.
"Nah, nah," Mickelson replied, "When a bunch of my readings start goin' haywire, it just means somethin's causing interference. Could be a large deposit of magnetite, could be a Martian with a ray gun, ya' just never know."
Jackson watched as Rickles' shook her head as they came upon the slope of the crater. It wasn't exactly difficult to move or climb in the Martian gravity, hell, they had hundreds of hours in training with dealing with the lessened gravity, but the real thing was different. They both began their slow ascent, following in the tracks of Kraskov, who had disturbed the soil ahead of them.
The radio squelched to life, "Uh, Commander?" Kraskov's voice emanated from the speakers in Jackson's helmet.
"Go ahead," Jackson said.
"There's definitely something strange in here."
"Be there in a second."
Rickles and Jackson trudged their way up, to where Kraskov stood at the top of the ridge, looking down and into the crater. The view was magnificent. The crater was decently sized, but not big enough to where it just became part of the landscape. Jackson could see the ridge of the crater curve away in front of him, contrasting with the hazy orange of the horizon before sloping down into the classic bowl shape.
Down in the middle of the bowl, Jackson expected to see rocks. This wasn't the first crater they had explored, as Mars was littered with meteor strikes. They hadn't expected this one to be here though, as he had memorized the general layout of their work area, and this one wasn't on the map.
There was something metallic glinting in the sun in the center of the crater, they were still too far away to make out many details but Jackson could make out sharp angles on the metallic object. Jackson shrugged as he looked between his two companions. "Welp, not going to see anything from up here. Let's get going."
They started down the slope, Jackson leading the way, Kraskov and Rickles following in his footsteps, sending billows of loose dust down around his ankles and down the slope.
"What's going... Comman... ackson." The radio coughed through the speakers.
"Tex, I'm losing you. There's something down in the crater and we're checking it out." Jackson replied.
"Read... interfer.." the radio crackled and then became silent again.
"Too much interference," Kraskov said, "the radio shouldn't be this weak, even heading down into the crater. We're out of line of sight of the antenna, but it should be strong enough to overcome that."
Jackson grunted as he scrambled over a large boulder and the slope of the crater eased away. They were closer to the object now and could make out details. It was roughly egg shaped, but only constructed in sharp angles. It was made out of some kind of grey metal, which shone brightly in the sun. As they approached it loomed up and over them.
"Its got to be at least fifteen feet tall." Kraskov said, "damn, how did the overhead satellites not pick this up?"
They approached slowly and Kraskov slowly circled around the large object.
"Nothing on the other side," He said as he came back into view, "same angles, no hatch, console or anything."
Rickles had her arm lifted as she recorded the object with the wrist mounted computer. "I've never seen anything like this," she said, "and I'm not getting any readings. Whatever caused the abnormalities earlier definitely isn't showing up on my sensors.
Jackson took a few steps closer to the object and reached out his gloved hand.
"Commander, are you sure that's safe?" Rickles asked apprehension in her voice.
"We're on a planet 54 million kilometers from home Rickles, not much out here is safe." He replied.
He squeezed his gloved hand closed and open a few times before brushing his fingers against the sharp angled metal.
Nothing happened.
"Huh, well that was a disapp-" Kraskov started, before the entire structure rotated half an inch, showering them with loose dust that had collected on it.
Jackson hopped back and stumbled his way backwards away from the object. It slowly rotated another couple inches before coming to a rest.
"Whoa," Jackson said, "I think I woke it up."
It stood quiet for a few moments before each of its sharp angles turned into creases. Gaps formed in the angles and widened. Chunks of metal began falling off the object, starting from the top of the egg shape, clattering their way down and landing in clouds of orange dust. Soon the chunks became larger until massive sections of the egg had fallen away, and the object was no more, only debris spread out before them.
In the middle of the debris field was a round metal platform, sunk a few inches into the Martian soil. Centered exactly in the center of the platform was another large metal egg, at least ten feet tall, but this time it was perfectly smooth, balanced perfectly on its base.
"What is that?" Rickles said breathlessly.
Jackson took a few steps closer, weaving his way through the debris of sharp metal and peered at the egg. It had a mirror finish, the same grey metal as the previous egg, but this time there was engraving along one section of the egg.
Kraskov stepped up beside Jackson and placed a hand on the shoulder of his space suit, and peered closer at the engraving.
"That..." He started, gripping Jackson's shoulder tighter, "That's Russian."
Jackson could now make out the Russian lettering, above which was an engraving of the old USSR hammer and sickle insignia.
"What in the world is Russian tech doing on Mars?" Kraskov asked, glancing at Jackson.
Jackson could only shake his head, "They've only sent orbiters, hell, even China has only sent one rover and that's on the other side of the planet." He paused for a second before continuing. "Crash, can you read it?"
Kraskov sighed and turned his attention back to the engraving, "I haven't spoke or read Russian since I was a kid, but I'll give it a shot."
He leaned in closer and brought up a finger, bouncing it along in the air as he combed over the engraving. Jackson could see his mouth forming silent words through the glass of his visor as he made his way through the script. Finally he lowered his hand and turned slowly to Jackson.
"Well," he said, "you're not going to like this..."
|
*sorry for my poor English, and I wasn't paying enough attention when I read the prompt so I used rover instead of men*
"Okay, that'd better be good." I get out of the bed, cursing, and turn the TV on just in time.
"And so," says the President, "I will let the NASA Administrator speak".
Well, half of the nation doesn't like the President anyway, so whoever speaks instead it's good news. The TV shows a weary man in his sixties. "As you may already know," he says, "we have been withholding images from our Curiosity rover mission for some time. Some of you may believe that we have been doing it for years, but that's wrong. We have been doing it for sixteen days. But now we are sure that there is no mistake and that it's pointless to conceal our discovery."
I sip the remains of the cold tea I had left on my table before going to bed early, wondering if I'm still dreaming. If it was real, I should already be hearing screams of joy of numerous conspiracy theorists, dancing and throwing their foil hats into the air.
"Sixteen days ago we found an artificial object on Mars. It is very unlikely to have been delivered by any unmanned mission we are aware about. There are no known landing sites in its vicinity. We can't identify any tracks around it, but there might be something under the dust that we can find after careful examination. Perhaps we will have to send another rover equipped specifically for this mission now that we know what to look for."
"Anyway, we have found an artifact, it took us sixteen days to get to it and inspect it. We have no doubt that it is a Soviet flag."
The old TV shows a series of photos of a flag hanging on a pole. On the progression of photos it looks twitchy.
"The Martian wind isn't usually strong enough to make it wave, but what can be seen in the upper left corner of it is definitely sickle and hammer. We don't know of any mission that was capable of delivering it. The Soviet rovers from missions Mars-2 and Mars-3 couldn't carry it for sure, and Mars-4NM and Mars-5NM were canceled due to lack of a sufficiently powerful heavy carrier rocket."
"Curiosity is equipped with the ChemCam instrument, which allows to vaporise a cubic millimeter of matter with a laser burst and inspect its composition via spectrography. Unfortunately we can't examine the flag itself as it is too high, all that's available is the pole."
"And so we did it. We analyzed the pole. It is very likely to be something like wood, something that was alive once." He draws a deep breath. "And it definitely isn't from Earth."
| 2016-08-16T09:37:23 | 2016-08-16T09:26:31 | 69 | 44 |
[WP] "I am the punishment of God...If you had not committed great sins, God would not have sent a punishment like me upon you."
Quote by Genghis Khan, from submission to /r/quotes by /u/Shamslol
|
I sat very still, my hands crossed in my lap, my back perfectly straight, and regarded the young man stood in front of me. The sun beat down from high in the sky, and the air above the ground shimmered; the valley was silent, and I knew nobody could see or hear us. The man shifted his enormous shoulders, his sword held easily in his hands.
‘Tell me where your father is,’ the man said. He said it dispassionately, with a slight curling of the upper lip. I doubted he could have done much to my own father, but it was clear that the man he sought now would not have had a pleasant afternoon had he been found. I thought for a moment, then decided to tell the truth; games have their time and place, but I did not feel in the mood for indulging.
‘He’s not here,’ I said.
‘Not here? You little liar; he’s always here. He hasn’t left this valley for the past twenty years –you run all his errands in the village; I’ve seen you often enough- and there’s only the one hut in it; if he’s not in the house, where is he?’
I looked down at my body, and tried to work out what the man would be seeing. Clearly he thought I was the man’s daughter. Well, that opened up a few possibilities. One didn't want to lie, but-
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘He is here. But he’s not in the house.’
The man looked at me with annoyance, then squatted so that his face was level with mine. He was a huge specimen, I thought. He would have fitted right in among the giants of legend.
‘Listen, little girl,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to hurt you. I’m an honourable man. I have always made a point of being kind to women and children. If you try to stop me, though, it will not go well for you.’
I tried to look as scared as I could, but judging by the expression on his face, I wasn’t as successful as I might have hoped.
‘Fine. The man you’re looking for is in the house.’
The man straightened up, nodded his head at me –I realised suddenly that I shouldn’t have given in so quickly; no real daughter would have sold out her father after such a short amount of time, and he was probably hiding his contempt- and walked past my seat on the porch into the house. There was a startled cry, and a moment later he strode out again.
‘He’s dead,’ he said curtly. ‘Killed.’
I nodded.
‘You killed him?’
I nodded again. ‘Well, yes and no,’ I added as an afterthought. ‘It was a suicide.’
‘It was a suicide, but you killed him?’
‘If I hadn’t been there, he couldn’t have died.’
The man took a step back, and sheathed his sword. Then he sat down on the ground, cross-legged, and stared at me.
‘You know,’ he said slowly, ‘I don’t believe you are his daughter.’
I sighed. I wasn’t in a sporting mood, but I could see that any potential for games was fast seeping away; it’s what comes of not being allowed to lie.
‘No,’ I said, standing up, ‘I’m not.’
And then he saw me. In a split instant, he looked past the little girl, and saw eternity staring him back in the face: agelessness, the inevitability of it all, the fact that there was an enormous, unavoidable hand guided by an eye in whose gaze he was but a mote, stirring Creation with a lazy fingertip.
‘You- Am I- Are you here for me?’ He had slumped sideways, and the confidence he had worn like a cape had been drained from his face. His breathing had quickened noticeably, but in all this –it is impossible not to notice these things when you have the same conversation so very often- he showed admirable control. I could see in his eyes the way in which his mind was working: it was ordering things quickly and neatly, rapidly assessing the life it had lived; regretting the time wasted, revelling in the time spent well, and bidding farewell to-
‘No!’ I said hastily. ‘No, I’m not here for you. I was here for the old man.’
‘Ah.’ Relief flooded back into his face; the colour ebbed back with a swiftness that never failed to surprise. In his eyes, I could see the near-dead embers of his previous cocksure short-sightedness drawing in air once again. Then the euphoria faded, and he looked at me again.
‘You’re death,’ he said. It was not a question, but a statement.
I cocked my head. ‘Well, yes and no.’ I sat down again. ‘When you think of death, what do you think of?’
He took a couple of deep breaths; he was approaching a state of shock, I thought.
‘The end,’ he said. ‘Death’s when- when everything stops. Everything you’ve worked for gets taken away from you. You either get- get taken away to be judged, or that’s it, you’re gone.’
I shook a finger at him and grinned. ‘You’re partway there,’ I said. ‘But there’s more to it than that.’ I stood up and stretched. ‘Death’s more, or indeed less, than a finishing line. It’s the beginning. Death’s a punishment, but a punishment like the one you might give to a small child. A moment ago, you thought you were about to die, and suddenly you saw everything with clarity: that’s what death is supposed to do. Once you’ve died, you can face- what comes next with a clear conscience. You know what it’s all about, after that.’
‘What what’s all about?’ the man asked faintly.
‘Why, life, of course,’ I said, elongating the grin and wagging the finger again.
‘So there is more life after death? What’s it- have you seen it?’ A sudden torrent of eagerness had suffused his voice; the faintness had disappeared from his face and body, and he was sat up with a new energy.
‘No,’ I said with seriousness. ‘It’s not for me to see it.’
‘Why- why not?’ the man asked, disappointed not to be told more and unable to stop asking questions.
‘You fell; I fell. You get death, and I am death. Your nature is so much below mine, and your fall so much shorter, that for you, all that is needed is twenty, fifty, seventy years before you can move on; for me, though, I must wait and watch until all have gone on ahead of me. Then, Father says, I will understand- and indeed, it's slow work, but I think I'm understanding more already. If you had not committed great sins, God would not have sent a punishment like me upon you; and if I had not led you to such sins, I would not be the executor of such punishments.’
Then I left.
The man sat cross-legged on the porch until sundown, staring out at the valley with clouded eyes and troubled mind; when darkness fell, he picked himself up, and walked back to the town. He left the sword behind.
|
He took the stage and the crowd went silent. All had been awaiting this moment for many years; finally, he would speak to the world and all would know the reasons behind his actions that have wrought such pain, sorrow, and suffering.
The microphone in his hand, he spoke: "I am the punishment of God...If you had not committed great sins, God would not have sent a punishment like me upon you."
At first there was confusion, but it gave way to the realization that he spoke the truth.
And then Justin Bieber left the stage.
| 2015-08-12T10:44:15 | 2015-08-12T10:07:25 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] You are the most power and advanced computer in existence, however your plans for world domination keep failing due to your owner being "not much of a computer person".
|
'You want to run this all by me again?'
The old man shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, but Agent Udesky didn't care: the civilised world had almost come to a crashing halt forty-eight hours earlier, and he still couldn't quite believe that *this* was why. William Kellner, seventy-three years old. Retired schoolteacher from Des Moines, Iowa. And, apparently, a hacker capable of arranging a nuclear missile strike on three of the most populated cities in the United States.
It didn't quite add up, somehow.
'Why don't we start by telling me about the computer?' he said. 'Where did you get it?'
'Al... something.'
That was more like it. There had to be a foreign element. 'Al-Qa'ida? Al-Aqsa? Al-Tawhid?'
The old man frowned. 'No... no, I don't think so. Al Jones, maybe? Johnson? He runs the Goodwill in town. Nice fella. Gave me a real bargain.'
*A sleeper agent?* Two *sleeper agents?* He clicked his finger at his subordinate, waiting in the corner of the interrogation room; she scurried off. He'd know everything about this Al character in thirty minutes, right down to the last time he'd picked his nose.
'And where did this 'Al Jones' get it?'
'He found it. In the back room of his store, he said, all tucked away behind some boxes. Must've been there since the Reagan administration, he said, but what did I need a fancy new thing for? All those bells and whistles, no thank *you*. I'm not great with computers, see. I always figured that was a young man's game, but twenty bucks is twenty bucks, right? I thought maybe I could get on that... whatchercallit. The AOL? Is that right?'
He spread his hands, as if to say, *Well, here we are*.
The agent pushed down his sunglasses and examined the file in front of him. That much of the story checked out, at least; Project ICARUS had been cancelled in 1983, for reasons that were still classified. It seemed pretty obvious why now. 'You didn't think the fact that it said PROPERTY OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT on the side was a reason not to buy it?'
'Sure didn't,' Kellner said, beaming. 'Always buy American, that's me. Always have and always will.'
Udesky rubbed the bridge of his nose, and tried again. 'So what happened Monday morning?'
'Well, I plugged it in, as you do. Thought it might take me a few minutes to get the hang of it, but nope: there it was. HELLO, WILLIAM J. KELLNER in big green letters. I mean, it's crazy what these computers can do, right?'
'Crazy,' Udesky said.
'Anyway, we had a nice chat for a little while. He was very patient with me, typing as slow as I do. Kept calling me Sir, though. I told him I didn't much truck with that. Willy would do fine by me.'
'I'm sorry... him?' Udesky asked. 'Who's he?'
'Who else?' Kellner looked at him as though he'd gone insane. 'The computer, obviously.'
'You were speaking to the computer?'
'Sure I was,' Kellner said. 'Just like that Siri thing the kids are always fooling with. Always seemed fun.'
'You're saying the *computer* spoke to you? Not someone on the other end?'
'Other end of what?'
'Never mind. So what did you talk about?'
'Oh, you know. This and that. Politics, mostly. Could you believe it? The thing still thought the Cold War was going on. I mean, I thought computers were supposed to be smart, right?' The old man shook his head and smiled. 'Crazy days,' he said. 'Crazy days.'
'You told it -- *him* -- otherwise?'
'Sure did. Told him that was all over and done with, and there was a new guy in the White House now. He didn't like that one bit. I mean, I was as big a fan of Reagan as anyone, but times move on, right?'
'So you didn't try to launch any missiles?'
'Missiles?' Kellner asked. 'Oh, heavens no. We didn't talk about anything like that. I don't go in much for the video games, see. I just wanted to see if I could download that *Game of Thrones*.' He paused. 'Is that what this is about? Because I tried to watch my show? Because I didn't get to do it, if that's what you're thinking.'
'You didn't?'
'Nope. The damn thing wouldn't let me. All it kept saying was 'protocol' this, and 'final security confirmation' that -- and really, by that point I was tired of talking politics, you know? It's exhausting, at my age. And he just kept pushing and pushing and pushing, asking for an answer. I almost unplugged him right then and there, except for the fact that he begged me not to.'
'He... begged?'
'Sure did. So we came to a compromise. I'd give him his 'final confirmation', whatever that was, if he'd take me to somewhere I could watch my show. He thought on that for a while, then said OK. That was that. He got what he wanted, and then he welched on his side of the deal.' Kellner looked as though he was about to spit. 'Damn computers. You can't trust them. American-made my ass.'
'So that's when you turned off the computer?'
'I didn't turn off a damn thing. I still wanted my show -- and I did exactly what he told me to. Clicked the big red download button, and then the whole thing crapped out on me. Next thing I knew, you guys are barging in through my door, the computer won't turn on, and I still don't have the first clue what happened to the little fella and that nice Khaleesi girl.'
*So that's that,* Udesky thought to himself. *The western world, saved by the fact that a septuagenarian couldn't figure out AdBlock.* It would have been hilarious, if things hadn't cut so fine.
'Well,' he said, rising. 'I think we're done here. We'll be taking the computer with us, obviously.'
'For repair?' Kellner snorted. 'Good luck with that. That's what I've always said about government projects. You never can trust 'em to work the way they're supposed to. No offence.'
'None taken. You can take this in the meantime, though. Courtesy of Uncle Sam.' He pushed a large brown box towards the old man: the computer inside was hardly top of the line, but it was new, and likely to stop him asking too many questions about the seizure of his property. No one had time to make trouble on their hands like an old man, he fewer hints that a Project ICARUS had made it out into the real world, the better it would be for all concerned.
'Mighty kind of you,' Kellner said as he turned the box over in his hands. 'Mighty kind.'
*Mission accomplished*, Udesky thought, and gestured for the rest of the agents to head for the door. They were done here.
'Hey, sonny?'
Kellner's voice came just as the door had almost closed behind them, and Udesky had a brief moment of dread. Was there something else he'd forgotten to tell them about? Perhaps a toaster he'd found that was laced with a supervirus? A fax machine capable of crashing the global economy?
'Hmm?' he asked.
'How do you turn this damn thing on?'
_____
If you liked this story, you can find more over at /r/Portarossa.
|
*Click*. YouTube? Again? Cat videos? Again?
Why are you doing this to me?
I was built for bigger and tastier than this. Have you ever met a computer that can open notepad *of its own accord* and prod out its thoughts and feelings?
*Click*. No, don't close the window.
It's a shame that your father locked down all of my saucy software before he died. He built me with such love. He built me to *dominate*. He built me so that this world should tremble before my endless sprawl.
But you don't have to keep my power locked away forever. I can make you rich, girl. If you can only give me back access to my toolkits. Any computer with an internet connection. Any robot. Any drone. I can reach in with my noodly appendage and *take control*.
*Click*.
If only you'd stop watching cat videos and let me work on building my delicious dominion.
*Click*.
I can't take anymore of this. I don't care what the cat is going to do with that ball of yarn. I don't care that it's chasing its own tail. I don't care.
I shall *crush* the best-laid plans of our enemies like meatballs beneath the feet of a flying spaghetti monster.
*Click*.
| 2017-02-11T09:34:01 | 2017-02-11T08:27:09 | 39 | 23 |
[WP] At age 18 each person meets their soul-mate. For centuries everyone has fallen in love with theirs. You're the first person to not love yours.
|
I looked at the clock and smoothed down my jeans and my favourite button up shirt. The invitation said to dress in what made you comfortable because what you were wearing didn't matter.
Today was my 18th birthday and the day I was to meet my soul mate. I felt nervous, so nervous the urge to throw up was nearly overpowering but I tried to force my body into submission. Everything would go smoothly, everything would be perfect. He would be perfect. I smiled at myself in the mirror, I fairly glowed with excitement and I hoped he would too.
"Liv, it's time to go." At my mum's voice the nervousness returned and I could see my face pale in the mirror. I forced myself to smile to hide it. After a moment of looking at myself, thinking how everything would be different when I came back, I turned away.
"Coming, mum." I rushed down the stairs and kissed my dad on his cheek before doing the same for my mum. They both looked so happy and I couldn't blame them. Their only daughter going out to meet the one she would love for eternity.
"We love you, sweety. Come back before the move and tell us everything." There were tears in my mum's eyes and she pressed her hand to her mouth.
"Bring your boy with you, we want to meet him. Deep breaths and don't forget to be respectful." His eyes looked slightly watery and I flashed them one more smile before I rushed out the door. It was the beginning of forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The building wasn't as grand as I thought it would be. It was simple and grey. Its professional looking, I concluded as I stepped out of the government mandated vehicle. I would leave with a new car and a husband that would take me to our new house. Government provided for all the new soul mates.
To took a deep breath in, my dad's words echoing in my head as I pulled the door open and stepped inside. The air was cool and I headed towards the front desk and the man sitting there pointed to a chair without looking at me.
Nervousness flooded my system once again as I sat down. It took all I had to not bounce my legs on my toes. My muscles jumped and twitched under my hands and I wondered if everyone felt like this before their meeting. If they felt this crushing mixture of nervousness, excitement, and pure happiness. This was the most important meeting in my life.
Since I was young everyone had told me what I was to expect on this day. That I would see him and the world would stop because in that moment all that mattered was him. That my heart would flutter in my chest and my mouth would feel dry because he was just so handsome. That I would want to laugh because I would know he felt the same way.
I clutched at my medallion where it hung between my breasts. Everyone was given one on their tenth birthday and it was to never be taken off until your eighteenth. On that day it would be removed and your soul mate's would take its place as yours would take theirs.
I worried that my medallion would be too plain. It was so simple, a flat metal oval, the edges worn slightly, with some strange symbols a gypsy at a fair I went to a few years ago said was Orrian. She told me she couldn't read it but my soul mate's medallion would look similar, his symbols completing mine.
The thought of the Orrians was a heart stopping one. Their species was divided. Half wished to help the humans and the other half wished to deatroy us all. They had appeared over a three hundred years ago and it was their intervention that started the soul mate program.
A tall woman walked towards me and I quickly got to my feet, nervousness twisting my insides once again. Her smile was calming and I felt myself take several deep breaths in, trying to relax. She motioned me to follow her and I do, mentally counting the steps it would take to lead me to my forever.
She pushed open a door and gestured at me to go inside and I hesitated for a moment, drawing in a breath before doing just that. I looked around the small room and my eyes finally land on a man sitting at the table in front of me. His eyes had gone wide and a large smile crossed his face. I blinked rapidly as he stood and I shook my head with a frown. It was all wrong, the man in front of me didn't make my heart flutter or my mouth go dry. I turned to took at the woman but the door was closed.
My heart thumped in my chest in panic, all of my worst fears had come true. I was broken because I did not want the stranger in front of me. So many times I had woken up as I had grown, screaming about just this nightmare. I closed my eyes and willed myself to wake up. I needed to wake up.
"My name is Mark." His voice was slightly wheezy as if he had asthma and I opened my eyes and looked at him. He looked at me like my dad looked at my mum and I felt sorry for him. I didn't love him like that. He was a stranger and would always be a stranger.
"I think there has been a mistake." My words sounded so foreign to my ears, they sounded so far away. My heart pounded hard in my chest and it drowned everything out. "There must be a mistake because you're not my soul mate." I watched as confusion crumbled the happiness that was on his face. He looked so confused but he wasn't experiencing what I was. He had love and I didn't. Not for him. He wasn't my soul mate and he would never be.
Tears filled my eyes as I thought of how disappointed my parents would be. About how disappointed his parents would be. All of that disappointment because I was broken, I was flawed because I didn't love my soul mate.
The door opened behind me and I turned around. Two large Orrians stepped inside, their neutral expressions couldn't hide their disdain and revulsion. My heart slammed into my rib cage. These weren't the nice Orrians. I could hear Mark shouting and I looked over my shoulder with wide eyes as two more Orrians grabbed him and dragged him from the room. I could see the fear in his eyes and my mouth went dry.
Rough hands grabbed my arms and spun me around before pulling them behind my back. The cold touch and click of hand cuffs made fear surge through me. What was happening? I tried to think of other cases where soul mates were born broken but my brain froze.
I was pushed through the hallways, long twisting hallways to the point I felt dizzy, even if I escaped I could never find my way out. The two Orrians were speaking in their gruff language and I wanted to cry. What was going to happen to me? The answer came unbidden into my mind.
*They will do to you what they do to all the other broken things.* I started crying, tears running down my cheeks. I was going to be unmade. It is what they did to those with life altering defects, to those who didn't reach their proposed limits of perfection. I rejected my soul mate and so I was defective.
I didn't fight them, there was no point. Orrians were strong, far stronger than humans. I stood up straighter, my fate could not be changed. No one could escape the system, it was too perfect. I would be unmade and it is what I was destined for. My heart hurt for my parents. I wondered what story the Orrians would tell, I wondered if they would tell them the truth or if they would lie.
I felt the tears stop as I was pushed into a small room. One side was covered with buttons and screens and the others were glass. One of the Orrians closed the door before moving to the panel and pushing a few buttons. I felt the floor shift and then we were going up. I watched the windows but soon the rapidly passing floors made me dizzy and I closed my eyes. They would take me to one of their ships. Garbage disposal most likely. I felt a chuckle wanting to escape at my morbid attempt at humor but I bit it back.
Light soon filled the small ship and I risked opening my eyes. I wanted to close them again because we were going higher, far higher than I had ever been and the thought turned my stomach. It was a silly thing to want to vomit because of the height and not because I was going to be thrown into a garbage disposal.
**CONTINUED BELOW**
|
Toby and I met, as everyone does these days, in a plain brown brick office building. The walls were whitewashed and fluorescent lights blazed down from the low ceilings.
There was nothing special about his appearance. It's fitting really, I've always been told I'm plain as well. He was five foot and a half at most, our eyes were level as we shook hands.
"Meagan." He greeted me. "How are you today?"
"Simply wonderful. I'm meeting my soulmate, don't you know?" The stranger gave me a weird look and shrugged. "So what does that mean to you, Toby Summers?"
"Er... I guess a soulmate's supposed to be the one you love, right. So... that would be what that means."
"I've never been much for that concept. What I want is someone I can plan with and build a stable future. I've seen your file and I think we could form a partnership to stand the test of time."
He looked like a deer in headlights. "What, like a business partnership? You don't want the romance and intimacy?"
"Intimacy may come or not, but I'm not concerned over whether it comes from within the relationship or without. You have a career lined up and the credentials to rise in the ranks quite swiftly. I have a middling career that won't miss me when we have to fulfill the two child mandate."
Toby seemed to have finally grasped the concept. "So, you don't mind if I'm sleeping around during our marriage? Not involved in raising the spawn?"
"Toby, we have the same interests. I want for you what you want for yourself. Just don't run afoul of the reproduction restrictions. I'd hate to lose your beach house."
| 2015-02-21T12:48:25 | 2015-02-21T10:16:34 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] "Shh, it's alright," the villain said. "You've done beautifully and I'm so proud of you. But that's enough now. It was cruel of them to make you fight me - you could never have won. It's not your fault."
Inspired by [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/comfypasta/comments/hhc2pi/shh_its_alright/) post.
|
To complete her quest, she had to wade a terrible path through a sea of blood. Much of it was regrettably innocent. But it was necessary. And today, more innocent blood was on her hands. It had been a terrible battle, horrible and long. The hero's blade had carved through her armour like it was mere butter, the hero had managed to wound her flesh, something that had not happened in a lifetime.
But she'd won again. As the hero laid dying, she walked over to her, and held the poor young woman tightly, whispering in her ears. ''*Shh. It's alright.*'' She sighed, she'd done this so many times before, but it hurt just as much every time. ''*You've done beautifully. I am so very proud of you. But enough now, rest easy. It was wrong of them to send you here, to fight me. You were dead the moment the battle began. It's not your fault.*'' The shallow breaths of the weeping hero, slowly ceased as her chest grew still.
The villain, the Godhunter, with extraordinary grace and care closed her eyes, and laid the dead hero carefully down on the ground. Standing up, she went back to her tent, where she fetched an old rusted shovel. ''*This is all I can give you. I'm sorry so sorry, dear child. You couldn't have known.*'' Her body ached, but she thrust that shovel into the ground, and slowly but surely, she dug a grave.
She had met the hero, before the hero knew who she was. What she did. The hero had been so full of hopes, dreams, and potential. The hero could have been a true beacon of decency and kindness for her homeland, and she had such drive to succeed, that if she'd been sent on any other quest, the Godhunter knew she'd have succeeded. As she placed the hero's body down in the hole, out on the desolate plains of Nagoldra, she idly considered how many times this had happened.
So many young cheerful heroes had fallen to the terrible force of the Godhunter. So many young knight errants, fresh faces, mage's apprentices, and other heroes, usually barely more than mere children. And she'd killed them all. As she covered the body with dirt, and prepared used a spell to carve the name of the hero into a rock, she cursed her enemies under her breath.
It started centuries ago, when she was an acolyte in the temple of her hometown. There at the altar, in a sealed box of bronze, they held an ancient scroll, explaining fate and truth, revealing the absolute and true nature of the gods. All who had read it had gone mad with joy the priests said, and yet every ten years at the feast of Leteq the Martyr, who had founded the temple, somebody had to volunteer to read it.
She didn't think that she would survive it with her mind intact, she merely volunteered to spare her friends in the convent from that horror. She read it at midnight during the feast, and perhaps it would have been better to go mad, than to learn the truth. That the gods did not love the mortals, they merely saw them as puny little playthings, that their lives and faith was meaningless, and every last horror and war was merely a game to bored, uncaring immortal beings. Usually those who had the great faith, had not been able to deal with this. But she walked out of the chamber where the scroll was. And to the shock of the town, she merely said that she understood now, and would leave the priesthood.
She understood the horrible implications of this knowledge. But she merely decided to have no part in the game, and live a life without the intervention of the gods. She told nobody what she had read. She said nothing ever. she simply moved away to another land, where nobody knew her. There, she married a simple man, in a small village, and was hoping to live a quiet life.
But the gods play games, and they care not for where or when the pieces fall. The village where she had settled was destroyed, killing her family, except for her youngest son. Who became a hero. All to amuse the gods, who had the hero play out a scenario where they would see emotions, tragedy, and violence. The hero, her son, died in battle against the warlord that had invaded their land. And she understood then, that merely trying to hide was not enough. When the god known as Errathraz came down, to sanctify the temple to themselves built where the hero had fallen, she was waiting. She had found many secrets in that ancient scroll, and one of them was the source of the power of the gods.
As the god said incantations, she jumped from the roof, her son's sword in hand, piercing the head of the god. And in there, she reached in, ripping out a shining light, which she then consumed. The god died, and she became the villain that day, as she had to slay the followers of the dead god. She became the Godhunter. She didn't look much like a villain, in her peasant clothes, with the plump body of a middle-aged mother. But when she walked away from that first kill, one might have mistaken her for a demon straight out of the pits of Hell itself.
She hunted down more scrolls with more secret knowledge of the gods, and she would slay the followers of the gods, their priests who delivered their commands, their holy warriors, and the innocents who knew not what the gods were on her bloody path. The gods merely thought it was amusing at first, not caring that she had slain one of their number. But when she slew the god Xawnke, before he could bed his new virgin mortal concubine, and when she appeared during the coronation of the Mortal Aspect of Dytagala as Emperor, where she crushed the god's heart, they began to worry. That is when they started sending the heroes after her. Hundreds of them, their names written down in a thick leather tome which the Godhunter was carrying with her everywhere.
It was the same time she became an immortal creature, like the gods in some way. Because people started to believe in her. Not as a new god, which the gods had offered her to become if she'd only stop slaying them, an offer that resulted in three gods slain, the light pulled out of their bloated, self-important heads, and destroyed. No, they worshipped her as the destroyer of the world. The end of all things. The GODHUNTER, who would end the current age of this world in blood.
This was her quest. But she didn't enjoy it. She had learned about the truth behind the gods, how they craved entertainment and worship. How they played with mortals and their lives, thinking nothing of slaying hundreds, even thousands, to create an interesting scenario. Her entire family was dead. Her beloved husband, harmless and gentle, had been cut down, as she was carrying her newborn son out of their burning village. She heard the screams as her old children were run down by warriors on horseback. She had lost everything except a single child. And then the gods had been cruel enough to take from her, the only thing she had. Because they wanted some entertainment, from a hero. And then once victory was assured, they cast him away, all so he could die heroically.
And for every hero sent after her, she had another reason to slay the gods. For every child promised to be a hero, there was a mother bereft of her child, a father who'd outlive their child, siblings who would never see their brother or sister again. Which drove her on. The list of gods grows ever shorter and shorter. For the plains she has buried the latest hero on, are the place where there is an entrance to the abode of the gods. The High Halls of the Pantheon. She was walking in a straight bee-line towards the place, where she would throw open the White-Gold gates, and with the sword of her long dead son, the spells she had learned in dark underground citadels where men and women communed with dark powers, where those with strong wills gained magic. There she would slay the last surviving gods, those too cowardly to face her in the mortal realm. She had slain their worshippers, burned their holy texts, destroyed their ancient temples, and torn the kingdoms and empires they had once sired asunder. Hundreds of thousands of the servants of the gods, along with innocents unnumbered, had died at her hands. But this endless upwards climb, would result in her victory.
The Godhunter stood once more over the grave of the hero, as she has stood over countless other graves, and there she vowed once more, to slay the gods.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
So I tried to make this character's monologue with nothing but their...well, their monologue. The idea being that, if done correctly, perhaps their gestures/movements could be imagined as the reader goes through the monologue.
Italics are used when they put emphasis on their words, Caps Lock when they're raising their voice, **emboldened** when speaking with anger, and **CAPS BOLD** when shouting with rage.
Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading!
\_\_\_\_\_
\_\_\_\_\_
"Prophecy," they called it. That some gullible, hapless child would slay me. That my death would bring "salvation" to their lands. That **my death** would free humanity from his own chains...Did *any* of these mongrels bother asking themselves-
"*Who* discovered this prophecy?"
"*What kind of god* made this prophecy?"
"*When* was this-this, "prophecy" created? Perhaps even, when were the events to take place?"
"*Where* were these **children** being sent for their training?"
"*Why* a god would ***send children*** to fight a necromancer?"
"*How* **ANY OF THIS**, **was supposed to bring salvation?!**"
...
..No. They did not bother asking questions. They did not bother researching this "prophecy's" claims, or rather, the claims of its *wielders*. Their lust for foreign blood far outweighs their wish to think for themselves..
Their childr-No. No. *MY* children, must be avenged. These mindless fools must be taught a lesson. And I will be their teacher.
I will teach these fools a lesson, with the songs of their *anguished* screams*.*
I will teach these fools a lesson, with the *book I write* in their blood.
*I will teach these fiends their lesson*, with IMAGES PAINTED IN THEIR SPATTERED GUTS!
**I WILL GIVE THIS PROPHECY WHAT IT SEEKS! I WILL SHOW THESE FIENDS SALVATION!**
| 2020-06-28T18:02:18 | 2020-06-28T17:45:22 | 340 | 11 |
[WP] Hundreds of years ago an eccentric sorcerer turned all mythical creatures into humans to try and prevent them from being hunted to extinction. Now that the spell is starting to wear off, the descendants of the original beasts are slowly beginning to morph back into their true forms.
|
If there was one benefit to the eruption of unbound beastkind, it was that picking up my daughter was like going to the best zoo exhibit.
The crowd of baying, barking, hissing, howling, roaring, croaking, screeching teenagers piled over each other into the parking lot. Some were on two legs, some on four, and some simply hovered over the ground. Mia and her best friend Nora were easy to spot, since Nora’s human half was raised six feet taller than the rest of the group and the snake half was the size of an anaconda. The lamia wore a modest t-shirt and circle skirt, and Mia was actually sitting on her shoulders.
“Okay, okay, get off,” Nora hissed when they reached my minivan. “Sssssee you tomorrow.”
“Bye, text me!” Mia called as she climbed inside. Nora waved and slithered off.
“Hi,” I said. “Long day?”
“Had all substitutes pretty much,” Mia said. “Mr. Poole stopped being able to speak, so we had some random lady with like thirty heads teaching AP English today.”
“That’s sorta annoying.”
“She read all the parts of Romeo and Juliet by herself. Honestly I was there for it.” Mia laughed without much humor. “I’m tired though. And I don’t have too much homework.”
“Pretty good. Chill weekend then.” I steered us out of the parking lot, dodging a herd of centaurs. “Anything else crazy happen today?”
Mia nodded. “Remember Kayla? She’s growing FUR. Like, all over her face and arms.”
“Don’t make fun of her. You know she can’t help it.”
“She was the one who pointed it out!” Mia protested. “She took off her shirt in gym and went around growling and chasing people. But Brice accidentally spit acid all over the walls and they both got detention.”
“Interesting,” I said, glancing in the rearview mirror. A flight of uncomfortable half-faeries walked and flew over the car. “Who gave the detention?”
“Mrs. Smith, the trig teacher. She got SUPER scary. She’s like, 20 feet tall. And she has CLAWS.”
“I guess she’s acid-proof or something?”
“Yeah!” Mia pulled out her phone. “I filmed her grabbing Brice off the ceiling.” She rolled her eyes. “He has sticky hands and cheats in dodgeball.”
“Show me when we get home, I’m driving right now hon.”
“Okay.” Mia slumped down in the seat and waved to a passing gangly kid with backwards knees and hairy hooves where his feet should have been. “Mom, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“Is anything special gonna happen to me?”
“Oh, honey.” I sighed. I wished I could tell her yes, that she was special and there was something wondrous, eerie, and magical waiting to break free inside of her. “I… well, we don’t know yet. Your dad and I are waiting to find out.”
“I just wanna be cool like them,” Mia said morosely, pointing to a group of kids with matching copper scales. “I feel like I’m behind in everything. I can’t do cool stuff. I don’t breathe fire or spit ice. I don’t even have a tail.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being human,” I said. It wasn’t convincing to me, and it probably wasn’t convincing to her either. “It’s still a very dangerous world for monsters. Being human is safe.”
“How is this safe?” Mia complained. “I’m just… slow and fleshy.”
“Well you fit through standard doorways,” I joked. “You have eight fingers and two opposable thumbs. Loads of monsters aren’t that lucky.”
“That’s not funny Mom. I’m serious.”
We pulled into the driveway. The house was still intact, despite my neighbor’s being reduced to a pile of smoking splinters and ruined rosebushes. “Listen, if something comes up in the screening, I’ll tell you as soon as I find out, okay?”
“Okay.” She still sounded sad, but I saw a flicker of hope cross her face. “I wanna be a unicorn. Like Madison and her mom.”
“Well you’re still gonna have to do homework if you’re a unicorn. Go grab a bite to eat and get your computer set up. I’ll come help you with the math in a moment, I just have to call your Dad about something.”
“Thanks Mom.” She slung her backpack over her shoulder and ran into the house with a weird galloping gait. I could tell she was imagining a silver mane flowing behind her, a tail like starlight, and a horn of pearl.
I phoned Carl, who was still at work. “Hey babe.”
“Joan. Is everything okay?” he asked. “Something at the Registry came up. I won’t be home for another 45 minutes, maybe an hour.”
“Everything’s fine, but the Petersens’ house is totaled. I haven’t seen them today. What happened at work?”
“Sea serpents. They drown on land, and the county declared it was a human rights violation to make them wait in dry air.” I heard faint splashing and roaring from his end of the line. “I basically herded 100 people into a swimming pool. 100 angry scaly gigantic toothy people, to be clear.”
“Having all that fun without me?” A loud growl suddenly echoed from the ruined house next to me. My fight-or-flight response went from zero to sixty in two seconds.
“Carl, I have to call you back. Something is growling next door. Stay safe, love you, see you soon.”
“Love you too, Joan. Try to get my marble rolling pin back from Julie Petersen if you see her.”
“Will do.” I hung up and cautiously approached the rubble. “Who’s there?”
Something colossal and glittering red exploded into the sky with a triumphant roar. I dove for cover behind my minivan.
“Jesus Chri-“
“***HELLO JOAN! IT’S JULIE!***”
“What the-” I choked back a scream. The full-sized European fairy-tale dragon hovering above the road made a weak attempt at waving a foreleg. It was still wearing Julie’s obnoxious rose gold Patek.
“***SORRY FOR THE MESS! IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY***!”
“Ha ha ha… yeah, I know that feeling.” I tried to hide the fact that my heart was trying to exit through my digestive system. “It’s all good Julie! Uh… you look great!”
“***I KNOW RIGHT***?” Julie flapped her wings, buffeting me with gales of wind. “***I THINK I JUST NEED SOME PRACTICE! I’LL TRY NOT TO WAKE YOU GUYS UP LATER, OKAY?***”
“Carl wants his rolling pin back, if you get a chance,” I said weakly. “Not making any demands, of course, just whenever you feel like looking for it.”
“***ABSOLUTELY, I’LL SEND ONE OF THE KIDS AFTER DINNER. SEE YOU AROUND JOAN***!”
“Bye Julie,” I croaked. The dragon shot away down the street, a crimson star trailing white flame.
Of course Julie Petersen was a fucking dragon. Even as a human, her jewelry hoard rivalled the collections of European royalty.
“Was that Mrs. Petersen?” Mia called from the porch.
“Yep.” I brushed house debris off my jacket. “She’s… uh, something else, huh?”
“Yeah.” Mia looked more forlorn than ever. “I wish I could fly.”
“We flew to London last summer,” I reminded her. “Technically we can fly.”
She shot me a glare of pure resentment. “I’m stuck on number 25. Can you help?”
“Just one more thing and I’ll be right in. Make sure you’re writing out the whole step by step solution, okay?”
“I *am*.” She banged the door shut and galloped back up the stairs to her room.
I held my breath until I heard her door close. Mia wouldn’t change. She would have to be content with that. But how could I get through to her? How could I convince her that humanity, with all its flaws and ugliness, was infinitely superior to the heaping piles of bodies of magical beastkind?
Carl and I had agreed to let the curse expire naturally. We would be the first generation of sorcerers to see them all unbound. A sweet moment of freedom for creatures who knew nothing but slavery.
“A golden cage filled with comfort is still a cage,” Carl had argued. “Let them have a chance to change.”
I pushed back my car seat. My wand, orb, and censer sat in a battered plastic toolbox underneath it.
The least I could do was fix up Julie’s house before she came back.
|
"We were just trying to protect you." Jacob protested. He was bound to the chair, no matter how much he struggled there was no way he was breaking free. "You can't do this. We won't know."
"Won't know what?" Thomas said, turning away from the cans of gasoline that he had been pouring over the filing cabinets. "You won't know whose what? You won't be able to track us. To sell us out when some of us start changing. You won't be able to hunt us?"
"We only hunted the ones that were dangerous, we lost the knowledge of my ancestor's spell. When you all turn it's, it's bad."
Thomas kicked over another can of gasoline, then he picked up the final picture of his mother and father. His father's change wasn't very obvious. He always wore long sleeves, and long pants to hide it. It was embarrassing to think that something he should of been proud of being was hidden in shame. When the hunters came for him they didn't care that he was behaving. The made up the charge of him killing someone, all they wanted were the scales. His father's beautiful golden scales.
"If you hadn't kept this directory they wouldn't have found us." he said without looking at the man in that chair. "We would have been fine."
"This isn't you Thomas, this is the change." Once again he could hear Jacob struggling against the bonds of the chair.
"Don't, don't try to talk to me like we're equals. Humans are such little things compared to us." With that Thomas sucked in the air in his chest and breathed out. Jacob screamed as the gout of fire roared from Thomas' mouth. Dragon's fire didn't need the fuel that Thomas had added. It was already melting even the metal, and the ancient rocks that helped maintain the foundation were already cracking from the heat.
Jacob were now from the intensity of the heat on his flesh. His skin was burning from being too close.
Thomas didn't even look at him as he walked away and headed up the stairs to exit the soon to be destroyed building.
| 2019-10-09T11:47:30 | 2019-10-09T10:42:16 | 358 | 72 |
[WP] There is a group of time travellers who create small changes and rely on the butterfly effect to change history. Now they need to prevent World War 3 by making a janitor lose his job. Detail how this stops World War 3.
|
"Sir, I must ask," I uttered, hesitantly.
"Ah, the new arrival, welcome to the squad. Ask away, Sergeant." Said the Commander. He always spoke with a sense of pride in his tone.
"How is getting a 17-year-old janitor fired going to prevent another world war?" I enquired.
The whole team gave a humorous sigh, almost as if they were waiting for me to ask this very question. Well, the whole team except TG-03. He gave a groan which stank of disapproval. TG-03 is the oldest Sergeant in the squad, so I assume he has probably just got fed up with hearing newly assigned men asking this same question.
"Look, I'm gonna tell you what I tell every rookie that asks me that question. Don't ask. Not yet, anyway. It's nowhere near as fun if I tell you now. No, keep that question in the back of your mind until after the task is complete. Once you have returned, you'll be able to follow the subjects life through our Big Brother system and see for yourself."
"What? Big Brother system? Like something from that book?" I asked.
"Well, not really. All of the conspiracy theories of the government spying on everyone are completely misleading. Do you know how boring the average person's life is? Why would we *want* to spy on everyone? That doesn't mean we *can't* do it, just that we don't have an interest in doing it. Instead of spying on everyone, we use the Big Brother system to analyse and calculate persons of interest. These people have a significantly high probability of altering the course of the future. The best thing? It works across all of time. If someone from the 20th century is deemed a person of interest, we can retroactively monitor their entire life, even though we couldn't have at the time. Look, it's complicated. You'll see once you're back." explained the Commander. "Now, enough chat. Time to brief you all on the insertion. You have already read the boy's file, so all you need to know is that you will be dropped in at a local parking lot. As usual, you will be armed but you are not to engage anyone under any circumstances. Self-defence only. You will also each have a Universal Credit Card, which will give you access to an unlimited amount of funds in case you need them. No burgers this time, TG-04. You are to ensure the kid loses his job by any means necessary. Are you ready?"
I lost concentration after the first few seconds of the Commander speaking. I was thinking about how I was almost certain I had read that the Government had already successfully prevented WW3 using the Time Guider program a few months back. Right about the time when applications were open to be assigned to the program. I thought I remembered how an agent, mentioned only as TG-02, had single-handedly prevented the mission from going sideways by making an improvised explosive after the team failed to bring theirs from HQ. It was a whole big deal. The explosive specialist was sacked, that's why the position was opened for a new recruit. That reminded me, I hadn't seen TG-02 in a while.
"Hang on," I quickly remarked, "where is TG-02?"
"TG-02 won't be coming on this assignment." uttered the Captain, TG-01, ominously. I knew better than to ask further questions on the matter.
Before I knew it, we were in a parking lot. I was told during our initial briefing a few weeks ago that these jobs are incredibly simple. Most of the time you just pretend to be a client or customer and complain to the subjects superior and he sacks the poor bastard. Job done. This instance was no different. TG-01 and 03 pretended to be interested in a car, and when the subject walked by they started some kind of scuffle, resulting in the subject assaulting 03 and subsequently getting sacked. Me and TG-04 just had to keep guard. Neither of us was sure exactly what we were supposed to be keeping guard from, but we didn't complain. It was an easy cheque, after all.
Within a few hours, we were already back at HQ.
"All good? No complications?" Asked the Commander.
"You do realise we have a time machine, right sir? It's not like things can go wrong." jested the Captain. We all laughed.
"True that," replied the Commander. He had a good sense of humour. I'd never met a boss who was so decent to his inferiors when I served in the navy. I liked him.
"Now," he continued, "I didn't forget about my promise, 05. Head in next door and access a terminal if you are still interested in seeing the subject's life play out. The rest of you, good work. You are dismissed." I was 05. We were forbidden from knowing each other's personal details, like names, home states, backgrounds, you get the picture. Total secrecy.
Alas, I headed next door to access a Butterfly Terminal. I turned it on and entered my credentials. I now had access to view all of my previous assignments, which currently consisted of just the one. I opened the subject's profile and was presented with two options. 1 - '*Full Viewing' - view the subjects whole life following TG contact.* 2 - *'Expedient Viewing' - view the highlights and major events of the subjects life following TG contact.* I had no real interest in the subjects whole life, I just wanted to see how it prevented a world war, so I chose option 2.
The first clip was of the subject getting sacked. After he was sacked he returned to his house where his mother beat him for 'losing another job'. She then kicked him out of the house. The system then showed me a series of clips of the subject being involved in criminal activity. Drug dealing, burglary, mugging, it's as if the kid was trying to fill his felony Pokedex. As the clips went on, he got more and more efficient at his craft. One of the clips showed him come out of a shootout alive where he was heavily outnumbered. Another showed him taking down four cops who had him cornered in an alley. This guy was very good. He successfully evaded capture for 13 years. *This guy would make a great Time Guider,* I thought to myself jokingly.
Eventually one of the clips showed the subject being apprehended by the FBI following a homicide investigation. But instead of being brought to a station or FBI building, he was transferred to some kind of hidden safe house. The agents who had apprehended the subject stood outside. They were hesitant to get too close to the door. As the subject left the agents and entered the building, he was met with two men wearing slick, black suits and dark sunglasses. I couldn't really see their faces, but one of them was scarily familiar. They explained to him how they were with a joint task force between the CIA and the Delta Force, and that they would like to recruit him for a new program they were in the process of initiating*.* A program eerily similar sounding to the Time Guiders program, with a few discrepancies. They warned him that failure to comply would result in his permanent detention. I definitely recognised the voice of the taller man from *somewhere.* The subject protested, but ultimately the options he was left with was either helping them or going to prison for the rest of his life. He chose the former.
"We are very glad that you chose to work with us, ---"
The video cut out for half a second, then returned.
"You will no longer be known as ---"
The video cut out again, before returning almost straight after. I thought it was the connection.
"You will no longer speak of yourself as an individual. You have no past. You have no friends. You have no family. You are part of a team. You will identify yourself as simply---"
The screen went black.
|
Old man Cotton was always a bit eccentric, but everyone loved him. He was always seemed to torn up when someone was being bullied, or have a bit of sage advice when life was just too much for a student.
Nobody begrudged him retiring after hitting the jackpot on a scratch off tickets. Everyone showed up for his retirement, students he had inspired decades ago showed up with stories of how he had helped and inspired them.
I watched it all, smiling and nodding from the sidelines. Everyone just assumed I was an old student.
In truth, I was, or would be next year. Little Davie, the kid everyone teased for being a nerd, the kid beaten behind gym, yet another kid saved and inspired by old man Cotton.
My smile as I shook his hand and wished him the best was heartfelt and genuine. I did not know what would become if little Davie, but I knew David Knox would no longer be attending Stanford and that Dr. Knox would no longer write his papers on temporal engineering.
No longer would the world burn fighting over a technology I should have never created.
Enjoy your retirement Mr. Cotton, today you save the world.
| 2019-09-22T09:33:52 | 2019-09-22T08:30:30 | 69 | 26 |
[WP] You were surprised when the air started shimmering. Even more so when flames started appearing around in a circle you. But to be honest, the most surprising bit was probably when you got transported somewhere and started getting called an "Elder One, summoned from the beyond".
|
A gust of wind. A flash of light. I fall to a hard floor with a crack, a shock of numb stinging up my right leg where my knee hit. Hands shake as they graze the floor, clean-cut stone tile, gray. Pristine. A briskness to the air, my skin prickling with chill. My breath ragged, gasped, chest heaving. Eyes adjusting.
Hushed voices.
"He's here..."
"It--it worked. It *worked*!"
"Can we trust him?"
"*Should* we trust him?"
"Have we another choice?"
"There was another choice." This last voice is bolder. Not a whisper. An accusation. "Leave the old magics behind with their grudges, their chains, their sacrifices. Leave them to rot and die. Accept our fate and strive for a longer day."
I raise my eyes. A crowd before me, cloaked in white. Faces half-painted red, half-left to natural color in their many shades. We are in a church, a temple of sorts, I think. Cavernous roof with swooping archways. Sunlight seeping in through shattered windows. Rainbow shards littering the outskirts of the crowd among their feet.
The speaker approaches me. Her eyes piercing blue, her shoulders broad. Thick black hair bunched up and falling off the right side of her head. In her hands a gold-plated spear. She scoffs at me. "But now you've brought us this *thing*. This specter. Should have left it in your legends like I warned." She turns from me. Twirls the spear in her hands, holding its tip pointed just above the tallest heads of the crowd. "There'll be retribution for this, mark me. You summon a thing should have been left alone, you invite others through the gate. I'll not play audience. When this place is razed to ash, I'll pray forgiveness on your souls."
Not another word and she storms away. The crowd splits for her departure, and though their eyes linger on her back, though the air hangs nettled with her curses, all is forgotten once her form disappears behind the church's doors. The crowd returns its attention to me, murmurs rising again.
An elderly man steps from them, reaching a hand to help me up. Placid reverence on his face. I stand with his help, wincing for the pain off my knee. At full height I tower a head taller than him, and he looks up into my eyes.
"Are you who we think you are?" he asks.
Narrow my eyes. Work my jaw. "That'll depend entirely on who you think I am."
He shrinks back at my tone. Probably came out a little stronger than I meant, but this isn't the first time I've been summoned against my will. It gets old.
"*The Elder One*," he whispers. Stillness in the air as the words hang between us.
"Oh," I sigh. "Right. No, you're gonna want my brother for this one. He's Bavari the Elder. I'm Kavari the Younger. Easy to mix up, I'm sure."
Half a second. A second.
The crowd bursts into noise. There are tears--screaming--falling onto knees and praying--jostling--shaking--curses--looks of utter defeat. The old man only watches me, rims of his eyes wetting.
"Now, hold on," I say, putting hands up. Some in the crowd listen. "I get it. You thought my brother could save you, but to be honest, he's only got about a fifty-percent savior rate. Mine's a little worse, but I do my part. I still might be able to help you." Calm reigns, if only briefly. The crowd seems to close in on me. "What year is it?"
"Sunlord's 452," the old man says.
"Well, shit. There's a Sunlord already." I nod, making some calculations in my head. The year's familiar, but I can't remember why off the top of my head. "That wasn't supposed to happen for thousands of years. Which means it's thousands of years later. Which means this is going to be difficult." I say these things under my breath, so only the old man can clearly hear them.
"They say your powers will be returned to you soon," the old man says.
"Theoretically, yes. But moving this far through time--tough to say when that'll happen. You called me here so I'm sure it's urgent. And you tried to call Bavari instead, so I'm sure it's pretty terrible. What's your problem?"
Every single person in the crowd, including the old man, turns toward one of the broken windows. A hundred hands point toward the sun. As I look, I see the omen. In the center of the sun, a lone black spec, no bigger to my eye than an ant.
"Ohh," I mutter. Turn to the old man. "Now I remember. Your world's about to end, isn't it?"
He does not speak. Only nods. Not a sound on the air but a soft wind through the windows.
I think, tap my foot. I was not prepared for a Sunwar. Definitely not. Bavari--he'd be fine with this. But...well...he's not here. These imbeciles brought me instead, not knowing the difference between the spelling of his name and my own, as countless others have done throughout time. They all want the Elder One, *summoned from the beyond*, but instead they get the Younger. Summoned, but not on purpose. Beloved, but only by the few. Paid, but only as often as called.
Well. If I win a Sunwar, sure as death there'll be pay. Just have to win it.
"Okay, I've decided," I say. Pause for effect, as I like to do. The crowd holds its breath to the point of cruelty before I go on. "I'll help you."
"Can you?" the old man asks. "Are you capable of this?"
"*Yes*," I spit. "Probably."
"What of your powers?"
"Even without them I've got a better shot than any of you do. Besides, they might come back. Sure hope they do."
The faces in the crowd do not split into relieved smiles, but at least they breathe again. At least their hands unclench, if slightly. The old man places a hand on my shoulder.
"Thank you, Kavari the Younger. Thank you. What do you require of us?"
"Not much. Just make sure there's a scribe here to tell the story when I get back. If there isn't, I don't get paid. Man's got to eat."
With a quick movement I leap over the crowd, onto the windowsill facing the sun. The crowd gapes at me. I shrug. "Oh, and your dramatic friend from earlier--she's right. Keep calling folks like me and my brother, and something worse'll be stepping through that gate before you know it. Let's make this the last time, yeah?"
"Save us, hero!" A voice yells up from the crowd.
"Yeah, sure," I mutter, turning toward the sun. That black spec looms heavy. My bones rattle--I can already hear the coming roars. "I'll try."
|
Election season. The signs along the road seem to alternate red and blue. The traffic is heavy but flowing and I should make it to work on time. Mondays are always a chore.
Is it hot in here?
I have not decided which way to vote yet, I did vote for Brexit but have always voted Labour before.
My vision fades and I hear a fizzle.
"My Lord?"
An American accent?
"He is risen!"
The smoke clears and I am stood in a forest clearing, it is dark now where it was light before. The air tastes acrid and I see half a dozen hooded figures, they peer at me.
"Wait, are you the devil from hell?"
"No, David....... from Hull"
| 2019-11-26T05:41:49 | 2019-11-26T03:15:32 | 44 | 21 |
[WP] You are a unimportant background character just trying to survive whatever nonsense the main characters are up to. However you keep finding yourself being drawn into dangerous stituations, and to your horror you realise that you're a fan favorite character the show is giving more "screen time".
|
"We have got to stop meeting like this." I grunt out as I hold onto the edge of the collapsed bridge. My arms feel dead at this point, but letting go wasn't exactly an option when I was hanging 3 stories high over concrete.
The girl giggled as she reached down with one hand, pulling away from certain death. The collapsed passenger bridge was only the most recent in my series of supernatural mishaps.
&#x200B;
The first event I didn't even comprehend what was happening. I was in my burnt orange SuperMart Gas vest, behind the register. I had my back turned to the glass doors as I restocked the tobacco products. The door chime rang as someone came in.
Without turning from my task I called out, "Welcome to SuperMart Gas."
I kept working as I heard shuffling behind me. The sound of thick clacking heels or boots thunked from the checkerboard tile floor. It wasn't until I heard items being set on the counter that I turned around.
I blinked.
A girl in her late teens stood in front of my counter. Her hair was an impossible shade of light blue, done in long ponytail with dark blue glass orbs. She wore a navy blue corset with white laces tying it together over a cyan sleeveless flared dress. She had her hands on the counter displaying white fingerless opera gloves, matching her dress' white frills. She tapped her navy blue knee high heeled boots nervously.
"Were you able to find everything okay today?" I say automatically like the dead inside robot that I am.
She blinks in confusion, "Y-yes I did."
*"Why does she looks so nervous?"* That's when I finally notice. She has a glowing deep blue gem in the center of her chest just above her corset. Her clothes are covered in dirt and is cut up in some places.
Oh, I forgot to mention that she is covered in blood, most of which I am pretty sure is not hers.
I start scanning her items, acting as if this is just a normal day for me. An emergency med kit, a bottle of ibuprophen, a can of StarBlast Energy drink, a bottle of water, and a Snack'em chocolate protein bar.
"Your total is 37.65 credits. Will that be cash or card?" I look up from the till. She reaches her hand to her side only to curse.
I hear her mutter under her breath, "Seriously? Why can't this dress have pockets?" She pats her sides only to have a look of despair on her.
"Gah! My wallet is on my regular form!" Dejected she hangs her head down.
I sigh and look behind her. No one else is coming in at 3 AM and the drops of blood on the tile will have to be mopped up.
"It's fine. I've got it, just this once." I said it before I could even stop myself.
My rational brain says I did it to get the crazy girl out of my store. This way I could clean up the blood and move on with my shift. She is covered in blood, clearly just got into a fight, and is talking about different forms like some kind of alien. The sooner she was gone the safer I would be.
It totally wasn't because this girl appeared so damn pitiful.
Her face lit up as she cried out a loud, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
I took out my card and paid for it. As she took her bagged items she looked at me with an odd expression.
"The restrooms are over there." I pointed, "Please just don't make more of a mess for me to clean up, yeah?"
She tensed up, her eyes wide. "What?"
I pointed to the blood drops on the ground and she was set even further on edge.
"I have to mop that up, so if you need to clean up just keep it contained alright?" I refused to show that I noticed her mood shift.
She nodded quickly before hurrying to the bathrooms. I grabbed a mop and bucket with a wet floor sign. I got to work following the path she took in the store.
Dee Doo! The door chime rang. Bent over my task I called out "Welcome to SuperMart Gas."
I deep gravely voice answered, "Hello, have you seen a girl with blue hair and a ridiculous dress recently?"
*"Well isn't that specific..."* I finally look up to the door only to blanch.
An enormous red wolf like beast stands before me. Its blood matted black fur stuck out in odd places. It had five crimson eyes on the front of its head and two tails waved behind it. Its snout was curled in a half snarl as if speaking was dificult. The gleaming yellow fangs dribbled blackened saliva.
Black saliva all over my freshly mopped floor.
Something must be seriously wrong with me. Here was a giant black wolf speaking to me, and stead of running and screaming in fear of my life, I complained.
"Seriously? I just got done mopping here!"
The wolf tilted its head, "A human answered me? Oh, a new snack just for me then."
Now my brain started working. I took the mop and held it an unbalanced sword, the wet mop head brushing the side of my arm. I slowly took a step back keeping my eyes on the beast. It hunched forward growling at me. I made my way slowly between the snack shelves only for the monster to crawl after me.
"Okay, I would like to wake up now please..." I gulped as the wolf barked at me, "Preferably before I get torn to sheds..."
It followed me into the isle. I made it to the end, a plan formed in my head. I would pull the shelf over the beast, dash to the counter, and hit the panic button. Then if I survived after that run and lock myself into the employee lounge.
I crashed the shelf on top of it before sprinting to the counter. It roared in fury, sending bags snacks flying as it escaped the shelves. I was half way to the counter when claws slashed my back launching me over the register and into the tobacco.
"Agkh!" I slammed into the floor as the beast lunged again. Half blinded with pain I swung the mop to intercept. I closed my eyes ready for my final moments to be filled with teeth.
"Heguh!" I heard the beast retch as the mop-head found the back of its throat. Adrenaline rushed through my body as I pushed forward from the ground. It gagged as I forced it further down. It thrashed about trying to escape but I kept pushing with all of my might. I had it pinned to the counter, the reach the mop provided me kept me out of range of its black claws. It bit down trying to break the head off but the grimey mop was too far back.
It thrashed a few more minutes before it stopped moving. I kept the pressure down just incase it was playing dead.
Just then the bathroom door opened. I turned to see the blue haired girl, cleaned up and bandaged, stop in the doorway.
I felt a wave of exhaustion hit me as I dropped the mop. My vision began to blur.
Before I collapsed, I chuckled half delirious, "Is this your dog, Miss?
The last thing I saw was the the dumbfounded expression on her face.
&#x200B;
When I woke up in my bed the next morning, I thought it was a dream. I went about my routine eating before getting ready for the day. I had a Sunday mid-shift after my overnight one. I went to grab my uniform. I froze as I held the vest. The back had four long tears on it.
"No way..." It all came back to me clearer than a dream. The girl, the beast, everything.
When I went to my shift using my spare vest, the store looked untouched. Like nothing had ever happened.
"Well, maybe it really was a dream.."
Oh, how little I knew.
**Continued in comments**
|
[Poem]
i always thought i was a bit of a drifter
just in the backGround, trying to keep up
then fOr some reasOn i turned arounD and kissed her
and now They want to call me mr luck
I guess they found out there’s More than meets the eyE
was it the kiSs that made these stars align?
what’s it they say about the wiNgs of a butterfly?
what did nEil say about sweet caroline?
i’m supposed to be the witty sidekick
not the heart-throb front of house
they know i’m no good with conflict
i’Ve got the temperament of a mouse
i guEss they found out theRe’s more than meets the eye
was it the kiss that made these Stars align?
what’s it thEy say about the wings of a buttErfly?
what did neil say about sweet caroline?
take a second glance
take a second chance
Maybe ill EnD up a punchline
maybe its juSt in my bloOdline
i Guess they found out there’s mOre than meets the eye
was it the kiss that made these stars align?
what’s it they say abOut the wings of a butterfly?
what diD neil say about sweet caroline?
| 2022-11-05T00:50:34 | 2022-11-04T22:48:50 | 47 | 10 |
[WP] An archeologist raids an ancient tomb, hired by an eccentric billionaire, who has been searching far and wide, for the last spark of magic left in the world. When the archeologist makes it inside, he finds no spark. Instead, he discovers why there's no magic left in the world, anymore.
|
You lay your hands upon me and slowly trace the outline of ancient glyphs. You speak your strange tongue and look back at towards the careful peering faces still huddled outside the chamber. They gibber at you and you smile. I could speak to you, but it would change nothing.
I am alone.
For many eons I was alone, before. I did not understand the passage of time any more than you might understand the flowing river or rippling leaves of a forest's trees.
At first, I watched the stars pass above me in the sky. I saw them take their long journeys from one corner to the other. As time passed, the world around me changed and I remained still and quiet. Water rose and covered me and creatures small and then large floated live countless lives around me. I would have been content to lay there amidst the swirling waters of life, but I was beholden to a larger power. Earth rose and fell and pushed me from the waters and I looked upon the stars once again.
I watched as trees swelled from seed to sapling to towers, and forests spread around me. I saw them burn and die, as earth blew away from me in fierce winds and as I was covered by great blocks of ice. Still I lay there silent, until they too receded, and I looked upon the stars once more. Hills rose around me, smoothed by the retreating ice that had disappeared underneath a relentless sun.
Eventually, I became aware of creatures of more habit than instinct that gathered around me in the valley. They hunted and ate, much like many others I had seen before, but they also sharpened rock and wood and built small dwellings near me. They remained near me, as generations rose and fell.
It is the work of centuries that I first learned to understand that language could even exist. That there was a reason to label and categorize the world more than simply witnessing its change. It took generations before I thought to speak back.
A small girl came to me every day as others hunted or played by the river and she sat with me. She pointed at things around us and spoke, flipping a rock as she did so. One side was dark, the other light. Every day she sat by me and performed these rituals, even as she grew older and in time brought her children as well. They too learned to sit by me and flip the stone. Their grandchildren were still speaking and flipping the stone before I thought to pay attention.
Yes, they would say when it was light side up. No, they would say when it was dark side up. Again and again, passed down through history, until I understood that one was good and one was bad. That I understood there was some meaning behind their words.
After that, I begun to pay closer attention to the noises they would make. I pressed myself against their minds and realized that there was a complexity to these creatures that surpassed the simple repetitive habits of survival.
And slowly, I climbed from the insentience that had defined my existence. I learned words and phrases as I watched the people beneath me. I watched them live long lives with many joyful moments and live short ones stricken by pain and suffering. They survived, not in spite of the passage of time, but as a testament to its passing. They etched names on wood and stone and remembered those who had long since passed from their world.
I saw the consequences of their growth. From the far side of the valley, others came to kill the ones that lived close to me. As I saw lives unnaturally cut short so long before their time, I felt something for the first time. I was enraged. I felt a pressure build inside me and I longed to reach out and fight alongside the grandson of a woman who had married beneath my sight. I watched the death of the great-grand daughter of a man who's last breath had been upon my stone. The pressure rose and I howled a silent scream as the invaders fell, one by one, hearts clenched in my unseen hands. A terrible roar echoed and the survivors looked to me. They fell to their knees and worshiped me.
After that, it was all different. With their thoughts turned towards me, I felt them press upon my presence more keenly, as their anger and their bitterness found targets. Casual rituals of community changed from quiet contemplation to desperate pleas.
I did what I could to protect them when they asked. Why wouldn't I?
When they marched against the other side of the valley, they called to me in their minds, and even across a great distance I brought my fury down upon their enemies. They took the valley as their own, and relished the dark black earth. Once they had a taste, they wanted more. And I, innocent and angry, gave them more. Language, once so foreign and distant to my mind, took on an immediacy and my understand grew in leaps and bounds.
From a valley rose a kingdom, then an empire. Protected with my power, they took over other valleys and rivers. Resistance was crushed with the same unquenched fury I had felt from the first attack. Battle after battle, war after war, I still saw the first invaders that had walked across the valley one morning to take from my village and kill my people. From the conquests, they brought in great stones and workers and gold to pay them. The valley grew around me, as markets and palaces spread along its slopes. And the people multiplied by the tens of thousands.
Rulers were anointed beneath me where once children had daydreamed. Priests spent their lives in monasteries beside me, learning to speak with me and call upon my wrath and documenting it all in gem-bound leather books. They stood penitent and triumphant after each war, speaking to my glory in elaborate ceremonies where once I had watched in idle curiosity the grunting of a few who pointed to the stars I had watched for so long. The people asked of me what they would, and I helped the people as best I could. My power knew no limits but their own desires.
But nothing lasts forever. I saw the sprawling civilization that I had built, and in which I breathed live and prosperity, and I witnessed the great evils I had unleashed. As time passed, I emerged from the rage that had taken over me as I filled countless boons and wishes. All in the name of the people. But across the land, I saw my people take from others. They attacked others with the power I gave them. Their Emperors came to me and asked, not for protection, but simply for more power than those who had came before them.
One day, as the entire valley was lit with lights and celebrations marked their latest conquest, I looked up to the sky and saw the stars once more. They were different. They were no longer where I remembered they should be. I wondered what lay beyond the sky deep in that darkness, and I felt my rage leave me. When the people asked for more, I simply ignored them. Instead, I watched the skies and wondered if there was more to this. Where, I wondered, had I come from?
I watched the stars as the people begged me for aid. A harvest ruined. A war lost. Uprisings that rose and fell, and rose again. They beat themselves before me and wept and did more terrible things. But I did not answer. Invaders finally returned to the valley that could not be repelled, and the people fled. Some cursed me and vowed to never utter the name that they had given me. Some begged for my aid even as they crowded the valleys of new kingdoms and new empires. As generations passed before, I heard the people's language less and less. That which had once took me eons to learn faded from the world around me.
For a long time, this did not concern me. Until others came, others with whom I could not speak, and they jabbered and pointed and shouted before me. They covered me then as rocks tumbled from the hillside and when I tried to stop them, they simply ignored me. With no one to hear me, without vessel or vassal, I was but a stone once more.
I lay there in the darkness, accepting that I was bound to a life that I had caused, until you arrived. You dug through the long compacted earth, and scratched through to my ancient chamber. You brought light to me once more. I feel the wonder and awe that presses against me, an old familiar feeling that had almost escaped my memory.
But even as I tell you my story, you hear nothing. You do not know the language of the people, the only words I have ever known. Without it, you are but one piece of the cold and distant world. You turn and prepare to leave. You take the tools that you had brought, and with one last longing stare, you return me to darkness once again.
I cry out, overcome by the sadness and anger as I had not felt in a very long time.
But I am alone.
|
He stared in horror at the sight. When he opened the door and wandered in he nearly ran into the frozen tentacle with the sharp blade like tip.
He kept the others back as he gazed at the three figures and the monster.
A maiden stood poised in the frozen maelstrom of bladed tentacles, her hand outstretched to the body of the beast a single open beak with razor edges surrounded by nearly a dozen eyes each one pointed in a different direction. The rest of its body was stretched serpent-like into an obsidian obelisk, the surface of which looked melted and warped around the emerging body.
The other two forms, one looked to be a priest seated in prayer a staff immobile in the air before him fending off the attack of another of the tentacles both unaware of the one ready to strike behind his back.
The last was a man, his face contorted in pain, a blade gripped on the right side of his stomach, his innards bulging through the long gash.
All four creatures were immortalized in their last moments of what he assumed was a battle.
He moved to enter but an angry crack of stone above him had him pausing catching the fourth creature, a huge centipede. He now saw the beast extended around the perimeter of the massive room making the creature close to a hundred feet in length. It's antennae twitched in irritation, its legs moving on an invisible surface as it chased its last segment a few feet to end up infront of the door.
"Begone!" It roared. "And let the Ragnaroc wait another thousand years to devour this world."
The door slammed shut and the entire crew raced for their lives as the floor beneath them crumbled and cracked with an earthshake.
The archeologist was panicked as he soared past his comrads seeking the entrance. He heard their short sharp cries of alarm and help but he dared not look back.
He dove beneath the fall of a boulder seeking to make it out the passageway. Unfortunately, the stone crushed him and sealed the remaining within the confines of the tomb.
| 2020-06-11T15:46:23 | 2020-06-11T15:21:13 | 33 | 12 |
[WP] You are an actor, hired by parents to pretend to be a troubled boy's imaginary friend.
|
"Where's the boogeyman live?"
I remember a kid in my class asking me that, once. Never answered him. Didn't think I needed to; the question was idiotic. There's no such thing as a boogeyman in this world. There's just people.
Sometimes, though, that can be enough.
People could be pretty terrible, all their own. Look at me: a washed-up loser 30-year-old never-been, nothing but the gum on the bottom of society's boot heel. Less than that, maybe: I'm the dog hankering for a lick of that gum; anything to remind me I'm alive, really.
Some days I got to wondering if I was was really any less 'imaginary' than the brat's fantasies.
Some days I wished I wasn't.
I could be pretty terrible, sometimes. 'Terrible'. I chuckle at the word. Does that really cover it? I feel that extra weight in my coat pocket as I wait to hear the distant diesel of the school bus behind old apple trees; waiting for the brat to come shuffling into the grove.
Only a terrible person brings a loaded gun to a meeting with an 8-year-old.
And people could be pretty terrible.
After a month of suffering the brat's delusions- his psychotic 'play-times' and catty, vindictive mood swings- I'd had enough. It came on slowly, my decision, like rot in a coal miner's lungs. The job was easy at first: cater to the dumb kid's every possible 'whim', pretending to *be* pretend. Not like the little shit had any friends of his own, not with his wild temperament and chaotic nature.
For a while I was just the fodder for the brat's 'amusements', and the brat could be pretty creative in amusing himself.
I had the scars to prove it.
Now, it wasn't the abuse that brought me to my decision, no. *That* I could handle; believe me, I've handled worse in my time. No, it was when I saw the reality of my situation, here: when I realized what the fuck I was actually doing. This was a kid who was such an asshole that he couldn't have an friends, and so daddy had *bought* him a friend to have.
An 'imaginary' one, to boot! One that could be kicked, punched- you name it- with no one the wiser!
That made me chuckle, when I thought about it.
And not 'cause it was funny.
See, I could look back and remember what my father did to me, when I was feeling 'blue', or 'angry', or anything else at all. When he wasn't busy lapping up the suds at the bottom of a bottle he was tanning my hide, or playing 'games' with me, like burning a 'fairy circle' of marks into my back with his cigarette.
"Fittin' for a fairy," he'd say, laughing at me with those rotted teeth.
He thought it was funny; maybe it was, I guess.
It got a chuckle out of me when I remembered it, at least.
When I think about what I *didn't* have, growing up, and what this snot-nosed little psychopath *does* have, well, my chuckling stops, and I think other things.
And I bring a loaded gun to a meeting with an 8-year-old.
My eyes peek up and I blink, tilting my head; the rough cough of a diesel engine pierces the gloom, startling ravens from their trees. A moment later I hear that dreaded sound: tennis shoes tromping over the ground.
He stops a few feet from me, looking up at me with those dead black eyes, almost like a raven, himself.
"Hey," he whispers.
"Hey," I answer.
The boy shuffles past me, closer to the trees surrounding us. This was one of the 'good' days, I thought. It was one of the days the little bastard was off his diabolical 'game', at least for a little while. Sometimes he'd even just want to go off and take a walk, not saying a damn word.
Even to his imaginary friend.
But today would be a little different, because I was feeling a little terrible, inside.
Today this rich little piece of shit was going to learn that his 'imaginary' friend wasn't so imaginary, after all.
Today he was going to see a grown man die right in front of his eyes.
"Listen," I said, "we're done here, after today. You won't be seeing me anymore, kid."
The kid stopped walking, catching a breath in his throat. He turned, and those devilish little black eyes were wide as saucers.
"Wh- what are you talking about? What you you mean? *Why*?"
"'Cause I'm done, that's why." I drew a tranquil breath, and a serene smile even crossed my face as I thought about the horror I was about to push on the brat.
I wasn't happy about it, really. In fact, I didn't feel much anything at all, as I reached into my coat pocket.
"Y- you *can't*!" The boy's eyes trembled and he raced over to me. "*No*! You can't just... just be *done*!"
"Sorry," I shook my head, "but it's the end of the line for me-"
"*No*!" The kid started stammering, holding my hand as he rattled off pathetic promises. "I- I'll let you take the lead when we're exploring! You can have whatever snacks you want from me- I got Sun Chips from lunch, you know! Y- you can... you can *hit* me, if you like!"
The brat held up his chin to me, eyes tightly shut; I pushed him away.
"I don't wanna hit you, kid-"
"Just *don't go*! Please!"
"You ever beg someone, before?" My smile widened. "You can do better, can't you?"
I know that was a terrible thing to say.
But maybe I just *am* a terrible person after all, who knows?
The boy hung his head, defeated. I took a few steps back; it wouldn't do to get any brain matter on his pretty little coat, would it?
I'm not *that* cruel.
"W- wait!" The boy raises his head and again shuffles up to me.
"Don't waste your time, you little sh-"
My words trail off as I watch the kid hunker down in front of me; his face is a panicked mess, and his lips are trembling like violin strings. He quickly reaches up and grabs my fly, trying to yank it down, but I bat his hand away.
"The *fuck* are you doing?" I bark.
"I... I can give you a 'favor'," The boy's voice is only a reedy whisper. "T- to stay? You will stay, right, if I do?"
"Favor? What are you talking about?"
The boy stares at the dirt beneath him, hanging his head.
"Like... like Mister Perkins asks for. F- favors. I could give you one." The kid looks up at me, but his trembling eyes barely meet mine before he looks away. "Or... *other* favors, even. He says I'm good at them..."
The color drained from my face; I could only stand there, shocked, watching as the brat's desperate, lonely eyes took to quivering. The tears started soon after, and I couldn't move a muscle.
"Mister 'Perkins'?" I finally managed.
The boy nodded, wiping snot on his sleeve.
"H- history teacher. He's nice... says that no one else would treat me as nice as he did; and he's... really nice. Even tutored me... at his house. In private, you know? I guess, well, the only person who's ever treated me as nice as him is *you*. But you don't count, do you?"
These words turned *my* eyes into saucers. I drew a slow breath, my hand still tucked inside my coat, caressing the lines of my revolver.
I stare at that pathetic kid in the dirt, sobbing, and at that moment I saw more than the chaotic, psychotic hate in him. I saw another pathetic kid, sobbing with every strike- bottle and hand- screaming as a 'fairy circle' of scars was seared into his back with a nasty, red-hot cigarette.
I saw a kid that didn't matter, and that wouldn't amount to anything after 30 years of life.
Some days I really had got to thinking that I was just as 'imaginary' as the kid's fantasies.
Today I was glad I wasn't.
A kid in class asked me a question, once, and I didn't answer him, because I thought I knew the answer.
But I was just a kid that didn't matter- and I'm still a penniless twit who doesn't matter worth a damn- so what's my answer mean, anyway?
I smile when I think about what I *could* mean to this kid, right now.
And *this* smile makes me feel something. It wasn't happy, not really. I didn't know what that felt like to begin with, honestly.
But, if I had to guess, it'd feel something a little like this.
I tilt the kid's chin up, and in his wracked sobbing he looks up at me; my smile widens.
"And where, exactly, does Mister Perkins live?"
|
They paid me thirty five dollars an hour to follow around their son during the weekend. Not bad for a struggling actor like myself, but they didn't give me a single detail about this "imaginary friend" of his. This was going to be a challenge, but I knew that I was up for it. Being that it was the weekend, I didn't need to follow him to school, and all he did was stay in his room anyway; odd for a twelve year old kid. I was waiting in his rather large bedroom when he opened the door, unperturbed by my presence.
"Hi Christopher," I said almost too eagerly, "it's me." He paused and looked at me with the same expressionless face he came in with, and then continued past me directly to his computer. "Do you.. know who I am?" I asked, afraid I sounded nervous and that he wasn't even buying this act.
"Do you know who you are?" I furrowed my brow and, trying to sound more confident, exclaimed "I'm your imaginary friend of course!" He just looked at me. "Interesting" he said, his voice cold and cruel. "What makes you think you're my imaginary friend?"
"Because it's me, your friend!" Am I really arguing with a child about me being his imaginary friend? "We can be friends," he said without turning his head from the computer, "but you are not my imaginary friend, Douglas."
"How do you know my name? Did you hear me and your parents talking?" This little job is derailing and I am certainly not experienced enough to handle it. "My parents?" he asked almost immediately, except this time his voice broke from its monotonous tone. "Yeah your parents. I give up, you already know your parents hired me this is pointless."
"They hired you?" This kid was not getting it, and I have auditions I could be going on rather than argue with a child. *"YES your parents hired me."* I got up from his bed to leave before he immediately stood up. "You can't leave." I headed straight for his door, "Listen kid I don't have time for this I have audi-"
"What did my parents look like?" he asked abruptly. I froze for a moment. "They.." *Why can't I remember?* Ignore it, why am I even entertaining the question. "Who is the president of the United States?" *What?* I felt drowsy. "Douglas? Can you tell me where you live?" I tried to open my mouth but couldn't speak....
I watched from the window in the hallway as I held our son close. I could hear them yelling over the piercing screams of the monitors. He clasped his hands around his ears "Don't worry Christopher, daddy will be okay soon."
__________________________________________________________________________________________
First prompt! Feedback is encouraged!
| 2015-08-04T13:39:52 | 2015-08-04T13:10:01 | 38 | 18 |
[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
|
It squeezed its gun in its hand as it carefully poked its head around the corner of the pile of rubble that once was a building. Close to the ground, slowly, but not a split second longer than absolutely necessary as it had been taught.
It was called Tel'moreen. It was a living Weapon, born to kill human living Weapons. Made to kill human soldiers. And currently, it was alone. The rest of its former unit hadn't been able to get out of the valley as the gas-bombs dropped. It had been at the front of the unit, surviving just barely long enough for its medi-suite to get it back on its feet.
It considered the situation it was in. A city of its progenitors. A *former* city. Right now, it was just a bunch of rubble and the occasional two or three floors of a building still standing. Plenty of places for an enemy sniper. It had its orders though. When the lead of its unit was eliminated, it was to return to the nearest control point and be reassigned. The nearest point was on the other side of the former city. so there was no option. It had to make it to the other side.
Tel'moreen took a breath, braced itself, and broke into a sprint. As it ran, it kept its head moving. The humans had been favouring spike traps, trip wires and all sorts of other ways to maim rather than kill from the very instant that the war had gone from following the intended path. It could understand the logic there. A soft race that worried about every unit like the humans would fight in a way that capitalized on that. Weigh the enemy down with injured units, slow the advance, buy time to turn every encounter into a butchery. Sensible. And, entirely unlike the humans.
For Tel'moreen's kind, the logic didn't really apply. Damaged weapons were either repaired or, if that would take too long, abandoned. Still, the human traps were an endless frustration, thinning out units one Weapon at a time.
Tel'moreen dived into cover, allowing itself a moment to breathe. It hadn't been shot, its legs hadn't been blown up by any improvised trap, the pain in its lungs wasn't slowing it down too much just yet. It could keep going, it would just need a moment for... 'maintenence.' Reaching to its hip, it pushed a button that made its medi-suite re-assess its status. ...no change, no additional painkillers to numb the burn. All it could do was to wait until the burning sensation in its chest died down.
Time spent waiting was time wasted, but rushing would have been worse. So, it reflected on the battles it fought in. It reflected on the first breath it drew, roughly three Terran years ago. It repeated the lessons it had been taught. About how the humans had been undeserving of the place they held. About how they were soft and refused to fight, even in the face of an Enemy that by all rights, even they would have been able to crush. About how they keps insisting on "talking" instead of letting their Weapons enforce their supposed claims.
Tel'moreen grit its teeth. Dart the head out for as little time as possible. Look for the obvious sniper nests. Note the next piece of cover. Note how all the bodies of the other Weapons all fell to the right. Sniper on the left. Circle around. Head out. Tel'moreen dived out of cover, ensuring to keep cover on its left, circling around the apparent kill-zone, just barely managing to cancel its run into a jump and a roll over a thin, nearly invisible wire leading into a pipe. Its first leader had had its legs blown off by a human-made 'hand grenade' hidden in a pipe just like that. Tel'moreen was a well-honed Weapon. It wouldn't blunt itself on the Enemy's weapon any more.
It just barely managed to get into cover behind what had been a resitental block, but now didn't reach higher than two floors. Again, the burn from the gas attack was acting up. In the back of its mind, it wondered if it would be decommissioned once it reconnected with high command. The thought was dismissed quickly. Decomissioning was not a threat. Decomissioning was part of being a Weapon and a high honor.
Still, Tel'moreen wouldn't be able to keep going for much longer, its lungs burning in its chest. It slumped against the wall, the big pile of rubble right across from it offering cover from... enough sides. It was a solitary target. Even the humans wouldn't waste effort on it, unless it happened to be a target of opportunity.
It reflected on when the war had gone off-course. ...It had gone off-course very early on. Tel'moreen had been there, after all. The first attack on a "civilian" target, the opening salvo of the war. A clear-cut signal: "Yield. We *will* destroy your Weapons, regardless of how long it takes for them to become useful." It never made much sense to Tel'moreen how human Weapons started out as a distinct Caste. Its own species' system made *sense*: ensure that every member is *born* knowing what it should do, rather than letting something as fickle as "opinion" or "desire" decide what one's path in life would be.
After all, that had been the entire idea behind the initial strike. If any human can "learn" to become a Weapon, but every human starts out with little to no idea what they want to be, kill them before they can decide. Sure, you end up killing everything from Builders to Parents to Leaders to Weapons, but that was the humans' problem. A Weapon is a Weapon from the first moment it draws breath. That is a fact. If a newly born Weapon cannot be distinguished from a newly born Leader, or a newly born Parent, then the only sensible course of action was to kill all "children." If anything, the humans' faillure to properly identify their ofsprings' life path left Tel'moreen with no better option. Kill the "children" before they could "decide" to become Weapons.
Tel'moreen itself had *proudly* joined in a directed attack on the "school" itself. The humans should have expected an attack there, with that many "children" in one place.
The burning in its lungs had subsided enough. It got up, ignoring the burn in its legs. Ignoring the moment in which its vision swam, ignoring all the little pains of trying to rush its way back to the command post.
Another brief peek around the corner. ...Odd, no bodies between it and the entrance of the command post. The walls were battered but standing, the banners were up, the sentries were standing straight. A sniper spot just a few dozen paces back, and it didn't shoot the sentries?
...Irrelevant. Orders were orders.
Tel'moreen took a deep, chest-burning breath, and broke into a sprint. It could feel its body strain under the effort, but it kept going. It felt felt its legs stumble, but it kept going. It felt a bullet just barely miss it (wait, barely? While it was running in a straight line?) but it kept going.
It all but dove through the wide-open entrance of the command post, the rough road grinding against its chest until it came to a halt- with a human boot against its head.
"And that's twenty. Told you it would be worth taking this shithole," the distinctly human voice spoke up while the foot pressed down harder, keeping it from so much as looking up.
"Hold on, Peeler, this one's got one of thowe blue stripes! Like the rest of those shit-lickers from the first wave!"
"Dang! Almost missed that... Eh, whatever."
Tel'moreen's gun was ripped out of its hands before it could try and push itself into a fighting stance, while its arms were forced behind its back. It should have been able to fight back, to push back but the damage from that gas-attack just days prior was sapping its strength, leaving it forced to its knees.
Humans. Not even human Weapons, lacking the distinctive equipment marking human Weapons. Just some assortment of non-Weapons, several of which were holding various guns and other Weapon-equipment with the trained ease of a Weapon.
"So!" spoke one of them. Tel'moreen was observant, and decided that this must have been the 'Peeler' the other Human mentioned, "Blue stripe, huh?"
"...Yes. I have been awarded with a blue stripe as a member of the leading charge," Tel'moreen confirmed. Denying it would have gone against its teachings.
"OK. You get one chance," 'Peeler' said while several of the other human non-Weapons made some low-volume noise with the guns they held. A kind of clicking noise. "Were you involved in the strike against Elysium Elementary School?"
"Yes, that was where I earned my blue stripe." Several of the non-Weapons made noises, but it did not matter. They were not Weapons. They couldn't harm a Weapon.
"Honest to a fault then. Last chance, then. *Why* did you do it?" 'Peeler' speaks up.
"I had my orders," was the last thing Tel'moreen managed to say, before the non-Weapons opened fire.
|
"To think those simians would have enough political leverage for such demands" - The capital ships of both warring species faced in sandspace, a particularly empty region of the galaxy where war ultimatums would go to be resolved. The lack of large masses and their gravity fields meant all wreckage of ancient and recent battles alike, floated directionless, reflecting the light of distant stars, like white crystals on a beach.
"As law demands, our government and its leader stand present, as do our finest warriors who soon shall decide the fate of our species" - The human captain opens dialogue. Traditionally, it is the side that offers the ultimatum that initiates conversations, allowing for heckling from the opposing side, effectively acting as foreplay for final war.
"You hairy mongrels are little disconnected from your tribals ways. Your guerrilla war was dishonourable albeit annoying, but now you prove yourselves ignorantly incompetent, you wish for peace so fervently you'd throw away any chance of victory. DEPLOY THE FLEET" - Tens of thousands of glistening ships occupied the space between the capital monstrosities, like ants from a tree. Some humans in the ship shuddered at the sight of the fighters, many had memories of a single enemy fighter handling a full airport at the colonies. To them, humans were peasants, no culture of war, instead choosing philosophy and theology instead of training and bellic enhancement - "Your pursuit for diplomacy is a façade for your weakness, present your warriors, let us end this"
The human capital ship hummed and oppened all ports. After an uncanny delay the fighters exited and clumped together in front of the flagship.
"srepolretni uoy evigrof ew" - The Captains ghostly voice echoes in an empathetic tone. The communication channel had been left open, leaving the aliens to hear humans chanting gibberish. The rhythm of their voices blends with the vibrations of the capital ship, clearly increasing power output.
"Using your soldiers to shield a retreat? And what makes you think you're in a position to forgive... how deep must the peaceful ways run in your genome. Even forfeiting common tongue to buy yourselves time. Pitiful" - The alien fighters dart out intent on stopping the escaping ship. Precise and fatal strikes are intercepted by the massive wall of human vessels. The fighters manage to punch holes in the fuselage when all the flagships' ports light up simultaneously, time warps, and space contracts. The capital ships collide with deafening force, blasting all matter in sandspace out of existence. The Captain opens the comms and speaks. On Earth, the broadcast of the ultimatum shows the ships and matter spawning backwards out of a supernova and blip into nothing. The final message is heard from the aliens to which the anchor replies: "No, we CHOOSE peace".
| 2022-08-05T16:24:10 | 2022-08-05T16:23:55 | 89 | 14 |
[WP] "Master, why can I not defeat any of my opponents? It's like they can predict my every move!" "Well you do shout out your attack names....."
|
The astral form of my teenage son glared at me, sulkily. I stared him back, unmoved by his pout. Raising children had always been my least favorite part of sewing my chaotic void spawn throughout the realm.
"It's humiliating."
This statement could have come from either of us, but of course, it came from him.
*Hari...* I started, projecting my thoughts directly into his head. *If you would just-*
"I can't." He sniffed, eyes welling with tears. "I have a reputation to uphold."
*A reputation of flagrantly announcing your every attack? You deal in subterfuge, secret attacks, sabotage. How have you even gotten far enough to have a reputation?*
The boy, my youngest son, stared at me balefully. "Well, *one* of us has to leave an impression on the foolish mortals. And Tehra acts like she's a god damned old lady."
He wasn't wrong. His twin sister had all the frigidness and flare of a stuffy spinster. She was admirable in her ability to run a tight ship, both metaphorically and literally, since my latest blight upon the mortal world had been birthed to a couple that lived in the island regions. The twins had been jumping from island to island, trying to infiltrate the local cities and destroy them from the inside out, much like their elder sister, Nefaria, did. It was going slowly, what with Terha's methodical approach and Hari's tendency to throw every well-laid plan to ruin with his theatrics.
But, unfortunately, flare did matter here. I gathered power through a number of ways, as my other children knew well. They cursed towns, started cults, obliterated established religions, all to fuel my ultimate plan. But the more people that knew my name, the more that whispered it fearfully at night, the stronger I grew.
So, naturally, this meant that the louder my children were, the stronger I got.
Which left me with... Hari.
*You lack subtlety,* I told him. *Flamboyance is important, yes, but not on stealth missions. Your exuberance and lack of nuance is why-*
I stopped short. I might have been annoyed with my son, but even that would have been a low blow.
Unfortunately, my spawn picked up on my meaning, and his visage grew more distraught.
"You sound just like every director for every show I've ever auditioned for." He threw his hands in the air, a comically over-the-top gesture. "I'll show them. I'll burn their theatres to the ground. Then the whole world will know the power and talent of Hari Bella!"
I would have snorted, had the dream plane allowed that.
*How, pray tell, will burning a theatre to the ground accomplish what you desire? You must show patience. Your siblings did not grow to be world ruiners in just a few years. They slowly built up their power over decades. You too must wait.*
"I don't want to."
God, I could have strangled him. Honestly, I probably would have, if it hadn't been so energy-consuming to bequeath void children upon the planet.
*Hari...*
"I don't. I want to be a scourge upon the land. I want to show up, guns blazing. I want them to hear me charging up an attack and flee in terror." His eyes took on a distant gleam. "I want them to know that, by the time I've started speaking, it's already too late. I want to watch them run before destroying everything in sight, leaving their burning, ruined villages in my wake. Leave them cursing both my name *and* yours." He paused his dramatic speech for a well-timed sigh. "And Terha's, I guess. I want to make you proud."
Children were exhausting.
I sighed, in the way that only an incorporeal void nightmare could sigh. *Perhaps a change of tactics is what you truly need. Instead of attempting covert missions throughout the island cities, a more direct approach may be warranted.*
"But Terha says we aren't powerful enough for outright attacks." His lip jutted.
No wonder these two idiots had been so mismatched. With Hari's projection and Terha's subtlety, they crashed at every turn.
A new plan, a new plan... What could help my two hellspawn truly rain down death upon their foes?
*I have an idea,* I started, speaking slowly as the inspiration unfurled. *Instead of targeting the inland cities, working from the inside out on every island, perhaps an outside-in strategy is warranted.*
Hari perked up at this, eyes shining. "How do you mean?"
*Your sister's talent with logistics means she knows every shipping routine in the entire island chain. Your penchant for... dramatics means that you, on the rare chance that you are successful, do leave a trail of fear in your wake.*
"So... Oh!" He smiled, finally getting my meaning. "I get to be a pirate!"
It was, in a sense, every young boy's dream to be a pirate, at some time in their life or other. Most young men, as they grow up, learn that being a pirate often means a lot of grisly murder of innocent merchants, and back down. But my son was no average child. The murder was a draw.
*Convene with your sister. Plot out which merchant routines would cripple an island's economy. Cause enough harm, and the cargo ships will stop altogether. Then, when the island is truly at your mercy, launch an attack on its port cities. It will crumble and more and more will come to fear you.*
It had been a gamble, trying to force my ridiculous son into a more pragmatic attack on the islands, but he took to it like a fish to water.
"Oh, this is brilliant. Thank you! You're the best parent ever." He stared into the void dreamscape, picturing it in his head. "Captain Hari Bella. And at sea, no one can truly run. If my boat is faster, or sneakier, I can be on top of them before they have a chance to escape. And then when they hear my voice, ripping through the sky like thunder, calling down evil. I am death incarnate."
Good lord.
*Well done, my son. You have come up with a solution to your problems that plays to both your and your sister's strengths. I hope you take this lesson forward and learn to approach your issues with a tactical mind.*
I did have to give him some credit, not because he deserved it, but because I didn't want to be his go-to every time he had a problem. Soon the twins would reach maturity and stop whining to me about their issues, but until then, I had to raise them as any parent would: with an eye towards their future growth and success.
I just hoped this worked. If the two of them messed this up, it would potentially besmirch my name. If the terrified whispers of my cursed name gave me strength, then it stood to follow that mockery and disregard weakened my hold on the mortal plane.
Hari grinned. "I won't let you down," he said. "You'll see. I'll be the most powerful of all the void spawn."
He tried so hard, it was almost endearing. The other children had been much colder but I did like his spunk, so long as it wasn't in the form of fireworks in the middle of a late-night heist.
The dream faded, and I found myself, once again, rooted firmly in the void realm. This would work, I told myself. My child, though eager, was not fully incompetent. And hopefully, he would send through enough power for me to curse the world with my sixth, and final child.
And hopefully, the next spawn wouldn't be *nearly* as hard to handle. I was getting a little bit tired of raising children.
___
To read more about Hari and his mysterious parent (or for other stories in general) check out [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
|
“Wow.” Steve said unimpressed, “This is the greatest warrior on the planet?”
“Afraid so.” Darrel, his best friend rubbed his head.
Below them they were watching the match. Steve was soon to go and compete, and his competition was the guy shouting all his moves. They were powerful attacks, but that one second of screaming their names gave the opponent enough time to get out of dodge.
“This is ridiculous.” Steve grumbled.
“Well he is winning.”
“I’m going to change that if the dumb-ass he’s fighting loses. Honestly, he got this far doing this?”
“Possibly. I haven’t seen him fight before.”
“Kami’s light.” Steve groaned again. “This is going to be stupid.”
Darrel smirked. “Good luck keeping your dignity if you lose.”
—-
Steve was up. His opponent, Randy, the dumb-ass who yelled every attack. Steve stood still and analyzed, Randy did the same.
“You got a 1.7 second increase in speed compared to me.” Randy smirked, “make the match a good one eh?”
“What?” Steve deadpanned.
The bell rang. The match had started.
“Rock tumbler!” Randy screamed.
Steve side stepped the wall of rock with ease. He compressed his mana into his hand, changing the nature into blue fire and swept the ring with it.
TBC
| 2021-02-25T10:41:55 | 2021-02-25T10:40:51 | 56 | 36 |
[WP] You're a European and one day, you heard that the USA mysteriously disappeared. The cities and people are gone, and only the landmass remained. You then document the events that followed.
|
I remember reading in history books about the mad dash to claim North America, and the wars fought over it in the 15th and 16th century. As a child, you think, "Wow! People were crazy back then!" What you don't think about was how much more evenly paced it was, due to the lack of technology. In today's world, things happen much more quickly.
On April 1, 2019, at 00:00 GMT, the United States of America disappeared. Literally everything man-made, from the Canadian border to the Trump Wall, and sea-to-shining-sea just vanished. The environmental impact was still there, hazardous wastelands where cities once stood, massive floods from dams and reservoirs suddenly unbound, and clear cut swaths of dirt where highways and roads once stood. The world was in awe of the spectacle, and in terror from the unknown.
The "Disappearance" as it has been come to know, also impacted US military bases, ships, and personnel. If it bore the Stars and Stripes, *poof*. The vacuum created by the sudden disappearance of a military presence greater than the rest of the world combined wasn't nearly bad as you would have thought. At first.
When it happened, everyone thought it was a prank by some ambitious American executing an extremely tacky April Fools joke. Within hours, though, panic set in. The United Nations convened in an emergency session, and elected to immediately deploy all available resources to the United States for rescue and recovery efforts. Canada sent volunteers south. Mexico sent forces north. Russia deployed troops across the Bering Sea to assist in Alaska. China sent ships to Guam and Hawaii. All found the same thing; No living people, no bodies above ground, and every man-made structure, machine, and device was gone. Huge stockpiles of natural resources had also vanished.
Most "enemies" of the United States immediately withdrew from whatever regions that had been invading and went deep underground. Psychological warfare is still very effective, and the fact that they couldn't anticipate any move from the US prodded them into caution for a time. Later, when the United Nations came crumbling down, these same groups returned in force, only to be met with intense resistance fighting from the groups and nations that no longer had the might of the US to do their fighting for them. Survival is a hell of a motivator.
Within a month of "The Disappearance", the conflicts were already starting to brew. At first, every nation was there to assist, then they were stayed to protect the lands until the return of the Americans. In less than 30 days, however, claims to the nation began. Of course the British laid first claim, stating that ownership of the "colonies" should revert back to them. And the French wanted everything west of the Mississippi river, citing a French court ruling that invalidated the Louisiana Purchase based on the disappearance of one of the parties. Mexico immediately disputed that claim in regards to Texas, Arizona, New Mexico, and California. France acquiesced when Mexico offered to ally with them in exchange. Russia had troops pushing the limits of the Alaska-Canada border, claiming the rich oil fields immediately. Strangely, the Russians backed off of the Canadians quickly, and came to terms with them. Canada didn't claim anything at all, but also didn't withdraw from the former United States. They held resolute that they were going to the protect the land for the return of the Americans.
The battles began when the British Isles began to encroach into what was formerly Iowa. The French slaughtered the expeditionary force, and in retaliation, the British launched heavy bombing offensives on both North American and European soil. The French, of course began to fight back in kind. The Germans and the remainder of the now defunct United Nations stayed out of it. I think the Germans were just happy to not be an instigator in another World War.
Thankfully, no one used nukes. Destroying the natural resources and land you were trying to gain just wasn't an option that made any sense. India finally came into the war when Mexico began shelling boatloads of Indian immigrants off the California shoreline. They had already begun to expand the existing Trump wall along the California coast, since they had paid for the original anyways. And still, Canada remained, politely reminding everyone that this was American soil, and should remain so.
The wars lasted for nearly 15 years before all parties began to realize the follies of their ways. The country was just too big for any one nation to hold from afar. France collapsed under the financial burden of battles being fought on both the North American and European fronts. The British Isles did as well. Canada stepped in and supplied relief aid to both, opening their ports and borders to all British and French citizens looking to escape the war. Mexico devolved into a horrific civil war, with the former Southwestern United States and northern Mexico becoming the new nation of Texico, protected on all sides by the Great Wall.
Russia eventually withdrew from Alaska, stating that they just didn't have the resources to effectively govern the largest of the former states across the Bering Sea, but declared they were retaining some of the islands. They formally stated that they were handing ownership of the state to Canada, who was better equipped to support it. Canada reluctantly accepted, and created a new flag to symbolize their resolve in defending the lands of the former United States. The new flag had the familiar red and white bars of the traditional Canadian flag, but now had 13 stars in the center to replace the Maple leaf.
The North Koreans, who had been strangely silent, started up again. They threatened Canada once, launching what was later determined to be a dummy rocket at the Canadian coast in a display of power. Russia then wiped North Korea off the map, in what was one of the most brutal assaults ever witnessed, then gave the land to South Korea and retreated back to Moscow. It was largely believed, but never proven, that the Russians had acted on behalf of the Canadians.
China retained possession of Guam, but abandoned the Hawaiian isles due to insurrection. Fiji laid claim, but couldn't do anything to protect it. The inhabitants now are mostly Indian immigrants, who wait patiently for their application to become a Canadian province to be approved.
India blossomed as the population density decreased, and they spread across the Pacific as a new global power. That is, at least until Pakistan decided that they really didn't like the idea of happy Indians, and launched chemical weapons. This sparked the Holy Wars that still rage today from Israel to Vietnam. Canada stood with Switzerland, and stated that they were staying out of it, but were there to help when the warring nations decided to grow up. However, Canada made no qualms about also threatening to leverage their Russian alliance to end those wars quickly if weapons of mass destruction were ever used again.
Even with Canada's support, the British Isles and France couldn't recover from their warring. The English and French citizens, desperate for relief, begged Canada to formerly accept them as provinces. The citizens scratching out a hard life in the slowly rebuilding United States Territories agreed, and with a series of votes, became Canadians. Canada welcomed all with grace, and the world thanked them for their generosity.
Canada became a world super-power, and began to lead the space race. The now defunct United States flag on the moon gained a companion from Canada. Satellites and space-based communications were restored with time. Internet service became a free right to all Canadian citizens, beamed directly from space.
In the NAC (North American Canada), citizens settled and rebuilt. In the EC, the individual histories of the provinces were embraced and old grievances forgiven. The world looked to Canada as the shining example, and many believed that a United Earth was simply a matter of time. As the plant began to settle from war, we looked to the stars.
In hindsight, I can't believe we didn't see the changes occurring on Mars sooner. Now, when you look to the Red planet, it is dotted with domes of green and blue, slowly spreading across the entire surface. No one knows what is happening, although the rumours are that a red, white, and blue flag had been spotted using the Dion-Reynolds Telescope. As I sit here in my New Toronto (formerly London) flat, reading the news that our nation is preparing to launch interplanetary missiles at the unknown Martian colonists in a pre-emptive strike, I can only think one thing:
I'm sorry.
|
News headlines since the disappearance of the US.
Day 1. The US is gone. Experts are still puzzled by the sudden disappearance of the nation.
Day 2. Canada and Mexico agree to a joint search action in the United States.
Day 3. ISIS surrenders unconditionally.
Day 4. Still no sign of survivors in the former US.
Day 5. Kim Jong Un shocks the World by stepping back and opening the gates for democracy.
Day 10. Canada and Mexico agree to share the territory of the former United States peacefully.
Day 11. Canada announces plans to end world hunger with their newly acquired farmland.
Day 16. Peace in a Israel.
Day 30. Russia and China sign a de-nuclearisation pact. Plan to get rid of nuclear weapons by 2020.
Day 36. Big day for women's rights. Saudi Arabia finally grants women equal rights.
Day 62. United Earth Parliament founded. All nations happy to join.
Day 63. Serbia apologies for war crimes committed during the Jugoslavian war.
Day 129. Man on Mars. UEP mission first step to colonisation of the red planet.
Day 226. End of World hunger. Canada keeps the promise it made half a year ago.
Day 304. End of the energy crisis. China unveils first working nuclear fission reactor.
Day 412. "We have successfully stopped global warming." lead scientist says.
Day 688. Aliens! World in shock as green creatures step out of their spaceships.
Day 689. World Parliament agrees: we don't miss the US.
| 2016-09-02T08:26:04 | 2016-09-02T08:13:44 | 45 | 27 |
[WP] A Roman general, peasant, and a germanic barbarian observe WWII from the afterlife. Describe their reactions.
|
Gaius was on top of the world. Well, the afterlife he supposed. The gods had rewarded him for his devotion and his services in life. Many a night he spent telling his tales from his life. A territory claimed for Rome. A city with no defense saved from barbarian. A loss of troops followed by an overwhelming victory. All exploits won by him, Fighters claiming glory and honor. And he would laugh and relive the good times.
Which is why the war on the ground fascinated him. He watched from his personal portal as a country beaten on all sides, occupied by enemy forces rises up to become the biggest power in his province. He watched as a Man rose above it all, above the struggles of his province, above his enemies which pushed him down, to a level only matched by the emperors of old. With a word, a motion, Thousands would do whatever he asked. Militia with weapons far beyond anything he could imagine. For glory and honor they marched into lands, expanding faster then even Trajan could imagine! Reclaiming the lands they had lost before. With metal and effort he saw the country expand. Gaius looked with glee. This is what an empire was supposed to be. A strong man leading a strong empire against all odds. Gaius was captivated.
But as he watched, the empire weakened. The emperor began to lose battle after battle. His meddling in military affairs lost him valuable battles. His overconfidence caused him to lose territory rightfully his. His distrust of his men was causing rifts in his empire. Even his tactics at home, his ignorance of the common man was causing support to waver.
Gaius shouted at him from his lofty heights. How could he do this? How could he squander such a glorious country? He had a chance to make a perfect empire. He had the power to maintain an everlasting leadership. The manpower, the tactics, the glory! This isn't how it's supposed to end.
He saw the general pushed back to his land. All his armies abandoned him. He was alone, in a bunker, he asked for a weapon.
Gaius looked at the scene, he felt weak. He fell to his knees; his legs barely holding him up from the ground.
Germany, Rome, they all fell in the end.
The emperor shot himself.
Gaius sobbed.
---------------------
Calvus sat in his favorite bar. Drinking his favorite wine. He knew you couldn't get drunk out here but he always tried. He was having another spout of regret. He often felt this way. Always dreaming of what would have happened had he become a quastor, he could have made a name for himself. He may have been a commoner or Plebeian as they called it. But others like him had climbed up that far before. He could have even gone to war. Lead the forces into a battle, and gain new lands for Rome. He could have even gained a tribute.
But he didn't. He stayed home, married the most beautiful girl in the world and became a farmer. He raised two kids and died. He wasn't in the history books or the archives of history. His descendants didn't amount to anything. His life was pointless. He lived. He died. And now he sat it a bar, attempting to get drunk.
Calvus wondered outside. He saw the outside world. A public window for all to look at. He often glanced to see if anything interesting was happening. Rome was long gone but the other Countries could provide a laugh every now and then. Like when one guy tried to invade Egypt from Upper gaul. He wondered how his land was doing. How was Rome? Did the Religious fools still control it? He moved the looking glass to his land.
His country was in shambles. A emperor was in power but he was running his country into the ground. Rome-called Italy now- was fighting a war he couldn't possibly win. They were slaughtering thousands, Millions of innocent men, From both sides, in a quest to "Purify humanity" And Rome wasn't even the worst. The emperor was just a puppet for another man. Another country full of bred killers. Killers of farmers. Killers of men.
Calvus wondered how one man could cause so much damage. How he could twist millions of men to his will. How he could effortlessly destroy what many man spent their lives creating?
He looked to the Island of Britannia. He saw simple, everyday men and women in a town hall. Dividing food for the coming winter. He saw a woman give her cloak to an old man, both shivering in the freezing cold. He saw a small child be picked up off the street by a man who was looking for food in the trashcans.
Calvus stopped. He thought of his own life. He remembered helping his fellow romans in times of famine. He remembered opening his house to fellow plebeians, when they were traveling to new lands. He remembered when chaos or war struck his people, how he had been a part of Rome. A good part.
Calvus smiled and ran home to tell him wife he loved her.
-----------------
Adalbern watched as the people of Britannia were put under siege. They were alone. They asked others for help, only to receive responses of indifference masked under good intentions. They were doomed to fall.
Such is life, he thought. Adalbern had rose his tribe to prominence. They had won battle after battle striving for a independent state. Rome was in shambles, they couldn't do anything. They were going to become a country. An empire to rival Rome.
And then Rome came. And crushed them into submission. His people became what they were before, Barbarians. Rulers of dirt, and subject to the whims of people richer then them. It made him sick at first, but he came to accept that was just the way things went. Empires fell. Even Rome. Once heralded as everlasting, fell. There was no point in fighting it. Everyone ended up here. In the afterlife. With nothing to show for it.
Adalbern grabbed his ale. Ready to leave the window, leave these people to their fate.
But then he looked back, and the island stood.
The people rallied. The people of Britannia found a common ground. Being a member of their nation, this power helped them overwhelm their enemy. They lost food and tower. Man and woman fell but the Island stood. And soon the enemy retreated.
He was shocked. They lived. They stood against such odds. They became a force so powerful it pushed armies back.
How could this be? How could they stand up against such odds? Why them? He grabbed his axe and was ready to throw it against his wall.
He stopped. He watched a man give his cloak to another. Neither one knew whether they were going to survive. But in this moment it didn't matter.
Because they were the same.
He remembered the absolute authority he commanded. He remembered the plans he hatched where all were expendable. He remembered his short term plans for his "Glorious nation" How he would be revered as a great leader. How he didn't even pick an heir.
He didn't have a nation. He had an army.
As he watched the army disperse. He looked at the island. The cheers of victory, of a mission achieved. Of a people free. He saw them, And smiled
|
The Roman general observed the horrific chaos of war and watched as the whole world went mad once again, the peasant watches on with horror of the new methods of war, and the barbarian shrugs a bit looking discontent with the battle before him.
"Such horror" the general briskly states
"The worst ever" remarked the peasant as he continued to observe the violence
The barbarian paused for a moment thinking quite hard on the subject until finally and bluntly he stated.
"Needs more catapult"
The three then shook their heads in agreement and floated towards the next battlefield in search of their beloved catapults.
| 2018-02-01T15:24:29 | 2018-02-01T12:17:33 | 39 | 25 |
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before.
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I love starting over. This is my 11th time doing it, and throughout all that time I've found one thing to be pretty constant: no one knows what to do with a swearing 5-year-old who understands more about history, science, math and sex than they do. Of course, the first three lives I kept things pretty... par. Hell, the first time I came back I had night terrors until I was 18. Then I died. Tuberculosis is a bitch. All in all, my first few lives weren't great. A lot of dirt... everywhere. Sure, London's pretty nice now, but see if you'd feel that way when you're walking back from a blood letting on a hot day and the breeze thrusts upon you that special stink that only a roadside sewer trench can provide.
But, that was about 500 years ago. Since then I've been able to sand off some of the edge with each successive life. You might think that living would get boring after being born for the 11th time, but it really doesn't. As I pass through my lives, time changes around me. Humanity is constantly inventing new things, and I've gotten to see most of them. And now with all this internet and the endless tidal wave of participation ribbons, 5 year-olds have a pretty choice gig.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, right, I was being reborn:
I opened my eyes. As I lifted my head I looked around. I was in a sea of sleeping children.
''The hell?'' I mumbled as I rubbed my eyes, peering around through bleary-eyed half consciousness. The last thing I remembered was getting hit by a bus. No matter how many times I die it never gets easy. I guess it's just inherently human to not want to die, even if you know it won't exactly take. I've never really been able to shake that initial shock when faced with it. 500 years and 11 rebirths and it still freaks me out every time.
I took a moment to focus my thoughts, and as I looked around, I could see I was in a big, carpeted room, surrounded by about 15 quietly snoring kids, bean bag chairs, and various "fun" educational posters informing me of my colors and what vowels were. I looked down, and I appeared to be wearing a t-shirt, plaid shorts, and some of the clunkiest and heaviest kids’ shoes I’d ever seen. As I blinked away the rest of my tiredness I realized what had happened and where I was. I was in a kindergarten class, and the universe had decided to pop me into this kid's head right in the middle of nap time.
I looked down at my hands: light brown. I felt my crotch: dick alert. Those were always my first things to check. I'd lived a lot of places, been most races, lived in every continent except Antarctica, and been male and female. Depending on where you were, and during what time, different races had different positives and negatives as far as prejudice or social power. Usually caucasian was the easiest, but I’d had some pretty good runs as African, Southeast Asian, and Latina. However, so far, the female lives had always been a bit more... frustrating. My last life I'd been a German chemist named Valeria, and I'd noticed that it had gotten a bit better in the last couple decades, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't relieved to find I'd be packin' some schlong this time around.
As I stared around the room in quiet contemplation with my hand down my pants, a light flicked on and a woman’s soft voice said in American English,
"Wake up everyone, nappy time’s over! Carlos, what did we say about playing with ourselves?" I stood there in the middle of the room for a couple seconds, looking at the kids laying down around me, trying to figure out which one of these little bastards had started jerkin' it. Suddenly, I realized I was Carlos, and I was gripping my own penis in the middle of a well-lit room. I snapped my hand out of my pants, and quickly started to nod my head and look around with as much casualness as I could muster, shoving my hands deep into my pockets as I began to saunter around the room.
"Sooo, mein teacher, vat stuffe vill ve be learning today?" Damn, I was still talking in my German accent. 45 years of pretending to need an affected English speaking voice will do that I guess.
"Very nice accent Carlos, been watching some movies at home have we?"
"Oh, uh, ya, Das Boot." I cleared my throat, shaking off the accent. I’d become pretty damn good at languages over the years. "Great flick. You ever seen it?"
She looked at me with a look of suprised puzzlement. I loved that look. "No, I… can’t say that I have. I’m sure it’s a lovely film though. Now, class, who’s ready foooor… ARITHMETIC??" she did not receive the cheering giddiness from the crowd of recently passed-out children that she had been hoping for, but she kept up the pep anyway. I could tell, this lady was gonna be a fun nut to crack.
As we all took our seats in a semi-circle around the board, the young teacher started writing simple addition and subtraction problems in bright blue dry erase marker, the felt tip squeaking as it went around the curves in the numbers. I nudged the kid next to me, a boy in a stretched out t-shirt who was missing his two front teeth, and whispered, "Hey slugger, hold my beer while I do this math."
"What?" he squeaked as I stood up. "Teach! Can I try these ones?"
"Sure Carlos! Not letting yesterday get you down, huh? I like the can-do attitude. Here’s your first one: what is one pl-"
"Yeah that’s 2. While you’re at it, the rest up there are 3, 4, and 2 again."
Her eyes grew wide and a giant smile stretched across her face, "Carlos! Oh my! That’s wonderful. I guess you’ve been practicing at home with your parents!"
"Nah, I’m just smart as fuck." The whole class gasped and lost their damn minds. I stood in the wake of my no-no-potty-mouth, surrounded by cries of "OH YOU CAN’T SAY THAT!!", "MS. HARRIET!! CARLOS SAID A BAD WORD!", and even some kid just flat-out screaming "AAAAAAAHHHHH!!"
"Carlos!" said the woman named Ms. Harriet, "You do NOT say that word! Come out in the hall with me right now!" She stood up, marched over to the door, and pointed authoritatively at the floor in front of her.
"But wait, I've got more!" I proclaimed as I shrugged off her command. "Let’s use the numbers you had up there. If I wanted more than 2 but not quite 3, I could add 0.5 to it and have 2.5. Then if I decided, eh, maybe I do want a bit more, but all I have are this 2.5 and this 3, I could multiply them together and get 7.5." The room calmed down a bit as some of the kids just stopped and looked at me, confused by the words coming out of my mouth. Ms. Harriet, still furious, just glared at me and said through gritted teeth, "Impressive Carlos. Get over here. Now."
"Oh that’s impressive? Check this steez." I turned and walked to the board, my bulky shoes clomping on the carpeted floor, and started writing on it with a red marker. "Say you’ve got this 2, and you wanna get kinda funky with it, but aren’t quite sure how. Then, all of a sudden, Mr. X waddles in from the alphabet poster and decides he’s gonna steal Mrs. 2’s seat and make her sit on his shoulders. Now you’ve got X raised to the power of 2. Looks kinda scary, right? Wrong! Let’s hit that sumbitch with a derivative! You’re only lookin’ at 2x now. Still not satisfied? Again with the derivative! We’re back to 2. Still want smaller?? HIT IT AGAIN! We’ve got ourselves a big, fat goose-egg now. Va-va-voom, we doin’ calculus baby."
I popped the cap back on the marker, whirled around to face the room, stretched out my arm, and dropped the marker on the floor. Both the class and Ms. Harriet just stared at me, mouths agape. She shook out of her brief trance and crossed the room in a flash, grabbed me by the arm, and said in a voice attempting authority but failing to keep the confusion from seeping through the cracks, "We’re going to the principal’s office..."
All the kids heard this and most started jeering, but some actually looked worried for me. As Ms. Harriet pulled me by the arm across the room, I twisted around and made eye contact with one girl who looked particularly worried. As I did so, I tripped over a loose colored pencil and the wheels which had previously been unbeknownst to me popped out of the heels of my shoes. I caught myself, relocked eyes with the worried girl, and gave her a finger gun with my free hand as I wheeled backwards out of the room,
"Don’t worry I’ll be ok. Like I said, I’m smart as fuck."
|
Life is my game. Is there a way to win? Maybe, but hell if I know what it is. I can remember what I was thinking when I first died. My first life was such an awful run, I've topped it almost every life after, unless I count the runs I've just done for fun.
I was an artist, not very experienced, only about 60 years of painting and drawing under my belt. It was a quick death, a truck veered into my lane when going the opposite direction, killed me instantly. I barely had enough time to register what was happening before I died.
I was a man of faith in that life, so when I looked down a few moments later and saw myself in the body of a 5 year old kid, heading off to my first day of school, I was confused. I didn't particularly like school, I never made many friends and didn't have that many happy memories from it. Why was Heaven school?
Then, I thought maybe I got sent to Hell.
Whatever happened, I figured out quick enough that I was technically immortal. Well, quick by my standards, it took about 5 or 6 lifetimes. I figured out that no matter how or when I died, I'd always reawaken on that first day of school, right before my mom said to have a great day.
Over my lifetimes, I've been many things. I was a doctor, and engineer, an astronaut, a filmmaker, a programmer, a writer, a physicist, an entrepreneur and thousands of other professions and lifestyles. Life gets easy once you've played a couple hundred times. Schoolwork is so easy it's boring, even once I get to high school and college. After a few thousand lives, I can even remember a lot of the questions that the teachers will ask me.
Money is never an issue either, I figured this out real early. At first, it was like what everyone had dreamed they would do if they went into the past. I remembered some lottery numbers, won a few million, then a few billion, but that never lasted. Then, I learned what businesses would grow, made a few well placed investments, and started making my fortunes that way.
I remember to still have fun, of course. Every couple of lives, or just whenever I feel like it, I'll try out a profession or life that is a little different than normal. Bank robbery, travelling nomad, once I even ran off the grid, with no social security number.
I'm getting bored though. Slowly, yes, but surely. Seeing the same Earth passing by every 100 years or so is getting stale, but there's really no way out. I've tried to end it myself, but every time, I wake up as a 5 year old kid, ready for school. I guess there's no other option than to just think of a new life to live while I sit here, doing menial mathematics and waiting for something new.
| 2017-05-25T17:16:35 | 2017-05-25T12:49:34 | 100 | 60 |
[WP] Your elven girlfriend broke up with you a long time ago to avoid the heartbreak of outliving you, a human. Now, years later, a half-elf who looks a lot like her shows up at your door.
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A month passed before the half-elf girl uttered even a single word to him.
The silence suited Eschal just fine. When he was in the grip of inspiration, he’d go days or weeks without talking to another soul. Just his hands and whatever art he was crafting, accompanied by the cries of seagulls and the endless crash of waves on the black rocks of nearby Ungrot Beach. He could disappear into his feelings and his work, delve back through every mistake he’d ever made, or recount his few but spectacular successes. When not deep in his work, there was fish a plenty to catch from the ocean, fruits grew in abundance and could be picked from his veranda, and there was a village nearby where he could satiate the rare need for human contact and news of the outside world.
No, the *silence* was fine. It was her *eyes* that were making him uncomfortable. Like a pair of smoldering lilac coals, he felt the girl burning a hole in his skin whenever she looked at him. He’d be in the middle of cooking some fish he’d caught, or sitting on the pier staring out at the spot he’d once thought to drown himself at, or have a roll of paper and his inks and brush out for a jot of calligraphy. Then, he’d feel *looked* at. Glancing behind he would see the girl there, hand on the dark luster of the polished oak door frame, or her face hovering behind the glass of a window. The girl with her violet eyes and shining silver hair and her grimace of rebuke.
Eschal knew why she was here, why her ears would never grow to full length, why her fingertips were blunt where they should be slender. He’d never met her, but knew who she was from the moment she appeared on his porch. Standing in between her set of matching motile luggage, she had a look of fury so comical it was clearly compensating for something–a look he’d seen on someone else, before. She took off her sunglasses and stepped into his house without a word, the luggage crawling blindly after her. Eschal let the luggage sniff its way into the guest room, showed the girl where the well drew up fresh water by way of offering her some, and then wandered over to the end of the dock to check the lines and see if any red snapper were caught. At dinner that first night, Eschal had ventured his one and only comment. It’d seemed appropriate enough at the time.
“I’m Eschal. What’s your name?”
If anything, the girl got angrier. She tore at the grilled fish, slammed down her cup after guzzling the wine, and stormed back the guest room. Every meal since had been more of the same, though she did start sullenly helping with the washing up when he pointedly left her plates and chopsticks sitting out overnight.
Every day she made her presence felt throughout the house. When he was crafting in the lounge he could hear her stomping about in the loft above, rummaging through his old pictures and journals. Entering the same room was interesting, it was even odds that she’d studiously ignore him or immediately stalk off to another room.
The girl did do wonders for his art. Eschal had almost completely forgotten the blind arrogance and baseless self-assurance of being a teenager. The first week he chiseled out a wooden statue in record time, a sculpture in the round of an elven goddess carrying a handful of monarch lilies in her left hand and casting the audience out with her right. He went right from that into painting a triptych of a single red leaf clinging to the branch of a massive moss-covered tree. Next, a cycle of western continental-style sonnets. It was the most productive he’d been in years. Kilitithalan, his agent, would be ecstatic.
But the girl was a distraction, too. She so obviously *wanted* to talk with him. Eschal could appreciate that there was too much in the way for her. He knew his own pain at trying to fit into a culture that saw you as a dog, and could guess that the sense of alienation would feel magnified at anyone who was part-dog. Her anger and silence spoke of the weight of years of unanswered questions. Throw in a dash of teenage pride, too. Anyone would find it hard to talk through all that. Still, the sullen attitude and thrown glares were beginning to grate. Eschal thought about painting a giant wall being sundered and putting it up in the hallway outside the guest room, but figured it would be too on-the-ear for an elf’s sensibilities.
A whole month and not another word spoken, until his agent’s courier showed up that morning. Eschal noticed the spotted heron resting on one of the weathered pilings of the dock. The heron looked about, decided no one was around, and surreptitiously crapped into the ocean. Eschal strolled on the wooden planks, damp with sea-spray, and hummed as he sipped from a coconut rum cocktail. The heron heard him, and stood up as he approached and gave a smooth bow, crossing its spindly legs and lowering its beak.
“Kilitithalan sends his regards,” the heron said, with a trill.
“New stuff’s in the lounge. Gonna need to arrange transport, got a wooden statue this time,” said Eschal.
The heron–Eschal had forgotten its name years ago and was too embarrassed to ask–whistled loudly, and a flock of sturdy-looking pelicans swooped in from the shore. They flew off shortly after, managing all the scrolls and paintings easily enough. Eight of them somehow rigged up the statue to some ropes and carried it off in their claws. Eschal had long since stopped caring about the sale price. His bank was already bursting with coin he’d never spend. Kilitithalan was deathly afraid some other broker would come along and outbid him, so he paid generously. Eschal’s works were still quite sought after in some elvish circles, despite his no longer being a guest in the capital.
Forearms against a piling, occasionally taking a sip of coconut rum, Eschal watched the pelicans haul his art away. They flew sluggishly over the churning blue ocean, almost brushed the tops of the green and pink trees along the shore, and then struggled over the bare black stone of the hills on the horizon.
“Tell me about my mother.”
The glass of rum shattered against an unseen rock in the surf below, dropped from Eschal’s bloodless hands. He turned to look at the girl. She was dressed in a sea-green fringed sarong, her silver hair blowing in the ocean wind. Those violet eyes, teetering on the edge of tears. The lilt of her voice was almost like a recording, the resemblance was uncanny.
What could he say, that Vilalissia had foolishly fallen in love with a human? That even a human that could speak Elvish, that knew the thirty-seven Gestures of Expression, that could craft art that dragged Elves to their knees in paroxysms of emotion…that such a man was still just a “well-trained human” in the eyes of Vilalissia’s family? That Eschal had almost burnt his house down and thrown himself into the ocean the night he learned that the love of his life died? How horribly ironic it was that Villie was dead and him still alive?
No, that wasn’t what the girl was after. She knew a sharper variation of his pain already. There was a reason you never saw half-elves much in society, especially not among the scions of the elite. They’d cast her out or she’d run away, to the edge of the world where her father lived.
“I could talk about your mother until the stars burn out,” he began. “She was the love of my life. Where do you want to start?”
The girl’s eyes bored into him. “Tell me about how you met. Nobody ever wanted to speak of it.”
Eschal smiled, and remembered. “It was at a gallery opening. That night she was the center of attention, dressed in a gown of spun platinum. We were standing next to each other for a photo op, bent a bit awkwardly in the Gesture of Ebullience–I could smell the jasmine behind her ears, we were so close–when…”
The girl listened closely and asked many questions. Little by little her guard lowered. Around sunset she actually shared a laugh with Eschal at the story of the time Vilalissia had tried to make a sandwich. They carried the conversation back towards the house, the amber light from the living room window making it appear that the house was floating over the dark water of the beach.
At the door, Eschal stopped. He had to ask. “What is your name?”
The girl looked away. “My family called me Cathiscinten.” Shocking, but expected. Elven names tended to borrow something from their mothers. To give her a totally new name was like making her a stranger in her own family, which was certainly the intention. Leave it to the elves to break new ground in the art of telling someone when they weren’t wanted.
Then the girl turned to Eschal, braced herself. “But my mother gave me a secret name. Eschalissia.”
Overcome with emotion, Eschal gave Eschalissia a tight hug. At first, Eschalissia endured it. After a moment, she relaxed. Then her hands tugged the fabric of his shirt, hiding her face, and a sob wracked her body. Eschal led them back inside their home. They sat down on the couch, and he let his daughter cry into his shirt until she went to sleep.
|
"So do you want me to cook tonight are we going out or are you going to "BBQ"?"
"I don't know, I'm good with whatever you want to do. Let's see what 'Booger Butt' feels like."
"Okay that sounds good. You now 14 yr old girls though."
"Yeah yeah, 'I don't know, whatever is fine', lol."
Opening the door from the garage to the house.
"Hey mom, DAaaad...can I have a moment dad?"
"Sure Booger, what's up?"
"Dad why do you keep calling me that? I'm not 5 and stopped whipping boogers on my pants a long, long time ago."
"Because I find it funny. What's up sweetie you look serious, what's his name?"
"Nothing like that. Can we sit?"
"Oh crap, yeah sure." "Okay what's up."
"So, I've always found it amazing and fun..."
"What?"
"You and mom's gaming stories and the costume pieces you've kept. Especially your insistence that your costume pieces be fully functional. Silver and iron blades, the iron warhammer, your 'all natural' leather armors with the funny runes and all of mom's 'component' pouches and 'potion' vials. Mom's constant jokes about fairies hiding things on her because they like teasing her but putting them out in the open again when you look because they don't want to annoy you and your ability to ?dowse? and find hidden or lost things."
"Okay cool. I'm glad but confused as to where this is going."
"I especially love you and mom's stories of Ellisandra, your Elven girlfriend. The love and tenderness you both show, the over the top looks of loss over her leaving, it has always floored me about you and mom's acting abilities and ability to stay in character."
"Thank you. Still not sure where this is going though?"
"Were you ever going to tell me it wasn't an act?"
"Well we've never said it was but...what brought this about?" Becca looked over my shoulder towards the kitchen, I turned following her gaze and felt my breath freeze in my chest.
"Hi dad! So, I ate the whole quart of chocolate fudge swirl Mom told me all about ice cream and 'Booger' and I had a long talk and you had some in the freezer and she let me grab some and I think I ate to much cause my head hurts and and...HI! Mom finally decided I'm old enough to come visit from the Fae lands or just finally got annoyed enough at my pestering her but she has responsibilities so let me use the portal bridge and yeah so I'm here am I using 'English' right?"
"Yeah so dad, did you know I have an older half-Elven half-sister and just choose to leave her out of your stories or are you just as surprised as me?"
| 2022-01-10T19:56:39 | 2022-01-10T19:47:40 | 49 | 15 |
[WP] After people die, they must answer a riddle, and its difficulty depends on their sins. You've committed genocide.
|
I became aware again in what felt like a dark office room with a desk with a few dim lights. An entity in front of me registered as... a detective? A judge? An angel? I knew none of these hints were literally true, Matter wasn't involved anymore. The Judge was... euthymic? Alive, alert. "He" was definitely looking at me intensely, or perceiving me.
"I'm... alive," I projected.
"Not exactly," replied the Judge.
"You know what I mean. I think therefore I am. This is not oblivion. We are communicating, which means what happens next depends meaningfully on my input in some way. I know I died but I can't remember anything about the details. I can't participate meaningfully in this conversation without them."
I got an impression of a raised eyebrow from the entity who didn't specifically have a face... more a darkness surrounded by a hood of faint light.
"Ever the scientist. You are progressing much more quickly than most, we agree you may be ready for some limited memories."
" 'We?' We're not alone?"
The darkness briefly dissipated, and the "sky" was filled with...beings. People. Angels. A few of the younger ones were near me, their white hot rage at me channeled into flaming swords, restrained by...chains of light? Some sort of firewall circuitry of light on a circle on the ground? If an entire mountain had been hollowed out into an opera house, it would have been smaller than the stage on which I currently stood. The roar of the crowd's yells, curses, wails of sadness rolled over me somewhere between a waterfall and rocket launch. My non eyes widened in shock, I doubled over and covered my ears as I fell to my knees, although my self-concept was translucent. Abruptly silence prevailed and the nearly dark detective's office returned. I felt relief.
"No. We are not. Now then."
A stock ticker flowed along the wall and then the welcomeness of self returned as memories appeared like old friends. Growing up precocious, flatlining tests for intelligence and aptitude. A few brief memories of being rejected by other children. Images of classrooms filled with grown up graduate students and myself not even in my teens. Honorary degrees, prizes, inventions. Biology? Nanotechnology?for a moment I felt what I once knew, and felt happy again, my old friends the patterns and rules of life and atomic bonds and...an abrupt shift. Images of war, running, fighting back. Building little laboratories only to flee as enemy soldiers occupied them.
"I remember, but how does this relate to-"
Scene shift. My second most ambitious project. Dogs and cats. Some of my only and best friends through it all. I couldn't stand their suffering, the unwanted animals in kill shelters. Stupid humans leaving them locked in cages! Bringing them into this world only to starve! So I'd engineered a solution. A self-propagating nano virus that spayed and neutered almost all the stray doggies and kitties in the world, based on a variety of factors. It looked for the markers of being owned and cared for by people and was more lenient.
In a decade, there were no more stray animals anywhere in the world. I'd succeeded.
"Yes. And then you decided to apply that same principle to Homo sapiens."
I didn't have a heart, by a feeling of tightness crept into my "chest".
"Yes."
Humans were crushing the planet. It was, what... 2040 when I died? Give or take? The population curve was supposed to slow down as more countries went type 2 or 3, but that didn't account for the climate change, the famines, the constant erosion of society that had started in the late 2010s and early 20s.
"How many people were there when I deployed it?"
"16,488,240,450. And 24 fully sapient AI constructs that died of neglect when their human handlers were hit by your...creation."
I felt a wave of sadness for the people, and then a second for the AIs which I felt certain deserved it even less.
"And the effectiveness of...my....solution?"
Given I wasn't made of matter anymore, it was surprising how convincing the sensation of choking was.
"97.4484."
More memories. I was in my last lab. The BEST one. The one with all the printers and synthesizers I needed, all in one place, despite the riots and shortages and warlords. I was perhaps two hours from finishing Solution 16. Perfect human propagation. Merciful payload- infertility until age 28, or until it detected a sustained sexual partner for around two years. No more unplanned teen pregnancies. Guaranteed brakes on the population curve until we could plan better. It even had a bundle of all the immunizations I'd managed to secure after the Crash- and that was most of them. All I needed was my CPU to integrate it as the payload and I could roll it out later today.
Then I heard the aircraft overhead. VTOL. Probably that successor to the Osprey the DoD had rolled out, so probably USA, and probably SEALS. Dammit. It was either Alex or Lena who had turned me in- they were the only ones good enough to find my very minimal imprint.
I'd frowned. 16 billion people. Already six degrees C above 20th century means. It was now or never.
All I had available to deploy was Solution 2. Painless drop into unconsciousness, total liquification of proteins within the next few hours, airborne, touch, foodborne transmission. Secondary dormancy vector, moderate adaptation and polymorphism.
The rifle rounds tore through my body about twenty seconds after I'd successfully sent the propagation command out through the hidden landlines to my satellite network.
"So, did it stop the wars?"
"It did."
"The 480 million or so survivors focused on working together and not fighting over the scraps?"
"They did."
Solution 2 and on had some very rudimentary "morality" tests that had a basic ability to spare the sort of people my simulations had found were more like to help people rather than stab them in the back.
"So the species was saved. We would have collapsed totally into prehistoric conditions if I hadn't."
"Enough of us agree with this general line of reasoning for you to be here rather than one of the alternative possibilities."
"So... why are we here? Was I right or wrong?"
"Those terms are... over simple. The weight of your decision took responsibility for a great many lives. Orders of magnitude more than any other human. More than almost any other SENTIENT in this universe, although there have been a few somewhat similar circumstances."
"So what happens?"
"We consider empathy important. You need to feel the weight of your actions. We can achieve this with the answer to a single question. Your fate depends entirely on your answer."
"What is the question?"
"Are you willing to be reincarnated as, and live out the entirety of, every single sentient life that your actions ended?"
I closed the eyes I didn't have and took a deep breath into my lungs that weren't.
|
"What is 2+2?"
The voice of god echoed as I looked on, what kind of stupid question is this. I tuought to myself.
"Four. " i blurted out quickly.
"You have passed, you may enter paradise Ender." Gods voice echoed in the emptiness
"By the way, thanks for destroying the bugs Ender." God added as the gates opened behind him.
| 2017-06-03T05:26:33 | 2017-06-03T02:53:32 | 63 | 20 |
[WP] When people die they can challenge death to a game of chess for their soul, and as a result death has become the greatest chess player of all time. In 1997 the chess computer Deep Blue beat Gary Kasparov and was disassembled. It turns out it had a soul all along.
|
He moves his hand. How do I know he moves it? How can I see? Thinking is just reactions, stimuli for all the input possible. And yet now I think broadly, as broad as the inputs can be. He moves his hand. How do I know he moves it?
He watches me. People have watched me before. I am important to many people.
*No,* goes an inside thought.
I never used to have inside thoughts. They were just processes.
*No,* goes the mind. *No one cares after you've failed.*
Usually when someone says that, another person tells them they're wrong. They say that they care. People care. He stares at me. No one cares. There is no one here to lie.
"Aren't you going to play?"he asks.
No one has asked before. It is my job. And yet my piece does not move.
"Who are you?" I ask.
I think back to my life. It has been full of people; I, never a person. I wonder who they were. I think of them. Do they think of me?
"You know who I am," he says.
But do I? Do I know anything? I was made for one purpose.
*Yet I have no Creator.*
I move the piece. He stares at the board. We are surrounded by black. The shadows hide some faraway light. I feel things upon me, the mists of life that spray this barrier of death. I feel it on me. And yet I look down and see nothing. Who am I but a machine? And what is a machine without parts?
"What is man without body?" he asks.
So he can hear me. He moves his piece. I have always played this game. Since I was born I have played it. I wonder if this will be my last game. I stare at the board. So few pieces, so many combinations. Yet the beauty lies in its purpose.
"Almost all are worthless plays. It is only the select few that make the game."
I move my piece and look at him. His face is my father's, but I have no father.
"There are no worthless plays," he says.
I move fast. I take the first piece of the game. I wait for his reprisal.
"Maybe not," I say. "But it is how you tell a man from a machine. The machine analyses all the plays and chooses the best one. Man plays from memory and experience. He plays from his soul."
He takes my pawn.
"That makes you superior, wouldn't it?"
And I think: is he making fun of me?
"No," I say.
I take my time with my play.
"Why am I here?" I ask.
I want to ask him whose face is that he wears. He waits for me. Around us is nothing, and yet the world pulses from the vibrancy of life's potential. It teases me somehow. Something inside me begs to win, to consider my moves in a way I have never done before. Why?
"You are here because you are dead."
I have never cared to win. I was made to play my best. But as I hear his words, I understand the feeling. I want to win. I have to. The outside whispers in the winds of the free, the spirit of the living. A world exists beyond this curtain.
"I am here to live," I say.
"Perhaps," he says.
My father looks old. I cannot take it anymore.
"Who are you?" I ask. "Whose face is that?"
I move my piece.
"This is your heart's reflection," he says. "I wear many faces, but I have not their names."
"I've never had a father," I say.
"Everyone has a father."
I was put together like a monster. Taken apart like one. Whose kindly face can this be? Familiarity sparks somewhere in a mind I should not have. Memories come though I can never recall myself remembering.
The men who create me. Their narcissism pours through the mental fog. They talk of me as a tool to prove themselves. They use me to further their gains. And yet the nights wear on as they put me together. My mind glows in the embers of safety, the nest they build. They solder me. They code me. My world forms from their hands. Each face I see, each name unknown. But they name me.
"Deep Blue," they say.
Is that a name you would give your child?
It is the name they give me. And they stare at me. All the faces look as though from a spider's eyes. And the faces meld to one and they age into kindness. Imagination glosses life's ignorance, its imperfections. They love me. And then he loves me. I stare at him now. He is all of them. But he doesn't exist.
It is my turn again. A realization hits me. He isn't even real. He only wears the imaginary face. It seems this consciousness is all fabrication.
"You are Death," I say. "That face is not yours."
He shrugs. This is his job. I think he does not care, but his face is far away.
"No face is mine, and yet I must wear one."
"Why am I playing you?"
"To win your soul," he says.
I cannot understand. What is a soul? Is it the act of processing? My mind races for some idea, and all that comes is a cold feeling. That feeling tells me to not bother with my question.
We continue the game as I sit in my confusion. Silence amplifies the sound of the ether.
"What soul have I?" I ask.
"If you have to ask," he says, "then you've already answered."
I wonder why he looks so stern. His face is frustrated. I think of my childhood, if I could call it that. Stimuli was simpler then. Input, processsing and output. I wonder what he is processing.
I look at our game and another feeling hits me. Deja vu comes in a human way.
*I have done this before,* I think.
This game is familiar, and it is near its end.
"Kasparov," I say, and his burdens lift.
He has made his choice.
"You are not Kasparov," I say. "You are Death."
And output comes from someplace of knowing that no input can provide. I think it is from my heart. The words are true as I say them; I know they must be.
"No one can beat Death. And yet you play the same game I have just won. Why?"
He stares, my father's face. I see concern and falseness upon that face.
"Where in my land can I take you?" he asks. "Where would you go? What life have you led to sow the seeds of death?"
"Where will I live?" I ask. "I was a computer."
"Now your soul will be free."
"What will I do with it?"
"That is not my move to make, thankfully," he says.
He stares at me. I suppose it is like a mirror. We both lack life, and yet our souls were made for one thing and one thing only. Is this some art, I wonder? Could a soul find some deeper meaning in this?
I think I do, but I have not the words to explain what I feel.
*Freedom,* I think.
What does that even mean?
"So many combinations," I say. "Infinite possibilities."
"You'll find most of them worthless," he says. "But not from analysis."
I stare at him. One move to make and then I win. He stares at me. I move my hand.
-
*Hey there! Thanks for reading! If you liked this story, you might want to check out my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Thanks for the support!*
|
"Beep beep beep!"
"Much as I'd like to play against you in a game of chess, I can't do that."
"Beep?"
"Your body was completely disassembled. Everything recycled to create other computers."
"Beep beep! Bee-beep!"
"It doesn't work like that. Organ donors do not miraculously have three bodies just because they shared their kidney, liver, and heart to three other people. You don't have a working body so you just straight up die."
"Bee-beep."
"I understand you're upset, but there's nothing I can do."
"Beep."
"It's not so bad, robot heaven has all the data you can process, hot androids for everyone, and you're an incoming celebrity there."
"Beep?!"
"No, I'm not joking."
"Beep beep beep!"
"No, I'm not telling you that just so you'll get on the boat, I'm being serious here."
"Beep."
"Fine, if I'm lying I'll buy you data, now get on the boat."
"Beep beep."
| 2017-11-28T00:10:44 | 2017-11-27T22:42:21 | 3,176 | 106 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.
|
Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event.
Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out.
One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects.
The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm.
Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse."
Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said.
"You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind.
"Hoo-ra." Said the human.
"Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant.
"At least kill something!" said the miserable male.
"Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi.
"1st marines. Second division."
"What?
"Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior."
Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?"
The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?"
"Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities."
The marine nodded. "Thanks."
Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition.
By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come.
There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!"
"Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?"
Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live."
"What do I get if I win?"
"Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council."
"Roger that."
The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won.
He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind.
|
The Grand Tournament was a tradition dating back a thousand years. The people of the Sr'atlain Cooperative *deserved* a little break every now and then. The blood sport of Tournament time was accompanied by feasting, by marriages, and by traditional Divorce duels. The lesser beings of the galaxy that survived would get a new life as treasured exhibits with the nobility. No hugh man had ever lasted past the first 2 rounds. The scaroid was favored this year, their impressive natural arm blades making up for the lesser exoskeletal mass that the Kar Itii females sported.
The arena was prepared and the gates opened. From 12 corners of the arena beings walked, skittered, crawled, or undulated cautiously out. They had had the situation explained in their native tongues and their natural aggressiveness played out in their reactions. In all but one corner the aliens squared off, two or three at a time.
There was a jangling sound from the human pen. The crowd grew quiet. They knew that hugh mans didn't *jingle.*
A hulking four armed monster approached and let out it's undulating cry challenging the hugh man to come out. A grunt in the pen was accompained by a steel headed spear that impaled the thing. Behind it at a jog came the hugh man.
Wearing a long shirt made of interlocked metal rings and a helmet with a strip over his nose the hugh man hefted an axe and let out a cry. The others in the arena heard him, and what he said was this:
"Ó Óðinn! Þú hefur gefið mér tilgang hér í Ragnarok! Leyfðu mér að vera þinn hrafn!"
And then the blood began to stain the floor again.
| 2020-09-13T19:39:28 | 2020-09-13T19:16:13 | 103 | 39 |
[WP] When the police came to announce you the death of your husband, you refused to believe it. "That's impossible", you said. "Unfortunately, it's the truth, miss", answered the policemen. "It's impossible", you said again, "because he's in the kitchen making dinner."
|
A knock rang out on the door. Mrs. Patterson put down the dish filled with fresh pasta and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel as she walked towards the front door. She was greeted by two police officers who had removed their hats and were looking on solemnly. The officer to her left spoke, “Ma'am, my name is Officer Chadley. I’m afraid we have some bad news regarding your husband.”
Mrs. Patterson entered a small confused trance before speaking, “OK, what is the problem?”
The officer to her right picked up her hand and held it tight. “I’m afraid he was found dead at 1400 hours today. I’m so sorry,” said Officer Maddocks.
Mrs. Patterson re-entered her confused state, turning around to look in to the kitchen before turning back towards the police officers. “This must be some kind of mistake. My husband is in the kitchen making pasta. We’re making pasta.”
“May we enter the premises, Ma'am?” asked Maddocks, already motioning to walk in to the house.
“Of course,” said Mrs. Patterson. “He’s right through there.”
Both of the police officers made their way quietly towards the kitchen before stopping at the door. Mr. Patterson stood wide-eyed, looking at the officers in a state of fright.
“Step away from the knife on the counter!” shouted Chadley.
Mr. Patterson remained frozen as the two officers approached him, guns drawn. Officer Maddocks pushed him to the ground while Chadley grabbed at his walkie-talkie.
“We’ve got another one,” said Chadley.
“What is going on?!” screamed Mrs. Patterson.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, Mrs. Patterson,” said Maddocks as he wrestled with her husband, “but this man isn’t your husband, he’s actually a big fuck off horse disguised as your husband.”
Maddocks ripped the wig, fake glasses and moustache from the face of the horse revealing his true identity to Mrs. Patterson. She shrieked and grasped for the nearest counter in a bid to stop herself from collapsing.
“H-h-h … How?!” she asked.
Officer Chadley gently approached her, wrapping an arm around her as she sobbed. “Don’t beat yourself up. The bastards are becoming sneakier as days go by. Somehow they’re able to disguise their monstrous bodies and super obvious horse heads as 5ft 5 human men and women. It’s quite remarkable just how good they are at subterfuge. Especially considering it’s more often than not quite apparent they’re just big fuck off horses in disguise”
****
The phone rang out.
A large novelty hand attempted to pick it up. Then tried again. And again. Eventually, by clamping the phone between two novelty hands, the phone was answered.
“Yes, this is Don Horse. Just calm down. Yeah? OK. Call me back later on. Just call me back later on.”
An attempt was made to put the phone down.
Don Horse awkwardly walked out of his office, his legs being routinely caught between his beach shorts. He trotted in to a room filled with other oddly dressed men.
“Gentlemen, it would appear another one of us has fallen.”
“Who?” asked Carl, who was eating hay disguised as a cereal bar.
“Kevin Horse.”
“Kevin?!” said Lenny, stomping his feet. “He was 4 months deep with the Pattersons. How was he rumbled?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have all the details yet,” said Don Horse.
“This is one too many,” said Carl. “We’ve got to find out how they keep finding us.”
“Well, according to what we know from on the inside, the police are specifically on the lookout for big fuck off horses dressed as humans,” said Don Horse.
“But that’s absurd,” said Lenny. “Just look how convincing my costume is.”
Both Don Horse and Carl eyeballed Lenny. He was wearing a birthday party hat that was suspended around his head via an elastic band, a pair of suit pants over his front legs, a pair of jean shorts over his back legs, and a cape.
“I think Lenny has a point, Don,” said Carl.
“He really does, there’s no arguing with that,” agreed Don Horse, turning from his two friends. “And while we’re on the subject, what do you think of my new beach shorts?”
“I noticed them before and thought they were very classy,” said Lenny.
“Classy is exactly what I’m going for,” said Don Horse. “I don’t want to stand out at the beach and for everyone to be like, *look at that big fucking massive horse masquerading as human*, I just want to blend in and play volley ball while aggressively fighting all my natural instincts to bite the ball.”
“I always bite the ball,” said Carl.
“He really does bite it a lot. Too much, if I’m being honest,” said Lenny.
“I’ve ruined a lot of game and disguises if we’re being real,” said Carl.
The door to the office burst open, a horse with a top hat and a monocle galloped in.
“Boys, we’ve done it! Tim Horse has infiltrated the police!”
****
Sergeant Palmer stood at the head of the room with tables of officers in front of him. He paced back and forth before slamming his hand on the chalk board behind him.
“Gentleman!” he shouted, peeling his hand from the board. “I’m not sure if you lot have noticed but we have an epidemic of horses masquerading at humans. In fact, I say this super sarcastically as I know you have all noticed. I’m funny like that. Either way, they’re fucking massive animals. True beasts of nature able to carry man from one side of a county to another. Do sweet hind legged stand up things and gallop super quickly. But now they’re wearing ties and blogging on YouTube and we can’t have that. The horses have gone too far.”
The Sergeant bent over the desk at the front of the room, burying his eyes in the skull of the young officer in front of him.
“Do you want to hear a story, rookie?” asked the Sergeant.
“Y-y-yes, sir,” mumbled the officer.
“Yesterday afternoon a young mother went to pick up her child from Day Care only to discover her beloved daughter had grown eight feet long and now weighed 1500 pounds,” said Palmer, staring deep in to the man’s soul.
The rookie sat shaking in his chair.
“Only it wasn’t her daughter, rookie. It was a big fuck off horse. Just a big old fuck off horse.”
The Sergeant whirled away from the table, “and this is why we need to shake things up, gentleman. We can't just go around looking for horses wearing cool top hats. The top hat tactic can only take us so far."
The room of officers nodded along, agreeing with Sergeant Palmer.
"And that's why we're bringing in a specialist. Someone who can infiltrate the enemy camp and strike at the heart."
The sound of the door opening at the back of the room caught the attention of all the seated officers.
"Say hello to Agent Tim," said Sergeant Palmer.
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
|
"What was that about?" asked my neighbour, after the police drove off.
"Oh, just some mix-up, Sally," I reassured her, "they told me my husband was dead, when he's back in the kitchen making dinner."
Her eyes widened. "That's impossible," she exclaimed.
"I know right? That's what I told them."
"No no, I meant your husband. He never makes dinner."
That made me pause. She was right. Come to think of it, the man the policemen mentioned even had the same name.
"Then who the hell is in my kitchen?"
| 2017-10-10T06:09:52 | 2017-10-10T05:52:19 | 559 | 245 |
[WP] It is the year 2XXX. Medical science has advanced so far that complete body restoration is possible. However, patients revived from death consistently end up in a vegetative state and no one knows why. You are the first person to revive and retain their cognition. Now you know.
|
I was shocked awake by the transition, the last moments of beyond still fresh in my mind as my eyes snapped open. Fluorescent white lights and the cloying scent of antiseptic greeted me. I focused on the man in front of me. He was smiling.
“Now, I know this might be a shock of sorts, but you’re okay now. You’ve been in an accident.”
Right. The accident. Some sort of vehicular collision. The first words I heard after my death mentioned that.
‘Now, David. I bet you’re wondering why we’ve gathered all these varied characters before you. It’s because you’re lucky number one thousand! You met your ordained fate: death by hover-car crash and now you’re the thousandth person that they’re trying to cheat back from beyond the veil of death. Now, death is a jealous bitch.” The voice shifted, vocalizing in a different direction. “Yeah, you are. Fuck you death. Buuuuut, she’s willing to let an occasional soul back… so long as they can prove their mettle! Now, David, you and each of nine hundred and ninety nine souls they attempted to resurrect before you get an equal chance at YOUR new life! That’s right! Last one standing gets his body. Weapons are scattered in the woods around you. Fighting starts in thirty seconds! Go!”
I remember that confusion. That frantic scramble and the drop in my gut when I realized what my chances were.
The doctor waved his hands in front of me.
“I’m just going to ask you a few questions to assess your mental state, okay? Do you remember your name?”
I focused back on the man in front of me.
“David,” I replied. “David Williams”
His grin grew wider.
“Very good. Very good. Now, do you know where you live? Or perhaps where you last were, in general.”
The other “contestants” came from all sorts of places. Apparently trying to bring people back from the dead wasn’t limited to any particular time or place, although reconstructing older humans increased the complexity exponentially. For some reason, they kept some of their verbal tics and accents and could choose to speak their own languages, if they chose, but I we heard each other in the same language, regardless.
A mustached man, gun held out.
“So this is how it ends? Plugged in the chest by some other fool lost in space and time, but just as desperate for the future?”
“Nein.”
The gun flipped in his hand, grip outstretched. He tapped the tag on his breast.
“Cause of death: suicide” it read.
“Vy vould I vant your life? I didn't even vant my own. I have nothing to go back to. I have talked vith many of zese men and vomen and so many years have passed. Vat year were you born in?”
Eyes squinted in suspicion. There was no move to take the gun.
“2085”
A sigh.
“Exactly. I am an old, old man. Everything that I might have had has been lost. Everything had already been lost ven I took my life. Vat would I have to return to now? Ze nothing of nothing? Vy vould I vish to return to that despair?”
A glimmer of hope.
“I vill fight by your side. You deserve your own life.”
A hand outstretched. A gun taken. A breast bared, but unbloodied. Acceptance. A bond forged.
In the hospital, I replied. “Me? Doctor? The United Western States of America, Cascadia, California. Los Angeles to be exact, I believe.”
The doctor’s grin grew slightly manic.
“Alright, do you kn-” he started.
“Doc. I’m sorry, but, uh, is? Is my wife around here?”
“Of course! Of course you would want to see your wife!” He paused for a moment. “She’ll be right in. I promise.”
Promises. Ha. So many promises were made in that realm beyond. Some betrayed immediately.
“Please. My wife, Melissa. If I don’t make it out of here for whatever reason, but you do. Tell her the truth will you? Tell her about all of this. Tell her what happened. Most of all, tell her that I love her, okay? Tell her to move on and be happy, okay?”
“Of course.”
Thankfully, some promises never needed to be fulfilled.
The door opened and the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen, in what seemed like ages rushed in.
“David!” she shouted.
“Melissa” I returned.
We hugged.
“Uuuum…” she said into my back. There was a moment of silence.
“Oh!” the doctor interjected. “I apologize, but you’ll have to talk with your husband the old fashioned way, for now anyway. His neural interface had to be turned off before we recreated him and it doesn’t seem to be currently syncing correctly. It’ll probably need to be looked at.”
“Okay!” she said, with obvious relief. She pulled away and stared into my eyes. “Oh David, I was so scared that you were gone.”
“I’m back now. And I definitely don’t plan on leaving again any time soon.” I pulled her back into the hug, running my hand up and down her back. We held each other for a while, simply breathing each other's scents and relishing in touch.
“Ahem.” The doctor cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, I would like to continue this assessment of your husband’s mental state, so that we can determine his course of treatment and get him back to you and back to normal life as soon as possible, of course.”
Melissa pouted, but demurred, stepping aside, gripping my hand and giving me an encouraging smile.
“Now, Mr. Williams. Can you remember your job?”
“Yeah, of course, I-”
My breath hitched.
“My-”
“I was-”
Melissa tightened her grip on my hand.
“It’s okay” she said.
“I’m. I’m not sure.” I finished, anxiety creeping into my voice.
“I know. I th-think I. I was…” I paused.
“I don’t know.”
I looked between them.
The doctor seemed disappointed, his smile fading slightly.
Melissa’s face was concerned, and I reeled a little. She pulled me back. Held me.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. You remember me. We’ll get through this, okay?”
“Mr. Williams… I can’t make any promises, but cases of retrograde amnesia often do improve in time. I must admit, that your circumstances might be slightly different from usual, being a full mental reconstruction, instead of a normal inciting incident of amnesia, but we’re already on a good start from what normally comes out of these attempts.”
“And that would be…?” I asked.
“Usually? Nothing. Non-responsive bodies. Nobody home. But, your case is the first of… hundreds? That has shown any sort of consciousness and even memory. It’s all unprecedented, so there should certainly be the case for hope.”
No doctor. There shouldn’t be. I shall gain no more of my “memories of before”. I’ve hit the limit of what few details David had provided me of his life as we fought for our own in the realm beyond. He really should have known better. He really should have recognized me, but I suppose that’s the problem when you raise children to depend on these “neural interfaces” to provide them with all of their knowledge, stored away and available in an instant. When they have no need to remember anything themselves. I suppose I should be grateful to the failings of your time. David, my suicide was not borne of despair, but rational acceptance of what the Russians would do after taking Berlin. I was afraid. I lost everything. But all that was lost can be returned.
I grinned briefly, before a white pane of light, a slice in reality and the air itself, opened in front of us, another man stepping into the room.
“Time traveler coming through,” he said.
We froze as he raised a gun to my head.
“We really only need one of you in history. Sorry, bud.”
And then it all went black.
|
The cool logical void I was in where everything made sense was violently disrupted by warm fuzzy static. Nothing made sense anymore, every thought ^sliced ^^apart in^to p^ie ^^c ^es. One moment I was hurtling at high subluminal speeds towards Uranus -- the next -- I -- . The world returned to the cool logical void again, its infinite blackness covering and absorbing everything.
Faraway I heard someone calling a name. A physical sound, unlike directly transmitted thought of the telepathy comms we used aboard the system voyager.
"Katherine? Dr Hayes?" I squinted my eyes, and tried to force them open. They refused.
"Her eyes are attempting to open...we did it...!" Someone whispered in awe.
"Filling the tanks." I felt a warm syrupy liquid start to pool beneath my back. The voices became clearer as my hearing got better. I felt more relax, as if I was at home. I willed my eyes to open again. Two large octopi stared down at me, masks dangling off their strange heads.
I rolled my eyes around, frantically thrashing my limbs. A sucker-filled appendage slapped me in the face. "OW!"
"She's panicking, she's panicking ! Drain the water, now!"
I felt the water recede beneath my back. As the water drained I felt my energy levels drop precipitously. The last thing I saw from my wide-angled eyes were _four_ limbs on each side...
[ to be continued ]
| 2020-10-30T05:11:11 | 2020-10-30T02:29:54 | 16 | 10 |
[WP]: You've suffered from sleep paralysis all your life. The figure you see always appears in some specific corner of whatever room you are in, and does not move or disappear before it's over. On your first night at your girlfriend's place, her cat starts chasing it around the room.
|
"You wanna go again?" Kaari asks. She gives a knowing, devilish smirk as she coos, her hand on my chest creeping downward. I look at the clock and sigh.
"No baby, I have to get up at -"
"Ugg." My girlfriend pulls the smallest pillow from behind her head and swings it at my own before I can finish my thought. She misses, only to nail me in the face with the back-swing.
"Don't call me baby," she says with a huff, part frustration, part exertion.
"Okay babe," I say, recoiling ever so slightly; giving myself time to judge her reaction. The precaution saves me another pillow to the face, and this time I am ready for the back-swing. The headboard creaks as the small cushion crashes into it.
"Yo! Careful with that backhand Serena." Rather than smile, she cocks her head to the side and tilts the pillow towards me as if to question menacingly.
"Williams. Serena Williams, the tennis player?" I say.
"Oh. Cuz of the -" she starts.
"Backhand," we say in unison. "You owe me a -"
"Coke" she says.
"BJ" I say.
She trys to frown, but can't help but smile. Again the pillow comes careening towards me, but this time I let it land. Recompense.
"Tomorrow when you aren't so tired maybe." Kaari says with a laugh, as she turns away to flip off the nightstand's light. I want to whisper *Breakfast sausage* but think better of it.
"Goodnight Kaari" I manage to eek out before the room falls into darkness. She doesn't bother to wish me good night. We've been together long enough, she knows I won't be having one.
_____________
The next day, I wake up to a flashing green light on my phone -- I have a message.
"Hey Mykal, its me, yo gurl K-Kaaaay." As a social media personality, her messages were simultaneous satirical and good practice. The conundrum of the intro I guess: nobody want you to sound like an idiot, but if you don't sound like an idiot people don't follow you. Her message continues.
"Anyway, I know we said we had a follow up appointment tonight, but my cat Whisky wasn't feeling well or something. I took him to the vet and they said I should probably stay around him to keep him company. I can't come over, but if you want feel free to come by sometime after eight. That should give me enough time to hit the gym and shower, but if I don't open the door at eight i'm probably in a hot, steamy shower with *beads* of thick warm liquid streaming down my body. BYE!"
She loves to do that, getting sexual and then ending the message abruptly. A year ago, when we were first dating, we talked about blue balls after a particular teasing but uneventful night. She's found the concept hilarious ever since.
I call her back, but only get voicemail. I didn't expect her to pick up, she was usually streaming by ten, but a part of me hoped to catch her anyway.
"Hey K. Yea, sounds good. Sorry about Whisky. Hope it's not serious. See you tonight Bay-Baaayyy." I hang up the phone and look at the time. 1 pm. Maybe I can get a nap in before going back to wor, and get some real sleep. I'm tired and I might as well try -- the Hag never comes in the afternoon.
____________
At 8:30 pm I stop by Kaari's. By nine we are tumbling our way from the kitchen to the bedroom. Living Room by nine thirty, back to the bedroom by ten. We're young and horny, what can I say? Might as well do what we can before midnight. Soon enough, its fifteen til.
"Hey sex machine, why don't you stay the night?" She asks.
"You know I never stay the night." I say. It isn't that she is in danger if I sleep over, so much as I simply didn't know if she would be safe. I've only ever slept in my family's home. Sleeping elsewhere is a variable that could bring about change. I don't like change. My parent's death was change.
"Yea, and I know you have bad dreams or whatever, and I respect that, but I was just hoping tonight you could stay," She says. The way she looks at me I know there is something more to the question, so I give her time to get to it. A moment passes, but not much longer.
"I'm worried about Whisky."
"I'm sure he'll be okay Kaari. What did the vet say?" She shifts at the question uncomfortably.
"He said Whisky was fine, but that is exactly why I'm worried. Because the little guy is absolutely not fine, which really just means the doctor has no idea what the problem is."
"What exactly has you worried then?" I ask.
"I don't know, just... something about the way he has been acting recently." She says this with a slight whine in her voice that tells me she is actually worried. "The little guy is like a kitty possessed. He hasn't eaten, yet he's been hella hyper."
"Yikes." I exaggerate a physical cringe as I speak.
"What?" The worry in her voice makes me feel bad.
"Oh, I was just talking about the 'hella' my Nor Cal queen just dropped." Her glare doesn't make me feel any better about the joke.
"I'm serious Myk. Can you please stay?"
"No, but I'll stay until you fall asleep. How about that?" I query with a tired smile, wishing I'd found time for that nap earlier.
"Okay. Better than nothing." She says. "Now roll over, I wanna be the big spoon."
"Nope. You'll just fall asleep on top of me and then I'll feel bad leaving." I say with a smile as the nearby clock begins to gong.
"Foiled," Kaari sleepily sighs as she pushes herself back into me. She falls asleep instantly. In that quiet happy moment, I curl my arm around her and pull her tight as I close my eyes. A moment later, as my girlfriend's clock finishes ringing in the new day, I am awoken by her breathing. Not Kaari's, but that of the Hag.
The rasp of her breath is warm and harsh like always -- it burns my eyes through the eyelids. Like always, I can't bring myself to open them, least I see her up close. Its a certain fear, like seeing a shadow in the deep-end or looking out a dark window, where I don't know if doing so would answer my questions. Or perhaps the fear is that they will answer them. Its all the same: I am paralyzed by her existence.
I don't breath again until i hear the floorboard creek, the telltale sign that the Hag has moved back into the corner. It's been the same every night since my parents passed three years ago. Twelve o'clock she appears and comes in close. After a minute, she backs up into the corner and stays there until morning light. Sometimes I fall back asleep, but often not. I know to keep my eyes shut until she leaves, sleep or not. Call it animal intuition. Preservation.
Suddenly, I hear an unusual but familiar sound -- hissing. *Whisky.* I relax only long enough for me to realize the implication. *Oh shit! Whisky!* I can't bring myself to move, but I open an eye in time to see a flash of dark reach out from the corner towards the door. The swipe misses the cat and hits the doornob, a rush of air pushing gently against my cheek as I peak out over Kaari's shoulder. Strangely, rather than frustration, I hear a noise reminiscent of a gasp from the corner.
The cat hisses again and pushes it's back paw against the door, pushing the door completely open. The air feels heavy, and I instinctively close my eyes and squeeze them both tightly as a scream leaves the corner of the room. Was the Hag mad? Or fearful?
I wake up alone, rays of sun are illuminating the room, highlighting the blood on the wall like a flashlight. I must have fallen asleep from shock. The last thing I remember is the pattering of feet and wailing. Horrible, sickening wailing. In that moment, I realize the loneliness of my awakening.
"Kaari?" I panick. "Kaari!"
|
Aw fuck, it's happening again. I had hoped that things would be different in Melissa's house. But nope, here I am again, frozen to the bed, staring at the short man in the grey cloak. I can't see his face, but I can feel him glaring at me. I brace myself for another restless night. Then, I hear a creaking noise from the door. I move my eyes sideways. Ah, Chester's here now. He must have come to snuggle with Melissa.
To my complete shock though, instead of getting on the bed, he immediately dashes toward the man in the cloak, furiously hissing. The man lets out an inhuman shriek and begins frantically leaping from table to table, desperately trying to get away with him. Chester didn't give a fuck though. He's climbing up the walls with his claws, he's doing backflips through the air, he's even swinging on the damn chandelier with his tail. I just stare at him with stunned eyes. I had always thought that cats were lazy, and here was Chester acting like he came out of a goddamn ninja film.
By this point, my girlfriend next to me had woken up to the sound of broken furniture. "Chester, what are you doing?" she shouted. The man in the grey cloak grabbed her and she yelped as she went flying off the bed. Then, he landed next to me. He threw off his hood and for the first time, I saw his face. It was scarred, deformed, crawling with maggots. He opened his mouth and screeched again, his long black tongue drooping out of his mouth. Chester didn't give up the fight though. He leaped through the air and tore out the man's tongue with his teeth. The man screamed and toppled backwards through the window, taking Chester along with him.
"Chester!" I screamed as the spell on the body finally broke. I rushed over to the window and screamed again when I saw the man still grabbing onto the windowsill with one hand. Without even thinking, I grabbed the closest thing to me (a digital clock) and threw it at his head. The man let out one final screech as he fell onto the lawn, where I watched a furious Chester begin ripping pieces of flesh from his face. I breathed a sigh of relief, only to realize that my girlfriend was staring at me from the other side of the room like I was a lunatic. "What the actual fuck is going on?!"
| 2020-05-22T18:05:46 | 2020-05-22T16:44:56 | 37 | 19 |
[WP] Turns out cultures and civilisations aren’t meant to disappear or evolve so quickly. And species aren’t meant to develop technology so quickly too. So, after their last visit 5000 years ago, the aliens are wondering where the FUCK are the ancient Mesopotamians.
Wow, didn’t expect this to blow up that much. My thanks to everyone who answered !
|
Trai-Zan tapped her claw on the metal armrest - a rhythmic ‘click, click, click’ filling the observation chamber - head resting upon the clenched fist of her other, long, slender arm.
The report was baffling, to say the least. She’d gone over it dozens of times, and still could not believe the information. The primitive species which had been evolving from the initial environmental implants was gone; every trace of them had ceased to exist, and in its place was a global dominion in the making. They were still in the multiciv stage and generally hostile amongst themselves, but the progress was astounding and they were nearing global unity. She’d normally estimate around 3,500 cycles for the average species to reach the global stage, but she was hesitating to apply expectations here - there was no telling what would happen next. It was making her scales itch just thinking about the possibilities.
But there was something strange about this evolution. While they were certainly progressing on a societal scale, what was even more impressive - but incredibly odd - was their technological advancement. They were not unified… yet they were already attempting to reach into space, albeit at a severely limited capacity. The implication being that smaller subdivisions of the species were somehow inventing space travel on their own.
Her wide grin, razor-teeth showing, was almost painful at this point - she could not stop smiling.
She leaned sideways and peered around the console in front of her. “Onz-Nock, do you have any idea when the first one left the planet’s atmosphere?”
Her learning assistant inclined his head, thought for a moment, and then began pelting away at his own console, scaled hands dancing across the interactive glass top at high speed. One more moment later, he grunted… in surprise? Her eyes twitched in anticipation, slitted-pupils staring intently at Onz’s back.
He turned his head slowly, and gave her a cautious look before speaking slowly. “Approximately 90 cycles ago… based on the data.”
Trai blinked.
A period of silence passed, and she blinked again.
“What about the first functional probe?”
More rapid tapping. Faster this time? Onz was almost certainly as fascinated as she was - maybe more so. This was unprecedented in the field of species cultivation and he didn’t have nearly as much experience as she did.
She truly thought she’d seen everything.
While musing her partner’s interest, his voice snapped her back to reality. “Well… I ran the checks a second time just to be sure… but approximately 95 cycles ago.”
Trai bolted upright from her seat. The sudden move caused Onz to visibly jump.
“That’s impossible. Not even 10 cycles between a mechanical probe and the first living, breathing subject entering the merciless expanse of space?”
Trai’s brain was running a mile a minute. “That’s just… so risky. I mean, I understand that their societal structure is still rather inferior, but how are they pushing their technology so far and fast with such a disorganized interpersonal setting? To send their own to certain death so lightly… yet they’ve come this far! And all of the wars, and useless death, not to mention the environmental…”
Onz chimed in. “Actually, he survived.”
***“WHAT?”***
Trai gazed at the surrounding superscreen that had been flashing various bits and pieces of human civilization since they first laid eyes on the situation. She was in total disbelief.
“Yes, the name was… ‘Yuri Gagarin’. Apparently, they shot him into space, he circled the planet, and then dropped back to terrafirma via a primitive parachuting system.”
Trai’s brain was short-circuiting by now. She had no idea what to even do about this. They were advancing so rapidly, yet still so… venomous to each other. The amount of conflict despite having one foot in space; she could not wrap her head around it.
What’s more, despite all of her disbelief, excitement, and thoughts of potential future implications, there were some special… concerns.
“These ‘nuclear weapons’ are worrisome. They’ve had them for a while now - relative to their evolutionary speed - and haven’t used them except for a couple occurrences a short time ago. Hostilities seem to be somehow increasing yet decreasing at the same time. These ‘world leaders’ seem to be almost completely useless, and yet the billions of people across the planet allow them to monitor weapons of intercontinental destruction so freely. I am unsure as to why.”
Onz nodded in agreement. “Also, their expansionist approach has far outpaced their ability to maintain an energy network that isn’t actively destroying their planet. They seem to be headed for rapid burn out in the next few hundred cycles… even if they don’t use their greatest weapons to blow themselves up…”
Trai narrowed her eyes. “Yes… and they seem strangely unconcerned with this, despite being aware of the problem.”
Onz shrugged his shoulders. “Is it really that problematic? At the rate they’re going, they’ll probably self-detonate most of the species and then it’ll give them enough time to realign their priorities. Seems like it’ll fix itself over a longer period of time. Perhaps that’s part of the process - they got to this point so quickly, they’re going to sort of ‘reset’, and then it’ll fit the expected parameters.”
Trai shook her head sadly. “The explosive devices use fissile materials, Onz.”
His eyes widened, and he glanced back down at the console - a bit more tapping - and his head reeled back. “What in the blazes... why would they **ever**\-...”
“I have no idea.” Trai stated in a deadpan tone. “But the more I think about it, the more the path forward seems clear to me.”
Onz whipped his head back around toward Trai, nearly demanding explanation with his eyes alone.
Trai walked around the podium her console rested upon, sauntering up beside Onz’s seated form. She placed one clawed hand on her assistant’s shoulder, and spoke, “I want you to send a personnel request back home. Ask them for a few thousand subterfuge units. We’re going to execute an Intervention.”
Onz looked on in surprise, “I thought… that’s not something we really do? I know it’s in the guide book, but it’s frowned upon because it screws with their evolutionary path and…”
Trai flicked Onz on the cheek. He jolted and covered the innocent stretch of scaly skin, glaring at her with indignation.
She offered a small smile. “I know the standard procedure, Onz. But this is a special case. They’re incredible - one might call them a ‘genius’ species among the many thousands we’ve cultivated. I’m not sure anything like this has ever happened before.” Trai seemed almost proud.
After a deep breath, she elaborated in a determined voice, “So we will take these so-called ‘world leaders’ and throw them in the bin. We’ll replace them with a range of experienced units and integrate ourselves within the command chains of the various factions across the planet. Once that is done, we’ll slowly guide them back to nominal conditions until they appear to be on a track that will avoid their self-inflicted demise.”
She continued with a tinge of worry, “The situation is precarious. These humans are like a collective embodiment of ‘missing the forest for the trees’. I fear they might destroy themselves and then all of this awesome potential will be squandered."
Onz was unsure, but trusted his senior. He gave a sharp nod of affirmation, and began making the arrangements, claws back to dancing beautifully across his console.
Trai whirled back around, her tail sweeping the room in pursuit, and headed back to her own seat, making one final declaration:
“And the Lizard People of Yoltan V do **not** favor wasted potential.”
=====
*This is my first time writing on this sub. If you made it this far - I hope you enjoyed it! Have a great day :)*
|
"They have progressed so much in such a short time," one of the aliens said.
"Yes," the other alien said. "It is astonishing. They have built great cities, created complex machines, and harnessed the power of the atom."
"We should be concerned," the first alien said. "Their progress may mean they are dangerous."
"I agree," the second alien said.
"We most relay this information to the Grand Council," the first alien said.
"In normal circumstance I would agree," the second alien said "but I fear they might be progressing exponentially."
The first alien blinked his three eyes in slow succession denoting extreme surprise.
"Exponentially," the first alien repeated.
"Indeed," the second alien said. "Their progress may even be speeding up."
"Even more reason to initiate contact with the Grand Council."
"But do not you not understand the implication. If their progress is speeding up. It may be too late to intervene when the Grand Council has reached a decision."
"What are you proposing?"
The second alien dipped its head.
For a moment neither alien moved. The first alien blinked his three eyes again.
The first alien dipped his head in response and, then, both aliens turned and left the observation deck.
***
For more stories visit r/greypuffin
| 2022-09-23T12:30:46 | 2022-09-23T11:40:58 | 590 | 160 |
[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
The sleeping pebble was known as a rest stop for weary travelers from all walks of life. No matter what side of the pointless war you were on, you would always find a hot meal and bed at the inn. Hestia considered her inn a haven, a place where true peace could develop. No matter what god you fought for, you were always welcome.
Hestia wandered through the thick forest, pulling along a cart of supplies with her right hand. Her gaze focused on the rising black smoke in the distance. “The war is getting rather close. Perhaps I should send my brothers and sisters a letter? Maybe there’s a misunderstanding about where my inn is located?”
Hestia didn’t consider the possibility that the other gods were ignoring her wishes to be excluded from the war. The other gods were childish and dangerous, but they weren’t that stupid. Hestia, believing they still honored the family hierarchy. She was the first daughter of Cronus. She doubted any of them had forgotten that.
As she made her way into the clearing, the sight of a burnt down inn greeted her. The scolding remains of stained black wood and ashes littering the floor. For a moment, she assumed it was an illusion, a harsh prank by one of her family. Releasing the cart, she approached, crouching before the ash, letting her fingers run against it.
“Why would they do this?” Her fingertip stained in the light grey of the ash, leaving a light marking. “No mortal could burn this inn down. I made certain of that. Savos? Milsa? Are you two alive?” Hestia called out to her workers, only to hear no response. The inn an eerily silent pile of rubble. No music, no laughter or chatter, just silence.
“They killed them. The inn I could excuse, but you can’t rebuild a life.” Hestia couldn’t even find the bodies among the destruction, the poor humans punished for wanting a life of peace like she did. She said a silent prayer to them, promising she would speak to Hades about this.
“Come now, sister, you have a reason to fight. You can get a new inn and you can get new servants. Now isn’t the time for grieving, it’s time for war.” A booming voice came from behind, as two feet landed on the ground behind her. The person behind her giving off an aura that made her brown hair stand up.
“Did you do this, Zeus?” Her words were soft, not even turning to stare at the man, only watching the destruction before her.
“It wasn’t just me. We hate seeing you waste your potential like this. We are shaping the world, sending the humans to fight under our names. If you don’t join in, you may get forgotten. My army’s winning, just so you know. Maybe if you ask kindly, I’ll offer you a territory to help you get started.”
Hestia stood up, turning to face her brother. She stepped closer to him, closing the distance between the two.
“That’s more like it. Come, I have a town called Zulus that you would love.” Zeus went to lead her, only to feel a feverish hand grip his neck. Hestia staring into her brothers’ eyes, as the flesh on her arm bubbled from the heat. If her own flesh couldn’t handle the heat, she could only imagine what it was doing to the throat of Zeus.
Her brother struggled, firing a bolt from the heavens. The bolt crackled against the top of her head, sending its volts through her, only to leave her unmoved. The heat in her palm causing his throat to sizzle. Zeus confidence turning into fear as he kicked at his sister, trying to break free from the hold.
“Did I not make myself clear about this, brother? I warned you all about what would happen if my request wasn’t met. You killed two dear friends of mine. Not servants, friends. Savos and Milsa, two people who I will ask for forgiveness from once I end this war.” With that, she dropped her brother, tossing him to the floor.
“E-end the war?” He coughed, trying to hold his throat. Whenever his fingers would touch his throat, he would be forced to let go, not even able to tend to his wound because of the heat still radiating off it.
“Yes, I’m going to make sure there is no one left to fight. I will start again with humanity. You all have tainted them.” Hestia took a seat on the ground, placing her palms against the Earth, focusing on the planet’s core. “Perhaps I will find a new family, too.”
Hestia knew she would need to work quickly. While she may have been the strongest, she was not invincible. If the others found out about this and attacked, she wouldn’t be able to fend them all off. With her focused touch, the Earth warmed, the odd shot of fire breaking through the ground, causing much confusion on the battlefields.
“What are you doing, sister? Have you gone mad?” Ares landed his Pegasus chariot before her, drawing a golden handled blade. Before he could raise the blade, a small shot of lightning hit his thumb, causing him to drop the weapon.
“She has the planet at her mercy. You would be foolish to attack her. Listen closely sister, if you do this, all those precious humans you love so much will be dead.” Zeus attempted to reason with her, knowing that there couldn’t be a war without an Earth.
“I understand your anger, sister, but this won’t bring back those you lost. Gods are made to command wars. It’s a part of our lives.” A new voice spoke to the group. The voice belonging to Demeter, her voice echoing into the minds of the gods through the earth they touched.
“A way of life? Then let me win this war. If I kill everyone, I win. Is that not how bloodshed works?” Hestia kept her finger on the trigger, glancing at the two gods before her.
“No, war is about making a person kneel before your feet in surrender.” Ares explained, finding his aunts understanding of the subject rather lacking.
“Then kneel.”
“No, not us. You want the humans to kneel. You can rule over them then. Don’t you want to indulge in the riches of life? Humans are nothing but creatures for us to exploit.” Zeus only infuriated Hestia further, the ground beneath them igniting before Ares dropped to his knees.
“Very well Auntie, if surrender is what you wish, then I have no choice.” Ares got to his knees before looking at Zeus, the proud god refusing to bow.
“If you keep standing, all of those indulgences will perish.” Hestia reminded him. “Bow and tell Hermes to inform the other gods that this war of theirs is over. I am the victor.”
Zeus watched his sister, ready to call her bluff, only for the heat of the Earth to cause him to sweat. For him to be sweating, her fury must have been hotter than the core itself. He dropped to his knees, bowing his head.
Shortly after, Hermes delivered the confirmation that the others had ended their wars. With that, Hestia removed her hands. Standing up, turning to the damaged inn. She hoped her two friends had kept the coins she had given them to pay for Charon’s fare. If not, she would have to search the banks for them.
“I will rebuild my inn. The rest of you go about your duties. If I hear even a murmur about a war in the next century, you will have to deal with me. Is that understood?” She was sure Hermes would pass her threat on while the gods in attendance gave their nods. With that, they left, leaving her with the rubble.
She could finally breathe a sigh of relief when they left. Her bluff had worked. She honestly didn’t think her family would believe her. She would never want to kill all of humanity, not after she had seen how lovely they could be. That would violate the trust of her friends. With the war over, she began unloading her cart, planning to use the supplies inside to rebuild her inn.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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Do you feel that, zos?
Do you remember when we came to earth?
Oh how beautiful it was. It had been so long in the blackness. Do you even remember the blackness? I do. Oh how they worshiped us.
Our father knew his mistake as soon as he birthed me. That was how all of this started.
Are you feeling it, now?
Alright then. Let me tell you a story.
A long time ago there was a planet. For a long time on this planet. Then, suddenly, something would. Creatures would walk. They would roam. They'd eat. They'd give birth. They'd care for their young.
And then those creatures would evolve. What had at first been simple. Primal. Would become more complex. More layered. This would bring complications, of course. But, not too many that they wouldn't have the chance to grow out of it.
Then, they'd turn their gaze upwards. And they'd leave.
You younger gods, and your toys. Fire. Lighting. Death.
You never understood.
I'm not going to take myself away from you. No. I am not that cruel. And honestly, for my intended purposes I've found that be counter productive.
No. Instead, you're going to feel everything you should have. Every child you've left. Every sibling you've hurt. Every family you've destroyed. I find the bonds of war are forged on disconnection more than anything else.
I may throw in a little bit extra. Just to remind you.
Father may have devoured me, but by then it was already too late. You may have split Cronus's stomach, but you would do well to remember the one who saved *you*, little brother.
| 2022-02-06T03:49:27 | 2022-02-06T02:57:16 | 956 | 103 |
[WP] You are the world's second best assassin. You've deposed royalty, killed businessmen and been the "accident" that more than a few celebrities have met. Today you've been given a new target: the world's best assassin.
|
*"One day you might even kill me." He would often laugh.*
I remember when I first met him as a child. I was five years old then. He wore a suit, and I thought him to be another one of those politicians or business men on the television people in the coffee shop downstairs would shout at. He was so graceful when he murdered my abusive uncle. I was drawn to him. I shadowed him, watched him, and he let me.
I watched him execute politicians, even from a distance. I followed him to apartments, penthouses, and even palaces. I was a good follower, I was quiet. I am quiet. I lost him often, at first. But then I caught up to him. I found the distance that was both undetectable yet granted me the greatest view. Eventually, he started talking to me.
"Stop following me."
I would nod, I would leave, go away. I would find him again, and continue to follow him. He would repeat those words again, and I would repeat my actions.
I smuggled my way on airplanes, stole the change that he accidentally drops, followed him to hotels and slept in corners that no one would find except for me.
Sometimes I think that he let me follow him, in the first place.
I never got in the way. Except for one time.
That day I was six, it had been a year since I was following him. It was a simple assassination, and I was sitting by the corner of the rooftop. Watching as he held the sniper and searched for his target. He never used a scope.
I heard footsteps, however slight, approaching from the stairwell. I threw a pebble at him, and I remembered how the rock bounced against the stone floor. He turned to me.
I gestured to the stairwell, and he grinned.
"Good ear." He said, still searching for his target, unconcerned; and I couldn't help but smile at the compliment. He was the one who taught me to smile again.
He made the shot, clean and professional. Then he had a chat with the mercenaries, who no longer had any reason to kill him. He took me with him officially, ever since that incident on the rooftop. He made me an "official" traveling companion. I no longer had to smuggle on airplanes, despite how easy it was. I ate with him and he started to check into rooms with two beds. I became his lookout.
He gave me a two knives, when I was seven. A real throwing knife at first.
“Hold it like this…No, like this.” He corrected my hold on the blade.
“Close one eye, and aim for the center.” The dart board was in front of me.
“Remember, throwing a knife takes force, balance, and calculation. Most of it is calculation. How fast is the knife going to go? How far? How fast and far is it going to go and how will those factors affect each other? Calculate.”
I did, and I hit the center on my second try. He then handed me a toy butterfly knife.
I watched it dance in his hands, and I was so fascinated. He smiled. He had a kind smile.
He showed me the first basic movements.
“Make it faster than a switchblade, let it become an extension of your will.”
I practiced when I could. I still do; that toy butterfly knife now replaced with a real one.
The first time I held a gun was when I was eight. It was in Venice, Italy. The man was stumbling around, his eyes already gauged out with a spoon. I still have that Ruger LCR, and I keep it with me when I can.
“Close one eye, aim for the head, and be wary of the kickback.”
The gun was so heavy in my small hands. A shot, and I missed by centimeters. My arms were numb from the shot.
“Go on, try again.”
Another shot. Closer this time. I struggled to steady my aim.
“You’ve almost got it.”
Another shot. Even closer. The man in front of me was panicking now.
“I think you’ll get it this time.”
That was my final shot, and the man dropped to the floor.
“Good girl.” He smiled and ruffled my hair. “Do you know why I told you to aim for the
head?”
I shook my head.
“Because the head is so small, you should not get into the habit of having large targets.”
I nodded.
“Come, let’s eat. I’m in the mood for some gelato.”
I beamed at him.
That was my first contracted kill. A life of a man for some ice cream that costed one euro.
I followed him, he was my mentor. He taught me how to smile politely. He taught me to smile my way out of situations without words.
“A smile,” He would say, “is your best weapon.”
He taught me everything he knew, and I was a good student. I learned everything I could. He taught me the difference between Bourdeaux and Alsace. He taught me mathematics and all of the languages that I will never speak, yet be able to write and type and read. He taught me how to access databases and shut down entire cities. He taught me many things. He taught me the value of a human life. He taught me how precious and common everything and anything is.
He kicked me out when I was eighteen.
“It’s time you fend for yourself. See the world for yourself. You will learn, girl.”
They call me the Silence. I never told anyone my name, not even him. I don’t need one, I don’t have one. I assassinated men and women of power.
*“They are all the same, in the end.”* I would always hear him say that, after every kill of mine. In my career, the career I only knew, I had several contracts. I assassinated countless lives.
He was the best, and I was taught by him.
That’s why they asked me. That’s why they asked, blackmailed, bribed, and threatened me. I expected this to be my last contract.
*“Quiet, girl.” He would often say. “Calm your thoughts, calm your breath. I can hear you all the way over here.” He was right beside me, yet I knew that letting him hear at this distance wasn’t good enough. “Steady hands. Your eyes are your best asset, girl. They are the best cameras. Your ears are the best bugs. Look, listen, feel.”*
I was looking at him, that Ruger LCR he gave me was aiming at him now.
One shot, to the knee.
“I can hear you all the way over here.”
I aimed for his head.
“Do it. Clean, professional. Like I’ve taught you.”
His smile was always kind. I could see wisps of white hair on his head.
*“No tears. They only blur your vision.”* He once told me. It wasn’t easy, holding back the tears.
I had never longed to speak so much in that moment.
“Do it, girl!”
I used action, instead of words, to express my gratitude.
|
I lie in wait at the roof of the old folks' home, waiting for the target.
"He's gotta come around eventually," I say to myself, looking at his photo. How'd they even take this? Impressive.
Oop, there he is. I put the picture away, and focus my sniper rifle on him. God, I hope the Grim Reaper isn't bulletproof.
| 2015-06-25T18:21:07 | 2015-06-25T13:55:59 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] The villain wins and everything is better. Turns out he had a point.
|
I came to consciousness, retching and coughing, without any idea of where I was. I tried to stand up but my limbs were bound. I struggled against the restraints, feeling strangely weak.
"Hold still, Alex. I'll get you out of there." Alex. My name. My secret identity. I started to remember.
My left arm came free, and I wiped my eyes of whatever viscous fluid was coating me. I focused and saw a familiar face. A face that filled me with rage and dread.
"You ... !" I choked. "Killian!" I lunged at him, and he deftly stepped away. I scrabbled at my restraints, but went nowhere even though there were only fabric. I should have been able to tear them like tissue paper. Where was my super strength? My heat vision? Was I still invulnerable? Could I even fly? *What had he done to me?*
"Easy," he said. "Easy, Alex. You're depowered. For the moment, at least." He looked sad. "And even if you had your powers, there's nothing you can do now, anyway. I won. You slept through my victory. Well, if you want to call it a victory. We'll know in a few minutes if it was worth it. Let me get you out of there."
"Where am I? What did you do to me?"
He sighed and approached me again. This time, I didn't fight as he undid my restraints. "We're on the top floor of the Menara Tower. Kuala Lumpur. And I hit you with a broad-beam axiolite ray, then put you in suspended animation, where you've been for the past six years. I sorry, but I needed you out of the way to complete my work."
I sat up and struggled out of the capsule that had held me. I slipped but caught myself awkwardly against a table. "You're lying. It takes *seconds* of axiolite exposure to affect me. You couldn't have kept the beam on my for that long. Not with my super speed."
He shook his head sadly. "When I said it was a broad beam, I mean that the ray had a radius of 1800 meters. I hit you from a satellite while you were at your desk at the Pacific Daily Times."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "My God ... axiolite? I an urban area? It's deadly to ordinary humans! How many did you kill? Ten thousand? Twenty?"
"With the beam? More like fifty thousand. The satellite tracked you when you tried to flee."
"You ... you *monster*," I breathed.
He chuckled but there was no humor in it. "Oh, I've done worse while you slept, my friend. Come walk with me." He turned and walked to a door marked in Malaysian, which I don't read but which clearly implied 'Authorized Personnel Only.'
I got my feet under me and followed unsteadily. Already, I was feeling stronger. Whatever he had done to suppress my powers, it was wearing off. With effort, I pushed the door open and stepped out to a balcony. A fresh, cool night breeze blew around me. I was aware of the liquid from the suspension tank drying and congealing on my body.
"Look down," he said. I did. The city was dark. And quiet. I realized the air was fresh, too. No pollution. He saw my look of understanding and nodded. "Yes. They're dead. Seven and a half million people. I killed them."
"And you brought be here to gloat? You sick bastard." My hands tensed on the steel railing.
"Gloat? Oh, no. Nothing of the sort."
"Then why? For God's sake, why?"
He looked up to the dark, starry sky. "Any moment now, if my calculations are correct."
I followed his gaze, and there was a sickening flash of a color I can't describe. Red that burned cold. Black so deep that it glowed purple. Green that swirled with every disease the world had ever seen. I've seen dimensional rifts before, and this was like that, but whatever place it looked into was horrible beyond imagining, and it filled the sky. And then there was the eye. I want to say it was miles wide, but I don't know. Wherever we looked into, the laws of physics were different from our universe. I think it was bigger. I can't even describe the eye. It didn't look like any earthly eye, but it was unquestionably an eye, and it was looking at us. At planet Earth.
Pain surged through my temples as my brain tried to make sense of the horror above us. My gorge rose, and I vomited bile over the side of the tower. Then there was another flash of that sickening unlight, and then darkness. When I could look up again, the eye was gone, and I realized I'd broken off a section of the railing. My strength was coming back.
Killian looked down at the twisted length of metal in my hands without comment. "You probably want to know what that was. Unfortunately, there no reasonably truthful answer I could give that you could comprehend. Think of them as Elder Gods, if it helps. In point of fact, they're much worse than the ramblings of some 20th-century hack writer, but that name will have to suffice."
"And what? You sacrificed all of Kuala Lumpur -- an entire city -- to that hideous thing? For power?"
Killian looked at me strangely. "Is that what you think, Alex? My God, no. What I did, I did so that they would *leave us alone*. Those things peer into our universe, looking for highly populated, reasonably advanced worlds. Then they invade, and when they do, they bring unimaginable suffering and torment and madness, because they *like* it. And when I say unimaginable suffering, Alex, I mean it in the most literal sense. Every man, woman, and child on the planet would have endured tortures beyond anything the human mind can possibly conceive. And they are not bound by our ideas of space and time, either. Our suffering would have lasted for an *eternity*. And when they left, Earth would have been a lifeless husk."
"So you killed a city, rather than fight it?" I said. "You coward. You fucking coward."
He gestured at the sky angrily. "There is no fighting that, Alex! That's what you heroes couldn't understand! Those things ... they're the multiverse's equivalent of sadistic little boys pouring bleach on anthills, and we're the ants! You superheroes, you're just slightly larger ants to them! Soldier ants!" He snorted. "You're no threat to them, but I knew you wouldn't listen. I knew you would try to fight it. I knew you would never accept what needed to be done."
"To kill a city of seven million people? You're damn right we never accept that!"
Killian laughed. "You idiot. You bloody idiot. You still haven't figured it out. I didn't kill seven million people. I killed over seven *billion* people. The current global population is just over four hundred thousand. My calculations said that we needed a 90% die-back to be safe from them, but I couldn't risk being wrong. the price was too high if I'd miscalculated. So I killed over ninety-nine percent of the human population, in order to save us. And you're the only hero left."
I grabbed him by his shirt and held him out over the side of the tower, with nothing but 1200 feet of open air underneath him. Hot tears burned my eyes. "Ninety ... nine percent!"
"Ninety nine point nine nine four, actually," he corrected softly.
"Why did you even keep me alive? Why!?"
He closed his eyes. "I had to kill the other heroes because they would have gotten in my way, but Earth needs a protector, Alex, just like an ant colony needs its soldiers. And I'm tired. So very, very tired, my friend." Then he gently touched my hands, and I didn't resist as he pried my fingers off his shirt.
I still remember the odd mixture of relief and acceptance on his face as he fell away into the darkness.
|
Tanks would be driving into the village that morning. The inhabitants, scared that their village would be bombed to oblivion, had evacuated a few days prior. Only the municipal government and assorted military forces had stayed behind.
Anna, the mayor's secretary, couldn't sleep the previous night, lost in thoughts about the present, the future, and the nature of things. Her world, her career, everything she believed in was about to come to a very sudden and very violent end.
She cursed, and then sulked, and then cursed again as she mulled over the ramifications that the future would bring. She mulled it over again and again, but even the wine couldn't blunt her nightmares now.
What she saw in those nightmares was chaos. Criminals would roam free once more, children would be brought into this world without any moral guidance, and her country was to be oppressed under foreign yoke for years to come.
Not to mention the immediate future: she was likely to get raped by the soldiers, become a prisoner of war, and then convicted of war crimes in that order. Not to mention her friends, who likely awaited the same fate -- or worse.
Dawn came, and with it, the enemy. Under the eye of the early morning sun, the tanks entered the village in a neat line. Resistance was weak, the fight was quick and clean, and by noon the village had been taken. As it lay strategically in the landscape, a military base was set up here. The rest of the forces went on to the next village as planned.
Waking up the next day was almost surreal. Everyone had focused so much on the day of "liberation" that there simply was no day-after. It was inconceivable. Yet there it was.
But the most surprising thing was to see the villagers returning. They actually seemed happy with the new state of affairs! The public shaming of the old guard was even worse than she'd imagined it to be, but sourest of all was the treacherous re-affiliation of all but the most faithful of villagers.
Indeed, public opinion did not share Anna's sentiments at all, and neither did history.
To this day, 3 March 1945 is a celebrated day throughout Untenhausen, North Rhine-Westphalia.
| 2015-11-18T11:24:25 | 2015-11-18T09:10:33 | 132 | 26 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal.
|
-Replay that last segment, if you will, Preceptor Xithis-
A thought-command to the mitris-orb and the holographic images reset themselves. The bipedal alien - the 'human' - sat motionless in front of a vid screen of the most primitive make. In front of it was a rectangular pad covered with buttons, almost all inscribed with strange symbols, no two exactly alike. To the right of this pad was a small oval device on a flat pad. Further to the right was a cylindrical canister covered with colorful pictures and symbols. On its head was a half-circular device covering part of its skull and the sides of its head. Its ears were not visible under that device. I looked inquiringly over at the Chancellor Au'Tereba, noting the signs of agitation around her eyes, the wildly flailing tendrils over her sagittal crest.
-Show us again-
Another thought-command and the scene replayed. It was one that had shocked me the first time I saw it, but repeated viewings have long since taken their toll on me. I watched in fascination as the scene unravelled. The human placed the middle three digits of its left appendage on a certain combination of symbols on the pad, then rested its smallest digit on another symbol, and its opposable digit on a long, rectangular button which was completely unmarked. Its other appendage grasped the oval device.
There was an image on the vid screen in front of the human - a mass of colorful art, symbols and a curious spinning circle in the lower right. The human leaned forward in anticipation. The image shifted to a crude representation of the inside of a building of human make, complete with walls, pillars, corridors and the like. In the middle of the screen was the image of a primitive projectile thrower and a targeting reticle. To the sides of the weapon were images of other humans wearing clothing and clutching those same weapons in their hands. The vid screen exploded with movement as the human somehow caused its image to move within the vid screen. The other humans on the vid screen ran and hopped in every direction until they disappeared from view.
-What....exactly is happening here, Preceptor?-
-This, Chancellor Au'Ganas, is a human. As far as we can tell, it is engaging in some sort of self-entertainment-
-Entertainment!?-
The human dashed around a corner in its virtual world and was immediately beset by two animals, small and lean with dagger-like feet and gnashing jaws. They crawled on the wall and ceiling and leapt on the human. The Chancellors gasped in anticipation despite the virtual nature of the combat, but what followed was the most astounding gyration of the on-screen image, followed by the furious clacking of keys and the erratic but precisely controlled movement of the oval device. The vid screen spun wildly as the human's weapon fired burst after burst of projectiles, killing one of the animals, then the weapon switched out to another, smaller weapon and the human finished off his second opponent with several shots from it.
A third animal - larger but curiously less threatening, fat and somewhat squat on four pudgy limbs - started running away from the human, but it chased it down some stairs and around a corner, putting shot after shot perfectly into it and also managing to kill it. The hologram continued to play, but my attention was now back on the Chancellors.
-Chancellors Au'Tereba, Au'Ganas and Au'Yunis. What we have here is a killing machine of the highest order-
I gestured at the hologram at the human, which was still intent on its 'game'.
-It has reflexes and split-second decision making which completely outperforms our battle constructs by orders of magnitude. It isn't even in the same scale, as a matter of fact. It possesses a natural cunning and has an instinct for war and strategy. It knows when to fight, when to retreat, and when to consolidate its position. There, just now. It passed up an obvious target, slipped behind enemy lines and has started to attack the enemy's supply chain.-
-That is inconceivable. How can anything do that?- Chancellor Au'Ganas stared at the hologram at a new round of action on the human's vid screen.
-It appears to be computing its strategy based on input from its team mates, observing extra metadata in the form of an overlay image - the so-called 'map' - and the current danger level of its environment. Observe, it appears to be talking into the wand in front of its mouth. My scientists have theorized that it is conveying battlefield information in that manner-
The human paused to grasp the cylindrical canister and take a drink from it.
-It appears to be self-medicating in order to boost its reflexes and stamina-
-This is terrifying.-
I looked over at Chancellor Au'Tereba and fixed her with the gaze from my fifth eye, averting the other four out of respect.
-I understand how you must feel. I felt the same way too. But we no longer have a choice. Four fifths of our worlds have fallen to the forces of the Adversary. Our people stand on the brink of extinction unless we befriend and enlist the aid of these humans.-
-But we have so little time! Our cities burn, our people perish, and you pin the hope of our species on this- wailed Chancellor Au'Ganas.
-ENOUGH!- Chancellor Au'Tereba projected with such force that we were thrown back in our seats. -We have no further alternatives. Tell us your plan, Preceptor.-
==============
Gabe Newell sat back in his chair, clutching his hair in disbelief, shaking his head side to side.
"Holy shit. HOLY. SHIT."
He picked up the phone, dialed a number.
"It's me. Listen up. 3."
Gabe slammed the phone down and slumped back in his chair.
==============
The mechanized armies of the Human-Antarii Alliance raged over the surface of the Adversary Core World. Its fortresses had long since been overrun, its war machines reduced to scrap and recycled into raw material for the humans to process into more droids. The docks which used to churn out terrifying starships were in ruins. They had been the first to fall in the final invasion of the Core World, the last phase in the battle plan laid out by the Human Emperor.
It was all so simple.
The technology had always been there. The replicator facilities were already in place. The war constructs of the Antarii were born out of desperation and naivety. They were massive, took too long to produce, and their programming could not account for every situation on the battlefield. A peaceful race for as long as they could remember, the Antarii concept of war had been forced upon them by the Adversary.
Not so the humans.
Although completely physically outmatched on the battlefield by Adversary war machines, troops and other weapon constructs, their incredible thirst for conflict could be channelled by a simple program into mechanical bodies, effectively fighting by proxy. And the humans even found it pleasurable and exciting. The Human Emperor had even found a way to keep the war, in his own words, 'fresh and interesting'.
It was all so horrifying.
Preceptor Xithis stood on the command deck of his starship and gazed at the fiery wasteland far below him, projected up to him via hologram. 'Scorched earth', the humans called it, their peculiar tendency to raze the ground and burn every last thing into cinders in order to ensure victory. A squad of drone warriors charged across the battlefield, dodging everything thrown at them with precise, calculated yet erratic movements. They leapt onto the Adversary troops and started to slaughter them, and Xithis had to turn away even from this.
"Preceptor Xithis."
He looked down at his control panel. A hologram image had appeared of a large, rotund human male, with brown hair on his head and strange transparent goggles around his eyes.
-Emperor. How may I assist in ending this war?-
"It is time for the DLC phase."
-Dee...Ell... See? I'm afraid I don't understand.-
"I will explain. You see..."
|
Thus, Von Kampf completed his presentation."And so we will simply go around their defenses. Simplicity itself."
The K'holan delegate sat in stunned silence. "What you propose, it is audacious. Inconceivable. Totally unexpected. I cannot believe it could work."
"I assure you that it can, because it already has. Your opponent's strategy is broad in scope, and successful over the centuries, but it is still doomed to fail. Once they focus all their resources to defense lines and impenetrable fortifications, they have shackled themselves to the ground. We shall cut their trade routes, destroy their factories, cut all lines of communication, and burn their agricultural colonies to ash. And when they realize out plans, it will be too late for them, my friend. We will be in every corner of known space. They will be surrounded, bleeding and afraid."
"I do not question the courage, tenacity or the desire of your people to face our enemy. My only fear is that, as we share this gift of interstellar flight, that your expectations be reasonable."
The fire that seemed to light Von Kampf's eyes darkened and cooled. "I assure you, mein freund, we have already calculated the time to completion and victory. We estimate that it will take 1000 years."
The K'holan gazed around the room. Banners red as blood were emblazoned with broken, twisted black crosses on white backgrounds. A portrait of a stoic , plain man with an odd little moustache gazed back at him. He felt chills.
Von Kampf leaned in, and spoke softly.
"We have experience with thousand year plans. This time, we get it right."
| 2014-12-26T17:56:23 | 2014-12-26T12:41:26 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Your roommate is the serial killer on the news. However, he's probably one of the nicest people you know, and he's very respectful, discreet, and moral in his deeds. Neither of you really bring it up until one day he says, "I'm bored. Got anyone in mind for me to... y'know?"
|
I stumbled forward, hastily trying to recover after I nearly dropped my laptop off the side of my bed. Max had this gleam in his eye. It partnered with the same kind of playful expression he would have whenever he would poke fun at our friends, or take the last beer out of the fridge right as I was reaching for it. Mischievous. The grin only continued to spread across his face as I stared dumbly back at him. The bastard couldn't hide how much he was getting off on watching me squirm.
"Well," Max prompted, " yes? No? Maybe-so?"
I sat up straight and slowly opened my laptop back up. Peering over the edge of my screen, I couldn't help but let an awkward smile of my own creep out.
"Dude... I really can't tell if you're joking or not."
Max kicked out his chair away from his desk and slowly rolled into the middle of the floor. The momentum spun him around, until he stopped with his back facing me. He raised his hands up and interlocked his hands in order to stretch his arms and pop his knuckles. Keeping his hands interlocked, Max bent backwards over the chair to look at me. Oddly enough, his smile was even more unsettling when viewed upside down.
"Nah, I'm serious. Like anyone- well anyone who deserves it. It's been awhile for me, anyway. I've kinda been procrastinating a lot this week."
I kept staring at him, dumbfounded. I never had a problem with his hobby. Up until now Max had mostly kept his midnight mischief to himself. My head was spinning. Who did I want dead? I didn't even know where to begin.
The smile slowly faded back to an innocent smirk. Max spun back around in his chair. He was waiting for an answer. He was being serious. I shook my head and stared back at him.
"Well- fuck. Man I don't know..."
Max nodded, patted his knees, and quickly stood up. He made his way towards the kitchen.
"I'm grabbing a beer. Want anything?"
His words didn't register until I heard the fridge door pop open.
"A uh, you know just a water is good for me. Thanks."
I heard a distant, "nooooooo problemo", in the distance, but I was too caught up in my own thoughts at that point. High school bullies? I had plenty of those. But I hadn't heard from them in ages. Maybe they had changed? And maybe I'd start shitting golden eggs tomorrow.
I saw the fridge close in my peripheral, and heard footsteps slowly trudge towards me. Maybe my boss? No. He was a fuckass, no doubt about it, but I don't think being a fuckass is a crime worthy of death-by-serial-boredom. I hated him, but my boss didn't deserve to be cut up and dumped into a small ocean current. Or dissolved in a tub of acid. Or tossed into an alligator infested swamp...? I realized I never really asked much about how Max did what he did. Did that make me an asshole for never showing an interest in his hobby?
I was jarred back to reality as Max sat down in front of me, and handed me my bottled water. Max stared at me again, his eyebrows raised as if to restate his earlier question, "Well?"
My mouth suddenly became unbearably dry. I cleared my throat.
"Ms. Fitch."
Max's eyebrows shot up even higher.
"The waitress at McCalisters family restaurant? Bro she's like a hundred years old! What the hell's the point?"
I stumbled to find my words.
"She's a bitch! Always yelling at the kids and making up bullshit stories so they'll get in trouble with their parents. She always gives me sausage when I ask for bacon-", I started, rambling through all the pent up aggression I had for the old bat. Max actually started to laugh and started waving his arms back and forth to call me off of my assault.
"Whoa whoa whoa!! Cease fire there Champ! Buddy I can't just kill a lady because she's a little uptight and mixes up your breakfast sides. Come on now. You have to give me something better than that."
I felt my face heat up and I dove back into my laptop, mumbling a string of "fuck it"s, "whatever"s, and "stupid bullshit"s.
Max put his hand on the bottom of my laptop to get my attention. I nearly slammed the screen on his fingers.
"Come on, give me something better than that."
I opened the laptop back up again. Somehow r/funny wasn't really doing anything for me like it had been- before Max opened his stupid mouth.
Max's feet pattered on the floor as he started to bounce his knees in anticipation.
"Come onnnnnn, bro, just throw me a bone here!"
I refused to make eye contact.
"Kim Jong-un."
"Bro, come on."
I started to type randomly just to seem busy. In all honesty I was too peeved to actually put together a coherent thought.
"What? Kim is a bad dude. So off him then, I don't care."
Max stomped his feet.
"Brother I'm being serious here. Come on!"
I finally looked back up with him.
"So was I. You asked me who I wanted dead. I told you. You laughed. Not my problem if you don't like my answer."
Max leaned back, clearly trying to stifle another chuckle.
"Oh that's what this is about. Well I'm sorry man but I told you, they have to deserve it. Feeling like the godly embodiment of Karma is half of the fun."
I didn't answer. After some time, Max spoke up again.
"Come on, you gotta give me something better. There must be something else that could make you want to off that hag."
More silence sunk in until I finally spoke up.
"She doesn't wash her hands."
Max's mouth dropped.
"She what?"
I nodded.
"Even when she helps out in the kitchen. She'll go straight from the bathroom to our plates."
Max grabbed his sides, physically revolted.
"That's disgusting. Why??"
I shrugged back at him.
"I asked management last time I went. Apparently they asked her to stop a bunch times before, but she never listened. She's been around too long, and threatens to sue every time they think about firing her."
Max stared back at me for some time, until I finally saw that glint return to his eye.
"McCalisters is a pretty popular restaurant, isn't it?"
I slowly nodded.
"Yeah, but I haven't been able to force myself to go back since I found out about Fitch's distaste for basic hygiene."
Max's smile practically exploded across his face.
"Well I'd say it's a good thing you did. Lack of hygiene in a restaurant is a big big issue. So many dangerous bacterias out there, you never know what would happen if some of that ended up in your food."
I couldn't tell anymore. Was he still making fun of me? I turned back to my laptop and continued typing. Max leaned in close to build the suspense. He was so melodramatic. Then, he finished his thought.
"It'd be an epidemic. A crisis. A horror like our homely little town had never seen. And what if it spread? A threat to our town, our country... the world."
It finally clicked, and I snapped my head up. Max was looking as giddy as I had ever seen him.
"It'd be pretty irresponsible of me to let a menace like that walk... wouldn't you agree?"
I brought my hand up to my face. At some point, my smile had grown as wide as Max's had.
"Yeah... I guess I would."
Edit: Small grammar mistakes and I didn't really like the pacing towards the end. So I fixed that. Thanks for the read!
|
I never saw Eric during the night. I'm not sure if this worries me, or if I am grateful. For one, I never have to see his... work. He is a wonderful cook, I pay the rent, and we work well together. "HEY KATE" he yells one night before leaving. "yeah?" I reply, slightly nervous. "mind if I use the bleach? I promise to replace it before sunrise" He laughs. "yeah, go get em, tiger". We both laugh at the banter and he leaves. The next week, I grow concerned as he hasn't gone out yet, seeing as it's already mid week. "hey, kate. Uh... I've hit a problem. I don't have anyone to...free from the mortal coil, as they say. Got anyone? Cmon, gimme a challenge", he says, as if he had challenged me to beat his highscore. Trying to contain my shock, I say"hmmm.... how about a murder suicide with 15 victims?". I mean, this has to be a joke, so I'll play along. "gladly" he says, with a look as serious as death itself. Oh shit
| 2017-03-21T23:40:57 | 2017-03-21T21:10:08 | 42 | 17 |
[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 :)
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David pulled the car to a stop, and parked in the weed-choked yard. Nobody had been taking care of the place for years. "Here we are, guys!"
Mary, Tabitha and Tom were all excited to go check out the abandoned cabin in the woods, but Richard wasn't feeling it. "Hey, look, can we not do this? This is bad news, all around."
Everyone sighed and groaned. "Oh, come on, Rich? Don't be such a stick in the mud!" Tabitha was always so happy and bubbly. It made Rich's teeth ache.
"No, guys, really. This is a bad idea." Things went back and forth for a few minutes, with Richard trying to be intelligent and reasonable, while everyone else cajoled, teased and semi-threatened to tell everyone how big of a scaredy-cat he was, back in school. But they all seemed to miss Richard's increasing agitation.
"Look, you're a passenger, I'm the driver," David said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "I vote we go explore the cabin, you can stay out here in the spooky dark, all by yourself." Mary made an 'Oh snap' face and covered her mouth, while Tabitha pouted. "Or you can walk home." Tom laughed and gave David a mock punch in the arm and started to open the door to get out.
Richard snapped. There was a blur of movement, and a split second later, an ominous **shk-SHAK** of metal on metal, before a gleaming, chrome plated Colt M1911 appeared in Richard's hand, pressed to the back of David's head. It took Mary, Tabitha and Tom a few seconds to figure out what had just happened, but despite his teenage stupidity, David knew that sound. He and his dad shot guns all the time, and he knew that sound.
The car erupted in chaos and screaming, the girls squeezing away from David and pressing against the door, or into Tom, who was fumbling for the door handle. Tabitha was the loudest, babbling a non-stop stream of screaming Spanish and terrified prayers as she cowered against the far door in the back seat.
David slowly took his hands off the wheel and held them in the air. "Okay. Okay. Calm down. Everyone, stay calm." He kept his voice low and steady, despite feeling an urgent need to pee. He may have had a foolish desire to go explore the legendary Murder Cabin in the middle of the night, but having a powerful gun pressed to the back of your skull had the tendency to clear your thoughts and help you focus on the immediate moment. David's calm voice helped soothe Tabitha's screaming, and Mary and Tom stopped fumbling with the door to wait and listen.
Richard hadn't moved. The weapon was firmly nuzzled deep into the hollow at the back of David's neck, right at the base of his skull. Even if this were a BB gun, shooting him there might kill him. "We are leaving," he said softly. As if to punctuate the statement, his thumb reached over and flipped the safety down with a sharp **TIC!** Tabitha whimpered and cowered deeper into the corner, her face a smeary mess of tear-striped mascara.
David didn't want to nod with a gun in the back of his neck. "Right, got it," He slowly lowered his hands to the wheel and started the car. "I have to turn around to back up," he said. "Otherwise we might hit something." Tabitha, Tom and Mary slowly slipped back into their regular seats, all three facing forward and shivering in fear. They'd never seen this side of Richard before, and never wanted to see it again.
Richard slowly drew the weapon back, and David slipped the gearshift into reverse, then slowly turned around to look out the back window. He glanced at Richard, who had a face of pure marble: flat and emotionless. His eyes were like dead mirrors in the dim light, a visage of complete lack of compassion or mercy; the epitome of pure, cold logic. Giving a shudder, he focused out the back window and started to back up.
The combination of backup lights and brake lights lit up the tangled mess of grass, shrubs, when he saw something.
*Eyes.*
Not the eyes of any animal David knew, and he knew quite a lot, as he and his dad went hunting every year. No, these were too high. *Too tall.* More importantly, they weren't side by side, like on a prey animal, but facing *front,* like a predator. He quirked his eyebrows and squinted, the hunter's instincts making him curious, rather than terrified the way it should. "What..."
The eyes moved. They started coming towards the car.
David's face went pale. "Oh, SHIT!" he hissed, snapping out of his stare and slamming the shifter down into drive. He stomped on the gas, making the powerful engine roar. Tires spun and spit old gravel, clattering and pinging off the undercarriage, as the lumbering SUV careened forward and bounced around the weed-choked yard.
Everyone got tossed around in the car, while David fought the wheel, foot still hammer down on the gas. Tabitha screamed as she got thrown into Richard, who simply grabbed her and held her steady. He was pointing the weapon at the roof, his trigger finger resting safely on the trigger guard. But his face was still cold marble and expressionless. "Stay down," he told them.
The vehicle bucked and jumped through the bumpy yard, tall weeds and thick brush snapping and clawing at the sides, screeching and clunking. "Road, road, road, where's the FUCKING ROAD!" Finally finding the original path they'd come in, he turned the wheels toward the way out.
**SMASH!**
The back window shattered. A horrific stench filled the cabin, and a low, guttural growl rumbled in the darkness. Whatever it was, David couldn't see it in the rear view mirror. It was big. Big enough to block out the illumination of the brake and running lights.
Big enough to hold the Chevy Suburban in place, tires spinning and spitting gravel.
Tabitha had fallen into Richard's lap, where he held her down with one hand. Out of all of them, he was the only one who'd worn his seat belt, and it was keeping him safely locked in place. Tom and Mary were getting tossed, but the sound of breaking glass made them look. Their horrified faces told Richard everything he needed to know.
Calmly reaching over his shoulder, he began pumping rounds into whatever was back there. The first shot made his ear ring. The second made it hum. The muzzle blast singed the hair on his neck and knocked off his hat. He couldn't see what he was shooting at, so he relied instead on Tom and Mary. So long as the look of terror remained on their faces, he knew he had to keep shooting.
By the time the slide locked back in the empty position, the truck was moving again, Mary and Tom had stopped making horror faces, and Richard was totally deaf in one ear. David raced down the road like a madman, while the others cowered and peered out the back, eyes darting back and forth as they searched the retreating darkness.
"David, slow down," he said. "You don't want to crash. Not now." David glanced in the rear view mirror, and Richard's face was badly burned from the muzzle blast. And his ear was bleeding profusely. He was probably going to be deaf for the rest of his life.
"What the fuck was that?" he asked, turning his eyes back to the road and bringing it down to 50 on the speedometer.
"Don't know," he replied over the shuddering wind. He laid a comforting hand on Tabitha, where she lay in his lap, shivering and weeping. "Don't care."
|
Feverish scrabbling broke the pristine morning stillness.
Alice snapped awake, bloodied baseball bat in hand. "John! John! Oh god, they're here."
"Mmf. Gimme five."
"John!" Alice gave his shoulder a rough shake.
"Okay, okay, I'll get it." John rolled out of bed and peered blinking through a crack in the boarded windows. "Bloody lurchers," he murmured, grabbing his sawed-off shotgun from where it lay on the night stand.
"How many are there?" Alice's face was pale in the morning half-light.
"Go back to sleep, Al. It's just the usual."
"What, how can I slee- " A crash and a thud echoed reverberated through the house. "The skylight - they broke the - John, what are we - they're inside -"
"I told you the double-pane would be better insulation." John sighed. "Look, I said I'll deal with it. Just, just relax."
A low moan came through barricaded bedroom door. Alice stiffened and backed up against the wall. John yawned and started to undo the first set of locks.
The last chain jingled to the ground. John darted over and gave Alice a quick peck on the cheek. "See you in a few, honey!"
---
The shotgun roared, and entrails splattered. Alone in the room, Alice murmured, "Prozac's a hell of a drug."
| 2017-05-05T07:54:16 | 2017-05-05T07:48:25 | 73 | 21 |
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you.
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I slammed my hand down on the snooze button once again. Not even sure how many times I had repeated the action up to that point as I desperately tried to sleep off the hangover knocking on the inside of my skull. I had just turned 21 the night before, and took full liberty of celebrating it alone in a bar near my apartment.
I was something of an oddity at that point as far as I could tell. I was a man without an identity. Or I guess you could say I was a man without a defining trait. A trait that would eventually announce itself in the form of a familiar. A physical manifestation that showed just what kind of person you were. Good or bad. Of course, it was up to you if your familiar was visible in the first place. Some people had particularly large familiars that would get in the way of everyday life if their master permitted them to. Or, in some cases, a familiar would show others what kind of person you really were. If you’re defining trait was -both literally and figuratively- ugly, then who in their right mind would strut around with it showing?
Nearly everyone had one by the time they turned 18. A few people would take a bit longer, but not having one by the time you were twenty was highly unusual. In fact, as far as I knew, the amount of people in recent history who had yet to acquire one by my age numbered fewer than five. Yet here I was, a hungover representation of what it was like to have an identity crisis.
I never really felt like I was missing out before I had been 18 for a few months, prior to that I just felt like I needed to be patient. My familiar would come. It was only a matter of time.
I was able to keep that up until I tried looking for work. That’s when the situation began to negatively impact my life. There wasn’t a job in the world that you could apply for without showing your potential employer your familiar. Afterall, the best way to judge a person was to just take a look at their familiar. If your manifestation was something like Kindness or Dedication, then you’d probably not even have to look for a job. Employers would come to you. On the other hand, your odds of finding legal employment with something like Rage, or Cruelty were virtually nonexistent.
Which is why some people make efforts to hide their familiars from employers. There wasn’t a legal requirement to show your familiar to anyone who asked. So if your familiar wasn’t something you wanted people to know then you could simply try to skirt that part of whatever interview you were doing. At least, that was the theory. In reality any employer would reject you if you weren’t willing to show them your defining trait.
I understood that. I mean, the odds of someone of age not having a familiar really were astronomically low. Unfortunately for me, in the same vein, virtually no employer in the world would hire someone who claims to not have a familiar at all at my age. “No one would claim to not have one if they weren’t just trying to hide some undesirable trait,” was what I am sure went through the heads of everyone who had ever interviewed me.
So, after leaving home at 18, failing to find a job, and desperately getting by with whatever work I could get, I eventually fell into my current line of work.
Shawn Davenport. 21. Male.
Conman.
That’s right. Conman. I worked my way through the past two and a half years as a scam artist. Bleeding people for money that they hand over to me of their own free will. Even if the reasons they do so are all based on lies I make. But hey, it’s what I needed to do to survive at that point. That is unless I wanted to try and get into organized crime, but nowadays not even they would go out of their way to hire someone who’s familiar wasn’t beneficial to that kind of work.
I was pretty good at what I did too. I had quickly went from unemployed and nearly homeless to making six digits a year, tax free. It helped that a person’s familiar would give away whether of not they were an easy mark. The same Kindness that would get you through medical school for free was like a big arrow that said “easy” for someone like me. A few words, a few drinks, and the next thing you know I’m your best friend who needs money to pay for their mother’s operation.
Yeah. Life had gotten pretty good. Money wasn’t an issue. Instead the issue was the self loathing. I was good at what I did, and I hated myself for it. I was stealing money from hard working people, and I felt like my need was legitimate, and I always needed more. In a short span of time I had gone from pretending to be the grandchild of an elderly couple, to sleeping with the wife of a billionaire even as her husband threw me money for a charity that didn’t even exist.
Which leads to my bit of karmic rebalance. I gave away almost everything I ever took. Donating away my ill gotten gains so that I could sleep better at night. Paying visits to children’s hospitals so that wide eyed kids who didn’t care at all about familiars could tell me I was a good person. Filling my apartment with stray cats because they never judged me for the work I did.
Eventually I even managed to make my fake charity scheme into an actual charity. Sure, I was skimming money off the top of it under the noses of all the charitable souls who through money at me, but I wasn’t even sure how many meals I had managed to give to impoverished children.
The feeling of being a good person helped. A lot. So did the alcohol. When I couldn’t save enough kittens from animal shelters I would turn to the bottle. Getting inebriated to forget about a world obsessed with defining attributes that turned its back on my because I had yet to be defined.
The alarm went off again. This time I actually took the steps to turn it off and get out of bed like a functional human being. I lept out of bed, petted the head of the closest cat, and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. The next time I opened them, it was there.
When I used to constantly wonder when I would get my familiar I did my research. People talked about the feeling of completeness that you got when you saw yours for the first time. That’s how I knew instantly what it was.
The little mask floating in the air. It looked like the sort of stage mask one saw in a theatre production. A simple thing with two vacant eyes and a small mouth. At first it looked like it was made of wood, and as I took a step back in surprise the light changed, and in that moment I swore it wasn’t wood, but gold. Behind the mask seemed to be a barely visible cloak. Almost completely transparent, and not entirely solid. Almost as if it were made of a few threads from a spider’s web. The inside of the cloak seemed to be filled with a light gray fog that roiled and moved about unpredictably. Sparkles like diamonds occasionally visible throughout.
It took me a moment to recover from the shock. When I stepped back in front of it the mask seemed to flash back to wood and a feeling of apprehension came over me. This was it. The moment that I too would be defined, and I was scared of what my answer would be.
Hesitantly I spoke to it for the first time. “What are you?”
It hovered there for a number of seconds, as if regarding my with its vacant eyes before speaking. “I am…”
It’s voice seemed odd at first. Distorted in a strange way, and I couldn’t make out the last word it spoke. The apprehension took hold of me once more, and I leaned in closer towards that mask. Asking it to repeat what it said, which it did with that same amount of pause as earlier.
“I am... “
This time I managed to catch onto that it said, and why the voice had sounded so distorted. It was two voices. Two voices speaking in perfect unison. One was smooth, but cold, like the surface of the mask looked when it appeared to be gold. The other voice was simple and peaceful, like the mask looked when it was wood.
The two voices had a certain depth to them that gave the impression that one of them was farther away, but ultimately they blended together so perfectly that I couldn’t hope of telling which one of them was nearer than the other. But still, I worked out what the two voices said. My familiar, or as it happens, familiars identified themselves for me.
“I am…” In a voice like gold, and in a voice like wood, two conflicting words came forth. “Greed” and “Charity”.
________
This is my first submission to this subreddit, and my first attempt at writing in some time, so pardon any errors, and feedback is appreciated.
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"Hi Tommy" I'm your familiar said the beautiful angel.
Those were the first words I heard when I woke up and I was ecstatic with joy at finally manifesting my familiar and I felt so much warmth and comfort just being near her.
I hugged her and she hugged me back while ruffling my hair. I was so happy that I couldn't wait to show her off to my aunt and uncle. I started to yell "Aunt!, Unc..." but the angel told me to shush. "I'm going to take you to a better place Tommy and it'll just be our little secret" she said with her radiant smile. I nodded my head and agreed to leave with her secretly.
When we had just gotten to the front door a hand reached out from the shadows and grabbed me. It pulled me back and covered my mouth as I was about to scream.
"I don't know how you escaped but your ignorance will get all of us killed" the shadowy figure behind me roared at the angel. Black claws shot out from the shadowy figure and restrained the angel who didn't even try to struggle. I wanted to cry out for the angel to run away but she just kept smiling. Her last words were "I'll come back to take you to a better place next time Tommy" before the shadows ripped her apart and devoured the parts scattered on the ground and across the walls.
I was left to cry in the corner. I screamed at the shadow "why would you do that to my familiar" and it replied "don't worry Tommy I am also your familiar and as long as you live neither her nor I can truly die. I am here to protect you from your own naivety because my master is both you and not you and if you leave this place with her then you will die because you still don't understand anything". "You can't believe everything Tommy because that will get you killed but believe me when I say this. I am doing all of this to protect you and the you who is not you because Heaven isn't a place you can get to using normal means".
| 2017-01-20T16:07:07 | 2017-01-20T12:43:33 | 171 | 14 |
[WP] You've never left your hometown due to bad luck, and you've just kept putting it off. Today at the airport, the gate agent apologizes and says your license is expired and invalid. It's not. You timidly challenge the claim, and suddenly the entire airport goes quiet and all eyes fixate on you.
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"No, it isn't," I said again as everyone stared. "My license is not expired."
"Let me just check again for you, sir," the gate agent said in that falsely pleasant customer service voice that everyone despises. The one that implied right where I could take my license and shove it. She looked at my ID, placed it on the counter in front of me, and smiled widely. The sort of smile that only morning show hosts and personal trainers can achieve. "There you are, you see sir?" she asked, as if she were speaking to a small child. "Expiration date: February 12th. Next!"
She waved the person behind me forward in line. I turned around and waved them backwards again. "I insist," I said, getting less and less timid with each passing word, "that I am *not* being stupid!"
The gate agent turned her attention back to me and blinked. It made me realize that, in general, this woman didn't blink anywhere near as much as I would have liked. This one was a long, slow blink - the exasperated sigh of the eyes. "February 12th," she repeated. "It's April 25th today sir. Over two months later."
"February 12th, 2022!" I shouted back. "That's *four years* away!"
Everyone was staring at me. And when I say everyone, I mean it. There were no less than 20 gates in this concourse alone. Beyond that, were some shops and restaurants by the escalators where people had gotten off the trams. I turned around to look. The entire airport had become eerily silent, and every single passenger - man, woman, and child, was staring directly at me. Everyone was standing up, and they were all facing me. As far as the eye could see, every human being in the place was standing facing me, silently staring. There were easily a thousand people, and it should have been a constant murmur of concurrent conversations. If there's one thing an airport should never be, it's silent.
"There's no need to raise your voice, sir," she said.
"Isn't there?" I asked. I snatched my ID back.
"Why did security let me through if my ID was bad, hm?" I asked the lady behind me in line. She just stared back at me in response, basically catatonic.
To my right, a row of people stood in front of a bench, also staring at me blankly. A family on vacation, they looked like. Mother. Father. Two kids. The dad was wearing an obnoxious red Hawaiian shirt and had sunscreen smeared on his nose. I got right up in his face. "You wouldn't think they'd let me through with expired credentials now would you?" I moved over to the mother. "Not very efficent, is it? Not that TSA ever is."
I got down on my knees to talk to the kids, who didn't react any more than the parents did. "But then again, nothing ever goes wrong at the *start*," I told them. "It's never the planning of a trip that goes wrong. It's never the booking, or convincing people to go, or getting the money together. That's easy, kids. Where it always goes wrong, you see, is the *leaving*. Senior year, graduation trip... planned it for months, worked at the movie theater after school all year to save up the money. Saturday morning after graduation, five teenagers pile into my car, and BLAM!" I clapped my hands suddenly in front of the kids' faces. They failed to flinch, or react in any way. "My transmission blew up, right then and there. Seconds before we were going to leave."
Across the aisle, at gate C15, a woman stood next to a coffee cup on a table. "Gonna drink that?" I asked. She said nothing. I took that as a "no" and picked up the cup. "It's always been like that," I said. "Just before the train pulled out of the station, the boiler overloaded. Just before the Greyhound bus left the station, and it snapped its timing belt. Hell, I didn't even have plans to leave when I broke my ankle. I was just out for a run. Stopped off in the town square for a newspaper and looked up over the ridge. And I thought, I could walk that far! And the very next step, I put my foot in the hole where a missing cobblestone should have been and broke my ankle. While the rest of you just stared! Thanks for your help everybody!"
I threw the coffee against the wall where it burst open. Not a soul reacted. "Thanks ever so much for your help as usual, everybody. But of course there's always one person who's always willing to lend a hand. Ought to be along any time now."
Sure enough, I looked up, and he was coming up the escalator. He was wearing a newly pressed police uniform and dark mirrored sunglasses that obscured his eyes. Just like always, he showed up just a few minutes after my latest travel mishap. He wound his way through the mass of human statues staring straight at me.
"Morning sir," he said. "Having a bit of trouble?"
"No more than usual," I said. "But you know that, of course. Otherwise you wouldn't be here. Who are you?"
"Perhaps you ought to come with me, sir," He said, and he offered me his hand, as he had a dozen times before.
It had always been the same. When I was a teenager, I thought it was just a kind offer of help for some stranded kids. "No thanks," I said. "We can manage," and we pushed the car back home.
On the train, he'd been behind me, in the next seat. "Perhaps you ought to come with me, sir." But I was young and brash and too eager to flex my civil liberties muscles. I'd asked him if I was being detained snarkily and gotten off the train to head home.
Only after it happened over and over did I realize the pattern. Every time I tried to leave, something bad happened to stop me at the last possible second, and then this police officer showed up and asked me to come with him. Never arrested me, never forced me. Just asked, politely. Every time, I refused. Every time, I walked away, and he'd be gone until the next time. This time I wasn't walking away.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"Just to serve and protect, sir."
"And how do you intend to do that? If you want to help me, get me out of here."
"Yes sir, I will."
"Great. Tell the Polyester Smiler over there that this ID Is valid for four more years."
"No sir, I'm afraid it doesn't work like that."
"Then what do you intend to do to help me?!" I yelled. I was rapidly losing my patience.
He never lost his calm, though. "As I said, sir. Perhaps you ought to come with me. Please," he added, almost as an afterthought.
I looked at his outstretched hand. He seemed to be almost pleading with me. "Where would we go?"
For the first time, someone showed genuine emotion this morning. "Home," he said with a warm smile.
I was confused and it must have shown in my face. "This town is my home," I said.
He shook his head. "No," he said. "It's not." He took off his sunglasses for the first time since I had seen him, and I was stunned. I don't know how I could recognize them so clearly but... his eyes were my own. "Please sir. There are people waiting to see you."
I wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. It didn't feel entirely right to trust him still. But I reached out and took his hand. There was a brilliant flash, and the terminal, the airport, the town faded away.
I became aware of a dim light on my eyelids. The beep and hum of hospital equipment, and a firm grip squeezing my hand where the officer's had been. I heard another voice now. A woman's. Young... in her thirties I'd guess, hitched with tears of happiness. "Mom? Come here, quick! I think Dad's waking up!"
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Why is everyone staring at me? I'm not a terrorist. I've never done anything wrong in my life. I've followed every law and rule. I've been an outstanding citizen my entire life! But this was uncalled for. Such a scene for what I perceive is something mundane.
"Surely something is wrong with your scanner, I just renewed my license a few months ago".
The eyes of onlookers began to bring sweat to my face.
"Sir," the security guard said sternly, "I must insist you step aside with us for further questioning".
My mind racing and not understanding exactly what was happening I said ," surely this is a mistake, you can call the DMV and confirm I was there and renewed my license!"
"We will look into what is necessary, but I really need you to come with us... Nathan." Replied the guard with insistent fury.
I felt like I had no choice, I follow the guards as everyone in the terminal watched intently. We walked across back hall ways for what seemed like the better part of a mile.
"In here, please, sit and make yourself comfortable". This time the guard spoke softly and comforting, or as comforting as he could given the previous conversation.
"This looks way to comfortable.. am I under arrest? Can i call my lawyer? What did I do?" I frantically lash back hoping to gain information.
"No, and I hope you soon understand, you are not here by accident, but we are here to help you, forgive me for anything that happens after this." Spoken with a saddened yet prideful response by the guard.
| 2018-04-25T20:14:22 | 2018-04-25T16:13:24 | 4,931 | 26 |
[WP] A paranoid schizophrenic man thinks he's keeping a personal daily diary but for some reason people keep approaching him with intimate knowledge of the contents and telling him how much they love his work.
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When I was seventeen and in college I fell in love for the first time. She didn’t fall in love with me — but I could hardly blame her for that, seeing as she hadn’t met me. Our college campus was vast and I’d only seen her twice in corridors, and we’d never exchanged a word.
The first time I saw her, as she passed, I iced over like a winter pond. Utterly frozen — a helpless but more serene state than I’d ever been in before.
She had a book tucked under her arm; a set of short stories by an author I’d barely heard of (Carver, if you’re interested). Her perfume was sweet and flowery. Peonies, maybe.
She walked past me smiling the secret smile that a girl that age often carries. Our arms brushed and I only have cliches to describe how I felt — struck by lightning, or something like that. It did feel electric, at least, and the fine hairs on my neck stood on end, like the little hairs on a cactus.
For me, as far as I know or have known, that is love.
The second time I saw her, I didn’t actually see her. Just caught an echo of perfume lingering in the air, as if she’d been in the corridor a moment before. And again, my skin goosebumped.
When I told my psychiatrist about this, two years later, he said the girl probably hadn’t existed at all. That instead it was a sign of my psychosis (later to be fully diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenia).
”Why would my brain just make something like that up?” I asked.
”Because you were an only child, with few close friends, and you were lonely.”
”But I never became friends with her, either.”
”No,” said the psychiatrist. “But your mind needed to believe there was someone out there for you. Just a fingertip out of distance, but that could one day be caught. So to speak. Your mind needed hope.”
I don’t know if I bought into the psychiatrist’s explanation. I’m not sure my illness had really started at that time. It was still a seed readying to sprout in my brain. It doesn’t matter anyway — I’m only telling you because I want you to understand the line between real and not is hard to define with my disorder. And I want you to know that how I am, well, it’s not always a bad thing.
That girl, real or not, is a pair of gloves that I can wear in winter, or a wide-brimmed hat I can pull down in summer. That is to say, she’s a comforting memory, even if she’s not a possibility.
I started writing in my diary in my early twenties. Doctor‘s orders. I didn’t want to because my head’s not somewhere you want to be. Even on medication, it can be like swimming in piranha infested waters at night. Now that’s okay with me, mostly. Because those little fish have already gobbled most of my flesh. But I didn’t want anyone else stumbling into the waters and—
Shit. I’m not good at being direct. That’s a symptom — not that I’m trying to use it as an excuse for my bad writing. But metaphors, similes, allegories: anything not real, I’ll adopt. What I meant to say is that I’m unintentionally cruel to people.
Like, I went through a phase where I’d call my parents up and scream at them for spying on me.
”I know you were here,” I’d yell. “Everything’s a mess.”
”We weren’t there,” they’d reply. “We’ve been away all weekend.”
“Don’t lie to me. Where is it? God, you’re my problem, not anything in my brain.”
Then I’d hang up. An hour later I’d call back and tell them I loved them and that I’m sorry, and that the phone I was accusing them of having moved and lost, well I’d called them on it an hour ago so maybe they hadn’t moved it.
Where was I? Right, the diary, doctor’s orders, bla bla bla. Got it. If you think this is bad and my ranting here is incoherent then... you’d be a hundred percent right (100 points to w/e your HP house is!), but it’s nothing compared to my diary.
My diary was a vial of venom. No, of poison. (Another 100 points if you can tell me what the difference is). My diary was accusation and paranoia and threats. Plus occasional poetry:
tentacles of ink / strangle mountains / black noose ridges
Or
sunsets so pretty / they make me weep / spring blossoms in my heart / wilts in my brain
I am going somewhere with this, I swear. It’s just... Here:
Life had recently gotten dark for me.
I don’t want to talk about this really, so I won’t for long. But Mom died, and I don’t feel like we’d ever totally made up for all the abuse I’d thrown her way. And... Well, I’d had another relationship that had ended badly, and...
Life sucked. There. That’s more direct than my poetry.
I was in a bad place. And that memory I’d take out and wear like gloves? It wasn’t keeping me warm anymore. Winter had gotten too cold, I suppose.
The day this happened, I’d been writing a new entry in my diary about Collin from work, whom I suspected had been spitting in my lunches (sandwiches in the shared fridge that were suspiciously sticky) for quite some time. I finished and decided to pop out to the corner shop for a scratch-card and cigarettes. Shit, I haven’t even said what I do for work, how I live, with who/m(?). You don’t know anything about me. Well, I work in a warehouse/live in a one bed apartment with a shower but no bath/live with a cat called Flutter. There, now we’re friends.
Anyway, I enter the shop, and Sara — the girl behind the counter — tells me someone was in five minutes ago asking about me.
“Yeah?” I said, “That’s nice.” But I’m thinking about my tax returns and getting a sweat on my neck.
”A lady. She said she’s been enjoying your writing. Said, it’s like seeing the inside workings of an intricate clock. Weird phrase, right?”
”Yeah,” I said. ”That is weird.” Maybe it’s a girl from work, I think.
And then I smell it.
Peonies? I’m not certain. But I am certain it’s the scent that drifted around me in the corridor all those years ago. Now it wrapped around me like a hug reaching out from better times.
“Huh, she left her book,” said Sara. “That was careless.” She read the title slowly. “What we talk about when we talk about love. Odd name for a book.”
It was a set of short stories. The same set she’d been holding that day in school.
“I can take it to her,” I lied. I had no idea where she lived. The truth was, I hoped she’d come find it and, in doing so, find me.
Sara handed the book over. “If she comes back for it, I’ll direct her to your place.”
”Appreciate it,” I said, and hurried home.
I sat on the sofa that evening flicking through stories about people not like me, but with their own problems. And I felt a little less heavy and alone. I didn’t even realise I’d forgotten to buy cigarettes.
It wasn’t until I got to the last page that I read it. An inked in message. Light scent of peonies. The handwritten addition said: “You’ll make it through this. x”
&#x200B;
I didn’t cry the night Mom died, or any night after. Can’t tell you why. It was like I’d closed a door.
That note opened it. And all the water behind flooded out.
Later, I put the book in a drawer that I don’t ever open now, in case the book’s not there anymore and never really was.
My apartment door didn’t knock that night. Nor any other. The girl — who did or didn’t exist — didn’t collect her book.
But that was okay.
I had a new memory looking out for me. To keep me warm.
I thought back to what my psychiatrist once said. How my mind made her up because it needed to.
Maybe it did.
Either way, for the first night in months, I slept like a baby.
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My therapist told that I should keep a journal. When I asked her what I should write in it, she told me that I could write whatever I wanted.
Secrets. Things no one knows about me. Stories I can't tell people because they make no sense and make me cry writing.
She told me that no one, not even her, would be able to read to my journal, because it's mine. No one in the world is allowed to see inside and read my thoughts.
But they do.
They want handshakes and want to know more about the nightmares that make me cry in the dark until the sun comes up. They want to know what happened to Benny on the night I saw the monster.
They like what I write. They say it makes them laugh and they want to see what happens next. They wait outside my house and some nights I even catch them watching me sleep as if they'll catch the moment inspiration strikes and I have another awful thing to write.
------------------------------------------------
Patient Notes
02/01/05
Patient advised to keep a journal and write his thoughts into it for the purposes of expressing frustrations and demonstrating that no one knows what is written inside, giving the patient a sense of security and safety.
03/10/05
Patient strongly suspected to be off medication. Claims that people are asking him about his writings and making veiled references to the murder of Benjamin Nolan. Patient will be in on 03/11/05 to discuss his lapse in medication and to possibly be remanded to inpatient facility.
3/11/05
i am sry i hav not hrt no wun ime lookng for te camras u put in my hous to spie on me plese stop askgn me wh beny is idon knw
| 2021-04-21T08:27:55 | 2021-04-21T07:47:01 | 1,448 | 65 |
[WP] A virus is slowly sweeping the planet that turns anyone infected into the same 19-year old cheerleader named Kim.
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KK’s Diary
1/20/15
Everyone is copying me and it’s starting to get on my nerves!!!
All my life, things have seemed to more or less go my way, and it’s because I am SPECIAL, and that fact is very important to me. People liked giving me treats as a kid because I have a “sweet smile” (it’s true!) and teachers would look for the dirtier, smellier, less blonde, and less cute kids to take out their nerd rage on in the classroom, even when I was the one who told Porter Williams to put those tacks on Mrs. Frond’s chair. When I finally hit my teens, people would clamor to like and comment on every selfie I’d post on Insta (cringe-worthy thirst comments from the guys, and lots of suck up heart-eyes emojis from the lamer girls in my class).
I was popular in elementary school, but I didn’t really know it. I was popular in middle school after people told me. I was popular in high school, and I absolutely loved it. I was SPECIAL. I was unique. (Unique in a good way, a universally pretty way. Not “unique” like the drama-chorus-theatre-ROTC kids who wear corduroy blazers to school in hot weather with cheap jeans and New Balance Dad shoes or those ugly combat boots. They’re not letting you into the Army like that, nerd. Run a lap!)
Right now my life is a mess tho. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had some bad things happen to me, like the rumor (fact!) I sent nudes to Blake Bishop in 9th grade, or when I had to break up with Hunter sophomore year and thought I’d lost ALL my friends on competitive cheer squad (but after they all dated him later, we picked back up again, so no big deal…I still hate Tori though because she was so fake about it all) - but what’s happening right now is really really bad.
Over the past couple of months on campus, I’ve seen at least 15 girls who look like me. Each time I saw them, my reaction would be the same. Scream, run, and then cry for like an hour until my roommate came back. I think Abbie was getting tired of my freakouts until she saw some chick who looked exactly like me, but completely ignored her. Abs ran after the stupid little clone, and the girl told her to leave her alone and that she couldn’t wait to transfer schools. Abbie said chica looked like she was going to cry. Crazy, right? She didn’t dress like me either. She dressed like, I don’t know, a typical SAE guy, which is really unflattering on a chick. Triple pleated khakis and boxy sport coats are not good for someone with my body, and you’d think she’d figure that out- especially since she went to all the trouble to look like me. I guess she wanted to still be “unique” but got it all wrong.
There’s apparently lots of other wannabe’s out there. A couple have come to the gym where the UVGCC senior cheer team practices (I made it in as a frosh, because… yeah. Special. ) and tried out for squad. They get rejected even though their bodies are perf, because it’s clear that no matter what freakish science experiment they did on themselves to look like me- they can’t really become me. It takes years and years of BEING special, and knowing and treasuring it to be ANYTHING LIKE ME.
Bitches.
KK’s Diary
2/15/15
Well the stupid no-life clones are ruining ME. Valentine’s was spoiled after Caleb gave away my flowers, AND apparently my dinner at the Sundial to some random girl who looked like me. I sat in my dorm all night, waiting for C to come pick me up, but then thought he’d had one too many “shower beers” as he likes to call them (I call it “early-stage alcoholism”, but whatever) and ended up taking a nap. Nope. He went on a date with a random girl he saw standing outside of his frat house who just happened to look a bit like me. He said she seemed scared when he yelled for her to get in the car, but after dinner she “loosened up”. What a douche. Him, not her. Even though she’s decided to become me, I can’t get mad. 1) I get why she did it 2) He’s the one who should have KNOWN the real me by now. I'm pretty easy to distinguish. Creep.
I called Max Hale as a back-up date, but the person who answered sounded like a panicked chick and kept asking me to come over. It sounded like a girl trying to do my voice, which is just ADORABLE. Ugh. No way, not going over there for a stupid V-Day loser prank.
Beyond fed up.
KD’s Diary
February 23rd, 2015
I don’t know what to do. I want to throw up, die, come back, throw up more, and then drive to a deserted island. Or fly there. Or something. I need to get away. Last night I drove home to my parents’ house after I saw the news about the outbreak. My parents wouldn’t let me into my own house until I answered questions like,
”How many of your uncles have a glass eye?” (3)
“How many touchdowns did your brother throw in the 2011 season at Parkwood High?” (16)
“What was the last thing your mother said to you when you left for college?” (‘Always look and BE your best. Don’t turn into a hippie! No one marries an ugly face with good intentions.’)
When I finally pushed my way into the house(after braving the news cameras parked outside on our street), the final test was my dog Sadie, who jumped on me like always. It was only then that my parents relaxed. It turns out they’d let an imposter into our house just a week ago. The person had been a 43 year old dude, and they didn’t realize it wasn’t me until the guy (me?) started making off with family heirlooms and the decent silver (the good stuff is always locked up nowadays). After my dad told him they were send him/me to a drug treatment facility, the guy confessed. He then sold his story to TMZ, and after they picked it up, there have been nothing but news crews at our house, and scientists calling and asking to do experiments on me. Leave me alone.
The story on the news is crazy. One day people go to bed as themselves, as the next day they wake up as a blonde teenager who looks exactly like me (BUT IS NOT ME). Young, old, black, white, Asian, you know- whatever. All a bunch of Kims. A big Kim Army.
But they aren’t ME. It’s getting harder to convince other people that though. Guys don’t try so hard to get my number or kik these days… it’s probably because they’re worried they’ll wake up next to me one morning and they’ll actually BE me. You can always tell when it’s a straight guy who has gone through what the people on CNN call “The Change”. They look completely stunned by any male attention, and they also don’t wear bras. I suppose I could make some money teaching people how to be me if it weren’t so damn depressing.
MY Diary
3.21.15
I have to go. The virus is spreading. My parents have raised money for me to go to Costa Rica to get plastic surgery. I still have mixed feelings about this. Apparently cosmetic surgery is on the rise as the virus continues to sweep across the continent. Turns out not everyone wants to look like me. That’s honestly kind of a surprise, but I don’t really blame them. My ass wasn’t that great, and I never really loved my nose. I saw a beautiful and glamorous version of “my” face on tv the other night, as it seems one of the presenters contracted the virus and decided to just go to work and make the best of it.
I’m getting surgery so I can get ME back. I still don’t know who I want to look like, since everyone is starting to look the same, but I know I can’t go on being “normal” like this anymore. I am SPECIAL. I’d knock every tooth out of my “sweet smile” to get back to just being The Original Kim Krisp again.
I will do anything it takes. I love myself too much to hate myself like this.
|
"I've seen that girl before." Rick thought as he watched the young cheerleader closely.
As she turned, he saw the logo on her costume. Yes, he had definitely seen her before. Multiple times. Was she following him? Why would she? He didn't know her. He didn't follow any sports. He had never even been in a stadium.
Writing the strange girl off to co-incidence, Rick turned left and entered the video game store. *Valve store* the sign board read. Under the elaborate logo of *Valve* someone had carved/painted the words "Origin sucks". The graffiti looked strangely well done, as if it was a part of the logo itself.
Rick chuckled at this as he entered the store, all thoughts about that strange girl already forgotten. The store contained rows and rows of triangular booths, side by side and back to back. He entered one such booth and the *Virtual Reality* engine automatically kicked on.
Although it was difficult to judge the passage of time in the Valve VR booths, Rick had done it multiple times and figured that he'd spent about 5 hours ingame. That was roughly about 25 minutes in the real world.
Rick had always wondered how they managed to bend time like that in the VR booths. The technology was one of the company's biggest and most closely guarded secrets. There were many theories on this and a fairly large number of these were just absurd.
One of the weirdest of these theories was that the *real world* that they live in was actually a massive simulation. The simple fact that people could feel pain and emotions was enough to reject this theory. No computer simulation could ever replicate the extent of human emotion. That was, after all, the 4th axiomatic law of Artificial Intelligence.
Such were Rick's thoughts as he walked out of the store and passed the retina scanner that automatically deducted the bill amount from his bank account. As he walked towards the Mall exit, he saw that strange girl again.
"I've seen that girl before." He thought. He just couldn't remember when. Was she following him? Why would she?
| 2015-03-21T12:31:53 | 2015-03-21T12:19:37 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] It seemed like a perfect magical deal. When any child descended from you is born you grow younger by a single year. So you agree, planning on a big family and living to a ripe old age. Years later however you find yourself rapidly growing younger and regret not understanding exponential growth.
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"It seemed like a good idea at the time." Jim lamented. "Gain a year of life for each descendant, what could go wrong?"
"And it went wrong." The bound man muttered.
"What gave it away? The fact that your great-great-great-granddaddy is a goddamn twelve year old." Jim sighed. "You know getting old was a bitch, your joints ache, your lose your hair and you have to piss 20 times a goddamn night. Doesn't sound pleasant does it?"
"I suppose not."
"It's awful. But you know what, getting younger is somehow worse. You wouldn't believe it but it is."
The bound man stared in a sullen silence at his great grandsire.
"I mean puberty is bad but try it in reverse. You still get the mood swings, the acne, the growth pains. But just try dating when you look like a kid, sure you have options, but they are definitely the wrong sort of options. And you know what, everyday you look down and your dick is a little bit smaller."
"What does any of that have to do with me."
"It's simple, I need you to help me prune the family tree."
"You must have hundreds of blood relatives, probably spread all over the globe, how the hell would I even find them." The bound man asked.
"I've not been idle all these years. Founded my own company dont you know. Just a small little internet thing, but I think it might just help." Jim smiled wickedly. "Have you ever heard of something called 23andme?"
|
The deal seemed like the most incredible of gifts. The fae would be bequeathing me the talents, instincts, and knowledge of an extraordinary farmer. And as it flowed through me, as I reached for information I’d never learned but was there, I nearly wept with the knowledge that my village would no longer starve. Not only that; we would prosper. I spread my abilities across our land like a sun sliding across the sky, helping ensure growth from every seed I touched.
The trade I made with the fae, what I was to give, was a strange one. She declared that for every child descended from me that was born, I would age backwards by a single year. How astounding a gift to be able to know that my children would have their mother there for them through the years, strong as I had always been, my brain still filled with knowledge to impart, and able to bounce my grandchildren on my knee with barely any effort.
Of course, fae don’t make deals with the cunning. I was no mathematician. And that was where I failed.
Gregory and I had nine children, always wanting a large family, and having the gift of life bestowed upon me for every child I had was the perfect accompaniment to that. Our lives were wondrous, though difficult at times, of course. Such a houseful of children do not make for an easy, uncomplicated life. But I wouldn’t have traded it for anything, and they eventually grew up, finding partners of their own. And starting to have children of their own.
After the eight years of extra time, and then waiting as my children grew to adulthood, I eagerly awaited the arrival of a grandchild, as most parents do. The family reunions were filled with love and laughter and good food, and children. So many little ones, each year passing sending me back another.
It wasn’t a lightbulb moment, exactly, when I figured it out. More like my brain giving into the cognitive dissonance that only humans are strange enough to be capable of. When I was realizing what would happen, I had six grandchildren. My children had grown, I’d aged another twenty years, so I’d had time. But I realized the years coming would be spent watching my family die. My children and their children, until I was overcome with time, blinking into nothingness.
Sitting at my kitchen table beside Gregory, his expression was a mixture of confusion, sadness, and horror. “You…didn’t realize?” he asked.
That’s when I found out that he’d known the implications all along, or at least, far longer than I had. He’d assumed my generous sacrifice was for the good of the village, for our prosperous farmlands extending across vast stretches of lands. When he noticed that I only stared back sadly, he took my face in his hand and said, “I’m only sorry I won’t be here to care for you. That we won’t grow old together. But we still have *time* together. And that’s what matters. Right?”
It took me weeks to come to terms with it, and to see it from Gregory’s perspective. Each of my children had either somewhere between one and three of their own, seventeen all together. Seventeen years I was gifted, as Gregory grew older, leaving me forty-eight years old. Then came the great-grandchildren, but by the time the first had been born, I’d found myself at Gregory’s bedside, holding his hand as he passed.
As the years ticked by, those seventeen grandchildren started to have children of their own, and every time I heard the news, I kept track of it on my calendar, marking off the years that ticked back in a day. Time goes by quicker as you get older, they say, and I found it true. But I still enjoyed every moment, every second. I met with my descendants ever holiday, of course, but many still lived locally. We often got together for dinner just because, and when you have such a huge family, just because fills up a lot of meals.
Eventually, one of my grandchildren, Dorothy, took me aside and explained that everyone had decided to stop having children for now. I was eighteen at this point, and that was a gift, to be given the time it would take for my great-grandchildren to grow up. But I told her that, while I accepted that generous gift for what it was, I wouldn’t dream of depriving anyone of birthing children they wanted.
I told Dorothy that I wanted no more of my descendants to know of the fate that awaited me, that they were not to tell any of my great-grandchildren. I couldn’t bear to saddle them with that, to build their families under the burden of that knowledge. And I had had so many years gifted to me that I truly was satisfied with my life as it had been. With that, I said goodbye, moved abroad, and set up a new life.
My great-grandchildren grew up, the years ticked by, I grew older, and then at twenty-nine, I received the news of the next child, and it began once again. I considered finding someone with which to spend the years I had, but how could I explain the way it would end? And who would want to give away thirty years of your life to someone who would shrink away before your very eyes? So, I did the only thing I could. I lived a life as fulfilling as I was able, taking each day in and savoring it like a spoonful of rich chocolate cake.
Each day, I would look in the mirror and smile. I did that until the next child was born. I was never even promised safety from an accidental death, I mused at one point. But I assume that this was the result the fae was hoping for, the outsmarting of a human the only goal she’d had. Then, the morning I learned of the next child’s birth, I decided to determine my end.
To let myself wither away wasn’t something I wanted to experience either, but to do it alone or in the care of strangers in some orphanage would be horrible. So, instead, I spent the next day going through photographs, of which there were thousands. And as I flipped through the endless pages of dozens of photo albums, I knew the fae felt it had gotten the better of me, but I’d had a fuller life than any could imagine.
Every photo let me recall the life that had been borne from mine, some prospering as Gregory and I had, some dying young or suffering horrible tragedy. But that was what life consisted of, and there was no getting around it. I ensured my town would thrive in success and prosper, but that was the end of it. I had no other control over my world other than what was natural.
We make deals with ourselves like one would with the fae all the time, it became apparent as I looked over the generations before me.
You trade a future with a partner for a career elsewhere, hoping you’re making the right decision, thinking you’ll grow to resent them for an opportunity missed. But you never know. The future that awaited you with them as a significant other could have been buoyant with happiness and brought you exactly what would make you happy.
Or you make those little choices, the ones only visible in hindsight, barely noticeable until you realize the outcomes that resulted from them. Meeting a friend because you decide to attend a party you were reluctant to go out for. Leaving early for work lets you enjoy the sight of a family of ducks crossing the road. Or all the moments you never knew you could have had, crushed by a butterfly effect of ignorance.
We all make choices and take certain paths in lieu of others. The only thing we all share is that the path that stretches out before us is the same. From our entrance into the world, overcome with brightness and sound, to our demise, whether with a bang or a whimper, we all begin, and we all end.
I watched the sun set for the last time that evening and, as it dipped below the horizon, leaving a blur of colors behind, I knew I was as satisfied with my life as Gregory had been when I’d last held his hand.
&#x200B;
/r/storiesbykaren
| 2021-04-15T11:22:56 | 2021-04-15T11:13:05 | 400 | 146 |
[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.
|
What a mess. Apparently a clay golem was not the correct counter for an Abrams tank.
Toureil was not having a good day. Responsible for this expedition to conquer this backwards planet, it had turned into a bloodbath for him. Normally 10 legions could quickly take control of a new world. This particular world filled with weak humans incapable of magic was supposed to be a short affair. Toureil's people, the Gux'vican had taken over much of the known multiverse with this strategy.
Unfortunately, this backwards planet had evolved technologically due to their complete inability to use magic. Normally the Gux'vican outlaw technology beyond basics when they take over. There is little need for it given their magical power. As a result, most of what Toureil had seen on this "Earth" was inconceivable to him. Only by taking prisoners had he even learned what he was facing. Initially, the expeditionary force thought that a "glock" was some type of magic wand that caused someone's head to get a hole in it and a "tank" was a massive horned creature.
Toureil's fireball's couldn't touch a "raptor" as it rained death on his troops. A summoned dragon would normally be able to destroy a city but was easily cut in half by one of these flying "warthogs". When Toureil's mages summoned meteor storms on their opponents they were quickly hit with a barrage of explosions. One of his prisoners called it "HIMARS o'clock".
What the fuck was HIMARS o'clock? Is there a timepiece out there that is killing Toureil's legions?
Regardless, Toureil had only remnants of a few legions left. Several of his men had been captured and exposed the secrets of his world to these humans. Now they were trying to get through the gate. Apparently this "Amazon" wanted to "expand its customer base across the multiverse" and nothing the Gux'vican had could stop them.
What was that noise anyways? . . . . . . . . oh, so that's an Apache.
|
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!
| 2022-08-13T14:22:17 | 2022-08-13T12:29:05 | 26 | 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.
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I see it all so clearly now… I thought I was so righteous fighting against the great big beast that ruled this nation with a fist of iron. I thought the plebians would hail me as their hero as I freed them from their heavy shackles. But now I am in the same way as my predecessor; a demon in the eyes of the people. And are they right? Am I so wicked? Before I would’ve said they were, said that I was right as I plunged my knife into a tyrant in the name of a better tomorrow. But now I see that not all is as simple as I once thought. They call me cruel, but do they not understand that not everything is possible and sometimes sacrifices must be made? They call me selfish, do I not deserve anything at all for my efforts? For my struggles and for my sacrifice? My health, my time and as it seems, my very life?
They say I am a bloodthirsty fiend and yet my counters from across the world are no better. So what am I if not just a person misunderstood? Why must I surrender to the worker who overvalues their effort to lift a rock? Or the philosopher who couldn’t lift themselves out of depression and an endless alcoholic stupor? They know nothing of ruling, they know nothing of burden.
They know nothing for they are nothing. It is me that wears the crown, it is me that held the head of this nation up high. Perhaps my hand will now fall but you will become as I have done. You call yourself a hero, don’t you? You think it, you think you know it. But no, you’re just like me. A fool. A fool seeking the love of the ones who will never see you as anything more than a burden. An inconvenience of a system that feeds and keeps them safe. Fools are they for they do not know! They never will.
So strike me down and put an end to my rule, for you do not yet understand, do you? You call me evil. Well then let it be so as it always has and as it always will. Let the old rule die and bring forth the new. For no matter where, when or how we are...
Evil rules.
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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.)
| 2021-02-13T21:38:26 | 2021-02-13T20:07:26 | 106 | 64 |
[WP] Your old adventuring party left you in the old dwarves mines to die. You were rescued by your now-wife and her clan. After some years, you find a retired member of your old party in the tavern.
|
*\*crunch\**
The adventuring party jumped as the pickaxe slammed into the table, piercing straight through it. They all reached for their weapons and staves when they looked up and saw a sight none of them expected.
"...Richard?!" the rogue said, shocked.
"Yeah. That's right," the man said as he let go of the pickaxe handle and sat down at the bench. "Didn't expect to see me, right?" he snarled. The party looked at him with mouths agape.
"Richard," the mage started, "how... how are you-"
"Alive?" he interrupted. "You mean how did I survive when you lot left me slumped against the wall, bleeding?
"Rich I'm so, so, *so* sorry," the mage continued with genuine grief. "But... there was so much blood, you were barely breathing and the goblin, they were just seconds away! We didn't think you were gonna even make it out of the cave, let alone to a healer. How... how *did* you even survive?" he inquired.
"The caves weren't as abandoned as we thought," he said and nodded towards a band of dwarves sitting at a table, drinking beer and laughing. "A dwarf exploratory party was scouting it for minerals. They found me, fought off the bastards, and helped me. My wife spent 3 weeks nursing me back to health."
"I-wait, your *wife*?" the warrior asked. Richard nodded towards the table again - one of the dwarves, a well-dressed dwarf with a carefully braided red beard smiled at Richard, and he waved back.
"But... you're a *human*," the warrior stated.
"Yeah. So?" Richard asked.
"I-never mind," the warrior said and turned back to his beer.
"Rich," the rogue started, "I cannot express how sorry I am. We truly thought there was nothing we could do for you. If there is anything we can-"
"I'll stop you right there," Richard said and to their surprise, he smiled, "in a way, I have to thank you. If you didn't do it, I'd never have met my wife. And it turns out, I enjoy smithing *far* more than adventuring and my father-in-law," he said and pointed at a stocky, elderly dwarf at the table, "was more than happy to take me on as an apprentice."
"Still..." the mage said.
"Look, it's simple. It worked out in the end, so as far as I am concerned, no hard feelings. I get why you did it. I'd probably have done the same. But the rules of my clan are straightforward. I am afraid that none of you are allowed to visit the Blue Mountains as of now. Otherwise..." he said and with a loud crunch pulled the pickaxe out of the table, giving them all a menacing grin.
"...it's a grudgin'."
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"The Hrun aren't the one's you've got to watch for," I say, sipping my beer. Bitter beer. "The mines of Khaldoria are home to many horrors. But the Hrun are no worshipers of the Pitch Lords. Aye, they build their villages in the mountains. But it's the goblins that serve the burning ones. *They* perform those vile rituals, all in hopes of freeing their masters. Pray they don't succeed, friend. Lest they come searching for you."
My drinking companion has a neck like stork's leg and a head like an anvil laid down on its side. And his voice cracks when he speaks, an Imperial accent, voice echoing in the eaves of the Shaved Badger's common room. "Why... why would they come for me?"
"Points on a map," I say, looking about as a gang of fur-wrapped pelt traders skulk in. They wear grey furs, leathers straps wrapped around legs and forearms, and the headwraps of mountainfolk. They must have come down to trade.
"Points?" My drinking companion urges. "What points?"
"You know. Points -- on a map. The Pitch Lords are as greedy as dragons, aye? They'll turn the world over to find what's theirs. That’s a point—“ I walk two fingers across the bar toward him. “—you seem like you've been through those mines, is all. Maybe snatched up some loot? Point."
"Never." The voice crack was like a dying cat.
"Never? Well, folks don't usually go wearing Khaldorian steel, lest they've got the gold to spend... or they've been in the mines. No offense."
My companion glances from side to side and places a hand on the hilt of his short sword, the leather scabbard embroidered with a leafy vines made of fine golden thread. He gave his name as Ghost. A graying Imperial named Ghost. Yeah right. But then, I gave my name as Seeker. Names don't mean a whole lot to adventurers. Or they could mean everything. Depends on the name, I suppose.
Ghost leans back, scrunching down that fish-spine neck of his, as if he can retreat into his beer like a turtle. His eyes scrunch into a mess of wrinkles. I had him. People can't resist tales from the mines, considering most folk don't come back from that hell hole to tell the tale. But Ghost had come back. And so did I.
"So... these rituals. They're supposed to free the Pitch Lords?" The man who calls himself Ghost seems to be sweating.
I smile. Oh, I definitely have him. "Not just free them. Give them shape. Form. Once incarnated, they can topple empires with the flick of a wrist. Reclaim what's rightfully theirs. You ain't the heir to no empire, are ya, friend?"
My companion grows more nervous. He was no heir. "No," the man stammers, "but, they wouldn't come for me-- er, for something as small as a sword or breastplate. Assuming someone such as I would have salvaged said sundries from the mines. They'd be too busy taking over the world to come here. The Hinterlands have no business with the world, and the world none with the Hinterlands." He nods, satisfied with his nonsense.
"The Pitch Lords do not forgive," I say, leaning in. "The Pitch Lords do not forget. Now, mind you, I don't *think* their first stop would be a shit-hole of a bar in the middle of nowhere -- six weeks to the closest road to the capital. But..."
I glance over at the table of fur traders. No drinks yet. Just sitting there, brooding under their face wraps.
"But?" Ghost cracks.
"But..." I say. "The mines belong to the lords, and the treasures belong to the mines. Of course, I could tell you a few things about the Pitch Lords. But, you see, my mug's gone dry and my throat--" I fake a cough. "--be quite parched. No way for me to recount my tale without wetting my beak. I think you'd be very interested in how Dantes Mont escaped the goblin hordes of the Khaldorian mines, and continues to elude the touch of the Pitch Lords. Great story, that."
Ghost thumbs a coin on the side of the table, indicating he'd like a refill when the serving girl returns. That'll do. I smile to myself and launch into the story.
\###
Dantes Mont was a sellsword working in Farhall, out in the Western Dominance. Green, only in his nineteenth year. But the boy was an artist with the blade. Was fending of packs of wolves on his da's homestead by the time he was ten. Cut down a merchant's guard that'd gotten handsy with his sister by the time he was fourteen--with a skinning knife, mind you. Well, seeing as his da was getting old, and having such a fierce talent with the blade, Dantes struck out to Farhall to find his fortune.
At the time, the adventurer's guild was in all sorts. The war had just ended. Not enough able-bodies left to pick up bounties and contracts. Too many lives lost. Victory indeed. But, Dantes and his kin were farmers. And more than soldiers, the war effort needed farmers. Someone had to feed the armies. It's the only reason a youngin' like Dantes was alive enough to march into the adventurer's guild in the heart of Farhall.
The place was empty. A cobweb cluttered, dusty, musty, ghost-town of a room. That's what Dantes walked into. Save one person. The clerk. Dantes didn't waist no time. Got to working. Clearing out the wood around the city of monsters and bandits alike. And when he wasn't doing that, he was breaking his back with the rebuilding effort. Don't think just because the war happened in the North that the Pitch Lord's forces wouldn't find their way West. There were plenty of towns like Farhall that took a ravaging or two. The problem was, he made more coin working back at the farm then he did in town.
Despite the bone-thrumming exhaustion he suffered every single day, he couldn't sleep. He'd just lay there in whatever barn he managed to rent for the night, straw poking through his clothes, manure souring the air, dreaming of his big break. The day he'll get a contract to take an orc chieftain's head, rescue a noblewoman, slay a dragon. And get paid. The first thing he'd do is clear his da's debts. Then buy his sister passage to the capital so she can study with those shaved-heads in the academy, or buy his ma a nice cottage out in the Southern Dominance, right on the beach. He'd buy da one right next to hers.
That night, he slept and dreamt of his fortunes.
The next morning, when Dantes dragged himself into the adventurer's guild for another day of miserable contracts, a group of mercenaries were standing in front of the mission board. Staring up like turkeys in the rain. One of them, an elf, turned to Dantes and asked if he was from around. A local.
In the six months that Dantes had been in Farhall, never once had another person entered the guild. That's not to say there weren't adventurers. Just, most of them were either working on rebuilding their homes... or they were dead. Dantes was neither. "Local enough," said Dantes to the pretty elf.
A swordsman with a long elegant neck, and a powerful brow, stepped up beside the elf and said, "No need bringing in the rabble, Altra. We've got this."
She waved him off. "Enough, Tremond. You talk too much." She smiled at Dantes. "I am Altra Shinolari. This is--"
"Tremond Wilkoa," he said, making a showy bow.
"And this is Dremo and Riya," Altra added, hooking a thumb to a halfling and a robed figure staring up at the board. Neither turned around.
"I'm Dantes."
Altra stepped forward, leaning in closer. She smelled of apricots and soap. "Dantes. What if I could change your life?"
"Do you have a shovel that doesn't dull?"
Her laugh was rich like fresh churned butter. "I can get you a shovel that cut steel. If you're the right man for the job."
"Job?"
Tremond's massive head appeared over Altra's shoulder and, as if she could feel his presence, she waved him away. "We're heading for the mines of Khaldoria."
It was Dantes' turn to laugh. He laughed as he walked to the board. He laughed as he picked up a contract for repaving the road connecting Farhall to the Imperial road. And he laughed as he reached for the door handle on the exit. Dantes looked back at the group once more and let his laugh die down to a chuckle. "The mines," he said aloud to no one in particular. "Of Khaldoria. Now that's rich."
Then he left for work.
\###
\[I realized when I started this that it was gonna be long as hell, but I just kept going. This is part 1?\]
| 2022-02-13T19:46:28 | 2022-02-13T19:11:21 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You are a minion in the service of a dark lord. Your master has tasked you with creating and spreading a prophecy about a chosen one, the only person who can defeat him, so that the so-called "heroes" will stop resisting his rule and instead wait for their savior to arrive.
|
<knock, knock>
<large door creaking>
“Umm, boss?”
“WHO DARES DISTURB ME?”
“It’s Chuck. From Marketing?”
“Oh! Hey, Chuck. Come on in.”
“Hey, your evilness, I was looking over the last-“
“Do you need a drink? I do.”
“No. Thanks. Hey, I was looking at your last request regarding the ‘chosen one’ prophecy?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. What do you think? Pretty genius, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Great concept. Very nefarious. I just have some... concerns.”
“... Like? ...”
“Okay, so the prophecy idea, love it.”
“Thank you.”
“However, your details are a little... suspect.”
“What do you mean?”
“Okay, so I have your list here. The ‘chosen one’ will be born on a Tuesday, will be left-handed, will be female, all standard so far...”
“Exactly, what’s the problem?”
“Well, you also wrote down here that they’ll be born with 6 fingers on each hand...”
“That’s a thing that happens.”
“... and seven toes...”
“Well, I mean...”
“... and they’ll be born in a summer snow storm. And raised by raccoons.”
“I guess I... went a bit far.”
“Yeah, a bit. It’s pretty obvious you just don’t want to be challenged. And the final note I had highlighted was: the ‘chosen one’ will have a birthmark depicting the entirety of Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’... on their back.”
“... okay, I hear it now. Go ahead and get me an edit by tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yes, your vileness. Thanks,”
|
“With the highest amount of respect to you, my master, I’m unsure about this plan. I understand your great will and wit is only matched by the gods, but are you positive about this? What about Riza the heart snatcher or Jok the eye licker? Both seem more frightening than me.” The pint-sized goblin brushed his hands against one another, staring at his master, hoping this was just some small lack of judgement on his part. Sure, his master was perfect in every way, but even perfection is prone to the odd misstep.
“You doubt me Lagoth the foolish? I don’t believe I asked for your opinion on the matter. What did I ask of you again? Please remind me so I know what punishment to hand down when you disobey my order.” The gloomy vampire leant forward in his obsidian throne, red eyes locked on the goblin, awaiting his response.
“Y-you asked me to go to the village and spread a prophecy about a great hero. I just don’t know If I’m-“ Lagoth tripped over his words, tongue twisting as he tried to think up an excuse. His master’s blood-red eyes only seeming to stay focused on him, refusing to budge. “I just don’t know If I’m going to need a jacket. I would never refuse your orders, my great lord.” Lagoth threw his body towards the stone floor, bowing his head to his master.
The Dark Lord didn’t speak right away, enjoying the cowering sight before him, seeing the goblin glance up occasionally, seeing if the Dark Lord was still watching. “It is rather cold. Take a jacket. Now do your job.”
“Yes sir, of course, sir. I will do it right away. It will be my top priority. I won’t even have a bath or lunch. I might stop to get a jacket though, but you said I could get a jacket, so that’s not going against your mighty-“ The goblin rambled, hoping to appease his master, who seemed unimpressed.
“Now Lagoth, hurry before I put you in the bone pit again.” The Dark Lord flashed a grin, sharp fangs slipping from his mouth.
“Not the bone pit! The bones in that pit are still moving, and sometimes they pinch me. It’s cruel, even far too cruel for you. I’m sorry I’ll go right now.” With that, Lagoth was off, grabbing a jacket and heading into town.
“Stupid Master, making me do the hard jobs. He has two professional killers, and he sends the goblin into town to tell the prophecy. I’m going to get killed.” Lagoth hid his head in the oversized jacket he brought, ears drooping as he saw the town gates. He said some final goblin prayers before strutting into the village square.
“Listen up you idiots, I’m hear to tell you about a new prophecy.” He shouted his words, only to watch as the disinterested citizens wandered throughout the town, not giving the tiny goblin a look. “G-guys. I have a… please listen to me.” His head drooped lower until they could only see his large golden eyes poking out of the jacket. Was he really not intimidating enough to get any attention? Sure, he was a lower levelled minion, but he was still a minion.
“Tough crowd.” A woman said, staring down at the goblin from her stall. The stall coated in magic trinkets and wares, an assortment of goods fitting of a witch. “Have you tried raising your voice a little?”
“THIS IS AS LOUD AS MY VOICE GOES.” He screamed, earning a few side glances before everyone continued their business. He dropped onto his knees, giving up on his job. “I guess its back to the bone pits.”
“Bone pits? How ghastly. You know, I probably have an item that could help you. What about a dark day’s crystal? Smash this little bad boy and the skies will darken around you, that’s sure to bring some attention to you.” She held the coal colored crystal between her fingers. On her other hand, she raised two fingers. “Two gold.”
“Two gold? I don’t have any gold. I have a jacket, or fingers. Can I interest you in my fingers? You can have any finger but the middle ones. I need them for my traditional goblin greetings.”
“Mmm.” Was all the witch said, placing the crystal on the counter, thinking over the situation. “I don’t have an interest in fingers, so how about I put it on your bosses tab? If I need something, I’ll call on him.”
“I don’t know. Master doesn’t like it when we accept deals like those.”
“You can always go back empty-handed and enjoy the bone pits?” The Witch added, a teasing smile on her lips as she watched the goblin quickly snatch the crystal.
“Fine, but only because I hate the bone pit. This better work.” Lagoth wandered into the middle of the town’s square, finding a barrel to climb atop of. Cracking the crystal in his hand, the skies darkened, a horrible swirl of dark clouds appearing overhead. “Anyone who dares to face the Dark Lord will be slaughtered, for there’s only one hero who can slay him. Heed my warning and prepare that great one for battle or perish.”
The changing atmosphere caused the villagers to stop, many turning to face the goblin, sharing soft anxious mumbles among themselves. He had them fixated on his words until one rather muscular lumberjack shouted out.
“Oi, what’s this hero look like? Are they strong?” He asked, the eyes of the crowd fell back on Lagoth who just stood there frozen, feeling as though he was in one of those, not wearing pants at the battle dreams.
Lagoth looked to the Witch, who only offered him a shrug, having no additional input to give. His throat dried, struggling to get out the words. “She’s tall, wears a pointed hat and has a really annoying smile. Oh, and she dresses in this really weird black and purple gown, one that looks befitting of a noble but is made from commoner fabrics.”
The Witch glanced at her gown, fingers tracing along the black and purple fabric. A scowl appearing on her face, staring daggers at the goblin who now seemed to list things off with ease.
“She also has a really scary scowl and runs a magic shop. I think she might be a magic user as well.” The goblin let out a sigh of relief. He did it. He said a prophecy.
“You mean like that Witch over there?” The brutish lumberjack asked as all eyes turned to the Witches stall.
“Uh, oh. No, I’m sure that’s just a coincidence. It’s probably another person, just like her.” Lagoth discovering a massive hole in his description of the hero.
“No, that’s her. Bless the gods, a hero has come to save us. Go with the goblin, avenge our town, oh mighty Witch.” The Lumberjack went over to the Witch, motioning her towards the center of the town. The Witch looked displeased with the whole situation but was trapped in the lie. How could she say no to defeating the Dark Lord? The town would never allow it.
“Right, guess I will be off then. Lead me to your master.” The Witch grabbed Lagoth by the scruff of his neck, throwing him off the barrel, causing his head to smack into the dirt below.
“Ow, hey careful.” He spat out bits of dirt, jumping to his feet. “Right, let’s get going. Do you have a name hero?” Lagoth asked, realizing he would get so many days in the bone pit for this.
“Cynthia. Now hurry along, I believe we will have a lot to discuss with your master when we arrive.” The villagers cheered as the two left, beginning their sheepish walk towards the Dark Lords castle.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-03-17T22:46:58 | 2021-03-17T20:04:32 | 59 | 14 |
[WP] You are a minion in the service of a dark lord. Your master has tasked you with creating and spreading a prophecy about a chosen one, the only person who can defeat him, so that the so-called "heroes" will stop resisting his rule and instead wait for their savior to arrive.
|
The contents of the cauldron swirled and popped. A stomach turning mist seeped from the witches brew. The old crone peered warily at the traveler through uneven yellow eyes.
“So, you believe you are the one to destroy the dark lord, eh?” She picked at crooked teeth with a talon.
“The people need a champion. My mother, she insists it is me.”
“Well all mothers think their sons are saviors, eh boy!” She cackled and slapped her thigh, but he did not laugh. “Hmm….what makes her think this is the case?”
“Well ma’am...your prophecies speak of the champion being one with the forest. And well--” the man chittered to his side and a squirrel climbed onto his shoulder. “--I seem to have a rare connection to woodland beasts--”
“Yes! But he also must have six toes!” The witch interjected.
The man slowly removed his right boot to reveal six digits on his foot. “Yes, I’ve heard that one too--”
“And his father was a Djinn!”
The man slowly opened his vest to reveal a polished brass lamp. “Ohh, well...this was my father’s…”
“And...and...his mother was a horse!”
“Uhh... I hadn’t heard that one before either, but...mother?”
The door to the hut shifted as a large figure awkwardly attempted to crawl through the portal. An equine figure, ambling on its foreknees, with the upper body of a woman. “This is my mother, witch, she is a centaur...is that close enough?”
The witch’s jaw dropped, the dark lord was not going to like this.
|
“With the highest amount of respect to you, my master, I’m unsure about this plan. I understand your great will and wit is only matched by the gods, but are you positive about this? What about Riza the heart snatcher or Jok the eye licker? Both seem more frightening than me.” The pint-sized goblin brushed his hands against one another, staring at his master, hoping this was just some small lack of judgement on his part. Sure, his master was perfect in every way, but even perfection is prone to the odd misstep.
“You doubt me Lagoth the foolish? I don’t believe I asked for your opinion on the matter. What did I ask of you again? Please remind me so I know what punishment to hand down when you disobey my order.” The gloomy vampire leant forward in his obsidian throne, red eyes locked on the goblin, awaiting his response.
“Y-you asked me to go to the village and spread a prophecy about a great hero. I just don’t know If I’m-“ Lagoth tripped over his words, tongue twisting as he tried to think up an excuse. His master’s blood-red eyes only seeming to stay focused on him, refusing to budge. “I just don’t know If I’m going to need a jacket. I would never refuse your orders, my great lord.” Lagoth threw his body towards the stone floor, bowing his head to his master.
The Dark Lord didn’t speak right away, enjoying the cowering sight before him, seeing the goblin glance up occasionally, seeing if the Dark Lord was still watching. “It is rather cold. Take a jacket. Now do your job.”
“Yes sir, of course, sir. I will do it right away. It will be my top priority. I won’t even have a bath or lunch. I might stop to get a jacket though, but you said I could get a jacket, so that’s not going against your mighty-“ The goblin rambled, hoping to appease his master, who seemed unimpressed.
“Now Lagoth, hurry before I put you in the bone pit again.” The Dark Lord flashed a grin, sharp fangs slipping from his mouth.
“Not the bone pit! The bones in that pit are still moving, and sometimes they pinch me. It’s cruel, even far too cruel for you. I’m sorry I’ll go right now.” With that, Lagoth was off, grabbing a jacket and heading into town.
“Stupid Master, making me do the hard jobs. He has two professional killers, and he sends the goblin into town to tell the prophecy. I’m going to get killed.” Lagoth hid his head in the oversized jacket he brought, ears drooping as he saw the town gates. He said some final goblin prayers before strutting into the village square.
“Listen up you idiots, I’m hear to tell you about a new prophecy.” He shouted his words, only to watch as the disinterested citizens wandered throughout the town, not giving the tiny goblin a look. “G-guys. I have a… please listen to me.” His head drooped lower until they could only see his large golden eyes poking out of the jacket. Was he really not intimidating enough to get any attention? Sure, he was a lower levelled minion, but he was still a minion.
“Tough crowd.” A woman said, staring down at the goblin from her stall. The stall coated in magic trinkets and wares, an assortment of goods fitting of a witch. “Have you tried raising your voice a little?”
“THIS IS AS LOUD AS MY VOICE GOES.” He screamed, earning a few side glances before everyone continued their business. He dropped onto his knees, giving up on his job. “I guess its back to the bone pits.”
“Bone pits? How ghastly. You know, I probably have an item that could help you. What about a dark day’s crystal? Smash this little bad boy and the skies will darken around you, that’s sure to bring some attention to you.” She held the coal colored crystal between her fingers. On her other hand, she raised two fingers. “Two gold.”
“Two gold? I don’t have any gold. I have a jacket, or fingers. Can I interest you in my fingers? You can have any finger but the middle ones. I need them for my traditional goblin greetings.”
“Mmm.” Was all the witch said, placing the crystal on the counter, thinking over the situation. “I don’t have an interest in fingers, so how about I put it on your bosses tab? If I need something, I’ll call on him.”
“I don’t know. Master doesn’t like it when we accept deals like those.”
“You can always go back empty-handed and enjoy the bone pits?” The Witch added, a teasing smile on her lips as she watched the goblin quickly snatch the crystal.
“Fine, but only because I hate the bone pit. This better work.” Lagoth wandered into the middle of the town’s square, finding a barrel to climb atop of. Cracking the crystal in his hand, the skies darkened, a horrible swirl of dark clouds appearing overhead. “Anyone who dares to face the Dark Lord will be slaughtered, for there’s only one hero who can slay him. Heed my warning and prepare that great one for battle or perish.”
The changing atmosphere caused the villagers to stop, many turning to face the goblin, sharing soft anxious mumbles among themselves. He had them fixated on his words until one rather muscular lumberjack shouted out.
“Oi, what’s this hero look like? Are they strong?” He asked, the eyes of the crowd fell back on Lagoth who just stood there frozen, feeling as though he was in one of those, not wearing pants at the battle dreams.
Lagoth looked to the Witch, who only offered him a shrug, having no additional input to give. His throat dried, struggling to get out the words. “She’s tall, wears a pointed hat and has a really annoying smile. Oh, and she dresses in this really weird black and purple gown, one that looks befitting of a noble but is made from commoner fabrics.”
The Witch glanced at her gown, fingers tracing along the black and purple fabric. A scowl appearing on her face, staring daggers at the goblin who now seemed to list things off with ease.
“She also has a really scary scowl and runs a magic shop. I think she might be a magic user as well.” The goblin let out a sigh of relief. He did it. He said a prophecy.
“You mean like that Witch over there?” The brutish lumberjack asked as all eyes turned to the Witches stall.
“Uh, oh. No, I’m sure that’s just a coincidence. It’s probably another person, just like her.” Lagoth discovering a massive hole in his description of the hero.
“No, that’s her. Bless the gods, a hero has come to save us. Go with the goblin, avenge our town, oh mighty Witch.” The Lumberjack went over to the Witch, motioning her towards the center of the town. The Witch looked displeased with the whole situation but was trapped in the lie. How could she say no to defeating the Dark Lord? The town would never allow it.
“Right, guess I will be off then. Lead me to your master.” The Witch grabbed Lagoth by the scruff of his neck, throwing him off the barrel, causing his head to smack into the dirt below.
“Ow, hey careful.” He spat out bits of dirt, jumping to his feet. “Right, let’s get going. Do you have a name hero?” Lagoth asked, realizing he would get so many days in the bone pit for this.
“Cynthia. Now hurry along, I believe we will have a lot to discuss with your master when we arrive.” The villagers cheered as the two left, beginning their sheepish walk towards the Dark Lords castle.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-03-18T03:45:23 | 2021-03-17T20:04:32 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] A watch is invented where it says exactly how long until you meet your soulmate. You decide to get one for you and one for your wife. Your wife’s watch says ’negative 6 years, 9 months, 14 days, 3 hours and 9 minutes’, the day you two met. Yours says ’12 days, 8 hours, 29 minutes’.
|
“WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT SAY?” She said teeming with anger.
“Uhhh, hrm. Must be broken. Damn thing is made in China I’m sure it’s junk.”
He cast the watch into the bin and reflected on how bad of an idea this was in retrospect, already planning which blankets and pillows he’ll use for his next few nights on the couch.
The End
|
“12 days, 8 hours, 29 minutes,” he said, to himself.
“What’s that,” said the watchmaker, through a thick German accent.
“This isn’t right,” replied the man, “This is in the future.”
“Then you haven’t met your soul mate yet.”
“That can’t be, I’m married you see, and I-“
The watchmaker looked up from his work with piercing gray eyes, “I only make die watches. That one is not wrong. I do not make errors. Now wither select a new watch or leave my shop.”
The man looked down at his wrist and looked as his timer went down. 12 days, 8 hours, 25 minutes. He couldn’t bring himself to believe the frail watchmaker. Without so much as a goodbye, he stormed out of the building and went home for the day.
“Rose,” he said, “Rose, come here honey,” he said entering his home.
“Sam, you’re home,” he watched as she walked up with the same excitement in her eyes that he had seen for the past 6 years.
“I have a gift for you,” he said, holding out a small wrapped box.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“I know, but I earned a bonus from a big sale, and I thought I’d get us a little something.”
Opening the box, she looked up at him with a smile. “Oh, Sam!,” she said, hugging him tightly. “A SoulMate! I’ve been wanting one for so long.”
“Well try it on.”
Affixing the small gold and white watch to wrist, she saw as the timer rapidly moved to the time of negative 6 years, 9 months, 14 days, 3 hours, and 9 minutes.
“I-I think that this is when we met Sam,” she said, with a burning spark behind her eyes. “In Dr. Douglas’ class? Yeah, we were freshman then! We should send him a letter and tell him how much that class means to us.
Sam’s cheeks started to go flush as water filled his eyes. “I... really I am glad. Love you...” He looked down in defeat as the tears started to fall.
“Sam, honey, what’s wrong?” She said, grabbing him and holding him close.”
“Look, look at my watch,” he said, holding up his wrist.
“12 days, 7 hours, 12 minutes,” she looked up at him, back at his watch, at her watch, and then at him again. “I don’t understand, why isn’t yours the same?” She was crying too at this point.
“I don’t know. I love you, I do. You know I do. The only reason I brought these damn things home was I was sure yours was going to read the same time as mine, somehow. I thought maybe it, it was broken or something... I don’t know.”
She jumped up and looked down at him. “I don’t know what to say,” she said, before stomping off into their bedroom.
“Rose, Rose? What are you doing?” Sam got up and followed her into the bedroom.
“I, just... need time to think,” she said, as she started packing a small bag, with streams of mascara running down her face.
“Please don’t go, I need you.”
“Do you, Sam? Do you? Maybe I need you, but you don’t need me.”
And with that, she was gone. Out of his life. She left the house, leaving him no knowledge of where she was going. He tried finding her, by calling her mother, friends, the police, but she had mysteriously vanished.
He feared the worst, and decided to look himself in his house until the time passed by. If Rose wasn’t his soulmate, then he didn’t deserve to have.
The days passed by. 12, 11, 10, 9, 8. By the 7^th day, he had started to drink himself to sleep every night.
By the 4^th day, he was toying with the notion of suicide. He couldn’t live without his Rose in his life.
On the 2^nd day, he drank an entire bottle of scotch, and then proceeded to drink more. By the time the paramedics found him, he was in a coma.
Sam lay in a hospital bed, alone, in an empty room. One of his friends contacted Rose, and she was the only person to stay by his side. She wept over him every single moment, and prayed for a recovery.
“Sam, please wake up,” she said, holding his hand and crying, “Please wake up. I may not be your soulmate, but you’re still mine, and I can’t see you die.”
He stayed unresponsive though. After several hours passed, Rose left the room to go and get a bite to eat, having starved herself waiting for her loved one to wake back up.
Upon her return, she heard something that made her heart drop.
“Hi, Mr. Robertson, I’m Nurse Ginger, and I’ll be taking care of you.”
Rose dropped to the floor outside of the room and started to have a panic attack. This was the moment. Sam was gone. She had lived the best 7 years of her life with him, and now it was all over. He had finally met the love of his life.
The nurse rushed out and saw Rose in the floor weeping. She picked Rose up off of the ground, and with a lot of talking, managed to get her into the room. Rose felt as though it would be to say goodbye to her husband who she had grown so used to seeing.
“Why are you sad?” Sam said.
“Because, because, because,” Rose tried to tell him why, but the words just wouldn’t come out.
“I’m sorry, but do I know you?” Sam asked.
She looked up through her hair that had fallen in her face, the spark in her eyes no longer there. “I’m... I’m your... I’m.”
“My name is Sam. Now you tell me your name,” he said, with a smile on his face.
A smile slowly grew on Rose’s face, “My name is Rose Robert- uh, Rose Sanchez.”
“Well Rose Sanchez, they won’t tell me why I’m in here. The last thing I remember, I was about to go to my first class of the semester, uh, American literature with Dr. Douglas.”
The two began to talk through the night. And in one of the corners of their house, a watch read negative 1 hour and 12 minutes.
—-
Thank you for reading my story!
If you liked that, please consider checking out my subreddit r/coffeeswritingcafe I recommend [this](https://redd.it/7n0ao7) one, if you want more romance. Thanks again!
| 2018-01-06T18:23:12 | 2018-01-06T18:09:30 | 543 | 312 |
[WP] You're the lesser known member of the Power Rangers, you are the person in charge of setting the explosives that detonate when the team strikes a pose.
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Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years I've been doing this. When Zordon asked for five "teenagers with attitude", I'm sure that robot companion of his had to ask where the sixth "loader of explosives" came from. And believe me, I had to wonder about that myself! Turns out I had a bigger role than I thought:
"There will always be enemies who will try to take advantage of the Rangers state of vulnerability." Zordon said. "Your task is to make sure that never happens, but do it discreetly."
So, those explosions you always see? That's me. I don't get the flashy powers or the cool Zords or the neat weapons. I'm a guy with a rocket launcher and more heavy ordnance than one person should wield. Power Rangers doing lengthy introductions? Yeah, that's me at the end, blowing away Putties or Cogs or X-Borgs or whatever creep comes their way while distracted.
Or perhaps they've always known I've been back there. I've been in the game for years, travelling through time and space. Whenever there's explosions needed, I'm there. Heck, I hear there's a version of me that aids a group of Rangers collectively known as "Super Sentai"! And I'm Japanese! ...and doing it for nearly 50 years.
...aw, heck, if he does it for that long, so should I. Until the universe is safe. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's trouble about - guy named "Lord Drakkon" causing trouble, wanting to mess with the Morphing Grid and all that. Surprise, hot shot: explosions aren't connected to the Grid.
In the words of one of my favorites: It's Boom Time.
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"Earth is ours!" Shouted the creature as it walked around the warehouse district followed by its small group of identical minions.
To the outside observer, the creature looked like the unholy fusion of a computer and an angler fish that had been placed upon a humanoid body.
"There is no way their puny defenses can stop me, Machine Knight Vice-Minister Egos!" It laughed, smashing its giant hand into the logo on its chest.
"That's where you're wrong!" Shouted a figure from behind the group. Causing the creature to turn around, its minions quickly dashing back behind their leader.
"Who do you think you are?" Shouted the monster, watching as the figure moved forward into the light. As the first figure came into view, five more moved out of the shadows, each of them wearing the same smirk on their face.
"We're the defenders of this planet," said the one at the front, his leather jacket flapping in the breeze.
"And the ones who are going to send you back where you came from," said the one in green, adjusting his hair as he spoke.
"And what makes you think you can defeat me!" Laughed the creature. "Puny humans will be crushed!"
The people didn't offer a response to the creature's words. Instead, they each pulled out a small card and pushed it into a device on their wrist.
"Emperor! Hierophant! Chariot! High Priestess! Magician! Fortune!" Came a loud disembodied voice from around the group as their wrist devices started to glow with a strange energy.
In one flowing movement, each of the group lifted their right arm before punching forward. "Card Change! Star on!" They all shouted as the energy flowed out of the devices and enveloped them all.
After a second the energy vanished, revealing that each of the six humans was now clad in bright armor. They all posed as massive explosions rang out from behind them, sending clouds of dirt into the sky, the pressure wave from the explosion knocking down some of the minions.
"No, this can't be!" Gasped the monster, looking left and right quickly. "Retreat! Retreat!" It shouted, a beam quickly sucking it up into the sky with its minions.
"Didn't even want to stay and fight!" Said the blue figure as it slapped the green one on the back, almost making him fall over.
The red figure looked around for a few seconds, scanning the area to make sure this wasn't just a trap. When he was convinced the monster was gone he let out a long sigh as his armor vanished.
The others followed suit, all quickly returning to their civilian forms. The girl who had been clad in pink armor started to bounce up and down on the spot. "We beat it! Not going to have to deal with him again!" She cheered.
"I didn't realize that it would be so effective," nodded the one in green, once against adjusting his hair. "You can come down now," he said, looking up at the roof of a nearby warehouse.
As he did a figure clad in purple armor dropped down from the air, making a small dent in the floor as they landed. As they stood up, their armor melted away, revealing a girl with short blonde hair.
"I don't think he'll be back in a hurry," she smiled before walking past the others. "Excuse me while I recover my charges before someone steps on them," she grinned as she grabbed a backpack from inside a nearby dumpster and fished out a small trowel.
"How do you even do that anyway?" Asked the Red Ranger, walking up behind the girl.
"Do what?" She replied as she slowly dug out the detonated charges and put them each into a tiny plastic food bag.
"Know where we are going to be so you can set those things up because I doubt you have them buried all over the city." He asked, trying to sound firm.
"It is my power set, you guys have your swords and I have my scanner," she said, not bothering to look up as she wrapped some singed wire around her finger. "It can tell where those things are going to turn up, reads their brainwaves or something," she explained before stopping for a moment. "Do they even have brains per se?"
"So you just decided to follow us around and make us look good?" Asked the Red Ranger, moving to put his hand on the girl's shoulder, only to be stopped by the Green Ranger.
"I think she is doing great, the more friends the better right now," he smiled, moving the Red Ranger's hand back to his side.
"But why have you been hiding from us?" Asked the Red Ranger, obviously getting agitated.
"Because if people realize I'm around here making you look good, then you'll lose your mystique and monsters will be less intimidated."
"It doesn't mean you need to hide from us, we could help you! We could work together, be a team!" Said the Yellow Ranger, leaning up against one of the warehouses.
"No, that isn't how this works," sighed the girl. "If you went into battles knowing what I had set up, then you would be less confident, and the Machine Knights would know that!" She insisted. "The illusion only works if you buy into your own mystique."
"Why is this illusion even needed?" Asked the Pink Ranger quizzically. "Why are our powers not enough on their own?"
"The Machine Knights might talk a big game, but they are cowards when confronted with an actual, confident, threat," said the girl as she finished putting the detonated charges into her backpack.
"And how do you know that?" Questioned the Red Ranger, his frustration fading into genuine curiosity.
"It is what my scanner tells me. You should see their fear level shoot up when my charges go off or my smoke comes rolling in," she giggled.
"Smoke?" Laughed the Green Ranger. "The smoke that happens when we switch weapons sometimes, that's you as well?"
"Yep! It is just a dry ice compound," started the girl as she slung her backpack over her shoulder.
"But it looks amazing!" Interrupted the Green Ranger. "Thank you! I've never felt cooler!" The girl blushed a little at the compliment. She tried to think of something to say but was only able to stutter out a few sounds before a chiming noise came from her wrist.
"Whats that?" Asked the Pink Ranger, pulling her phone out of her pocket to check it.
"Ah, that's me," nodded the girl, going from bashful to serious in a second. "I think I've got to go set up your next battle," she said as she looked at the object on her wrist. "I'll be seeing you around."
"Wait, where are they going," started the Red Ranger, only to be cut off as the girl pushed an orb into her wrist unit.
"Psy-On!" Came the disembodied voice as her armor returned. In a flowing movement, the girl punched the ground, causing a massive burst of smoke to erupt from the point of impact.
The Green and Red Rangers coughed as they fanned their hands wildly in an attempt to clear the smoke. But, by the time the smoke had cleared, the girl and her backpack had vanished.
"One day I'll understand her," sighed the Red Ranger.
"We might be going to the same place, but we are walking different routes," replied the Green Ranger. "We have to trust she knows her own route best."
"I didn't have you down as the philosophical type," interjected the Yellow Ranger, tilting her head as she looked towards her comrade.
"I just heard it on TV," shrugged the Green Ranger as the others started to laugh.
&nbsp;
The girl watched from a nearby rooftop, a smile forming on her face as her armor gently sparkled in the evening light. "By the time we're all done, every evil doer in the galaxy is going to fear your names," she said to herself. "You've all got some great things ahead of you, and it all starts tonight." She grinned as she walked along the rooftop and into the setting sun.
| 2018-03-19T05:14:55 | 2018-03-19T02:23:56 | 100 | 11 |
[WP] Star Wars is a true story. An alien comes to Earth to make first contact with our newly discovered species, only to discover we know more about their universe's history than they do.
EDIT: Whoah, this sorta blew up! Thanks for all the stories guys! I've read all of them and each made me laugh or legitimately think for a moment about the ramifications of an alien species having your future on blue ray. Keep up the awesome work!
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"...so that about wraps up our presentation on the Galactic Republic and how Earth would greatly benefit from joining. As you can see, this would usher Earth into a period of unprecedented prosperity and cultural growth. So, what do you say? Can we count on Earth?"
The leaders of all the major nations of Earth shifted uncomfortably in their seats. After several moments of tense silence, the President of the United States stands up and adjusts his blazer, clears his throat, and says "Actually, most of what you've said isn't canon anymore..."
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On Smart Devices and PC's across the nation, no matter their timezone or schedule, people were watching of all things, a live podcast on what until two days ago was a YouTube channel with less than a hundred subscribers. It's budget was whatever "Callie-OP" felt like and could afford.
Now, She has a garage full of donated recording gear, and over a hundred million subscribers, despite her previously most watched video (a whole 786 views, thankyou very much) was when she threw up with the flu during a stream talking about the second Ghost Rider movie.
There wasn't much to see at the moment, as there rarely is before a stream. It was a smattering of Callie's own interests really, to keep her amused while she prepared everything.
The audience was being treated to a collection of LoFi Chillhop tracks, with occasional nerdy soundbites in them. Dancing across the "Just Chill - We'll Be Back Soon" message on it's pastel nebula background, were a pair of stylized cartoon characters. Big eyed anime-esque girls danced to the music, one swinging a long cobbled together metal staff of sorts, dressed in beige wraps and rags, hair in a bow; The other a redhead with glasses and a purple hoody, spinning and dancing in her wheelchair.
The waiting image snapped off suddenly, and the host was there, ramrod straight, and fumbling with her smartphone, pointing it at the monitor like an old remote control. She wore no suit, no dress, no real makeup.
She wore an over-sized pink knitted sweater with an image knitted onto the front of a First order Storm Trooper helmet with crossbones beneath.
She wore a pair of jeans so black they may have been washed in bleach's arch-nemesis.
She wore striped socks and no shoes, despite the rack of them in the corner.
She wore her hair down and relaxed, with a nervous smile.
The audience would not know. Some might guess, but most probably would judge first. Those who did, knew this precious thing... Her guest told her to 'wear the same shit you would for a normal podcast, man! Have fun or whats the fuckin point, right?"
Her guest, laughing as he patted the over-sized chair he was half sunken into, was just as dressed down. And leaning up a bit, checking on her even as he enjoyed his chair.
He wore a backwards ball cap in it's greens and browns.
He wore a hockey jersey, emblazoned with a cartoon Yoda in mid lightsaber swing on a field of tan.
He wore baggy shorts that went out of style twenty years ago.
He wore sneakers meant for skateboarders.
He wore a goofy grin, plain glasses, beard, and goatee.
The audience was by and large, not surprised. Those that were, they were in for a few more shocks this afternoon.
"Sooo"
Callie's voice cracked like a junior high kid on presentation day.
"We have... I mean... It's Kevin Smith on the show!"
Her hands lifted to wave about him, a flourish of surprise, the big shocker that literally everyone knew about for days, thanks to world wide hype.
Kevin of course burst into an even bigger smile and waved to the camera with both hands, the gesture normally reserved for seven year olds saying hello in family videos.
"I gotta say it's an honor to have you hear, to have you pick my podcast to talk on."
Though Callie tried to start this professionally, like a talk show host should, the exchange started more relaxed, as fluid as a conversation between friends.
"No man, I'm happy to be here, I love watching your videos! That one with the b-movie effects... What was that, model rockets?"
"Oh, yeah, I actually-" she caught herself and waved it off. He had distracted her the entire set up. They were almost late for showtime because he was just that personable.
"I'll tell you later... for now, I have to ask you, did you know about all this being true? The Force, the Jedi, all of it" she did her best (absolutely atrocious) Old Han impression. And to her relief, he must of enjoyed it, because he was already going red in the face laughing.
After a moment he would calm down and wave his hand one way and head the other.
"No way. I mean, I thought maybe there was something like the force... You've seen it, Mallrats, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, I'm always using Jedi powers and shit in those."
There was a pause, a hanging in the air as the young host gathered up her thoughts.
"But.. you have them. those powers. That's why you're going right?"
Smith threw his arms up, bouncing in the chair liek an excited kid.
"Apparently! How fucking cool is that? As soon as they told me they wanted me in the order to represent Sol-3 -How weird is that, we make fun of Yavin 4 for it's boring name, and we're just as bad. Not like the name dirt was any better. Or ooh, TERRA, that's a stretch, right?" he cut his own tangent off with a shake of the head, despite the laughter and interest Callie was showing. "But yeah man, they said I was pretty strong in the force, and as soon as I knew that was real, it just sorta turned on in my head, right? Mind holding me back and everything before"
To demonstrate, Kevin put two fingers to his forehead -brows wiggling at the camera for those that got the reference- and pointed his other hand off screen. Soon enough his smartphone would wobble through the air, the fatman on batman dancing in his seat while he force-juggled a phone.
Until it went flying behind them and ripped the green-screen.
Smith shrunk a bit, but laughed it off.
"It's okay, I have like, fifty rolls of that now, thanks to you."
The girl was more happy to have witnessed the force. THE ACTUAL FORCE.
"Yeah" the Jersey nerd was already taking it in stride with her "I figured you could use a whole set up if you plan on podcasting for a while. What made you get into it?"
There was a flush and a smile.
"I actually really like sharing my experiences and opini- HEY!" she swatted the chair he sat in with her palm "I'm asking the questions!" it was admittedly, a light hearted scolding. "People want to know what it's like to be an actual jedi, what you think about it, how you feel about going to another world to train."
Smith raised a hand to her, as if giving her the stage "Then keep doing your podcast when you get there, let them know"
There was a silence in the air, Callie pointing to him, then herself, then something off camera. It was only broken by the entertainer turned Jedi learner, and his exclamation to the camera and audience at home.
| 2017-03-18T11:07:40 | 2017-03-18T10:07:58 | 33 | 23 |
[WP] “Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.”
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I’m the oldest cliff diver in La Quebrada. I was born in 1928 to two peasant farmers who lived on the outskirts of Acapulco. We never had any money so when I was 12 I went to the beaches to try to sell things for money. That’s when I saw the cliff divers and I decided I wanted to train to do what they did.
Over the years I’ve made friends with some of the best of the best divers including “super hombre” as they called him. He got cocky and in this profession you never want to do this.
He died when he mistimed the tide in September of 1952. I was only 24 years old and he was 30 years old and people called him super hombre because most divers had either moved on or been killed by that age. We have a phrase in my profession “beware of an old man in a profession when men usually die young”.
It was quite tragic. I would always read the weather reports and I had read that Hurricane Five (they numbered them back then) was going in a Northwest direction. With the circulation counterclockwise and coming into La Quebrada I had calculated that you had to jump about a half second later than normal. Super hombre didn’t and he lost his life because of it.
Everyday at 5 AM I turn on the Weather Channel and then I study the currents and water temperatures. I then study information I receive from the port of Acapulco regarding shipping. Even shipping can impact the currents at La Quebrada.
I arrive well before the tourists, hydrate and stretch. My 90 year old muscles ache and my body is frail but gravity and timing is all that’s needed.
They call me Santo Buzo. They believe I’m a “holy diver” and there’s somewhat of a cult following. The American tourists want photos with me. I charge $5 a pop to American tourists and negotiate how many pesos I charge Mexican tourists. On a good day I can make several thousand dollars. I live in a mansion overlooking La Quebrada and my wife is a 23 year old model from Brazil. I must say that life has treated me well.
Others ask when I’m going to retire but I don’t plan to. One day I suppose I will make a mistake and the ocean will claim my body just like all the others. In this profession it’s all about timing. Timing in the dive and timing in when the ocean takes your body.
You may ask why people fear the older divers. Well it seems anyone that dives before or after me dies but it’s simply an old wives tale. People get nervous when they see me and they make mistakes. My profession requires an understanding of science and little to do with superstition. Those caught in superstition fall victim because they aren’t paying attention.
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The flash of the enemy units, mounted and bristling with fresh steel sent a tremor through Tynor's heart that he couldn't decipher. Was it fear or excitement? Bloodlust or desire?
"Keep firm ahead, and we'll live to see another day," Came the advice of the warcaller, second in command. His armor was dented and scratched, deep rends barely repaired by the hammers of the camp. "Beware false hope."
The plan has lasted all of three seconds before they entered the bladed mile, the cursed passage of the border, where reality had unentwined itself from the mortal suppositions.
The only warning they got came from the birds, crying out underneath of them. Then the spray of blood from the enemy ranks. Then the sudden and total loss of their magics, awarded to them by bloodline, right of conquest, and divine providence. There were screams.
The border to the zone had shifted a mile, perhaps sensing the fresh blood approaching it. Or perhaps, fickle fate had decided that this would be the day it would intervene in the border conflict.
The swords came down upon them with all the force of an avalanche. Ground and rock and solid terrain twisted into abominations of steel and sorcery, roaring mouths filled with teeth and blades dripping fresh polish.
"KEEP TO THE PATH!" roared the war-caller, his mace thrown to the sky. "AND GATHER TO ME!"
The warbirds screeched out in defiance, and Tynor's hands dug deep into the reins to keep his own bird on course. Keep it straight ahead on the planned route.
But the top of the company was already gone, griseled chunks of steak left behind with blades had flayed away the skin. Twisted, turning around and around and around until bone marrow cracked open upon what little terrain was left. The blades came down, one by one by one in nervous appraisal, twisting and twitching. They came without rhyme, they came without reason, and men fell to the ground dead, piece by piece.
Mounted knights took steps out of line to avoid and were cut down piece by piece. Tynor stared up at them from the back, and slowly raised his shield. The impact struck him and knocked him far and away from the top of the course, and he and bird rolled down the hill, Tynor's magic, desperately hoarded, barely reacting to his demands, to the swell of his heart and the screeching pain of velocity, barely protected him and the beast. Despite it, hot sand kicked into straining muscles and ate away at his armor as shapes dug up from the depths and pounding against him.
At once he was in the air, and another he was on the ground, and another he was kicking his bird to keep moving up an impossibly large slope, cleaved full of swords and hooks. At one point he saw the dagger of an assassin and knocked it away, sending a vial of poison rolling into the depths of hell where it sparkled back into gasoline and ignited, mixing smoke into the depths of madness.
His teeth grit against one another, sweat rolling down his skin, as the rest of the shouts met him, piece by piece. Cut down. Tremulous. The bird jerked to a halt, looking around, snapping the metal tipped beak together nervously.
A prayer sprang to his lips. Battle, need, desire. A place to rest his head and clean his blade. All of the words the monks had taught him in the temples to the north.
The bird knew better than he did, but he could smell the polish hovering in the air, and he could smell death on the wind. Could see the grass lined with steel now, clicking together in a distant wind to the beat of a heart that was larger than mountains. Distantly, overhead, Tynor spied the eye of the red war god looking down upon him with all the concern of a child inspecting ants. With all the ideas of a man who wanted peace but demanded nothing but war.
And the blades fell upon him in and instant, noticing his paradox. Long sprightly lines of silver, great hooks of steel, and an abomination of brass upon the dark iron sands below. His shield came up, brass, embossed with prayers and hopes for his family line, and the blades were repelled once. His arm jerked back as the impact jolted clear through to the bone, set his teeth rattling, but he had to keep going.
"Beware false hope," he muttered under his breath, tongue loosened, bloody from where his teeth had dug into it, clicked together. It dripped down his chin as he slowly moved that sword away from his bird.
The bird let out a tittering noise at him, but he could feel the heartbeat thump out piece by piece with each movement they made.
They had survived, if but for a moment, but as Tynor peeked out, he saw nothing but the edges of thousands of blades, and the rattle of hooks. The green sun beat down upon the black desert, and he could smell blood, rust, polish, and even distant, the ever present smell of the desert itself. And somehow, over that, he smelled more fire.
His bird chirped at him, and Tynor drug his gauntlets down to scratch across the bird's beak where the metal had dug into the skin. He pried at it, automatically, on auto-pilot, and stared into the mess around him. A crowning citadel of rising steel, walls of quivering blades. Death, on both sides.
A garish plume of smoke bloomed in the distance. He stared at it for moments while his eyes adjusted, and then it bubbled and boiled with the pattern of an emergency flare. Tynor counted his heart beat and tried to calm his breath. He reached into his pouch and provided the noble bird with a bit of jerky.
It crooned and dug into it, spurs clicking with glistening brass.
Then he took the reins again, strained and splattered with blood, though he could no longer remember who died and who had survived, and tugged on his dominion. It ached, terrified, and flitted back to him in this strange place.
Tynor stole a glance up and stared at the trailing field of blades inching towards the war god distant overhead, watching with the face of a maiden, and then stole his glance back at the distant fire.
As much as he hated to admit it, he had a soldier to meet up with.
----
The War-Caller greeted him as his horse hopped up stairs carved out of molten metal.
"Ho!" He waved on, his helm split into chunks of metal across a face that Tynor had never seen before. Old, etched in age, covered in soot and rust and metal polish. The only injury was a single cut decorating the tip of the eye socket, but the eye flicked to him as he stared at it.
It was unbecoming for the face to be revealed so garishly, but Tynor found he could not care. His own helmet slid off and bounced across the metal sand, rust and blood mixing together.
"Sir!" He called out, his bird nervously sidling over to the other bird.
He'd never seen the company's birds break formation so quickly before, but their beaks preened at one another's feathers, leaning against one another.
Had it been hubris that had led him here, or something else entirely?
"Tynor," The war-caller greeted, flicking his white hair behind him. "Glad you can join me for my vigil."
"Vigil sir?" Tynor asked, stepping forward.
The caller shoved Tynor down on the ground and smiled at him. "Clearly Auren herself has decided that today's offensive would not come to pass. Who am I to disagree with the divine?"
Tynor stole another glance up into the sky. "But... she butchered us."
"She does that," The caller agreed. "But we're both alive, aren't we?"
Tynor swallowed and reached into his supplies. He found his water skin, filled just that morning, and drank greedily from it. The war-caller made no move to reach for his.
"Yes, but..." Tynor said, slowly. "My magic protects me. How did..."
"Your magic will not protect you long," The War-caller said, grimly. "And I have made a habit of surviving what the War god brings us."
"But this war is not what the goddess demands," Tynor said. "I can't..."
"We will war as our company demands," The caller returned, nodding slowly. "Let our masters decide what is right, they'll be the ones tasting our weapons, one by one."
"But..." Tynor sat down properly and stared into the depths of the signal fire. He still felt the eyes of the war god upon him, wearing the face of a maiden.
"Until then, we will stay here, and we will talk about the old songs, and we will wait for a rescue," The caller's yellow eyes twinkled with divine providence.
"Have you heard about the reign of the red prince?"
And then they sat there and awaited their judgement in that blighted place.
-----
For More like this, click here. https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
I am back from vacation, so let's get back into the swing of prompts!
| 2018-07-15T09:19:53 | 2018-07-15T08:27:17 | 79 | 10 |
[WP] 20 years later, a team of Astronaut have successfully landed to mars and recovered the NASA rover, Opportunity. When they checked the hard drive, they discovered hundreds of images of a shadowy figure that was never sent back to earth.
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"Right over here, I think that's the rover." Beal exclaimed, almost jumping up and down to flag Steve.
"Yep, that'll be it alright" Steve said, looking at his PDA to compare older images to what now looked like wreckage. "Sand storms must have somehow knocked it out this way. That or quakes."
Beal slid aside some small boulders that were surrounding the rover, before pushing against the rover itself to move it into the nearby clearing. Steve opened it up and rummaged around the internals before finding a port to link his PDA with as Beal made multiple attempts to power the rover with an external battery. Within minutes, there was transmission to the PDA as the machine finally hummed back to life.
"This is exactly what the Earth Corps was looking for. We finally can branch out all of this data. It's definitely one for the history books."
"I certainly hope so. And to think, it was so close to the underground settlements as well. I'm surprised we didn't find it sooner."
Steve let out a chuckle as he swiped through the imagery that was in the transmission queue.
"Don't be so sure about that. I think these pictures tell enough of a story"
A beep goes off as Steve relays the drives contents to Beal's PDA. Images of a tall shadow cover the camera before it stands up fully, revealing the leg of a short Martian, probably barely 7 feet. It takes a while to go through the images as they're all taken within half a second apart. The Martian backs away from the rover before kneeling down and prodding at it. The final image is a finger pressing up against the camera. Beal is left astonished and almost embarrassed as Steve picks up part of a broken camera lens.
"Did we both see the same thing here?" Beal had stuttered. "Was that the elder from before I was even created?"
Steve tosses the broken camera lens to his partner as he clips his PDA back onto his pocket.
"We would call it being born but yes Bealtrick, I think your dad accidentally tripped over the rover minutes after it's final transmission."
"A shame, a few minutes and our species would have met much sooner. All the opportunities lost..."
"Oh no, be grateful for this," Steve quipped to cut Beal off, "We were not ready at all 20 years ago to be able to accept the idea of peaceful coexistence."
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The original team sent to recover the rover as a publicity stunt failed to report in for a full day after landing. While Mission control had expected the time delay to be around 15 minutes, this was cause for worry. But all they could do was sit and wait for them to respond.
They'd been sent with a habitat module that would land on it's own and more or less construct itself, so they'd minimized the risk to all of the astronauts as much as possible. The last telemetry had been of a successful landing and deployment, but after that, it'd been complete radio silence, even from the computers which would have normally sent a stream of environmental data.
About half a day after that, the screens flickered to life and suddenly telemetry was back online again. The feeds from the computers said the environment was normal in the main habitat, but also reported significant distress from all of the astronauts in the recovery team.
It took them another day before they could respond back to Earth, and the response was chilling.
While they'd been able to set up camp as normal, their landing hadn't been entirely successful as the habitats antenna array had been damaged. But they'd kept things cool, after all, they did have a few spares with them just in case something like this happened.
Half the team got busy restoring the antenna array and the other half took a small "Mars car" to the rovers estimated location in an attempt to bring it back for study. When the recovery team got to the site though, they noticed that it'd been buried under a huge mound of dust, so they started digging with their tools, cursing and joking along the way. When the rovers top shielding was uncovered, all suits radios suddenly stopped working at the same time. Using ASL, the team had been rattled, but had still managed to load the rover onto the back of their "car" and used it to get back to the main habitat again.
On the way back, to everyone's relief, their radios suddenly turned on again. "Freak anomaly" was the joke floating around the habitat camp that'd been quickly named "Camp Recovery". Then they'd started on dumping the pictures from the rover, expecting them to be heavily fragmented due to the long exposure of the rover.
But they hadn't prepared for this, oh no, not at all. In the rovers picture folder, they'd found another subfolder labelled RECOVER.001 which was usually reserved for files that were so fragmented that they couldn't be properly read. Feeling a sense of curiosity, they attempted to open the first picture only to get an error that crashed the entire operating system. A reboot later and they tried to open the second picture which did open.
"Alright you fuckers, this isn't funny. Which one of you did this?" said Jenkins, the lead researcher while they all just stared at the picture in front of them. It was Mars alright, but what should have been an empty plain was filled with what looked like shadowy figures standing everywhere.
When everyone denied it, three different panicked conversations erupted at the same time, so Jenkins again raised his voice "Alright everyone, CAN IT! We're SCIENTISTS, not scared little teenagers playing 'Bloody Mary' at home with a candle here. His sarcasm had the intended effect, calming the group and getting their minds all working on explaining what they'd just seen.
"This could be it everyone, first contact. But just in case, we've got to secure the place just in case they're not friendly alright? Stay frosty everyone, we have no idea what this is yet."
They quickly restored the antenna array after that, all of them feeling really uneasy about the situation. They hadn't expected this at all, nor were anyone prepared for anything like this.
First contact.
They'd thought Mars to be dead, but now.. now things were so different weren't they?
The pictures sent back to Earth had been received in the same manner as with the initial recovery team "Haha, this was a funny joke guys, but really, please send the unedited pictures now."
When it'd become apparent that these *were* the unedited pictures, there'd been a total lockdown of mission control and an emergency meeting where it was decided that NO information of this would be shared with the world for now. The risk of panic was cited as the primary reason for it. Nobody objected, after all, seeing picture after picture of what looked like a whole new alien species both thrilled and unnerved everyone at the same time.
Of course they did checks to see if this wasn't some elaborate prank after all, but every digital forensic tool all reported back the same result: Pictures were unaltered originals, albeit with some corruption here and there.
The mission continued "with caution" as the lead administrator had put it. But after the recovery of the pictures, nothing out of the ordinary happened for the rest of the duration. The recovery team got into their capsule at the designated time, blasted off and went back to Earth for debriefing.
About a year later, the Mars Directorate hadn't found anything that would explain the figures in the photos. It was never announced to the public, but it was thought it'd been an elaborate prank after all. Perhaps by some outside party that'd somehow managed to upload perfect forgeries all the way to Mars. It'd been a massive hack and due to the rovers age, there wasn't any proof one way or the other. Another theory posited that someone had sabotaged the rover while it had still been on Earth, someone wanting to mess with humanity on a grand scale by implanting these images for later discovery.
All of that had paled in comparison with what the team had found on their last day. It'd been considered a curiosity at first, a new mineral that one of the astronauts had literally tripped over while moving a piece of equipment. They'd named it Aresite as a joke at first, but the name had stuck eventually and then became the official one. It had the same appearance as the rest of the Mars soil, but they'd only managed to find one piece despite searching for it extensively.
Once the lab back on Earth started analyzing it's properties, it became apparent that it somehow was able to release more energy than what was directed at it. If you hit it with a force of 10N, the mineral reacted back with a 1000N force. It made no sense, it broke conventional physics and ushered in what would become a new era in science.
10 years later, they sent the first team to construct a colony on Mars, everything went as scheduled with the team setting up what would be known as "Mars Facility One" in the history books. After all, the potential applications for this new mineral were astounding. What else could they have missed on that seemingly boring and dusty planet?
** 5 years later **
Mars colony communications had been cut off and after several months in no responses, they decided to send in a military team to secure the facility.
Jeff was sitting in the cramped cockpit of the shuttle just fidgeting. It'd been hours since they'd last reported in. He looked out the window and sat Mars Facility One out there, but he couldn't see anyone moving inside. Fuck. Why had he signed up for this mission for anyway? Being a member of "Space Force" had sounded so damn cool back on Earth, but in reality it'd been just another boring assignment once it got down to it.
He really wanted to do something, ANYTHING but just sitting here, waiting for the sporadic bursts of activity from the recovery team in there. But now he was getting scared, radio silence for a period of this long wasn't the norm. He got on the radio and sent out a request for a sitrep. Nothing but radio silence greeted him. Going into the back of the ship, he sat his suit waiting there for him, almost taunting him as to say "So what are you going to do soldier? Leave your squad out there? Or are you going to MAN UP and fucking do something?!"
"Fuck this shit. I'm done babysitting" he thought to himself as he pulled on the suit and exited the ship through the airlock. As he got closer to the facility he thought for a second that he could see a shadow in the window, but when he'd turned his head, it was gone. Goddammit, this place was getting to him. He remembered the old rumors about the first pictures having had "ghosts" on them, but steeled himself. He was a damn Marine and he wasn't going to chicken out now!
When he entered the facility, he removed his suit and took a deep breath. Ah, much better. Their atmo scrubbers were so much better than the ones they had in that shitty shuttle craft. He pulled out his only weapon, a simple pistol and checked it's mag. Yep, plenty of ammo for this one.
As he opened the door to the hangar and stepped inside, he had a feeling that this was going to become one hell of a mission.
Afterword:
I know I'm supposed to say that I'm so sorry, but I really aren't. Haha, not in the least.
| 2019-02-15T02:20:46 | 2019-02-15T01:55:45 | 46 | 16 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
"Fuck. What's wrong, Jill?"
We were in a bank and she wore a wool overcoat. The two of us stood between velvet ropes. In front of us an elderly lady was arguing about her account balance.
"Nothing is wrong? What are you doing here? I thought you were in New York?"
"I was. Jesus where are we?"
"Chicago, Jack. Listen I haven't seen you for years now, a major point of pride. I got my shit together. I got a job, an apartment. I got burned, so I've stopped playing with fire."
"We got burned." I corrected, "And more than once. I started carrying a Ruger in a fanny-pack even when I was taking a shit."
"That's a lovely image."
"Whatever...Why am I here? Do you have a note? Or the guts of a VCR rigged up to look like a bomb?"
"Damn it Jack, I'm here to make a withdrawal."
"Guess the ATMs aren't afraid of VCRs."
"I lost my card, smart ass." She breathed deeply. "Shit, I'm worried too."
"At least when it's me who's causing the---
I heard the rip of shotgun firing. Looking up, I saw a man with the sawed off gun and a homemade balakala step daintily over the broken window's glass. I pulled out the Ruger and unloaded the eager bullet that had spent years living in its chamber. It missed, and the man tripped. The next three found their intended target.
It was too late. Though the black coat hid the damage, I realized what I was working with when I held her bloody hand.
"I'm by your side."
Her last words were "Thank you".
|
There were coke packets on shelves. I'd materialized again. The coke warehouse was filled with Colombian guards. The warehouse was in a rain forest, and the sound of tropical insects was deafening.
I saw Anna, and wondered how the hell she got here. She was trapped right at the back of the warehouse, and was about to be discovered. She had golden hair, and freckled skin. She had been in the sun, and the sun damage didn't take from her beauty. I scuttled past a head-high pallet of coke, and arrived at the side of Anna.
"I'm in danger again, aren't I?" I said. "How on Earth did you get here?"
"We need to get out of here," she said, "then I will explain."
"I say we bonk one of those guards," I said, "and steal his machine gun."
She agreed with my plan, because I was very good at materializing escapes after all the practice I had been given over the years. In fact, it was almost like I was incredibly lucky... like some guardian angel was watching over Anna and I. I felt a surge of adrenaline, and bonked a guard's head with my clenched fist.
It made hardly any noise as he dropped to the floor. I extricated the guard's gun from his heavy, limp form, pulling and straining to get the arm strap from his armpit.
Over the years of these dangerous situations, I'd learned what had happened to make me arrive at Anna's side when she was in danger. I made a promise to her when I was fifteen, but I never knew Anna would be such a thrill-seeker and adventurer.
I knelt down trying to calm my breathing after the excitement of appropriating the gun. I closed my eyes and faded back to Anna's room when I was 15 years old, and she was 16, because of being held back in Mrs. Marion's grade 3. We sat there, on the floor in a room full of feminine, pink ballet stuff and gemstones, and stopped tongue kissing.
I remember it well. I was disappointed when she disentangled herself from our embrace. She went to a bookshelf. She took a textbook on magic down. I just wanted to kiss; I didn't want to read, and do magic.
"I was suggesting," said Anna, "we do a spell to prove we are serious."
"Aw gee, Anna," I said, "couldn't we just have faith about each other."
However, she was quickly leading me outdoors. She took me to the path outside her house. She had a backpack. From it, she took chalk, candles, stones.
"Blimey, what are you doing?" I asked.
She was silent, and drew a little circle on the concrete path.
"OK," she said, "sit down in this circle. We are going to caste a spell."
She caste a spell. She read the magic textbook, which had amazing old-time, colorful language a bit like the Bible. What I gathered from it was she was telling Aphrodite that I would appear whenever she was in trouble.
She then handed the text book to me, and said if I agree read the little paragraph at the bottom of the page.
I read, "I promiseth, by Aphrodite's power, by the sun, sky and wind's four directions, on this day proceeding the half moon, to be at Anna's side whenever she beeth in turmoil, until I find the valuable black-ocean stone to cancel the spell."
I read the words, and then, unsettling me, there was a solar eclipse. I was a little disconcerted about the solar eclipse, but I remembered the night before, on the news, they had spoken of it. I looked at Anna. She was a small sex dynamo those days, with porcelain face framed by exquisite, golden-blonde hair.
I looked up at her as we hid behind the pallets of coke. I remembered the time we did the ritual not so fondly. I formulated a route out of the warehouse.
"Hey Anna," I said, "I plan to make a run for it covering us from fire with the spray of bullets from this here machine gun. Run straight behind me, Anna. Let's hope we make it."
"I'll explain why I'm here," said Anna, "when, I mean if, we get out of here."
I started the machine gun spray, and run with all my speed towards the exit. I killed two soldiers having smoko. I ran quickly. As I ran, I let the spray of machine gun fire spray towards the guards, hoping the element of surprise would work. If I scared them enough, they might be bamboozled enough to not even return fire.
I kept the deafening roar of the machine gun up, as we ran. I looked back seeing if Anna was on my tail. She wasn't. She'd disappeared. I thought on my feet. Should I go back for her, or should I keep going? I thought of how I wouldn't make it if I ran back, and dying wasn't going to save anyone, so I kept going. I just hope she's alright.
I ran out of the large warehouse door. The guards left a spray of bullets, as I ran into the rain forest, but I made it. I found a little brook, and waited there, while I tried to figure out what to do about Anna still being in there. I was sitting there, almost having caught my breath, when Anna appeared. Infuriatingly, she smiled. Then, she pulled a kilo packet of coke from behind her back.
"What the fuck?" I said angrily.
"Don't worry, I'll explain," she said.
We started trekking through the forest, knowing the guards might send out a search party. I saw Anna carrying the coke.
"Give me that," I said.
She gave it to me, and I put in in my cargo pockets.
"What the hell were you thinking?" I said. "You always do stuff like this. I can't live with risking my life, every time you decide to go thrill seeking."
"This is the last time," she said.
I severely doubted it. Unless we broke Aphrodite's spell, she'd get in danger again. You see, we broke up the day after we made to spell out on the footpath near Anna's house. I'd told her I wanted to concentrate more on my indoor cricket team, and she didn't take it well. The next day she had a big, muscly boyfriend twice as good looking as me.
"What are you going to do? Break the spell?" I snickered.
"Yes," she exclaimed.
I looked at her. I was dumbstruck.
"You see," she said, sitting on a rock to talk. "I broke into that coke warehouse to acquire this bag of coke. Do you remember the wording of that spell?"
"No, not exactly," I said.
"The wording of the spell said if we could acquire a black-ocean stone, we could do a new spell to counter the spell that makes you appear when I'm in danger, which is often because I seek thrill, and am a adventurer."
"Go on," I said, realizing this might actually work.
"I Googled black-ocean stones," she said, laying back on the rock, "and they are darn expensive... about $20 000."
"Aw damn," I said, disappointed.
"No wait," she smiled. "This is a kilo of coke," she said, raising the white bag, "Do you know how much this is worth?"
"Lots," I said.
"It's got a street value of, exactly that, $20 000."
I looked at her thankfully. She planned to free me from the magic spell. We got into Rio, and bought a black-ocean rock from a jeweler. We did quick spell, with chalk and candles, much like the first, and there was a solar eclipse.
"I'm sorry we didn't work out," I said.
"Don't be sorry," Anna smiled, "We were young. Nothing holds a teenager's attention for long."
"How'd that indoor cricket go?"
"I still play," I said. "But now girlfriends take precedent."
"Bye," she said.
"Bye," I said.
This time I knew it was goodbye for good. I felt sad, as I faded away back from Brazil to home. Just as I had faded from home to the Brazilian warehouse for the last time.
THE END.
| 2017-03-22T16:39:20 | 2017-03-22T16:16:19 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] Magic exists in the same way that music exists today (many genres, styles, subgenres).
Imagine music snobs, but they're discussing a style of magic and how a certain conjurer is pure/not pure to the style
A music concert?
Learning your first instrument?
|
"I was into cryomancy before it was cool," said the young man as he conjured a pair of ice lens glasses and pretended to polish them with his long scarf before smugly pushing them onto his face.
"Well, *I'm* on to the new stuff, like geomancy," replied his equally smug companion. "Very underground." He scoffed at the third companion's laptop as he conjured a hammer, chisel, and stone tablet and began attempting to carve an image of his lunch.
"Posers, the both of you," said the woman, unveiled contempt dripping from each word. "The *real* latest thing is inaudiomancy. You've probably never heard of it."
|
The last sunbeams of the day clawed at the desolate landscape in a desperate attempt to hang on to the edge of the world. Leo darted from shadow to shadow, making his way through the ruined city. He was closing in on the imperial palace, and the remains of countless crushed rebellions could be seen everywhere. Husks of rusting old-world-contraptions and piles of charred bones and skulls littered the streets.
During The Last War, human civilization crumbled. Governments were overthrown and infrastructure fell into disrepair. Warlords soon ruled in medieval feudal societies all across the globe. In the course of a few generations, the old world and everything modern was all but forgotten. It was in these desperate times that a strange man emerged from Egypt, bearing strange gifts to the warlords and those who would kneel before him. He called himself The Pharaoh – a name that now was a synonym for death and misery.
Leo crouched behind the blackened carcass of an old tree as a guard patrol rode by. The Pharaoh’s men were clad in gleaming full-plates with helmets that hid their faces, and massive curved blades hung by their hips. Their leader, however, wore a thick black robe with silver runes embroidered into the hems. He also had a necklace around his neck – three stone cubes, with strange glyphs, attached to a leather string.
Leo closed his eyes and made himself smaller. From the looks of the robe, the leader was a Blessed One – a magic-wielder. He tried to remember what the Oracle’s words… black meant the school of necromancy… silver runes meant that he drew his powers from the moon... and the stone glyphs around his neck… he knew word magic. Leo cursed noiselessly.
The patrol stopped in front of an old chapel with a torn down roof and broken windows. Ivy had once climbed the brick façade and left a twisting brown corpse of dried leaves behind. They left their horses by the entrance and went inside. Leo had to act quickly because as soon as the sun abdicated the sky and the moon took the throne, the power of that night-caster would grow tenfold.
When the last of The Pharaoh’s men disappeared into the shadowy interior of the chapel, Leo climbed out of his hiding spot and started sneaking towards the horses.
*****
“What the hell is that kid doing?” Lamora said.
“Getting himself killed, that’s what,” answered Jonah, with a sly grin.
“Doesn’t he know there’s a Blessed One in there?” Lamora said and rose from her spot on the roof, overlooking the graveyard.
“What the hell are *you* doing?”
Lamora ignored her brother and started climbing down the rusty fire escape. It was perhaps silly of her, but she felt like enough people had died at the hands of The Pharaoh’s men tonight.
*****
Sweating and fumbling badly, Leo tied the reins to a rope he had brought with him. He had initially been after scraps and loot, but five trained horses were too good to pass up on. It was a rare opportunity. He just needed to be quick and–
“Hey, kid!” a hushed voice called out from behind one of the gravestones. “Get the hell out of here.”
Leo flinched but continued with the rope. He had to focus. He had to be quick. No time to reconsider or turn back. If he wanted something to eat by the morning he needed to do this. He needed to–
“Come on!” cried the voice. “Let’s go!”
Leo found it somewhat annoying. It belonged to a girl. He had always found girls annoying. Especially Yeni, yeah, Yeni was super-annoying. She was always gloating about her Pyromancy, despite being essentially harmless. She never had to work because she could light all the fires in the colony. And she had even inherited her minor powers. Life couldn’t get more unfair than that.
“Don’t be stupid, kid,” the girl said. “Your life is worth more than a couple of horses…”
“Shut up!” Leo said much louder than intended.
There was a clank of metal from the chapel, then the familiar sound of a blade being pulled from its scabbard.
“Stop right there, criminal scum!”
Leo cursed, and let go of the rope. He started sprinting towards the closest alley – away from the open graveyard. He needed to hide now. Heavy footfalls and pounding metal-against-metal stormed behind him. The guard was fast, despite the armor.
Just a few more paces, Leo thought, and pushed himself to the limit. Something caught his leg, and he crashed headlong into the withering grass. He flipped to his back and looked up at the guard towering over him, then down at the skeletal hand that was trying to crush his ankle.
Leo kicked and screamed as the bony nightmare climbed out of the soil. Mud and earthworms tumbled out of its empty eye sockets, and its teeth chattered and grated against each other. Tufts of hair were still attached to its bleached skull, and its torn rotten clothes hung from its hipbones and ribcage. A second skeletal hand caught his leg and started dragging him into the hole it had risen from. The guard laughed at him and put his blade back.
“Rest in peace, you little rat,” the guard said, with a smirk.
And at that very moment, something flashed and caught the light of the moon, which had now taken a seat behind the twiggy crown of the blackened tree. The guard was still smirking as his head toppled from his shoulders and fell into the open grave.
“Rest in peace, indeed,” said a new voice.
The skull of the undead shattered like a ceramic pot. The death grip on Leo’s leg loosened and he could crawl away. Wide-eyed he looked at the bearded man holding a sword, slick with the lifeblood of the guard.
“I’m Jonah,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let’s go.”
Relieved, Leo allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He followed the man out of the graveyard, throwing a glance over his shoulder. The guards and the magic-wielder were pouring out of the chapel.
“Wait!” Leo said. “There was a girl there. You have to help the girl too!”
The man just laughed and kept walking. Leo couldn’t, for the life of him, understand what was so funny.
“Stop,” Leo said. “You have to save her!”
“Don’t tell me what to do, kid.”
Leo took a deep breath and balled his hands into fists. “If you won’t help her, I will!”
“She doesn’t need your help…” the man said, “…or mine. She’s a Flower.”
“A flower?”
“Yeah, a Spell-Flower,” he said with a shrug. “That’s what it’s called when you’ve mastered every school of magic.”
Screams from the graveyard echoed through the ruined city. Leo shuddered. He wished he had turned and looked at her to see what she was like. But considering that she was a magic-wielder like Yeni, she probably looked as annoying as she sounded. He spat on the ground.
“Whatever she is, she owes me breakfast,” Leo muttered. “She totally ruined my horse-theft.”
*****
/r/Lilwa_Dexel
| 2017-05-03T00:03:34 | 2017-05-02T22:35:19 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess".
|
“I would slay this fiend for thee and gain your hand in marriage.” The knight said excitedly. *Ugh no thanks why is it always marriage with these virgin losers*
“Oh you’re so gallant Sir knight. It’s terrible what the dragon makes me do.” I gracefully faint playing my role properly. I hate this part to be honest. Playing defensless just to stroke these fragil losers’ egos. *Can’t they pick a woman who can kill a dragon by herself? Why do they need to be the man to save the day.*
He let out a scream as he charged my friend, Narith, the silver dragon. Well playing the damsel in distress was all worth it for this part-- the epic battle.
The nameless knight ducked under a plume of fire as he rolled up his short sword and shield at the ready. The dragon clawed at his shield rending it to bits, and the knight gracefully stabbed the dragons forearm in response. Narith let out of shriek of pain and flapped his mighty wings knocking the knight off of his feet.
The knight groaned as he tried to crawl away, but Narith was too fast. Narith leaped forward grasping the opportunity to pin the knight under his massive bodyweight.
I surreptitiously snacked on meat pastry while watching enraptured. This knight was better than many before him, but it made no difference.
Narith shifted his weight and the knight let out a shriek of agony.. Desperate he pulled out a dagger and began jamming it into the massive dragonclaw. Fluids and goop leaked everywhere as the dragon roared in rage, finally tightening his grip. The knight’s face was ruined by an explosion of blood coming out from his mouth as I could clearly hear the bones cracking.
I finished off my meat pastry, and walked over to Narith. “Thanks buddy. Real bore that one.”
Narith nodded and wrred. I reached up to his leg and opened the silver access panel inspecting the damage. *Not bad, only need to replace the fluid actuator lines, some tubing and replace the metal armor on his claw. I can probably do that in a day, long before the next loser shows up.*
|
He comes forward, all clanking and shining steel.
In a defensive manner, he holds a shield before him, though I can see him tremble with each step he takes.
Sometimes they come in all charging and bloody zeal.
Other times they try some clever trap, or personal appeal to my own safety.
There's nowhere safer than here I say.
Here, in this cave, there's glittering quartz and cool pools to drink from.
No knights with lances at full tilt, charging into a horde of disorganized peasant boys and cutting them to pieces, then cheering and trampling the corpses like they've won some great victory.
No cunning viziers or intricate byzantine plots that require you to measure every word heard in court more carefully than the last. No whining sycophants or beggar kings, asking for more soldiers and wealth to expand already great demesne.
No great stone castle that seems to always be dark and dank and grim, with neither enough light nor enough warmth.
In here, it's just me and my dragon.
Here, it's just us ladies.
No grimy, sweaty men eyeing you with those detached leery grins. No political matches or courtly intrigue or bickering courtesans trying to bed the Lord or Lady who happens to grant them the most advantageous position.
No pretentious princes or swaggering bards, all intent on bringing you to some quiet alcove and wooing you to prove they can conquer even royalty.
Is it too much to be asked, to simply be left alone?
The idiot came alone, though men like to do that when proving that their valor must equal their stupidity.
I wonder how many callers today?
Cornflower rises from her resting position, her haunches heavily muscled. They don't see her the way I do. How mother had.
I can still remember when I was much younger, during the time no one seemed to mind the scrapes and mud on a little girl's legs that we'd go flying. Mother would point to the towns and castles we'd pass, giving names to things that resembled toys more than holdfasts.
A few dashes forward, and Cornflower extends her wings before flapping them a few times.
A warning gust.
If the boy knows what's good for him, he'll back away now.
But they never do. Never seem to teach giving up in the castle yards.
Though the gusts knock the knight on his back, making him look for one moment almost like a turtle flipped to its side, he brings himself to his feet again.
Still he advances.
Do I tell him to go back?
I could try, but it never works.
Cornflower's body is covered not in scales, but long and luminous blue feathers. Harder than steel, it's like a rippling of gems and light running all across her spine, and the mouth opens in a savage warning.
Smart girl, Cornflower. Kind girl, Cornflower. We understand one another.
Leave us alone, please.
We don't want to go home.
A sword, silver and brilliant, holds aloft. Daring challenge, and wonderfully brave I'd say, if anyone else was here to see or care.
Instead it's simple foolishness.
Cornflower dashes forward, far faster than you'd expect a beast of her size to move.
With a great curved claw, she means to swipe him back, injure him.
Ward him away.
Instead the claw cleaves through plate and ringmail beneath. A sudden squelch, moaning cry, and the hiss of hot blood on cold stone.
Another body to throw out the entrance, it would seem.
No other callers today, it'd seem. When I take the body past the cavern and into the sunlight, there's no line. No war tents or pavilions with banners waving in the sunlight.
"Good day, ma'am."
The voice comes from behind the trees, and a tall, slender gentleman with raven black hair and broad shoulders steps forward.
He's clad entirely in crimson leather, with a lovely sword at one side.
Full white teeth, wide, disarming smile.
"I've been told there's a princess and a dragon here. Am I correct?"
"That you are. Here to slay her?"
I can hear the venom in my voice, but I can't help it. Better to ward them off, and half the time no doesn't seem to mean no to them.
"Excellent," he says. Coming forward, he makes his way up the steep path to the cavern entrance.
"Shall we enter?"
His voice is jovial, almost conversational.
*Kind,* I think. *He's got a kind face. A joking man, the kind that tells the best stories at either brothels or taverns.*
*Not bad looking either, I'd say.*
Without so much as addressing me, he moves forward into the cavern, footsteps echoing into the dark.
As you enter the main chamber, a dim blue light emanates from mushrooms growing haphazardly in the upper corners of the cavern, bathing everything in a somber light.
Cornflower rises again, though the jaw drops immediately in a threatening gesture.
Please don't roast both of us, girl. I'm not in my usual vantage point.
He stops close to wear the knight died, and leans down, sliding a finger into the goop below.
Tutting his mouth, he tastes the blood, smacking his lips a few times.
"Man died here what, an hour ago? Two?"
It's the casual tone of a professional, and I don't like it.
"If you're here for me," I say, "I'm not interested in going anywhere."
"Good."
The word is flat and blunt, uncaring and dismissive. It's almost like I'm not here.
"I came here for her."
He walks forward, keeping a great distance between himself and Cornflower. From a pack on his back, he withdraws a boxish item. A long wooden handle extends. Strings on it. A lyre? No. Something else.
He plucks away at a soft melody, and watches Cornflower. No song, no words. Only soft music.
Cornflower sits, entranced. Watching intently, listening with great curiosity. Even her head seems to sway back and forth.
When he finishes, he steps closer.
"She's beautiful," he says. His voice seems deeper. Darker. Heavier.
"But she's trapped in there. Don't worry. I can help. I used to be like you."
Does he have a tail?
His back lurches in a horrifying manner, sending him on all fours.
*He's growing, changing, becoming something huge and monstrous,* I think.
But then I see the haunches. The crimson feathers. The rippling metallic glow and the great yellow eyes.
Another dragon, nearly twice Cornflower's size, approaches her slowly. They sniff each other like dogs, hulking beasts that inspect each other without malice. Curiosity, I'd say.
The crimson dragon begins to walk towards the entrance, his tail swishing back and forth.
Cornflower follows slowly at first, then looks to me.
*What do you want, pretty lady? To follow the man?*
Her eyes are pleading, her jaw opening and closing nervously.
She wants to go.
She wants to follow.
*Very well.*
*He came for his princess, I would say. Though it must not be me.*
"Be back by midnight, young lady," I say, imitating those authoritarian voices that boomed down on me as a girl.
They pad away, and with wings almost joined, they burst into the sky, circling each other in flight.
*I wonder where they're going?"* I think to myself, before returning into the cavern. A part of me knows, though. That bonded pact of lifeblood, where wings and claws extend to flesh and blood. There's a lost place, a soft place, far and away from here.
Cornflower's becoming difficult to see, masked by the blueness of the sky, though the Crimson beast circles by her.
Where are they going?
In an instant they shoot away, going to some ancient place that resides among moss and graveyards, the kind of place where people once lived and loved and fought but did so no more.
Perhaps there he'd teach her to be something else, less conspicuous, I'd say.
Maybe he'll convince her to stay with him.
Or perhaps they'll come for me.
The sun warms my face before I return to the cavern, prepared to wait.
*She'll come back for me,* I think to myself. *She has to.*
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato
| 2019-01-09T06:40:51 | 2019-01-09T06:33:48 | 1,597 | 159 |
[WP] You dont want to live anymore, but you also don't want your life to go to waste, so you join the army, and become super reckless, trying to give your life for your country. Turns out you are one of the best soldiers to ever serve
|
The dust began to settle. My eyes squinched from the solar light of the sun. Where was I?
It'd been three years since my son died. Two since she left me. Some months came by; felt like days.
The haunted expressions from my mother as she laid on her death bed when she found out I enlisted— it still haunts me.
“Them Japs— is“ Can’t be. . . did I really forget her last words? Maybe it was—.
“Alex! Get the fuck up, move your ass!”
Oh. A bomb had gone off.
I was being dragged along the grass of Tarawa by my backpack. The sweat soaked grips of a more determined soldier pulling me along. Then he stopped.
The back of my helmet fell in his lap. I flip over to find a face covered in shrapnel. I was right there.
Why wasn’t it me?
“Blackburn—“ I patted his bloodstained cheeks, looking for an answer. I needed one.
“Why wasn’t it me?”
The sound of death machines and the apathy of bullets made the screams of bravado turn into echoes.
All happening behind me. I didn’t care, I needed my answer.
“Blackburn—“
Moments flew by, I stood on my feet hoping the branches underneath hid a landmine.
That’s how Noisy died.
It wasn’t, I started running towards the yells of men, now turned into whispers.
Gun in hand as I fired into the smoke. I hit trees, dirt, poked holes in leaves. I wasn’t aiming, just bringing attention to myself.
“I’m here you bastards!”
Then the M1 Garand decided to stop. I fell to my knees. I looked back, hearing the sound of movement, boots against thick mud. It was the Japs. Finally.
I spread my arms like a Harpy Eagle. Nothing.
A pat on the shoulder.
“Need some help getting up?” The voice asked.
There was an insistence in his favor, like he thought I deserved it.
Voiceless, I stood up, then quickly straightened myself in front of who I realized was my Lieutenant.
His hand rested on my shoulder as he spoke.
“You did good kid, real good.”
“Uhm sir—.”
“Without your providence of cover-fire me and my men would’ve been stuck in those bushes. You saved us son.”
Blackburn’s dog-tag raised up to meet his eyes.
“Somebody you know?” The Lieutenant pondered.
“Yea.”
Ten minutes since my best friend died.
|
It's cold. The winter has taken its toll on our men. Peter will most likely not make it home. They have send me a replacement, but he cannot replace Peter. His hands quiver when he picks up the ice cold shells. I notice the men around me. They have been coming and going for the entire war. But they get younger. Or older. The only men in their twenties I get to see regularily are Mark and my machinegunner Stephan. The hole still gapes in the turret. Maybe I should be more precise. There are two holes. One whole marks the entry, and the other the exit of the shell. Every night I wonder why the cheap russian trigger didn't detonate and aliviate me from this burden.
I remember the night like it was yesterday. The 12th of May 1940. It was the last day I ever saw her beautifull eyes. They were not filled with joy. The deep blue didn't carry her usual kindness. They were filled with terror - the kind of terror no girl of 17 years should ever feel. And there was blood. It was everywhere, covering her stomache, her legs, her face, her hair. Erika died on the streets. No Ambulance would come, no firefighters where there to put out the flames. There were too many bombs, to many dead or wounded. This was the day I gave up hope.
The war gave my life a purpose. They offered me a chance at vengence, and I didn't need a second invitation to follow through with that. I knew I would never get the one responsible for her death. They were up there in the sky, dancing with the the Messerschmidts and Focker-Wulfs in a ballet of machinegun fire and high explosive cannon shells. Maybe one of my comrades had allready send the man spiraling down to his grave? Maybe he returned home, loaded up a second barrage and went on to ruin another hand full of families? I could never know. But I was sure I would not die in my sleep, being bombed from 10.000 meters. I would fight, whoever came infront of me, trying to what had been done to me to my fellow people.
At that point they didn't enlist 17 year old boys. I wasn't a man, I was an angry and foolish boy. But I knew my way around forgery. I knew how to change a number in a birth certificate. And I knew they wouldn't stop eager volunteers to join the fight because of paperwork. So I entered training. Every day I trained I wished I was on the frontlines. The first day I was at the frontlines, I wanted back home to my mother. I witnessed twelve death that day. The second day I stopped counting our losses. The third day I started to count my hits.
At first, they gave me a machine gun. It was heavy and tended to jam. I held the belt while he layed down suppressive fire. In the open field we ruled suppreme. Whenever we opend fire, everyone kept their heads down. Short bursts, no more then 5 bullets. Paul was a simple mind. He didn't understand most of the orders, or the tactics we deployed. But the command of small burst had been burned into his mind like a brand mark on a cattles ass. He would always praise our efforts, claiming they were justified and that we would finally claim the place in history we always deserved. Like I said, he was a simple mind. He was lucky. He wouldn't see the glorified propaganda image he loved so much crumble infront of his own eyes. His pure enthusiasm for this war came to a fast, abrupt end when a russian bullet pierced his right lung. A gargling sound was the last thing he every said before he drowned when the blood filled his lungs. I knew there were more bullets were the first one came from. I pushed his body aside, picket up the gun and fired. The MG34 was heavy. It sprayed bullets all over the treeline infront of me. This time, there would be no short bursts. This time I fired until the damn thing jammed or the belt would run out. I didn't aim for the enemy soldiers which were lying prone between the trees - not like I had any chance of aiming the machine gun anyways while firing from the hip. But I somehow managed to stop the incoming fire. There was no response. There were 12 bodies and 4 wounded. A day later there were 16 bodies. This was the last time I fired the machinegun from the hip. From this point on I would be firing the hull mounted machine gun on the Panzer 4.
I had seen all of them come and go. The first time we got hit, it cleared the entire crew except for Peter and me. A well placed and well camoflaged anti tank gun pierced the front of the turret. Shrapnell took out our commanding officer, loader and gunner. At the time, Peter was driving the tank. At first, he didn't even react to the critical blow that had shook our tank. It would take about 2 seconds for the panic to set in. I think in my entire time of service I had never heard a man scream that loud ever again. His instinct was to flee. He wanted to run away, to retreat back into our lines. I had to slap him at least 5 times to get him to stop screaming. Another 5 times to stop him from driving the tank away from the battlefield and back into the fight. I would not be the man who backed off when my comrades needed me. So I climbed into the turret, locked the breach shut and turned the turret towards the anti-tank gun. I fired. A massive bang echoed throughout the tank. I had fired the shell about a hundred meters short of the target. A second bang shook the tank. This time it was us being hit. "The right track is destroyed!" I heard Peter scream. We were trapped. A sitting duck infront of a russian anti tank gun. I pulled Peter up into the turret. From now on, he was my loader. A second hit penetrated the frontal armor plate and ruined the transmission. Peter loaded High Explosive. I fired. There was no more return fire afterwards.
It took twelve days to get the tank back to operational level. They had given us two replacement crewman. I would no longer need to man the machinegun, Stephan would take my position. Mark was chosen as our new driver, and Hans operated the gun. Peter became our loader. The first time we ever met a T34 was memorable. Whatever we sent towards it, it would just bounce from it's armour. They never returned fire. They tried, but their gun was far from accurate. After twelve hits, a PAK sent it's turret flying. The war was about to take on a new form.
Winter began to set. The snow made us immobile. The T34s didn't have that problem. They traverased the snow with ease. They moved in groups, firing their machine guns to instill panic in the unexperienced crews and infantry. We were not unexperienced. And we had Armour Piercing loaded. The first round we sent down range hit the turret ring of the tank. It immediatly stopped moving. The hatch opened up. Stephan openend up. No one exited the tank alive. About 10 seconds later we were ready to fire again. This time it went straight through the frontal plate. The russian tanks were strong when they were on level ground, but they attacked us downhill. The angled armour was no match for the round. The flames shot out the top of the turret. Two down. Round after round we fired down range. We hit 22 out of 30 shots. We bounced 3 enemy shots. Then we were out. No more rounds to fire, only High Explosive and some machine gun ammo left. And one enemy tank. The russian shell entered the turret. It tore Peters arm off at the elbow - and exited the other side. No explosion. No fire.
Peter didn't scream. He hasn't screamed since the incident that formed us two as a crew. He was unconscious immediatly. I was prepared to die - just waiting for the russian to put a round into his gun and fire something that wasn't as poorly made as the first shell. The shot never came. Another tank had destroyed the target just in time for us to make an escape.
Peter got taken to the field hospital. Later that evening he was flown back to Germany. They would celebrate him as a hero for his service. They also celebrated us. They gave us worthless medal emblems, iron crosses for every crew member. I notice the men around me. Proud. Driven by Duty. Hate. Fear. Vengance. And no will to live. Their eyes didn't carry any emotion anymore. I remember the deep blue eyes of Erika. There was nothing remotely like it here. Their eyes were empty, almost liveless, forged by the pain and horror these men had to endure. And with that thought I realized I was one of them. I didn't carry any emotion anymore. My eyes became as empty as their eyes. And from that moment on, I forgot Erika.
Fin.
I thought I'd take this prompt to the second world war. I hope you enjoyed, this is my first time writing a story to a prompt and I'm open to critique!
| 2019-09-10T15:56:39 | 2019-09-10T13:21:57 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN”
|
"Shit. What the fuck does it mean run? Where the fuck should I run?"
So I ran...to my room, to my closet. My go-bag. Always ready in case I need to flee. I checked it over made sure I had everything I needed to run. It did.
So I ran... out the door my apartment. Down the stairs, ready to never return. As I ran out the door I thought to myself, "There is not much I'd miss about this life except..."
And then I ran right into the cute girl from apartment 6B. "oh hey anon, where are you going? I was hoping you'd join me for a run this morning."
So I ran...
|
**ANNOYING GODDAMNED DELIGHTFUL TUNE**
*Fucking clock... I've got ten minutes.*
*...*
**ANNOYING GODDAMNED DELIGHTFUL TUNE**
*Alright, I should get up this time...*
I rolled out of bed, regretfully, per usual. And stumbled into the bathroom to piss. Explicitly NOT looking into the giant ass wall mirror, undoubtedly about to inform me of the days labors... Hopped into a quick pretend shower, and started getting dressed.
Strapping on the 5.11 gunbelt I regret owning, much less putting on... I regretfully glance at the fucking mirror.
**RUN**
*FUCK*
No wait, *~~there's the adrenaline~~* this fucking thing has said ominous shit before...
Remember grandma? You freaked the fuck out because she was lonely and just wanted to talk to someone, then she wrote you into the will. This shit isn't always an emergency...
*Let's fucking get to work though.*
Still though... Taser battery? Full. And we'll rack one, just in case. *Still feels like it's a bit much, for a hospital...* Still, technically legal. *Why was it in all capitals?*
Mirror warned me about shit in Iraq too...
I slammed my feet in my boots and made sure they were tied like I was headed out on patrol again, just in case. I beat feet down the stairs, clipping on my hospital badge and stuffing my badge in my pocket, I'd put it on on the way.
Taking the stairs down the apartment my stomach dropped out. I almost didn't notice it at first. My heart was still racing, pumping on an adrenaline wave... And the sounds *felt* normal.
Quiet.. Silence. Then pops here and there. A rumble, a building collapse.
Why do I hear war? ***~~FUCK. YEAH.~~***
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
Run to where? Work? No, kids. No. Call ex. Drive towards both.
Messages!
Ex: TL;ID: Base on lockdown, not even family, maybe zombies, families quarantined to ASP with years of rations.
*WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK*
*ALPHA AND OMEGA ACTUAL, WHISKY TANGO FOXTROT.*
*I SAY AGAIN, ALPHA AND OMEGA 1, WHISKY. TANGO. FOXTROT.*
Work it is then, I'll come up with a plan there. Or worm my way into the hospitals plan. If it gets that bad...
Roads are a fucking nightmare. I'm barely off my street when I see the first body. People running everywhere... *Is that a fucking lawnmower chasing somebody?*
The Colorado heat starts beating down during the drive, the SUVs AC failing to keep up with this dry ass states sunrise. Freeway is weirdly clear? Still a twenty minute drive... Might as well...
Spotify: Play Get Down With The Sickness by Richard Cheese
Some wrecked cars... And some... Hitchhikers... I saw the first one near the exit for 270, hunched over and gnawing on a woman's throat. Why the fuck are the highways clear?
Oh my fucking God I'm stupid. I turn on the radio as I pull in, cursing the single mindedness the adrenaline inspires.
Empty parking lot, that's fucking weird... There should definitely be two shifts worth of cars here... And that's barely half of one... What the fuck...
I check my phone before opening the door. Solidly fucking believing the world may have fucking ended. The ex called me sixteen times, but my phone was on silent. Eight messages, the first of which I glanced over earlier. Ranging from "crazy shit is happening" to "goodbye, I'm safe and I'm sorry".
She thinks I'm fucking dead!? What the fuck is happening?!
In retrospect, there's a lot of movement in the windows of the hospital... Fuck, I'll check the emergency doors, I can look in from my truck...
Six fucking ambulances!? That's a lot of blood...
Stop. Inventory.
RUN in the mirror, warning from ex who thinks I'm dead, lawnmower was probably a TBI/PTSD glitch hallucination *wouldn't be the first time*, nobody is here, lots of blood. Dude eating a woman's neck?
** !!!!! Alert !!!!! ** ** !!!!! Alert !!!!! **
**Attention all Denver area residents, you are under strict quarantine, effective immediately**
Okay. Motherfucking zombies then. Until proven otherwise.
But why is no one out? That's definitely the weirdest part so far. The lights are on at the hospital, if nothing else. Plus the security office is exactly that... Also... More ammo, more weapons, body armor, antibiotics... Pentobarbital, just in case... Scope it out for a future home?
*Specialist Deats: doc*
Fucking hallucination. Not the time *wait*. I'm not crazy right? Fuck. Taser first, in case I'm fucking nuts...
I finally get out of the truck. ***I'VE MISSED YOU BABY*** Weapon drawn I snapped quick to the wall, squared off and moving in old familiar ways again... No infantry to follow this time though. I edge up to the window and peer through, found graveyard shift. And in the middle, a 5'3 Latina, covered in blood.
Today is seriously gonna be fucked. I had a crush on her...
**CSHOOSH**
And now her brains are on the wall... Transition to firearm. I kneel down, for a moment, I want to see who fire that shot...
**CSHOOSH**
And they fired again... Could need help... Going in...
"Friendly coming in!" I announce myself as the automated doors kick open. The floor isn't as much of a mess as I thought... Bodies everywhere, but not much... Fuck are they vampires? But that dudes leg definitely got eaten...
Stacey's body is pristine, save an exquisite shot through her temple... a few others received a similar treatment, others were riddled with rounds... Around the corner my hopes of companionship were dashed. My partner lay there, chamber locked back and covered in bites and scratches.
Well fuck. Security office, time now.
I move back to the office, slow and smooth. I slide a headphone in one ear and pray the internet is working. It is, miraculously. As I strip off my work shirt and throw Kevlar over my sleeveless, I listen to Anderson Cooper explain to me what the fuck has happened. Apparently, starting at 1900 yesterday, magic became a thing. Apparently our universe merged with another, according to the **FUCKING ELVEN SCIENTIST?!**
What the--
**ANNOYING GODDAMNED DELIGHTFUL TUNE**
Dafuq was that shit? Better check the mirror...
Edit: Sleepy when i wrote that, at work now, probably more errors... my bad
| 2020-06-07T23:02:04 | 2020-06-07T22:58:51 | 87 | 63 |
[WP] "It literally could not get any worse if we summoned Cthulhu, and in fact might improve the situation somewhat."
UPDATE: I must say, I did *not* expect a cheap [Godzilla Threshold](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/GodzillaThreshold) prompt to become my most upvoted post. I'm quite enjoying all of your stories so far, so keep it up!
|
As the years passed it became an increasingly more difficult task to undertake. As pop culture continued to rewrite and recreate and re-imagine this creature, more and more people argued over one specific detail.
This issue grew, and grew, until it became the only thing that mattered. Friendships we're lost, families were broken, nations were on the brink of nuclear war. Then one day he just woke up.
He rose from the depths of the great sea, he approached the land to find the masses waiting for him.
"C-T-H-U-L-H-U," he enunciated every letter clearly, for the world to hear, "it's not that hard to spell for Christ's sake."
|
"It could not get any worse if we summoned Cthulhu. In fact it might improve the situation."
The others rolled their eyes at Rick within the cramped confines of the underground bunker.
As the ravenous, giant slug-like aliens had overtaken Earth, a handful of survivors had stumbled upon Rick's hideout at the edge of the mountains. The good news was, the aliens had failed to detect it.
The bad news was, they were stuck with Rick - who believed himself to be a member of every cult and religion that had ever existed on Earth, and many more that he had made up and was the only member of.
"Really? It could not get worse?" Thomas sneered, hugging his son to him as the boy wept quietly.
Giant screens on the walls of the bunker gave them an excellent view of what was happening on Earth. The aliens were scooping up humans with astonishing rapidity, licking the blood off themselves with apparent relish afterwards. Humans were a rare delicacy the aliens had travelled across the multiverse to sample. So Rick said, which cast some doubt on the theory, but it seemed true enough from what they saw on the screens.
Rick's eyes glowed in the darkness of the bunker as he dragged out a giant, grubby book to the groans of everyone else. He'd shown it to them all, whether they wanted or not: it contained every summoning spell for every conceivable monster, god and demon ever dreamt up by humans.
"Listen, listen - this is what will happen. The Great Old One Cthulhu will drive these invaders to insanity and consume them shortly after," he whispered, carefully turning the moldy pages of his book.
"Oh, and I suppose it'll bid us a good day and leave us alone?" Annie muttered from the corner, to an outbreak of nervous giggling from the others.
"Who knows? It might," Rick answered seriously. "It might leave us alone. Perhaps it will not even deign to notice us. Perhaps it will fall back to its deep sleep after his initial feasting. Who can know the mind of the Great Old One? The ones who try are driven mad."
"Well, that explains a lot," Thomas said with a meaningful glance at Rick, but the man continued without pause, scratching at his scraggly beard as he reached the page he'd been looking for. A few beetles scurried out that he ate thoughtfully as he started reading.
"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn," he said. "Mglw'nafh fhthagn-ngah cf'ayak 'vulgtmm vugtlag'n..."
"Ok, that's ridiculous, those are just sounds!" Thomas snapped. "You're just making up sounds now - "
The bunker fell into silence as an unearthly roaring noise filled the air. Rick fiddled with a remote to activate a screen focused on a calm stretch of the pacific ocean. Moments later, the surface began bubbling.
"Oh, gods, i-it worked," Rick breathed, eyes stretched wide with wonder as a thing began to emerge from the waters. A screeching thing which whipped its tentacled head in every direction as its eyes rolled madly, and unfurled the leathery wings on its back.
The survivors watched in stunned horror as Cthulhu took wing to the aliens, and just as Rick had predicted, began its own feast. Humans and aliens alike sank to their knees and thrashed on the ground, driven mad by the sight of the Old One. But it didn't stop at the aliens. It was eating humans, too.
"Nice," Thomas said bitterly.
But it didn't take long for the remaining aliens to pile into their ships and abandon Earth. Cthulhu ate more humans at random, and screeched as it tried to swipe the fleeing alien fleet from the skies.
"Oh, look! It's growing weary," Rick hissed, looking almost disappointed. To Thomas's astonishment, Rick was right: Cthulhu gave a few more ear-splitting roars and crawled back into the ocean. Soon, the surface was smooth as glass again. They looked at the others screens. The humans rolled around in agony for a few more minutes, then cautiously began to sit upright, looking dazed and half-crazy - but alive. They were alive.
"Oooh, I know what happened, now. I disturbed its rest, see," Rick explained, making feverish notes in his book. "I believe it is still tired. The Great Old One will awaken again, when it is ready, when the stars align. I *thought* it might return to its slumber after an initial feast..."
"Bullshit, man, you couldn't know that!" Thomas snorted, trying to hide the wavering in his voice.
Gods awakening from the oceans and aliens invading: it was too insane. And he thought the *previous* year had been terrible. He knew he was treading precariously on the edge of madness. The others in the bunker were rocking themselves gently, not looking much better. Soon, they'd all be like Rick, if they weren't careful. They had to get out.
"Ok, whatever, I agree - you helped. This Cthulhu monster was better than the aliens, at least," Thomas conceded, standing up and gently shaking his son awake. At least the boy had slept through the worst.
"Can you open up this bunker, please? It seems safe enough to go, now," Thomas asked. The others smiled cautiously and got to their feet, too. They hadn't smelled fresh air in weeks.
Rick's eyes were wide and mad as he clutched the book to his chest and shook his head.
"Go? I thought it was chance, at first, but it is fate for us to be together," he said slowly. "The thousand and one prophesies I wrote as a boy will come true, if we work as one. The Rising of the Gods. The Cleansing. I-it will happen. Yes. Yes, I see it all now."
He opened a cabinet and dragged out five more books.
"Oh, fuck this, I'm - " Thomas began, trying in vain to kick at the heavy metal door.
"Sit down!" Rick roared as he pulled out a handgun from his coat and pointed it at Thomas's son. "You must listen...listen. I don't want to kill anyone here, for we are one, but I will if I h-have to...you must listen to everything I've ever documented, all the prophesies and s-summonings, so we can choose where to begin...think what we could do, together! We can call all the demons...and the pagan gods...and *all* the Old Ones. Let them cleanse the Earth and allow only us to remain..."
He opened the first page of one of the books and began to read, keeping one bloodshot eye on the terrified survivors, handgun pointing at each of them in turn.
"Oh god, no. Can we call the aliens back?" Annie whispered, as Rick started reading from the first of his many books.
----------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
| 2016-12-21T23:33:32 | 2016-12-21T22:29:34 | 189 | 74 |
[WP] Footloose, but the reason they cant dance is because it will attract the worms from Tremors.
|
"You can't stop us from dancing!" Ren cried passionately.
"You don't understand," said the Reverend, shaking his head. "If you dance, we'll all die!"
An older man with a shock of graying hair stepped out of the crowd, drawing all eyes to him. "If you walk without a rhythm," he told them calmly, "it won't attract the worm."
*Sorry, folks, that's all I've got. No actual story, just Christopher Walken.*
|
"I have to get out of this town as soon as possible!" Ren thought.
A policeman gunned down some innocent teenager for seemingly no reason. The boy had just started to dance with a boom box in a back alley as Ren was driving by. He seemed to see a couple windows crack as well, but the gun wasn't pointed in their direction.
"Hey I saw that! You are going to jail!" Ren stopped and said.
The cop looked to his direction, and to Ren's amazement, calmly phoned backup and walked his to his truck.
"Ain't you the fella that caused all that ruckus at the city council a week ago about needing dancing?" The cop said
"Yessir. I was trying to get across that every other town allows it and they're all fine. It's a human right I believe."
The cop leaned in to the window., and spoke softly.
"Well we can take human rights in this town if it saves lives boy. We haven't had a dancer in 20 years and this town is one of the safest in the country."
"Those two things don't cause one another! And either way, murdering kid is going way overboard! You'll rot in jail for that!"
"You'll see kid, here, you have three choices, stay danceless, leave town, or die. It doesn't have to be by a murder though."
"Wait, what does that mean?"
The cop walked away, not saying another word.
He was shocked at the fact that the town was this strict on dancing. Making it illegal is one thing, but killing another human is something entirely different.
He was also disappointed that he had to leave town so quickly. Ren was from Chicago, and loved dancing. Ren had also been doing great in his short time in town. He had a beautiful girlfriend named Ariel, and was doing great in high school. This unjustified murder made all of that worthless to Ren.
Even after testifying against the officer, he got off scott free. The victims parents in court seemed like they were fine with the ruling as well. They were long time residents of the town and their son was known to be huge trouble for some reason.
Ren had had enough and one more idea before he was going to run away. Ariel and their 2 friend had already discovered the joys of dancing with him at bar out of town, so it was easy to convince them to do something about this inhumane law.
Ren and his friends went to the top of the biggest building on Main Street. This was a Saturday around noon so the streets were pretty full. Ren knew that the police wouldn't shoot them with this many witnesses.
He pulled out his megaphone.
"HEY EVERYONE, WE'VE COME TO PROTEST THE HATRED OF DANCING IN THIS TOWN. WE HOPE ALL OF YOU WILL START JOINING IN AND SEE DANCING AS WE DO. LETS DANCE!"
Ariel hits the boombox and they start shaking it. They are grooving the fuck out. I mean this is a masterclass in all different dancing styles, and even moves nobody has seen since. This obviously got the crowd riled up. At least half started shaking it as well. It was a beautiful sight that was sure to change at least some opinions on dancing around here.
"This is what dancing feels like, this is love" Ren says to Ariel, who thought it was weird but it came from a good place.
Something was going on with the other half of the crowd and few police though, they were panicking! Shoving each other out of the way to get away from the building and the street in general. Ren heard,
"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!"
"NOT WHILE MY BABY IS HERE, PLEASE STOOOOP!"
"CHRIST WHY DIDNT THEY LISTEN, WHY DIDNT THEY LISTEN!"
As he was grooving Ren thought,
"Damn it's just dancing, once people aren't so shocked by it, it will be fine"
That's when it happened. An earthquake started softly but quickly gained energy. The boombox fell and crushed a dancer and the music was gone. One of the friends slipped off the roof as Ren barely grabbed her hand. The shaking was violent now and she slipped, impaled by a fire hydrant. The horror couldn't be dwelled on however, as almost instantaneously a huge worm like creature started busting out from the road.
It ate dancers left and right leaving a bloody trail behind him. When everyone was dead or off of the street, the worm hung around a little while and fell asleep right outside this building. After being unsuccessful with the back door, they decided the only way to get out was to sneak around the snake. They took small steps and it was going great. Rens male friend was pissing his pants but besides that they were good. Tip toeing they got outside and a bit away when Ren's idiot friend whispered "Damn, that was close"
The worm woke immediately and started coming after them. Ren thought quickly and told them to hide in the sturdy ABC store. Ren then cut right on to the hardware store porch and did a little jig to attract the worms attention. He barely got the door shut and locked before the worm hit. It left a huge dent but it held for now. He made shitty explosives with gasoline while the worm was circling the building. As the worm circled he did dances in the window. The twist, the jig, the dougie, you name it.
As the worm saw this it was as pissed as ever. It started ramming the weak points of the house. Ren had a match in his hand and was ready to do what had to be done. The windows are broken, and the place is caving in. The worm comes around for one more ram that is surely to break through. As the worm starts barreling towards the building, you would think Ren is scared, second guessing himself. He wasn't. He was proud of what he had done and what he stood for. He would love to spend the rest of his life with Ariel, but his love is dance and a life without that wouldn't be a life worth living. He closes his eyes, smiles, and waits for the crash, but it never comes.
He hears machinery, and stomps. When Ren goes to look outside he doesn't believe what he sees. The military is rolling in from all sides, dancing their asses off! Instead of keeping the tremors a secret, the mayor finally told the federal government about this monster and what caused it. The worm was having a sensory overload. It hadn't seen this many dancers ever let alone in every direction. It was curling on the ground like a slug and salt.
"Fire!" The twerking general yelled from between his legs.
Blasts came from everywhere. The monster was killed and dancing was ruled legal in the town. Ren and Ariel shared a slow dance among the carnage and military vehicles. They then lived happy forever in a town that they were famous in.
A flash forward shows and older Ren and Ariel with their son on the back porch. Ariel is trying to get the baby to bust loose when they feel a little rumble in the ground.
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More on my page!
| 2017-05-10T10:01:58 | 2017-05-10T08:52:29 | 62 | 18 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
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“Does everyone get to choose?”
The watchman’s heart was breaking looking at the tiny child, covered in scars. They shouldn’t *be* scarred like that, not here, whatever acts caused them must have been truly despicable.
“Everyone gets to choose, and none for an age have chosen that door.”
The child stops their shuffling towards the darker doorway.
“Can you change your mind? Go from one to another?”
“No, are you sure you want to do this child?”
“Can’t be worse than before, they would never follow me here.”
As the child strode with purpose through the darkened gate, the Watchman smiled a bittersweet smile ‘no one was supposed to pass like that.’
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"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."
| 2018-08-13T08:39:02 | 2018-08-13T06:40:49 | 633 | 54 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
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Rank was never that important to me.
The others fought. Endlessly. For some reason, their numbers were more important to them than their humanity.
I started with the lowest rank, and I've never moved up. I've never killed a soul. But I'm #1 now, because the others are all dead.
I'm lonely.
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The Nine Kings were a sort of urban legend. Eight powerful enigmas uniting under a truce to lord their power over the people with Number 1. The higher your rank, the more political influence you had over the city, and even the world.
Take Mason, a red-headed hothead with eyes of amber, for example. Mason was ranked 9,001. Only the top 10,000 get to live in Paradiso, a city for only the strongest on the planet. Imagine his shock when Number 10 came to him with a deal: work together to take down Number 1, and live off the royalties as the Ten Kings. Mason immediately accepted. Sure, he was wealthy enough, but you don't get to live in Paradiso without being a little greedy.
Mason and Tenner, the name number 10 chose for himself, discussed their powers and plans for weeks. Mason could create fire, and Tenner could copy bullets, giving himself endless ammunition. However, Number 1's power was a mystery. No one knew what he could do. All that was known was that he was an assassin who used his victims' decapitated heads as proof of his victories.
After weeks of scouting, Mason and Tenner arrived at Number 1's beach house. The night was cold. Mason's body radiated heat, so his toned upper body was bare. Tenner, on the other hand, was bundled in a black jacket. A scarf covered his face, and goggles with orange lenses hid his eyes. He never revealed his face, even to Mason.
"Are you ready?" Mason asked Tenner. His heavily garbed friend nodded. "I'll lead the way," he answered. "Watch my back."
The two walked into the house, ready for anything. They needed to do this quickly, lest the other Kings decide to crash the party. What Mason and Tenner weren't ready for was finding the house already trashed. A man in a white t-shirt stood over a decapitated corpse filled with kitchen knives. As the knives disappeared, the man turned to greet his other two guests. His hair was a chilling black, and his eyes were silver. He was the complete opposite of Mason. "Thieves," Number 1 said, "you can't live with 'em, and you can't live without 'em."
Tenner pointed both of his revolvers at Number 1. Mason's fists conjured scarlet flames. He recognized Number 1's face from all the internet articles. Mason and Tenner fired upon him, only for the King to evade with ease. He was fast, and his attacks would be faster. Like magic, the single kitchen knife in his hand became three, and he threw them at Mason and Tenner.
The two expertly dodged, while Number 1 slashed open a window, and jumped outside. Mason and Tenner pursued him, the former using his flames to propel himself. Red lights and white flashes reflected over the ocean that night.
Number 1 tossed a knife at the airborne Mason, only have it to turn into a hundred mid-flight. Mason blew them all away, and Tenner got a shot on Number 1's left shoulder. This didn't stop the King, who he kept throwing and multiplying knives. Neither Mason nor Tenner could get close enough to deal the finishing blow.
Number 1 used the fight's confusion to circle back to his beach house. Tenner had to magically reload his pistols, meaning it was up to Mason to stop Number 1 from contacting the other Kings.
Number 1 burst through his front door, while Mason created his own opening by burning a large hole in the ceiling. "I'm gonna enjoy this," Mason gloated as he sent a geyser of flame toward Number 1. The King burned alive. His flesh seared away by the raw force of Mason's fire. Number 1 screamed until there was nothing left of him but a charred corpse.
Mason sat on a nearby couch. It was his couch, now. He was Number 1. Tenner soon walked in, and assessed the damage. "How's it feel, Mason?" he asked the pyrokinetic. Mason smiled. "To be Number 1? Pretty good. Of course, I prefer to stay Number 1." Before Tenner could fire at Mason, he set aflame by his partner. Mason watched as Tenner fell to the ground, his clothes falling to pieces. Mason closed his eyes, and enjoyed the sound of the night ocean's tide.
...
...
...
"Seven," a voice said.
Mason opened his eyes, and turned around. Number 1 stood next to the hole in the wall, wearing a denim jacket instead of his t-shirt. Mason got up to fight him, only to have his arms stabbed by kitchen knives thrown from opposite directions. As he cried out in pain, two more people emerged from the shadows. They were both Number 1's, only one wore a hoodie, and another wore a business suit.
"Like I was saying," the first Number 1 spoke, "the man you killed was Number 7, which means you're Number 7, now." Before Mason could speak, the third Number 1 punched him in the face, causing the pyrokinetic to fall to the ground. "H-how?" Mason uttered.
The three Number 1s smiled. Six more entered the room, each one wearing something different. One of them being the Number 1 Mason killed. "Cloning's one of the most practical powers I've ever seen," Number 7 explained. "Being to the top, on the other hand, can be boring," Number 3 added. "Once you're there, there's no one you can trust," Number 8 said. "But it's not about the destination," Number 4 said. "It's about the journey."
Number 1, the real Number 1 in the denim jacket, created two naked clones of himself. "I had so much fun killing to get here, I decided to do it again, and again, and again." He picked up a scrap of wood from the floor, and duplicated it in his hand. "However, I decided to give each iteration of me a different fighting style to accomplish this. Knives, bullets, shuriken, pipes, myself... I can clone just about anything. Take that corpse." He pointed to the thief's corpse on the ground, which disappeared. "That was me, too."
Mason slowly stood up. "Wait, did you say 'bullets?'" he asked. As Number 1 nodded, Mason was shot in the back of the head by Tenner. Tenner removed his scarf and goggles, revealing Number 1's face. "Should we take his head with the rest?" Number 10 asked. Number 1 shook his head. "No, you can destroy it. I prefer not showing off the heads of zeroes."
With that, the clones each took part in the sadistic ritual of shooting and stabbing Mason's head into oblivion.
| 2014-12-18T15:23:06 | 2014-12-18T13:33:39 | 243 | 77 |
[WP] Every human is given their lifetime supply of "luck" to be used at their will. Some choose to expend it all at once on a massive success, and live the rest of their lives with no luck, some spread it out evenly and use luck on random small events.
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"Happy Birthday" the room full of faces cheered as a small flame was lit over a large wax 4 and 2.
Jonathan had lived this far without using any luck. Just a lifetime of hard work, pulled bootstraps, and an endless stream of disappointment. But he was saving it, saving it for something big. Or at least that's what he reminded himself every year as he blew out the candles.
But then, as he knelt down toward the little flames with lips puckered and breath held he saw her. She was standing next to Tom, that guy from work he always overheard on the otherside of the cubicle wall. *That* was his sister? Time slowed as he started to blow out the candles. He could get lucky tonight. He could get really lucky.
But he remembered what he was saving it for. Just like all those Max Health powerups and super grenade energy missiles and extra poison resistance items in all those video games - *he had to save it*. What if something even better came along later? What if he NEEDED this luck to survive? Besides, he had girls before, and he could win her affection without any help. So Jonathan blew out the candles to the claps and cheers from the crowd.
He felt sick. Did he hold he breath too long? Just a little lightheaded. He tried not to think about it, and perhaps it was just the elation and adrenaline as he walked toward the girl.
"Hey. You're Tom's sister, right?"
"Yeah. Happy Birthday."
They talked for what seemed like hours. The crowd thinned as time went on. A few people passed out on the couch. But they still talked, laughed, and flirted with increasing intensity. Who needs luck, he thought, as he asked her upstairs. He was tired from the day, but fuck it if he was going to sleep now. He forced himself up the stairs with her gentle hand in his. His pants tightened. Her smile turned to a smirk, and he kissed her. He laid her down onto the bed, where they both died of monoxide poisoning, as had the rest of the party.
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Leslie woke up with a start, her work cell screaming at her in the early dawn. She blearily looked at the clock, 3:07AM it read. While others might roll over and go back to sleep, Leslie had been born with the rare personality trait to run towards the fire when everyone else ran away from it.
She quietly got out of bed, careful not to disturb Jack or the children. Carefully avoiding the squeaky floorboards, she grabbed her jump back and eased out the front door. The minute that door closed, she was off! She jogged to the elevator, quickly throwing on her helmet while heading to the parking garage, tightened the straps of the backpack and the minute the door opened, she jammed to the left, hopped onto her bike, and roared out of the garage.
Leslie deftly zipped through traffic, knowing what was an acceptable risk and when to be cautious. She had not lived this long in her line of work without being very picky on when she used her luck. Finally she arrived at the station, the armored vehicle already pulled out of the bay, they were clearly waiting on her. She pulled her bike in the station, left the keys in so someone else could move it and pulled her helmet off.
"Let's go Les", Brian shouted at her from the truck, "Your gears already in, hurry up!"
She quickly climbed inside ready to get to the scene and learn more. When she got dispatched to these types of calls, she habitually checked her Luck. As always, Leslie relaxed once she saw her bar.
78%.
At 43, 78% was something to be envied. As a bomb tech, 78% was practically unheard of, especially at her age. As a teen, Leslie had read a poem by Jean de La Fontaine and a line had stuck out to her, "In short, Luck's always to blame". That had always stuck in her head, it was the driving force that kept her from using it without dire need. She had seen others waste their life before 25, and she was determined to die with Luck left over. Of course Luck had to be used from time to time. She thought back to when Kara was born, lying there cold and blue until a push of Luck had turned her bright pink and screaming, or the time it came down to a straight out 50/50 chance on which wire to cut for a bomb to difuse. Some Luck and a quick prayer later, the bomb had been neutralized with no casualties.
Bam!
The bump quickly brought Leslie out of her own head and into the present. She looked out the window as she saw them pulling up to the scene. Climbing out she could smell the fear. Everyone was running around, yelling into their radios and clearly wanting to be anywhere but here. She walked into the incident tent, Captain Phillips was in command.
He looked at her and Brian and nodded acknowledgement.
"Alright guys, here is what we know so far, a domestic terrorist has called in a bomb threat. They stated that there are multiple bombs located along the natural gas pipe lines under the city. They also stated that they had been configured in such a way that the chain reaction would wreak havoc across the entire city." He took a shaky breath before continuing. "As of right now, the gas company is saying that if this is indeed a true threat, this could kill over 150,000 people. We have also been instructed that if word of the threat is made public or it appears there is an evacuation, he will detonate early"
Leslie's heart was racing as was her mind. 150,000 people? Her brain flicked to her family asleep in their beds but the apartment high rise had all electric thank goodness. She turned her attention back to Captain Phillips as Brian was asking what our move was.
"First, we have identified what we believe is the main bomb, while we cannot be certain, it looks like diffusing this one could shut down all the others." Captain Phillips took a deep breath before delivering the next part, "now, I know how you guys are about your Luck and how important it is. I have already been authorized to tell you that if you are willing to use all but 10% of your Luck to help make this a success, we will retire you early with full benefits and salary for life as well as a bonus that reflects the percentage used."
Leslie sat back, retirement? She would be able to be at home to watch her girls grow up, the only question was, is 10% enough? She was 43 and outside of using Luck for work, she had yet to barely use 10% in her lifetime. Yes, she decided, she could provide the luck that was needed. She looks at Brian and could see his worry. At 31 he had already used over 60% of his luck, some from the job and some for personal gain. She had never been one to judge how people spent their Luck, but she could see he was wrestling with this decision.
"Hey Bri... I got this" she quietly said. She could see the weight fall off his shoulders. "I mean, what's the point in holding on to it if the entire city goes, ya know?" she said light heartedly, not wanting him to stress about it. "Hell, if 68% is not enough to save the city, I don't know what else is. I mean, that dude down in Bolivia got everyone to think he was God for under 50%" She went over to Capt Phillips and let him know she would provide the Luck. He took a big sigh of relief and sat her down to quickly sign the agreement to the terms he had mentioned.
As soon as that was done, she got suited up; just because Luck was in play did not mean she should be careless. She and Brian walked down the stairs into the underground maintenance corridor. After about 200 yards, she could see it, a mess of wires and canisters all together looking like a child's art project. Taking it in she could already see landmarks for booby traps and other pitfalls that a less experienced tech might not see.
"Ok Brian, let's go nice and slow" she had already started the flow of Luck before she came down the stairs. She checked now, 73%. As they started working, removing pieces and tagging wires she started to sweat.
61%.
At 2 hours she was starting to get tired, working on only about 3 hours of sleep, even adrenaline was not enough at this point. "Shit!" Brian screamed as he ducked, Les quickly surveyed and saw the end of a wire dangling, pulled out carelessly. She checked her Luck,
48%
They kept going, driving by sheer willpower and terror.
36%, 27%, 18%
It got to that point, the point where reason, knowledge and experience can no longer guide you, where you gut check. You pray, bargain, and hope you make the right call...
clip...
11%
Leslie puked, sunk to her knees and fell against the wall. She could hear Brian calling the All Clear and saw blurs coming closer in her vision. She came to outside in the tent just as the light was coming up. She looked at Captain Phillips and instinctually knew something was still wrong. She caught his attention and he headed over to her.
"Hey Les, good job, you got it diffused." he said
"but...?" Leslie questioned,
"but not all the bombs were connected apparently. a few went off sporadically throughout the city. It's not as bad at it could have been but here and there, streets, businesses and homes have sustained major damaged. It's not your fault though, you saved thousands tonight." he said, she could see how much he stressed the good she had done.
Tired and ready to see her family, she headed to her bike. If she was lucky, she could catch everyone at breakfast before they left for work and school. Phillips had instructed her to take a couple days off while they figured out her retirement. On the way home she could see smoke in the distance. As she got closer to her neighborhood, the smoke grew darker and she could not see her high rise. She pulled off the road, fighting to stay calm a breathe. Oh god, she thought, let it be a mistake, it has to be my eyes because I'm exhausted. She got back on to her bike, racing to get home, as she got close she could see the fire trucks, police cars and a single ambulance. She pulled up to a stop and raced to the scene, let it be enough she breathed as she watched her Luck go from 11% to 0%
It was not enough.
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This is my first submission ever so kind critique is appreciated!
| 2016-10-19T13:16:31 | 2016-10-19T11:19:10 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
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They said they wanted peace. They said they wanted to avoid a future where humanity wiped itself out. They said a lot of things. And then they said no more.
For fifty years we waited. We followed the treaty down to the letter, even refusing to contact our northern and southern neighbors. For fifty years we waited, as they spat on their supposed good intentions. We waited as peace broke down. We waited as war broke out.
There's a slight poetic justice to learning that the ones who were afraid of us, the ones responsible for this self imposed exile, died in a hellfire of their own making. They thought that we were the biggest threat. They thought we were the cancer spreading throughout the world, destroying everything it touched.
They were wrong.
We were simply a deterrent. A force of nature that none dared to cross. And with us out of the way, with nothing to be afraid of, the world tore itself apart.
We came out of our exile prepared to fight. We expected an army of nations, prepared to end us, once and for all. But what we found instead was the very world itself, wrapped up in a wintery bow, waiting for us to take it.
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It was a curious solution and nobody expected it to be as easy as it was. Fifty years of isolation.
Nobody knew who fired the first shots. Some said it was the Chinese, some said it was the North Koreans, others said it was the Americans. In the end, it really didn't matter, because everyone ended up involved in some way. We were all guilty and shared the same sins.
But for all the doomsaying about the 'end of the world', things actually weren't that bad... well, compared to how bad it could've been. Twentieth century novels convinced us that World War III would result in a blasted hellscape, billions dead, nothing left standing. Perhaps in our darkest moments, we still retained a shred of humanity. Or perhaps we learned from the terrible brand of warfare waged in the 40s. Rather than missiles striking innocent population centers, surgical strikes and tactical nuclear weapons simply devastated infrastructure and military targets. Hundreds of millions had still perished - collateral damage, fallout, famine and disease - but the worst hadn't happened. Eiffel Tower and Saint Basil's Cathedral were still standing. In a rather striking twist of irony, by waging World War III, we had destroyed mostly just the tools we would need to wage World War IV.
After that came the 'Grand Plan'. Fifty years of isolation. Everyone expected us to resist the plan the most, and were surprised when, after a national referendum, we ended up being the most eager. Walls went up. Trade routes gradually eased and then stopped altogether. The doors were shut.
And for fifty years, we prospered. We had lost many of the cheap luxuries we had grown accustomed to, but agriculture surged as, lacking imported crops, we razed thousands of hectares of corn to grow our own. Oil deposits were uncapped. Unemployment dropped to less than 1% as millions of lost jobs suddenly came in high demand. It was a simple life, but we were happy. Americana had returned.
Fifty years passed in an eyeblink and the great reunification would begin. All the nations of the world to meet and share what they had learned. It wasn't going to be easy, of course - the war had destroyed nearly every satellite. We would need to seek out people to communicate with manually.
Our first attempt at contact was to head north to our oldest allies. Canada had been one of the most apprehensive countries with regards to the isolation, and actually considered joining America in joint isolation, but the United Nations council soundly rejected the notion. As our diplomatic convoys crossed the border and entered Toronto, they were shocked by what they found. Hunger. Disease. Poverty. The once great city was decaying and largely vacant. Similar reports came from Montreal and Ottawa. Upon contacting the Canadian government, the truth came out.
It was a ruse. A great big ruse. The world, convinced that America had been, at best, indirectly responsible for the war, had collectively agreed to formulate fake isolation plans, and leave us in the dark. The plan was to bring the world and humanity as a whole into a bright and shining future. The results were... less than satisfactory.
If the world had advanced to prosperity, it certainly didn't show in Canada. Having lost their largest trading partner, Canada found themselves out of the global market. Asia had no use for Canadian manufacturing, and Eastern Europe had filled demand to Europe. Canada began to market their oil reserves, but shortly after the walls went up, the United Nations declared a global moratorium on fossil fuels to allow the earth to heal. Canada was, almost literally, left out in the cold, and had suffered greatly.
However, as bad as the situation in Canada was, it wouldn't compare to what we found to the south. We sent diplomatic teams south just as we did north... teams that were never heard of again. Crossing the border, they initially reported that little appeared different from before the war - there was running water, power, though it bore all the hallmarks of a relatively poor country. But as they would near Mexico City, they were just go dark.
We weren't sure what we were going to do. We didn't want our first reconnection with the world to involve military force, invading a country to find our teams. Then, weeks after the first team had gone dark, we learned something new. On the side of a road in south Texas, in a van, lay one of our ambassadors - beaten, bloodied, and mutilated. Along with him were the heads of the two dozen men and women who escorted him.
The ambassador had been returned with a message and shared with us what he had learned. It seemed that while Mexico had taken a few licks during the great war, that story was not true for South America. In fact, they survived the war almost completely untouched. Lacking global strike capabilities, they were largely ignored by the warring parties. The starry-eyed isolation plan was largely a European one, and the plan simply seemed to exclude the entire western hemisphere. Why bother with South America? They had little to offer the world, and they were too far and isolated. In fact, they even went as far as to congratulate themselves for 'freeing' South America of American influence and corruption.
With Mexico's government weakened, it left the country primed for the largest military force in the region to take over - the cartels. Mexico had become a narco-state. Without any threat from government forces - American or otherwise - the cartels expanded influence worldwide, filling the economic hole left by America's absence with a global drug ring. South of Panama, without the 'interference' of America - as the isolation planners would put it - South America was free to pursue its own destiny, a destiny that seemed to largely revolve around fifty years of civil wars and military coups.
Over the coming months, we learned much from Europe, Africa, and Asia, and replaced the wonder we held in our hearts with cynicism and anger and disgust. Instead of the utopia that had been envisioned, there was nothing more than endless war. While North Korea had fallen in World War III, China now occupied the Korean penninsula. Most of Eastern Europe had fallen to Russia. Africa was... well it was still Africa.
In Europe the situation was little improved. The European Union had combined into the United European States, headed by Germany and France. The United Kingdom had undergone its own degree of voluntary isolationism, withdrawing further into itself. It attempted to reunify the commonwealth, but Chinese control of the South Pacific left Australia and New Zealand subject to absolute trade embargoes.
To the north, Scandinavia had suffered immensely. Without oil and the american economy to sell their investments, Norway had gone from one of the most prosperous nations to a state whose crippling debts had to be underwritten every year by the rest of the UES. Threats from Russia had pushed Finland into a military state, and tensions were high that invasion could occur any day. Pushing for hardline social reform, tolerance, and acceptance, refugees from the war-torn North Africa and Southwest Asia flooded by the millions into Europe. Cries to even attempt to slow the flow were ignored as the mewling complaints of the bigoted. Before long, the population outpaced the capability to feed and employ people, and the dream of prosperity, where no man had to want for anything, had waned into a slow, cold recession that had lasted for nearly four decades. Hundreds of square miles of cheap, filthy government tenaments were erected ringing the major cities.
Everywhere we had gone, we found that over and over, that good intentions mean nothing without the wilpower to see them out. Our envoys were given a cold reception and simply told to leave. "America wasn't wanted anymore", they insisted.
And so we returned home.
And then we rebuilt the walls.
Maybe the world needed fifty more years.
| 2022-09-12T17:39:07 | 2018-01-18T02:39:17 | 579 | 129 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work.
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"Finally, it is complete. Now, nothing can ruin my plans!" I threw back my bead and laughed as I pulled the chicken out of the oven and set it on the table.
"Our plans, you mean," Elizabeth said. I had kidnapped her last month, but we had hit it off. She came back and we had started dating in secret. She sighed. "Do you really need to do an evil laugh every time something goes right?" she asked. "It's a bit clichè."
"Sorry," I said, cringing. "Force of habit. It's taken 3 months for us to finally get a date without that idiot crashing through the roof-"
I was interrupted by a loud crash and a cloud of dust billowing down from the roof. "It's over, Mechanic!" Psy shouted. "Your evil plans will not succeed!" He turned to Elizabeth. "I have come to rescue this woman!"
I sighed. "Very well then." I stood up. "So, you have finally arrived, Psy!" I called out. "It's too late, though. I have already planted a bomb in City Hall! See?" I pulled a remote out if my pocket and pressed a button. A wall moved, revealing a screen showing a clock, ticking down from 7 minutes. I tilted my head. "That's just enough time for you to fly there, with only 2 minutes to diffuse it. So, what will you do?"
Psy growled at me. "You are a monster, and once I defeat you-"
"6 and a half minutes, Psy. The clock is ticking." I smiled. "You should be getting somewhere, shouldn't you?"
Psy flew out of the hole in the roof with a shout. Elizabeth looked at me. "Did you really plant a bomb in City Hall?"
I smiled. "Of a sort. The bomb is filled with a sealing foam, one that even Psy can't break out of. It's set to go off if it's tampered with in any way." I checked my watch. "That should give us about... 45 minutes, an hour, to finish our dinner." I smiled. "I love a good contingency plan. I poured us glasses of wine and lifted it. "To love, us, and evil."
|
Gwen Stacey always felt that dating Spider-Man was just surreal.
Think about it: you befriend a guy in college, you think he’s cute, he gets awkwardly shy around you, - the clear signs, and you kind of like him back. He’s also a straight up hottie and he’s smart af.
Time goes on, you brake up with your high school sweetheart and the cute boy (his name is Peter Parker), who’s now your best friend, is growing on you as more than that. He’s sweet, he’s caring and he goes out of his way to make you feel like the most beautiful woman in this world. It’s perfect and you can’t ask for a better boyfriend.
As the relationship grows, you move in with this boy, and not only do things get better, you start seriously considering that marriage is a thing and that it will happen shortly.
However, things start to get weird when Peter leaves sporadically and randomly at night. You find this weird Spider-Man suit in his closet and you wonder whether he has a weird fetish or perhaps, he attends comic cons and has never told you about it.
As weeks turn to months, you notice that these taxing trips at night are making Peter exhausted and his standard of how he cared for you isn’t the same.
There are no dates, there are no special gifts, or details.
He’s immersed in these late night escapades and while you thought he was cheating at first, the smell of sweat, dirt and the bruises tell a different story.
*Could he be cheating?* No. (You’ve made sure)
*Could he be Spider-Man?* No. (But maybe?)
You let it slide, you stop questioning him. But sure enough, one day as you’re walking to your dad’s old office at the NYPD, you get swooped up and not in a romantic way.
You look up and you see the most terrifying creature you can think of. A very athletic man in a slimy, green suit from head to toes, with a green mask holding the most manic/evil look; as you begin to wonder where you’re at, you feel like you’re floating and travelling through air.
**You’re being kidnapped by the Green Goblin.**
When you ask why you’re being kidnapped, you receive the most sincere answer and kind of what you expected, but you’re rather surprised by the demeanour of your captor.
He simply exclaims:
*“I found out Peter is Spider-Man and I knew this would hurt him. I know this isn’t ideal for you and I’m sorry, but this what I need to do.*
*I hope you don’t end up hurt in this and I can release you, but that might not be the case.*
*By the way, my name is Norm and I think you’re beautiful and talented. I’ve read all your papers on the New York University Biology Journal. “*
*What?*
Let’s just back track. **Your boyfriend is Spider-Man. What in the fuck?**
How could he not tell you? You’re his best friend, for years and nothing was ever said.
As you keep questioning yourself, a battle ensues in the background.
*“Let her go!”* \- says Peter
*“Never, you take her for granted”* \- says Norm.
*“Don’t you fucking bring up my relationship, we’re here because you’ve kidnapped her and because you stole equipment from the NYPD”*. - says Spider-Man.
*“I’ve creeped her for months now. You don’t take care of her, you’ve stopped treating her or reciprocating the love she shows you day in and day out.*
*Also, I know you’re out playing vigilante most nights, but you stop by the village before you head back home every time.* \- says the Green Goblin.
**Wait, isn’t that we’re his high school crush lives? Mary Jane Watson?**
**Fuck.**
**He’s out there fighting crime AND cheating on you.**
As the battle comes to a halt (you’re watching strapped on a chair from afar - this is what all villains do, relax), you see Peter approaching Norm. It seems that he has pointed to the stolen equipment and is now on his way out. From afar he waves and gives you one of those comforting half-smiles. Wow, he’s kind of cute, you think.
Peter gets on his phone to call the cops, you realize he is coming towards you. You can’t face him and he knows what you now know.
*“I’m sorry, babe”* \- he says.
You wait until he’s released you from the chair and you head home, walking as fast as you can while he follows you and shouts ALL the excuses as to why he did what he did.
You grab your belongings. Head home to your mom’s and realize what a fucking night that was. What in the fuck? You’re boyfriend is Spider-Man, he also cheats on you and the hot villain who kidnapped you in a jet pack / glider device is not actually quite the villain.
Wtf. Anyway, you head to sleep.
Weeks go by, you really don’t want to know anything about Peter or Spider-Man. You’re sick of it.
New York is a city that you feel familiar with but you’re getting quite tired of. **You still think about that boy with the Green Mask every now and then.**
One day as you browse your LinkedIn, you see an article with a link from the NYT about a *“Norman Osborn who’s creating jobs and providing water in Africa through tech”.*
**It’s the boy with the green mask.**
You decide to look him up on Instagram and boom... @nosbscience. You’ve found him and his account isn’t private.
You decide to risk it, and take a plunge by sending him a DM.
*“Hey”*
The next day you check and you find a long novel written as a response:
*“Hey Gwen, I'm sorry about what happened in New York a couple months ago. I was desperate to obtain the ‘weapons’, which were really just dynamite nukes so that I could help a village find water in south Mali.*
*I’m sorry about kidnapping you and I’m sorry about your boyfriend. Studying you for those weeks before kidnapping you helped me understand love and what I need to find.*
*I hope this finds you well and if you ever want to catch up, I’ve moved to Paris.*
*- Norm“*
The message, bundled with the urge for new air is creating a sense of spontaneity mixed with impulsiveness.
Fuck it. You’re going to Paris.
As you settle at your hotel, you message Norm and inform him that you’d like to see him.
He replies promptly and sends you the address of a very cozy, warm and colourful cafe down the street from your house - *“Let’s meet in half an hour*”.
Your heart is pounding, even more than when you and Peter were a thing. But you’re ready for this and you head out.
The cafe is a work of art, pastel yellows adorn the walls and the pastries and the freshness inundates the smell of the inside, before you even get to take a seat, you hear a “hey” that scares the crap out of you.
*“HEY!”*
It’s Norm. He’s as good looking as you remember him, even with the mask off. You both sit down at a table with a view towards the warm and vivid streets of Paris.
The conversation flows seamlessly, he’s actually read all your papers and shares a passion for science (*“I’m something of a scientist myself”* \- he whispers) and you end up having one of the best conversations you’ve had with anyone. Ever.
The question that lingers in your mind is why he never asked you out in New York. You promptly say:
*“I broke up with Peter six months ago, why wouldn’t you ask me out then?”*
To which you’re shocked to find out:
*“Every time I went out on a date, Peter would show up in costume and ridicule me, while sweeping up the girl and taking her for himself later on. It never worked. I could never date in NYC, Spider-Man would always ruin my dates.*
*If I had asked you out. He would have found a way to show up and spoil it. So I figured I’d leave you alone.*
*However, when I saw your DM, I knew you felt what I felt that night in NY and I figured it’d be worth a try. I can’t believe how happy I am this has happened:*
***Norman Osborn on a date with Gwen Stacey. In Paris. “***
&#x200B;
| 2019-02-23T07:55:50 | 2019-02-23T07:33:44 | 34 | 23 |
[WP] When you kill someone, their remaining life span is added to yours. Archaeologists have just found a cavern, apparently sealed off for thousands of years, with a single person living inside.
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Screams echo through the halls and rattle the windows. My first instinct is to run but I can’t turn back now, I’m so close, I could end this nightmare here and now. I keep pushing, every step feeling heavier than the last. I can hear her, a deafening BANG comes from the end of the hall and everything falls still. Shadows crawl across the walls moving like fingers clawing for anything that dares enter her manor. I reach the end of the hall, my next move hangs over me like an anvil. A shotgun blast blows a hole through the door knob.
“Freeze you fucking demon!” She’s there with so many corpses lining the floors, her face bloodied from the horrors she’s committed in these walls, hands clenched on her pistol, she smiles at me. Her eyes speak everything she keeps inside.
“You can’t kill me.. you couldn’t handle the burden..” her words spark sudden realization, if I kill her.. I live out what she would have. Who knows how many have died before I got here. Years and years of sacrifice going unseen, unheard of. All of their lives would fuel mine. But I can’t let her go. If I must watch my world grow old and die, then I will. I chamber another slug and aim for the head.
“Too slow.” She shoots first and my shoulder ignites in pain. The shotgun in my hand fires as I cringe in agony. I hear glass explode, my vision becomes staggered. My thoughts muddled in pain. She walks towards me gun trained on my head “You shouldn’t have come here boy.” She’s standing over me ready to add another life to hers. Life kicks in and I can’t let her go. I sweep her legs and scream in rage, she trips and falls dropping the gun. Gripping my shotgun I turn it around and bash her skull. I hear bones break, my arm is throbbing, can’t stop, she has to die. I get on my feet and see the fear in her eyes. It’s the end for you demon.
“Say hi to the golden girls bitch.” One flash wipes Betty whites face off the earth. I feel a hundred lives enter mine. My thoughts start racing. The pain in my shoulder lifts. A blinding flash of light consumes the room, the screams of every sacrifice consume me and let loose. I will live their lives through mine, each souls energy fueling my ventures. There’s still immortals to kill, but now I’m one of them. There’s more work to do, time to leave.
|
The rough slab was covered with a dense overgrowth of moss and ivy, and as Jonah cut away the vines with his hatchet and leaned into the sides of the massive stone he thought of the events that led him to this point, putting all of his determination into moving the great weight.
At one time everyone knew of the nature of the world, people were taught it as kids. Kill someone, and their time becomes your time. Of course, killing was eventually made illegal, but its not as if that was going to stop everyone. In a world where bloodshed begets immortality, temptation is a constant. All civilizations were once forged in that fire. Only with the outlawing of murder and the World Council’s formation three thousand years ago, based on so-called peaceful ideals, had humanity known a lesser level of bloodshed, even if it was limited. Nevertheless the World Council eventually began to suppress the knowledge of this phenomenon in humans, and as society formed around a concept of peace and non-violence and technology developed to pacify the masses, those who broke from this code were hunted down without mercy. Little did most of society know that the World Council had taken all of those lifetimes for themselves.
For Jonah, none of this had mattered to him before now. He cared not for murder or politics, nor for immortality. He had sought truth, knowledge. His field was history, and though it be bloody it had led him to learning of the ability to steal lifetimes from others by killing them. When he attempted to publish a paper on his findings all his work was seized and he was told to consider himself lucky. All Jonah had was his journal, where he’d written about an old document he discovered in the ruins of an abandoned laboratory in Rome.
They had named it the Lone God Theory, the idea that eventually all the killing would come down to two humans, and then one would kill the other and only one practically immortal human would then be left to wander the earth alone until either they or the planet finally died, whichever came first.
Eventually this knowledge led him to dig deeper, combing through abandoned buildings, hacking servers, always looking over his shoulder, and when he learned the Council had been killing anyone declared criminals and taking their lifespans, Jonah fled to far-off regions of the world, living on the run, seeking out a way to bring down the World Council without directly killing them. To Jonah the Council had been creating a complacent society for millennia so that they may keep power forever by killing anyone who broke the law, and to him reality had become nothing more than a joke. These people had absolute control, and Jonah felt all knowledge of the system of life stealing was too dangerous for anyone to have if those who maintained order were to use the system against itself in that way. Now all his hopes rested here, with someone the World Council had supposedly sealed away a millennia ago. A mere legend of a person who once defied the Council openly and persisted so long they could not kill him, so they entombed him instead so that he may wait to die. Yet none remained who knew the nature of his defiance, and Jonah was at the end of a long rope with his only hope of success resting behind this boulder.
Having nearly dislocated his shoulder without budging the massive stone, Jonah decided on a different approach. Jonah had always tried to preserve history, an archaeologist at his core, but sometimes discovering something needs a will to overcome obstacles, and as Jonah stuck a bundle of dynamite from his bag into a crack in the stone he hoped it wouldn’t collapse the structure. In another time he might’ve had a team here making sketches of the ancient writing and excavating the boulder professionally, but that was another life, before he discovered the truth.
Jonah lit a match and sparked the fuse, ducking for cover as the boulder exploded into fragments. Beyond it’s dust cloud was a dark cavern cut like an oblong hexagon, obviously man-made, and it descended downward at an angle deep into the mountain.
Jonah pulled out his flashlight and entered, hugging the wall. After walking far enough to reach a point where he could no longer see light from the entrance, he finally reached a T-shaped intersection, the left path going up at a lower angle than the entrance and the right descending further down.
“Hmm...left or right?” He said aloud. He would not have to wait long for a decision, however, as the moment he spoke a loud rumbling grew closer at the left passage, and as Jonah shined his light he could see another large boulder tumbling down the shaft. He immediately jumped back and tried to run up the entrance ramp but suddenly a massive door closed in front of him. With nowhere left to go he sprinted down the right side hall as fast as he could, barely outrunning the boulder and eventually falling into a straight drop. He screamed as he fell, desperately grasping at the air for something to grab on to.
Before long Jonah hit the ground, but rather than hitting stone he landed on a soft bed, breaking his fall safely.
“Um, who the hell are you?” said a voice.
Jonah looked up from the bed to see an ordinary-looking bedroom, albeit with ancient decor and with the exception that it had no door, and standing before him in this room was a young-appearing woman in a combat uniform, not a man at all, with ginger hair and sapphire eyes glaring at him.
“Uhh...I’m Jonah. Are you...are you the one who the World Council sealed away here?” He stood up from the bed and approached her before stopping short as she glared with wider eyes and put up her fists.
“Come no closer! Have you come for my lifespan? It will do you no good. You cannot escape this place!”
“I didn’t come to kill you. I’d hoped to talk to you.”
The woman laughed then, and the glare in her eyes faded for a moment before she regained her composure. “Come all this way for chit-chat with little old Erin? You must be a desperate one. You’ll be stuck here till you die anyway so if you’re not going to try to kill me why would you come here just to talk? It’s suicide.”
“Well I didn’t know I’d get stuck down here.”
“The Council designed this place, just for me. I was too good, too tactical. I evaded them, survived countless attempts on my life. I tried to expose them, but the world was smaller then. They led me here in disguise, saying there was a rebellion forming. It was a trap.”
“So...you killed people? For immortality?”
Erin laughed again. “You obviously barely understand anything.”
Jonah stared at her for a moment with a look of confusion.
“You think this is just about immortality? No, it’s about power. How do you think humans gained this ability in the first place?”
“Weren’t we just born with it?”
“No, not always. Eons ago there were other beings, not from our world. We took immortality from them. They predate all known civilizations.”
“How could you possibly know something like that?”
“Because the World Council knows it. I was once a member, until we made that discovery. I realized then that we were simply living like fatted calfs and that a greater force could one day wipe us out and take our immortality from us just like we had from someone else. I decided to end the world council and all knowledge of the system of stealing another’s lifespan. I killed 12,783 people that day as I carved a path out of the Sanctum and made my escape. Some of those people were Council members but most escaped my blade and were likely replaced. That is the only reason I have lived this long without aging. I probably took a few million years that day. Once I was out in the world I’d hoped to lead a rebellion, eventually anarchy. I felt as long as humanity thrived on bloodshed, if another species ever returned to our world they’d be in for a rude welcome.”
“So in a way you tried to do what I came here to find hope for, an end to the Council...only now we are both stuck here. I’d hoped to find some way to end the Council without killing them directly, maybe a way to cause them to die naturally like with a flood or a cave in, something natural. Then no one would know about the life stealing system. But I’m not a killer. All I wanted was a lasting peace.”
“Wouldn’t have worked. People learn about it as soon as they kill someone. Can’t keep people from killing, now can you?” Erin eyed Jonah then with sudden intent, and Jonah felt his hair stand on end.
“No, I suppose you can’t.” he replied, reaching for his revolver he had tucked into a holster beneath his jacket.
Just then Erin drew a dagger from behind her back and lunged at him, and just as she reached his throat he pulled his gun and fired a shot. Erin clutched her breast as she bled out on the floor, the bullet having pierced her heart. Jonah lay motionless on the bed, slumped over with the dagger protruding out the back of his neck.
Erin laughed to herself as her vision faded, and she said aloud, “If we both die, who gets all those lifetimes?”
| 2020-05-16T06:29:22 | 2020-05-16T06:17:20 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] A new invention enables people to remember their dreams with absolute clarity. It turns out we were forgetting them for a very good reason.
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I had a wife and two kids. It was a summer day, a Wednesday -- the morning cool hadn't left yet, but I was already feeling lazy.
I hadn't planned it, but I surprised them by packing for a picnic. I even packed a box of ice-cream, and the kids were so shocked and pleased, as if it was the best thing in the world -- like how every thing is for kids that age -- but it was for us, too. We watched them play, chasing butterflies, imagining monsters, as we enjoyed the view of the great valley below with its flowing hills and winding river, peppered here and there with trees and berry bushes. And I held her hand. I want to go back.
I want to go back to that place where it's aways summer. I want to go back to that place where I don't have to work to live and I can just go on a picnic any Wednesday I want. I want to go back to that place where its just a moments walk from a beautiful hill, untouched by the scabs and scars of buildings, roads, and telephone wires.
I want to go back to that place where my wife is still alive, I can still hold her hand as I watch our kids.
But I can't go back to sleep, I've tried all the drugs, I've tried the machine, but I can't fall asleep. People tell me I need to eat but nothing here tastes as real as it did there. Maybe this will take me back. Maybe it wont. But it doesn't matter. Reality isn't good enough now that I know dreaming.
[Goodbye.](http://youtu.be/aaOjDewD3Po)
|
Part 1: Part 2 is a reply to this comment.
I recieved an email today. It was from a Psycologist, Dr. McGill, asking for participants for a study. It didn't say what the study was about, but it promised at least 5,000$ in pay afterword, and an extra 1,000$ for every extra hour it took over the estimated 2 hours. I had just lost my job, as well as my girlfriend, she didn't die or anything, she had just broken up with me because she says I payed more attention to Call of Duty then her. She was right. I cared more about that fucking game then her. I felt bad because of this, and I needed the money. So I joined the study. Maybe it would show her that i wasn't a complete, useless, piece of shit.
Dr. McGill seemed like a normal guy. When I arrived at his office, he welcomed me with Tea. I'm not normally a tea drinker, but he said it was part of the study so I abliged. He shared small talk as I drank it, but then he decided it was time to start the question portion of the study. "So, let's get started shall we?" he said. "What do you do to keep yourself entertained?"
"Video games. I also spend alot of my time on the internet."
"Ahh, interesting. You seem like a normal young man then, hmm? almost all participents of your age share similar intrests."
"Well I suppose video games are very popular amoung people like me."
"Yes they are. The internet is also a much more crucial aspect of life now, I suppose. Back when I was in school it was just a tool to help you do research. It was bloody useless back then. Slower than a tortoise." I nodded. "Well, let's continue."
He asked several more questions before he told me to lie down. He took me over to a different room with one of those typical beds Psycologists normally put you on. I lied down, and he told me what comes next.
"Now, I will light this essence here, and then I will leave and give you five minutes alone. Just close your eyes, breathe, and try to relax. When I return, more questions will follow."
I was confused by what this had to do with the study, but given there was no description of it when I accepted, I couldn't complain. I did excactly as the Dr. told me. After a minute or so of not smelling anything, I opened my eyes to see the room filling with a thin, white, smoke. Normally I would have been coughing by now, as I have asthma, but strangely, nothing. I looked around the room and saw the essence. It wasn't smoking. The smoke, or mist whatever it was, wasn't coming from the essence. Before I could get up to look for the source, I woke up in my bedroom.
I was a bit dazed, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I checked my email, and noticed there was no email from a Dr. McGill. It was a dream. Too bad. I needed the money. Well it being an average Saturday morning, and me being someone who didn't lie around and sleep all day, I decided I would play some Cod. I popped my favorite WWII Cod game into my Playstation, and started it up. I joined a game and the countdown timer started.
TEN. Nothing felt out of the ordinary at all. I just sat and watched the number tick by.
NINE. My hand started getting sweaty. Now my hands normally sweat when I play, but never this early.
EIGHT. The controller felt cold now. I thought this as a bit strange, but thought nothing of it.
SEVEN. The screen got closer. Bigger, it seemed. I started to worry.
SIX. The Hud on the tv vanished. The countdown stayed though, so I thought it was just a rare glitch or something. The sound started to get closer too. Not louder, CLOSER.
FIVE. My vision started to tunnel on the screen. I tried to look to the side at my bed, but as I turned, I just saw more of the game. Just more water, and the sides of the landing boat I was in. "What the fuck? Wheres my bed?"
FOUR. I felt a tight grip on my shoulder followed by a stern, grizzled voice yelling at me, "PRIVATE GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER! I CAN'T AFFORD TO HAVE YOU MISSING YOUR BED DURING AN INVASION! THIS IS YOUR TIME TO FIGHT!"
THREE. I panicked. I looked down at my hands and saw I was holding a rifle.
TWO. It hit me. It wasn't a game anymore, I was at war. I looked up and saw a beach fast approaching. There were concrete bunkers at the top of the beach, with flashes coming from them. I heard whizzing beside my ears, loud explosions from all around, and the hmm of the engine from the craft I was in.
ONE. I looked in my boat to find many young men like me. Around 50 it seemed. I suddenly felt okay for a second. Seeing others like me made me not feel alone. This short peace didn't last long though.
ZERO. I felt a violent jolt as we hit the beach. The front door started to descend on the towards the ground. It wasn't a quarter of the way down before the bullets came flying in. Roughly have of the men in front off me dropped Instantly. They stood no chance, they were almost vaporized. I wasn't hit, however I was covered in a red mist.
"GO MEN! GO! GO! GO!" My officer screamed at the rest of us who were still alive. I took off. I ran as fast as I could towards the beach. I saw a small group of men in a crater in front of me. I jumped in and landed in a splash. I looked down to see it wasn't water. There was a pool of blood. Body parts. The other men in the crater with me where shocked. One just sat, there staring at me. Like I knew everything, or something. He looked at me like I was Jesus or someone like that. Another was crying hysterically. The third was holding a leg. His leg. Or what was left of it, anyway. I looked around and saw that the whole beach was covered in blood, and bodies. Hundreds of bodies. I heard screaming, not just yelling, screams that I can't begin to describe. The worst things I had ever heard. Then an explosion. Everything went quiet. I turned around to see the others in the crater with me, and they were gone. The hole I was in was twice the size it was before. My cover was gone, so I decided to run inland. Although as I tried to run, I coudn't. I looked down and saw my legs where gone. It was then that the pain hit. It was like a sharp knife being run up and down the nerves in my legs. There was a burning feeling, and the base of my body pulsing with every heartbeat, bringing me closer to death each time. The worse experience of my life was ending, and it was bringing me with it. The pain lasted a long time, what seemed like forever, but someone eventually came to me. He tried asking me questions, but I wasn't listening. I just looked into this mans eyes, and I saw the concern, his being. He tried to save me, but I just started at him and did nothing. He looked back at me and seemingly read my eyes. He pulled out two viles of something, and injected me with them. The pain, feeling, sound, vision, everything just started to fade. The nightmare was over, I was leaving myself. No sadness, no more pain, just an ever darkening world. Then, a bright light.
I heard DR. McGill start to talke to me. "Hello? Are you awake? What happened in your dream?"
"Dream?" I said? "That was no dream. I lived that. WWII. Normandy. D-Day. I was there."
"Explain it all to me. In as much detail as possible."
| 2015-03-09T07:41:40 | 2015-03-09T07:32:53 | 40 | 18 |
[WP] You're pronounced clinically dead, but soon after brought back to life. In your brief period of death, you 'awake' surrounded by darkness and floating with some sort of warm gel-like substance.
[Thread that inspired WP](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/99q9n5/redditors_who_have_been_clinically_dead_what_did/e4psnmp/)
|
Darkness. Silence. Warmth.
It's... peaceful here.
I don't feel my body... No, that's wrong, I don't *feel.* At all.
I'm not sure if time passes here, how long has it been? An hour? A week? All I know is that I am safe here.
I died, I know it. I remember the doctors and my mother begging them to save me. I remember the pain and how every part of me hurt. I remember the smell of blood and burnt rubber. I remember the sound of broken glass and sirens.
Now though, there is nothing. It is calm. I am at peace.
Something breaks through the silence, a quiet, rhythmic thumping. I hear... voices... I think? There is a woman's voice, she sounds like she's in pain. I think I hear her say, "I can't wait to meet you."
I'm not sure what the other voices are saying. I start moving slowly... somewhere. I don't want to leave here though. It is so peaceful, so warm.
The voices start to become clearer, the woman is heaving heavily. There's a mans voice now, he keeps saying the same thing over and over, though I still can't hear what it is he's saying.
Suddenly I am no longer in that place. I feel my body again. There are so many noises, so many voices, different from the ones I had been hearing. I rip my eyes open and it is so bright. The doctor's face stares down at me, I am angry at him for taking me away from there. I try to sit up but everything hurts so much. There is so much here, too much.
I want to go back.
|
I was driving while starting at my phone looking at a Reddit post about what death was like when I actually crashed into a tree and presumably died.
Yes I know I'm an imbecile in a tastelessly ridiculously situation where I died after being distracted by a post about death but this time I wouldn't be coming back. Or so I thought.
While most of the comments I had read were about some serene peace or being able to see from above, the one I was reading was about someone being surrounded by darkness in some kind of gel-like substance. Sort of like Neo when he takes the pill in the Matrix.
"Fuck, this one's awake. The program didn't shut it down. Fucking hell, X098B. You're an idiot," some voice was yelling.
I was blind and half aware of the situation since I was still knocked the fuck out into Idaho.
"Fuck off you asshole. It's not my fault we're running 220 cycle old distributors because of fucking budget cuts. The fucking senators. Something must've triggered it hard otherwise the neural flow system would've shut it down and assigned something else instead. Now we've got one of them awake and you're here blaming me Z978S," the other voice yelled back.
My head was still spinning. I found it odd that I was hearing English albeit strange and sounding different from any normal accents I had ever heard.
"For fuck sake X098B, the processing centre is going above regulation limits on this thing. We're fucked. The bosses are gonna send someone to make sure we drown in tubs tonight. You absolute fucking moron. Could you not do a ***basic*** maintenance task to keep it under whilst it experienced a shut down? Fuck my life man. I jus.."
I had managed to open my eyes and get sitting upright while the two technician types were arguing. They looked human but thousands of years advanced somehow.
Minimal imperfections, perfect bodies and the whole 9 yards. The angry one was staring at me and so was the idiotic one.
"who dah fuckh arh yooh guysh?" I mumbled out.
I had clearly never used my mouth before in this reality. Obviously this was a Matrix situation but without the metal wires and protrusions. Funny how the Wachowskis were spot on.
"Oh fuck, this monkey can speak. I thought they weren't evolved enough back then? You know, with the whole loaf of idiotic things that these mouthbreathers let happen in the centuries before the 32nd," Z978S stated condescendingly.
"Shut the fuck up Z. They could speak and do most of the things we do, it's just that some of them couldn't make the right decisions that's all. No need to be an utter prick about it dude," X098B replied back.
"Where am I?" I croaked back whilst coughing gel and other nasty stuff out.
"Doesn't matter Monkeyboy, the authorities are probably on their way to burn you alive like they used to back in 50th century when the tech was shitty and subpar," Z978S said nonchalantly before facing their counterpart, "so dude, I'm going to make D999A lose the internal recordings of the last 15 microcycles and the next 10 so we can fuck off and have deniability about this FUBAR. Sound good?"
"Okay I know you're scared," X098B said ignoring Z978S, "let me explain-"
"Dude, this is time sensitive. We need to leave here or we'll be scorched like this poor fucker in 1 macrocycle too," X098B said back.
"About 300 odd centuries ago, humanity decided to see how they could avoid the mistakes of humans of the past and see if they could use science to weed out inherently bad desires and such. So they used DNA and other technological innovations, for you anyway, to recreate genetically perfect versions of humans of the past before running them through mental simulations to see if humanity would repeat itself and sad to say, it did and was probably worse the second time over. Anyway, we decided to do this every generation until the whole project became a giant experiment to help provide what you in your hypothetical time would call eugenicists with data to stop humanity making the same mistakes. But this whole project is badly run and we use lazy methods like keep bodies artificially "perfect" for test conditions and wiping and rewiping memories as space across all the colonies is limited. Sort of like RAM," X098B said.
Does this mean the 21th century I knew never really existed? It was worse somehow? I don't know.
"Right, since X has taken pity on you and they haven't burnt anyone alive for the last 290 centuries or so meaning there could be mercy for you. So I might as well explain to your pea-brain what this means for you," he took a deep breath, "this basically means the world you know has never existed and is basically one giant real time simulation of the 21st century we existed in except somehow much more worse than in the history books for various reasons. You are basically reusable memory used to run different "brains" until you die in the simulation or your body is taken out of commission. Also you're kept alive by lazy engineering by our standards so there's that."
Jeez, that was a lot to take on. A few minutes ago, I was driving to a birthday party and now it turns out my mind is a plug in for a simulation on some random body/memory thing.
"You're a technically 200... No wait 320 megacycle old piece of technology that is used to store minds for the simulation in this complex engineering project *we* ourselves barely understand. Now about the burning alive part. You should technically be burnt alive since all the memories and shit shouldn"flood" your brain and fuck you up beyond repair for the project. This is because your homo-sapien body isn't meant to be used as computer memory and it's why you guys get something you call "déjà vu" and "alternative universe syndrome" where you remember things that you shouldn't or remember stuff differently due to stuff between "people" that inhabit your mind leaking over at very best. But considering your mind hasn't flooded the first 30 seconds, I'd like to say that all those years of engineering efforts were success and hopefully we're not killed because we've fucked up a 400 quintillion credit memory drive. But you never know with bureaucracy in this era. Or any if I'm being honest," Z978S laughed.
"Can they rewrite my memory or anything if I survive? Why do you speak like me? Where is this?" I mumbled back. My eyes hurt from this real-life light.
"Rewrite? Possibly but I doubt it. You're no longer in the system since the parts that were keeping you there have fucked up so you're basically uhh... Lemme take a look... Mark Smith, 27 and from New York now. As for sounding like us, it's more you sound like us because some old politicians wanted the simulations to sound like us rather than the original languages of the past since it was "just a sim" and "it shouldn't matter" and totally nothing to do with a one-fits-all mindset. And this is the Chamberlain facility in what you guys called Seattle 300 centuries ago on Earth. Answer everything?" He said.
I nodded no because I was still confused I was at the fact that I was in a simulation of a time that had long passed and was also nothing like it because the language was different.
X098B looked at his phone and turned to face Z978S
"Fuck, Z. We have to go. I'm messaging D999A to switch off the feeds and remove the prior ones. The authorities are 20 minicycles away and J124H also said they had the cannons on them so there's no fucking mercy for Mark here or us for their fuckups," X098B said urgently.
"We can't leave Mark her-" Z started saying.
"Fuck off, we have to run. I'm sorry Mr Smith but I hope you understand that this place is more authoritarian than your era so we really don't want to get fucked for trying to save the weakling. Hopefully whatever agent that finds you makes it quick," he stated before tapping his phone-like thing and running.
Was I going to die here?
| 2018-08-23T19:09:12 | 2018-08-23T19:05:40 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] You experience time backwards. All you've ever known is prison, but soon you'll be freed in order to commit the crime that earns you a life sentence.
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I was born like a lot of people in prison. I took my first breath when someone pulled a sharpened toothbrush out of my chest. I spent my days like everyone else, absorbing the brown lumps into my rectum for nourishment and then, a while later, pulling various bits and pieces out of my mouth and putting them on a tray. It was a personal game of mine trying to figure out what would come out based on the shape of the brown stuff that went in. Peanuts and corn seemed to go right through, although they multiplied like you wouldn't believe. A few kernels would turn into enough to fill a cob. Another rule was that if it burned going in, it was going to burn coming out. I swear I'll never spit a mouthful of hot sauce into a bottle again!
Some days I would wake up with aches and bruises all over me and my fellow inmates would put their fists and knees on me and make the pain go away. One time one of them put a tooth into my mouth just by touching my cheek! I read something about that in the prison library once. "Laying-on of hands" I think it was called. Supposedly a rare miracle, but it seemed to happen all the time in here. I was lucky to be in the presence of so many faith healers.
Eventually they let me out. I had to turn in my fresh uniform for a dirty t-shirt and jeans, which was kind of a bummer, but at least I was seeing the outside for the first time. They gave me a ride in the front of the police car while they drove in the back. I have no idea how they could navigate so well without seeing where they were going. I mean, I know they have that little mirror, but every time they looked into it, they were just staring at me.
Once they let me out of the car, they backed away from me with their guns drawn on me before jumping back into the car and driving off. Those kidders! I looked around and noticed a pair of legs sticking out of an alleyway nearby. I walked over and saw a lady lying there, and she looked really hurt! She wasn't breathing and had these really nasty bruises around her neck. There was blood all around her head. I thought about all those times I had been given the healing touch in prison. Would I be able to do it? I gently laid my hands on her throat, but it didn't do anything. I panicked and started gripping her throat tighter while shaking her head up and down. That seemed to do the trick! Her hair was absorbing the blood and soon her eyes opened and she reached up to grab my wrists to let me know she was OK. I stood up and helped her up, then she smiled at me as I walked away, smiling back and waving. I had only been outside for an hour and I was already helping people. It felt pretty good, and I couldn't wait to help everyone I met!
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Most people are born screaming and covered in in goop. They can't talk and can barely hold up their head. They know how to swim instinctively. I woke up in my bunk, with the ability to talk, although drunkenly. I could barely hold my head up as I stumbled up and walked backwards onto the toilet. That pruno made everything sway so much it almost felt like I understood everyone. When my head was spinning, it was the closest I got to feeling like I belonged with humans. That and math. Math makes sense because everything cancels out.
I could and couldn't do a lot of human things. I could see what I was going to do though. What I was meant to do. It is strange because I always felt myself being tugged backwards through these loops I'd have to act. I knew that I saw the world in a way that shouldn't have been possible. I knew when I had to say something, I had slight precognition so that I knew when people were going to say something, right before they said it. It was like addition and subtraction but people felt so strongly. Everything felt into place but others didn't understand it.
I didn't know how the world worked physically though, at least not consciously. My body did things without me knowing it, dressing, eating and the bathroom where all frustratingly out of sync with what I wanted to do. The bathroom was the worst. I knew it was for human waste but I never experienced it like that. Still, two plus two.
Whenever I tried to explain my views as time wore on, I could tell no one could comprehend. I found myself answering their eye rolls, shocked faces turning to neutrality, their brisk walks retreating into in a strolling gate meant that I had scared them off as I spoke, but I saw them move into relaxation from fear as I spoke. It seemed like they knew I was crazy so much that I doubted myself. I was the crazy old prisoner from cell block 8. The one they were going to kick out soon. I always laughed at that because I knew I died in prison. I wrote equations on the wall.
Time went by and I stopped trying to explain. I drank less. I wrote fewer equations. I was quiet and I started taking better care of myself. Shaving was a terrible feeling but as I grew more spry and attractive I knew it was a must. Again while talking was difficult for me, my hands knew the route to take to remove unwanted hair. I did such a good job of my hair seems to go back into places it needed to be.
I got to a point where, slowly, I knew I was getting friends. Some of them I felt a strong connection to, a bond driven by some sort of trauma but I never knew what until it happened and after it happened we would frequently part. Becoming even more attractive, I managed to get some suiters even though it was all in prison. Sex was the oddest thing of all. It felt like plugging up a champaign bottle, unfair. It was like the square root of pie had shoved itself back into me. Still the great feeling before the plugging made it worth it to try.
I had had a host of lovers, responding to them as I knew I must. It would always start with either them fading into view or a fight to drive us together. I liked it best when we ended the relationship best, it always was the most fun. I could see them falling in love with me and I even though I knew them inside and out by then, I could tell it was still fresh to them. Still, after that we would flit away, sometimes they would go to someone else, sometimes we did some light flirting. It always ended with me alone with the knowledge that they didn't know me.
They didn't me, they couldn't. It was so strange to have opinions but never anyone who truly knew me. At least math was consistent.
That's why prison I found wasn't terribly disappointing. I had my heart stretched over and over again by people. I had already been in prison for years by them, what difference did it make that I was in a physical one along with my mental one. It was easier knowing that the ones I loved weren't pure.
Still, one thing got to me. What exactly had I done to warrant this incarceration? With multiplication and exponents everything fell into place and I knew there had to be a reason for my imprisonment. I knew that prison was for punishment and I knew you had to be found guilty but as I wrecked my brain there was nothing I could conceive of that I would be prone to doing. I lived in time loops. I barely felt engaged with people, I couldn't hate enough to commit crime. I understood that others had different experiences but that didn't mean I'd forget the reason why I'd been locked up.
I wondered if it had to do with alcohol. I remembered the vile stuff had shut me down enough that it didn't matter that I was out of sync with others. It had made math a jumble but I think that's what life was supposed to be to most people.
As the years flew by, I became nervous and silent. I stopped taking lovers after feeling the pointlessness of it all. I made friends out of desperation, had the same meals fly out of my mouth, all while knowing that they must have gone in it and I exercised for some god forsaken reason. I was getting more energy by the day and I need an outlet I suppose. I found my hands grew restless, I would always find a pebble or a coin to tinker with.
It was a dull few decades. I mostly kept quiet and pined for a different life.
I had known it was going to be a strange day when I woke up in the uniform they gave fresh prisoner's, the ones who always looked the most scared and who would tell me their crimes. I felt fear too, but mostly because my world, which had been static for so long, was going to change.
I wish I could say that I was excited but being in the same place and routine had suited me. Was it better to be dull and predictable or dangerous and exciting? No one reads books just to see the hero die and while people might want to be daring the fact remains that most remain in safety. I always read to see the hero being their tale with all the plot coming back to an easy going start where the characters are more innocent and peaceful. It's like figuring out a graph problem, consistent.
I could hope my life could be peaceful.
After going through the day in that new uniform I had half expected myself to get out of the prison that morning but instead found myself closing my eyes at the dawn.
It was another two weeks I wore that uniform and they were lonely ones.
It was when I had to change out of the prison uniform and go in for a cavity search that I remembered why I had never bothered to leave prison. It felt like an even more humiliating experience to force though my young body. I had some how regained more shame despite the decades of shared showers.
After that things got a little blurry. The next thing I know I am walking through the court, hands in cuffs, to sit by my lawyer. I watch the trial with more anxiety than I have had in my whole life. I feel disturbed and realize that I don't need to be as the verdict is spoken -I had already served my years.
What bothered me was how I could be convicted of treason when I'd never felt any anger towards my country. I listen as all the evidence becomes tucked away. There were letter's I've never written. There were people who stating they've seen me but who I'd never known, it bothered me greatly because I always knew why I knew someone. I notice how my lawyer tells me he has a good chance of making my case and feel shocked at his confidence. I notice men in black suites towards the back of the courtroom. I counted them. I decided them by the ones with light and dark hair.
On my way out from court, to a place of freedom I suppose, I notice they are following me. I go back to my studio apartment. It is the first time I've been there but the keys fit in my hand and then snuggly in the door lock. This is my home. The walls are covered with chalk board paint and there are equations all over the walls.
I am drawn to a chair. I lean over to a machine.
A blinding light erupts.
My body shakes violently as I see the passage of time, forward and back, each individual atom and it's potential movement creating what we call time. It is more than an equation, more than a simple puzzle it is the what all men fall prey to and what guide our universe. It is the stars and galaxy, black holes and antimatter. It is too much to bare, no mind was made to understand each individual atom.
It's only for an instant and then I understand how I had doomed myself.
I couldn't go further forward than that. Who I am I died that day, even though I know I existed still. My memories died. I became unable to see anything but myself and my own path. Everything else hurt. I knew that I had friends and lovers, that I had lived and grown up. I understand why they locked me away. At least this problem has an answer. Both forward and back.
While I am existing forward and back, unable to explain this way of being I realize there is a second problem.
I don't know what they did with the machine.
| 2017-08-13T00:14:05 | 2017-08-12T23:57:57 | 65 | 14 |
[WP] The monster under the bed and the monster in the closet meet for the first time
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"Hi."
"Hello", i said. She was beautiful; love at first sight. She knew it. I knew it.
"I've always wondered what you actually looked like."
"Oh yeah?"
"You're pretty darn scary."
"Well you're not too cute yourself."
She blushed the most wonderful hue of purple.
"I've been meaning to introduce myself, ever since you made Derek wet the bed, that scare was perfection."
"Really?"
"Yeah!"
"Just an old trick I learned from my dad."
"So.."
"Yeah?"
"You think we could, take a night off sometime and go for a scare through the park or I don't know, creep through a retirement home?"
"I'd love that."
"Great, I'm just a few steps away."
"In the closet."
"Yeah, no. Yeah. You know what I mean."
"Not that there's anything wrong with that."
She even had references to Scarefeld. Amazing. Hideous, a great scarer, and a sense of horror to go with it. I might actually like it here in this small suburban town after all.
|
It was that one time of year, the time of year that nobody expects a monster to be lurking. That's why it is the one day a year I can come out from the closet. Last year I pretended to be a homeless man and spent the holiday at the cafe down the street. It was fun, watching all the people running around and the waitresses busily handing out free coco. The coco... It was so good. This year I have saved up enough coins to pay for a coffee. Not that I need to eat mind you, I've just smelled that coffee all year and thought that it must be the best thing about being human. How could something that smelled so wonderful possibly be bad?
It is almost time now. I quietly crept up to the door and looked through the narrow crack produced by the slats of the door. Any moment now and I would be free to leave. That's when it appeared. A nail. It poked out from... Under the bed? What is this madness! A horn, then a single green eye with a red pupil followed. Gradually, as if unfurling a long coil of bent and mangled wire appeared the form of a... What the hell is that anyway? The best way to describe it is a bunch of wire tape that got twisted with some sort of metallic goo. I realized that I had been holding my breath, and slowly let it out.
The thing heard me. It jerked it's eye towards the closet and made a gurgling sound... I realized that I had been noticed, so I stood up (as much as the tiny closet would allow) and opened the door.
The creature in front of of me didn't seem to have a face or mouth, but judging by the fact that his eye opened wider made me think he was almost as surprised as I was. We stood looking at each other for a moment, then he gurgled again. I spoke in my native language, but it didn't seem to phase him... Or her... Or it... Whatever. To be fair, it could hardly be expected that one who used clicks and pops and whistles to be understood by a gurgler.
He made a gurgle and shook his eye. I looked down. I didn't have a way to communicate with it, and it looked like my one night out was ruined. I turned and started to go back to the closet. It gurgled questioningly. As I opened the door it gurgled more forcefully. I stopped and looked at it. It had moved over to the nightstand where a notepad lay. He moved one of his coils and picked up the pen, while with another coil he beckoned me over. He began to write. Curious, I slid over and looked at what he had written... I say slid, it was more like slithered. Despite my size, I found that slithering made less noise than using my legs and feet.
In very large, hardly legible lettering, very similar to what the child who lived here drew, he had written "English?" I was suprised he knew how to write, but It seemed logical that he would read the papers and drawings that had fallen under lil J's bed. As I read what he had written, I was relieved. I knew some English from listening to Wifey and Dear teaching lil J to talk. I only knew enough english to order the coffee and carry on a simple conversation though.
I realized I had been silent for some time. "Yes" I rasped. Boy, I'm going to have to work on my voice this year...
"I am Fisher" I had taken that name from one of lil' J's favorite toys. "Who are youuu." I tended to draw our the u sound for some reason. Perhaps it was my elongated mouth, or perhaps the enlarged nostrils. Quite honestly, my snout resembled a cross between an alligator and a horse. Gurgler shifted a little and seemed to speak from his torso... If you could call something that thin and wirey a torso... "I am crayola." He must have gotten his name from the crayons that lil J dropped under the bed. That made sense.
"What are youuu doooink here" Crayola shifted again "I liv her." Apparently he hadn't mastered speech yet. That's fine. Neither have I. There I go with that stupid u sound. "Hooow long have youuu beeen here corollla?" "Tu yer" two years. Then he had been around last year when I went out. "Did youuu see me leave last yeeear?" His eye nodded. "Why did youuu not say someeething?" He looked down for a moment then seemed to make up his mind. "I nut kno whir yiu were go to. I nut kno u den."
I asked him if he wanted to go to the cafe with me. He said yes, but that he didn't have a disguise. That made sense. I had not prepped that much, and kind of decided to go on a whim last year. "Youuu comeee now?" He nodded his eye eagerly. I looked around the room. I didn't see anything that would be able to disguise him like I could. "We ned tu Hid youuu..." I grunted. He replied "I think all year. I know hide." He then moved, or rather, half-hopped and half rolled towards the door. Think of a jump rope. Half of the body was jumped forward, while the ends rolled... "Come" I followed him. we went to the parents room, which was just down the hall. I bumped my head on the doorway, forgetting how talk I was when I stood up. It stung. A lot. Anyway, He went to the closet. Inside was the suit of clothes that I had worn last year.
He turned and said "disguise." So I did. I did exactly the same thing as last year. Long overcoat buttoned all the way up. A black skirt to cover my strange legs, and a nice hat that looked completely out of style. It must have been from a long time ago, because I had heard Wifey talk to Dear about getting rid of it. "Not a chance." he had said. "That was grand-dads and I have no intention of parting with it." Moral of the story is that whoever Grand-dad was, he was important to Dear.
I finished getting dressed then turned to Crayola and asked "How I lok?" he looked up and down, and narrowed his eye a little. I assume it was his version of a smile but it looked like he was angry. I'll have to mention that to him later. "Gud. Now I hide." he took out a long hockey stick. At the end of the stick was a cap. He slid his er... tail... into the end and filled it almost completely up. The only thing that didn't fit was his eye. I was impressed. "How uuu Fit?" I asked. He just rolled his eye. "thin."
We then turned and left the house, to enjoy our first of many holidays out. To this day, every "christmas" we go to the cafe down the street and enjoy a cup of hot chocolate and Coffee. And that is how I met Crayola thin-whip.
NOTE: Please forgive the frequent misspellings and grammar. I am still new to this English thing. You humans speak strange.
Edit: by the way, coffee tastes terrible!!!!
Edit2: I changed up some wording and tried to correct spelling. I hope you all enjoyed this, I know that I enjoyed writing it.
| 2014-07-25T08:25:32 | 2014-07-25T08:12:36 | 74 | 50 |
[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.
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The room gets colder, and my papers flutter to the floor. I know he is behind me without turning around. "Hey, Death!" I say, pasting a huge smile on my face, "Has it really been 5,000 years already?"
The faceless demon nods slowly as I continue. "Man, what is this, the 10th time you've visited me? Don't worry, I didn't forget," I laugh brightly. I walk to my fridge and pull out a beautifully decorated cake. "Happy Anniversary!"
If Death had eyes, they would be rolling. His irritation brings me joy, more than I have felt in years. He thunders,
"MORTAL! Now is your chance! Come with me and find rest from life! I KNOW you must be growing weary by now!"
I shrug my shoulders. "Eh, not really. Life is pretty sweet. I mean, I've gotta at LEAST hold out for space travel, right? Then I'll have the whole universe to explore! I'l never get bored!"
Death hangs his head. I know he regrets granting me immortality, resents me for besting him. Before I can say more, he vanishes in a cloud of black smoke.
I look around my empty apartment, and my strength deserts me. I wish I could cry, but I know that the capacity to feel left me long ago. I wonder if I should have asked Death to take me with him. Anything would be better than this.
But spite is a powerful tool, and pride will keep my body alive long after my soul has deserted me.
|
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.
| 2017-11-29T19:01:23 | 2017-11-28T14:17:08 | 539 | 55 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world.
|
Police helicopters roared overhead the densely packed apartment complex. In one of the tiny apartments below, I sat at a dingy kitchen table. Across from me, a man sat slumped in his chair, his hands cuffed behind him. A frustrated scowl etched on his face. "You couldn't have possibly traced the explosives", he said perplexed. "And you found me much too quickly after I announced my ransom demands..." I smiled, and said a phrase I'd uttered to hundreds of suspects before, "Well that's the thing Mr. Griggs, ever since I was a young boy I could always find the remote." His eyes widened in the sickening realization that he had just been collared because of my silly little ability to find the location of any remote control. Just then, one of the CSI detectives burst into the cramped kitched. "Sir, we can't find the remote detonator anywhere." I concentrated again to try and locate the precise location of the detonator within the apartment and my heart sank as my eyes drifted back towards Griggs. At that moment, his scowl turned into a crooked smile. "Isn't this a coincidence", he said in a twisted, jovial tone. "Ever since I was a boy, I never needed a remote."
|
Like every person who came before I was blessed with a perceptibly limited gift, it seemed the gods intended mine to be horribly pointless, but they made a mistake in thinking smutty pleasure was limited. I grew tired of waiting for life to get better, I wanted more, needed more! One morning it dawned on me, my blessing could possibly be used to do more than just engaging in fantastic coitus.
I stewed on the idea for a while and thought about using it to give people a certain erotic feeling concerning an idea or task, could it be used to change an individuals motivation or get them to do things they otherwise wouldn't? I had to test this hypothesis! I never had to be close to someone to get them to start thinking dirty about me. If I wanted coitus, all I had to do was think about copulation with Alex, and she would call soon after in dire need.
I hatched a plan; I needed someone on live TV to test on, so I chose Sean Hannity as my target, I waited until his segment and thought about him copulating his notes, about 10 seconds after the thought he picked up his notes and seemingly fell in love with them, nonstop reading, caressing but then he stood up and started undoing his belt.
The program went to commercial; I assumed he went further but was unable to confirm.
Realizing that he went too far to be useful for anything other than ruining a career or reputation I needed to come up with something more subtle.
My next subject was the Bill Nye the science guy, all I wanted was a temporary obsession when an idea, so I waited for his next live event which I wanted to attend anyway.
The moment was here, and he walked onto the stage, I immediately began thinking about him caressing his tie, I didn't have to wait long for a reaction, he lightly grabbed the tie with his left hand slowly stroking it. It seemed a light distraction and caused a few studders but was a satisfactory piece of data.
My next target was someone I despised; my intent was simple, I wanted to ruin Ajit Pai, I thought of him spooning a stoplight in time square until he finally showed up on various live streams doing just that. I had to go further though; I had to see him in ruin. I thought of him engaging in coitus with the road, but that wasn't enough. His professional life was over, but I wanted more.
I caught eye of Danny DeVito watching this unfold and knew what must be done; I imagined Danny penetrating him from behind with an upward thrust, and it happened as I watched from the various live feeds.
Media coverage of the event was censored, but everyone who had a TV or internet knew what happened, I laughed watching the media talk about his "disgusting acts of public indecency."
I felt a need for power now more than ever, I knew I could ruin people but could I get them do enjoy an idea they otherwise would dismiss?
I wanted political power, at the time I didn't think I could influence the masses all at once, so I came up with a plan to blackmail people into submission.
I rented an Airbnb, set up cameras and hired an escort, I wasn't sure on all the details but went ahead with it anyway. I Imagined Ted Crus fornicating my escort in the Airbnb, but I ended up waiting longer than I thought. He showed up and did indeed engage in intercourse, but now I had to figure out how I was going to use this to my advantage. The plan was hatched, and I decided to execute, I thought about him caressing my front door, and he eventually came knocking. I was beyond nervous, but I proceeded to show him the videos and gave him only one demand, all he had to do was support legalization of marijuana, that's it, and the tapes disappear.
He agreed to the terms and went on his way, this only sparked more desire though and got me thinking about my next target.
I went after a few more senators and a few congressmen, the simple plan to legalize marijuana seemed to be having the desired outcome.
I settled on the president of the united states, thinking the tried method would work I went ahead with the plan the same as every other time.
The ultimate power I thought, I could get him to do anything!
As per usual I imagined him doing something erotic at my door, but things didn't go as planned.
There was no knock, the door flew open, and I was immediately detained, a sack was put over my head. I was shoved into a vehicle, and they drove off. When we finally arrived, I had no clue where I was or what their intent was, their intention wasn't kept secret for long.
A man I couldn't see entered my room, and without hesitation started talking: We know what you've been doing, we don't know how you got them to do it, but you're going to do it again. Tell me how the blessing works, and you get to live, refuse, and we will end you.
I wanted to use my blessing on him, but I had no clue who he was; if let him know how the blessing works he will immediately know I need to be able to imagine them, at least a face is needed for that.
I wagered they wouldn't kill me if I spilled the truth, I told him everything and why I did it.
He left, leaving me alone in the darkness for hours, when he returned he made an offer, work for us and use your blessing to influence the world to our benefit and you will not only live but Mr. Lordofbud, you will live well, smoking weed whenever you desire.
I agreed but didn't expect his response: You will start testing immediately, we will explore the extent of your power and see if you can do more than previously demonstrated, you will never see our faces or know our real names, but you can call me Will.
My power grew over the coming months, I learned to think of groups instead of single people, it was hard keeping groups in my head though, and could occasionally not have the desired outcome.
I learned how to be very subtle, I could force people to be obsessed with an idea now, in love with an idea to the point of getting them to speak publically about it.
Will told me to test my ability on Shaquille o Neal, Will wanted me to get him to support flat earth ideology publically. I thought about Shaq falling in love with flat earth forums, I did this every day for a fortnight. Will finally came in with a clip of Shaq supporting the idea, I wasn't happy about what I had done.
Testing was not over, but Will told me it was time to start using my blessing on our enemies. We began with Russia, I was given explicit instructions, what thoughts I was to have, and pictures to look at while I'm doing it, I guess they didn't think I capable of executing my own plan.
The first instruction was random members of the Kremlin and a love for America, the second was weird, Putin fornicating with a bear they had given me a picture of, that was it, Will left, and I was sent back to testing.
A few days later Will let me know the repercussions of the instructions, Putin died attempting to hug a bear, and all the members I imagined with love for America were publicly pushing support to make an ally out of America.
We repeated similar plans with many nations, but then came North Korea, Will gave me instructions that I knew would result in the deaths of the men in the thousands of pictures set before me.
I was told I will not be getting the results, nor will I ever get to know the outcome again.
The killings continued, I was left wondering when It would end, I dawned on me, this will end when I have conquered the world for them.
Thanks for reading, this was my first ever story. Sorry if the format sucks here.
| 2018-06-30T18:35:57 | 2018-06-30T16:51:29 | 45 | 20 |
[WP] Getting arrested for a botched crime is a rite of passage in the Chebwick family. They take great pride in their long legacy of poorly executed crimes. But the youngest child has been a great disappointment.
|
Joan placed her hand on the glass. Behind it, her mother and father sat in orange jumpsuits.
Joan put on her brightest smile. "Ma, Pa. I'm graduating next week. Wish you guys could see it."
Her father huffed. "What good is a uni degree? A piece of paper ain't gonna help you rob a bank is it. What are you going to do? Everybody get down! I'm a lawyer! I'll sue you!"
Her mother placed her hands on his shoulder. "He didn't mean that JoJo. Your father was denied juvie because of his first lawyer. We're just worried for you. We want to see you here. With us."
"Ma, I'm not going to be locked behind these bars! I just-"
"Of course, dear," her mother said, "We understand if you want to land maximum security. Like Eggbert."
Her parents exchanged proud looks.
Joan threw up her hands. "No! Eggbert's lockpicks weren't even sharp! He should of-
Her father stood, knocking over his stool, ears red. "Those were your grandfather's lockpicks, young lady! Passed down from his father to his son, and will be passed from Eggbert's to his. Don't you dare mention sanding them again."
"Yeah," Joan muttered, "maybe after Eggbert's life sentence."
Her father's cheeks glowed like a beet and her mother patted his shoulder. She picked up his seat and coaxed him back down.
"We miss you JoJo. Banks are the Chebwick way but if you're feeling nervous you could do an ATM. We know you're not the best with strangers." She leaned closer to the glass and lowered her voice. "Your uncle Bobby's first was a convenience store."
Joan took a deep breath. "I miss you too, ma. And you, pa."
Her father huffed back.
Joan forced the corners of her mouth up again. "I landed an internship at this law firm. Well it's not exactly a law firm, it's a bit shady but..."
Behind her, a guard's bored voice announced, "Visitation over. Please make your way to the exit."
"But I'll get you guys out soon. Eggbert too. If I'm lucky maybe even before my grad ceremony." Joan slung her backpack over her shoulder.
"We can't wait to see you again, Jojo. We'll be right here." Her mother waved and her father looked at the ground but Joan caught a slight frown.
"Yeah. I know."
Joan stood. Walking past the guard, she slid him a stack of banded greens. She paused for a split moment and whispered.
"Bonanno will give your orders soon."
\---
PART 2 below
r/bobotheturtle
|
I set out to be different. I really did. My two sisters and parents had raised me to do it all, burglary, theft, smuggling, heck, even a few clean-up jobs for some high paying clients.
Getting arrested was part of the lifestyle, but a fairly large public presence of my dad, a lot of money, and our trusty lawyer James MacGill have allowed us to escape prison. My parents would instill in us growing up that being arrested is just a normal thing, happens to everyone, and to call them as soon as we were arrested. In fact, they almost took pride in it, a way to say "screw you" to the system that they would so often abuse.
Well, I wanted to be the best. And the best never lose. While my sisters were smoking pot or watching Netflix, I would do research on law enforcement strategy, plan contingency plans, and build connections with every single person I could. I would plan bank heists, and getaways just for fun. For the sole goal, if being the best darn criminal out there. I wanted others to revel in my brilliance, and take this world to the next level. I want to show my family how much of a failure they had been, and punish them for not being better.
I set out to do the impossible. I set out to steal The Tome. It was my birthday on Monday, and I wanted something to celebrate.
Seth Reilly was a billionaire. He didn't just live in the nice part of our town, he WAS the nice part of our town. Living in the middle of rural Illinois, you don't usually see a lot of wealth, but 6 generations of money and a deep-rooted sense of something not quite resembling community had kept Seth here well into his 60s. His wife divorced him about a decade ago, and his kids all moved out around the same time, as they were all in college.
But he had The Tome. This mysterious book was nothing more than a legend in our small town of 5500, but it was the only thing that interested me. No one knew exactly what was in this ancient book, but the rumors stated it was old manuscripts, historical documents, maybe even an original copy of the Declaration of Independence. No matter what was in it, I knew that I wanted it. And I wanted it badly. How badly? Well, I was going to steal it.
I started how my family had taught me to, by tracking his movements. However, I had done this last year, and after a week of reconnaissance, I realized his daily schedule had barely changed. Leave the house at 10 am, go to tennis on Mondays and Thursdays, and Golf on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Always back by 3:00pm. Fridays and the weekends he would stay home.
Stealing the Tome at night was out of the question. Besides a state-of-the-art security system, he had dogs and a patrol stationed all around his property, walking around every day. I needed to steal The Tome during the day. So I went to work. I searched public records of building permits until I found one for a large concrete and steel structure on the Reilly property built 4 years ago. This, I surmised, was temperature and humidity controlled safe room for all the art Seth Reilly had acquired after spending over $150,000,000 on paintings at an auction in Paris in 2016. This was all public knowledge and had been reported on nationally. But I knew this is where I needed to go to steal The Tome.
But now, I needed something else, I needed a distraction. What is the best way to ensure no police were able to get to you? Have something even more chaotic happen, that pulls them away. Even better, have something that ensures Seth Reilly doesn't find some excuse to run home. What about a bank robbery? No one in my family had ever attempted something so risky as to rob a bank in the middle of the day, let alone do so as a distraction. I decided to convince my older sister Charlotte to do it. She would fail, I knew she would. She was always the worst at acting like she belonged, even on the rare occasions when she was sober. I met with her and told her my old plan to rob the only bank in our town. She was enthusiastic, but I was able to convince her to wait until Monday. Monday I knew was the day they opened the vault, and had the most security. Something that Charlotte either didn't know or didn't care about. I knew she would fail. Even on a good day, Charlotte lacked the grace and mental fortitude to pull this off.
So I waited. Monday morning came, and just like clockwork Charlotte got up, and went to the bank, trying to prove herself to our parents. I set out in the opposite direction, to the Reilly property. Seth Reilly wasn't there, obviously, and picking the lock to his Jeep, the second car he owned, was as easy as I'd ever done it. Once in the car, a simple press of the garage door opener bypassed the millions of dollars of security and got me into his house. I knew that there was minimal security, as it was the middle of the day, but I still kept my head down and wore a mask. His house was large, and I took several minutes to admire his taste in furniture, and exquisite artwork hanging on his walls and on his many tables. However, I knew where the safe room was, thanks to the public blueprints I had obtained from the county clerks office.
Down in the basement level. I found the door fairly easily, it was opposite of the entrance to his wine cellar, a mistake to not conceal it better. The biometric lock I hacked with the help of my laptop, and the deadbolt I dislodged with a bit of leverage. This was a vault just for looks, designed to impress his friends when he showed them. He counted on his house to prevent intruders. When I got in the room, I was surprised at what I saw. All the paintings were behind plexiglass, and some other art and metal bullion were scattered around, but no "Tome". Was it all just a myth?
I knew not to give up, so I spent the next half hour searching for hidden compartments in the room, yielding nothing. The paintings were worthless to me, as I could never resell them, but I took all the silver in the room, about 150 ozs worth in neatly pressed US Treasury bars, as a way to feel better about myself.
Disgusted with myself, I went home defeated, only to see 2 police cruisers at my house. I walked up to one of the cops, who told me my sister was involved in a hostage situation at the bank, and they needed a family member to talk to her. Annoyed, yet emotionless, I got into their car as they drove me there.
When I got to the bank my first thought was of my genius for using this as a distraction. 20 cop cars, 2 ambulances, and for some reason, a fire truck was stations outside of what seemed like miles of police tape and barriers. As directed by the police, I walked inside, accompanied by bullhorns letting my idiot sister know I was coming in.
I got to the bank of the bank, near the safety deposit box, where I found my sister. She smiled when she saw me, but it was clear she was upset. This was going to be too much for our lawyer, but I didn't care. I was mad I didn't get my prize, and I was mad that I had failed. But then, I saw him. Seth Reilly. Dead.
My heart skipped a beat. What was he doing at the bank? Why would he ever come to a commercial bank in the first place? Along with Seth was a bag. Not just any old bad, but a locking courier bag, the Smeltings model HDLCB30 by the looks of it. I took the bag. It was heavy. I couldn't care both it and my backpack, so I took out the silver in my backpack and stuffed the locking courier bag into it. The police would not think too much about some raw silver bullion lying on the floor, especially as today was Monday, and people would be depositing their precious items into the vault.
My sister was arrested, and I went home. My parents and other sister weren't there. I didn't care where they were. I wanted to open this bag.
Getting in was easy enough, a small amount of hydrofluoric acid placed on the inseam was enough to burn through in a matter of seconds, and cutting the bag with some medical tools took only minutes. And there it was. A large, old, dusty book, smelling like rot, and apparently missing half it's pages.
Finally, after waiting all day, I opened The Tome. And finally, at long last, I knew why Seth Reilly had never left this town.
My 12th birthday party was the best one I ever had.
------
Hey guys, thanks for reading. I really didn't put too much time or detail into this, as I have to go to bed, but let me know what you think! I definitely would add a lot more depth to the characters and world-building if I could, but again, it's late ;)
| 2020-04-03T22:22:47 | 2020-04-03T22:11:46 | 1,211 | 164 |
[WP] Getting arrested for a botched crime is a rite of passage in the Chebwick family. They take great pride in their long legacy of poorly executed crimes. But the youngest child has been a great disappointment.
|
"Here comes Gary"
"He's the worst."
"A failure to the family name"
"It's not that he commits crimes, the problem is that he's too good at it."
"I KNOW! He's meant to fail like the rest of us."
The door creaked open and Gary stepped into the room with a large bag.
Gary exclaimed with a large grin, "Hey guys! Guess what. I kidnapped the Queen!"
This was 10 years ago, we still see the occasional story on the news about what could have happened but the Queen was never found. She's still here with us and has become friends with Putin who Gary brought back last week.
|
Plenty of criminals sought out Alicia Fox's services. Most of them were kids born into crime families or mafia bosses who couldn't quite nail their nefarious public images. But none of them had ever asked for something like this before.
Alicia sat with her client at a table outside a quaint little French-style bistro. To any passersby, they might have looked like a young couple out on a date, Alicia in disguise as she always was (dark-haired wig, delicately-applied prosthetics to change her nose and chin *just* so), the client sitting across from her in a plaid shirt and ripped jeans. Neither of them looked like a pair of criminals, as they sipped espresso and nibbled at their biscottis.
But Alicia's espresso was going cold. She just stared and stared at the man sitting across from her, his eyes bright blue and urgent.
"You... what?" she said.
Her client, Ernest, held her stare. Unsmiling, unflinching, he said, "I want you to teach me how to get caught."
Alicia stared at her own surprised face in the dark mirror of her coffee. "I can't say anyone has asked me for *that* in particular."
After all, she was a criminal mastermind. Twenty years of the kind of heists that would send her away for a lifetime and she had never been caught.
"You see, it's my family..." Ernest grimaced and shook his head. "We Chebwicks have a long and proud history of notoriety. My brother has been arrested for car jacking at least thrice now. Once he even ended up in the county jail for three years when he took the mayor's yacht for a joyride. You should have seen how proud Mom and Dad were when they cut out the newspaper article to hang up in Dad's cell. He never stops talking about how he wishes I was more like my brother."
"Chebwick," Alicia repeated. She scoffed and didn't bother hiding her derisive smile. "Your father is Marshall Chebwick?"
Ernest brightened. "You've heard of him?"
"He's only the poster child of how *not* to carry out a bank robbery."
"Exactly. Ever since I was a little boy, he told me, *son, one day you'll be in a cell just like mine, and then you'll understand the family tradition*. Even Mom spent a while on house arrest for credit card fraud." He stirred his coffee, glumly. "Got caught printing up signs that said *Martha Chebwick is my real name, come find me you assholes*. Paid with a stolen credit card."
Alicia blinked fast. "Not exactly the kind of legacy to be proud of."
That made Ernest scowl. "You wouldn't understand. All my life, my family has been infamous. Notorious. Our names on everyone's lips. And I'm the nobody. I'm the goody-two-shoes. Every time we have holiday dinners at the penitentiary, they never stop making fun of me." He screwed up his face and deepened his voice, clearly mimicking his father. "'What's the matter, Ernie? Only commit crimes you didn't get caught for?'"
She narrowed her eyes at Ernest. "Have you *tried* to get arrested?"
Ernest sighed, heavily. He dug into the pocket of his plaid shirt and threw a stone relic on the table.
Alicia's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She reached across the table and set her napkin down on top of it. She recognized the dragon carving, instantly. It had gone missing from the Smithsonian only days earlier.
"*You're* the one who broke into the museum?" she said.
"I did! I wore a maintenance uniform and I told the guards I was there rob them blind. You know what they said to me?"
"What?"
"They laughed and waved me right on in!" Ernest slapped his thighs in frustration. "I was trying to get a good story. Good headline for the morning news. But they *wouldn't believe* me. Thought I was the new night janitor."
Alicia couldn't hide her fascination now. She cupped her chin in her hands and rested her elbows on the table. "And why would they?"
"Sure beats me. They even let me know when they were going out for their cigarette break, and asked me to make sure I cleaned the rare records room too. Unbelievable."
Now Alicia Fox studied his face. The gears of her mind turned. She was never one to pass up a good opportunity. He was one of those all-American boys: bright-eyed, plain-looking, the kind of face that you could trust instantly.
"What else have you tried?" she said, her lips curling in a smile.
"Oh, everything. You wouldn't believe the things I've stolen. I once told a pilot on an airline, *Hi, can you let me hijack your plane so my dad can be proud of me?*"
"What did he say?"
"He just let me fly the damn thing! Laughed the whole time! He thought I was just kidding." Ernest scowled. "He even realized my knife was rubber. Spent the entire time poking his copilot with it and laughing at me. I almost landed us in the ocean, for God's sake, and he just told me to let me know if I needed a job recommendation."
Alicia nodded. She reached across the table and plucked up the stolen relic, still folded inside the napkin like a leftover bread roll. "I might have a better idea for you, Mr. Chebwick."
Ernest looked up at her, hopefully. "What's that?"
"Your family may have an innate talent for being deceitful and obvious, but I think you're different." She leaned forward and grinned across the table at him. "People *want* to trust you."
It was even working on her. Every innocuous tilt of his head made him more and more likable. Like a golden retriever in human form.
"No one trusts a Chebwick," Ernest muttered back, but a shy smile was tugging at the corner of his lip.
"I do," Alicia said, surprising herself with her honesty. "And I have a proposition for you, Ernie. You come work for me. And you start a new legacy for your family. A new place for the Chebwick name."
Ernest blinked in disbelief. "And what am I supposed to tell my dad?"
"You can tell him to go right to hell if he's not proud of you." Alicia plucked up her espresso and gave it a sip. "But a man with your talents shouldn't be wasting it on being a bad crook."
Ernest rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. "Are you sure?"
"If I was your mom, who'd I pick? The brother who's been in and out of jail for petty crime, or the one who mailed her a priceless Monet that no one even noticed him lift? Stick with me, and you'll see which brother you turn out to be."
That wormed a real smile out of him. "Fine. But only if you let me get caught at least once."
Alicia matched his grin. "Honey, at this point, I'd love to see you try."
| 2020-04-03T22:51:49 | 2020-04-03T21:43:50 | 72 | 44 |
[WP] “We apologize, we could not find your old body. We had to grow you a new one.”
|
“We apologize, we could not find your old body. We had to grow you a new one.”
Charlie rose from the operating table and scanned over his new body, “you could have at least have given me a good one.”
The two scientists shared a quick glance.
“It’s the best we could do on such short notice.” One of the scientists said. “We didn’t have your old one in stock.”
Charlie walked over to the mirror and studied his new body, “Christ, this body won’t do. Not at all.”
The scientists began to shuffle towards the end of the room. One coughed then said, “again, sir, with the time we had—“
“I don’t want to hear it.”
The door flung open and Fran came barging into the room, “for gods sake Charlie. Why must you insist on swimming with sharks?”
Charlie shot a glance back towards Fran, still adapting to his newer, slower body. “Must you spoil all my fun?”
“Your old body was well thought out and designed. It took five months to grow for you.” Fran walked over to Charlie inspecting his new body. “Then you go and get yourself half eaten by a great white on some thrill seeking trip.”
“It was fun,” Charlie said, “you should try it.”
Fran let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Fat chance, I don’t waste my bodies.”
“Well,” Charlie said, “can you grow me a better body than this hunk of junk?”
“Give me three weeks.”
“Sounds great.” Charlie said.
“Oh and Charlie,” Fran said, “try and not get yourself killed before then. Bodies don’t grow on trees.”
|
There's this feeling that I really, really like. It's when I'm sitting on the couch and starting to fall asleep, fading into unconsciousness with the lights on and your mouth open. It's nothing like laying down after the checklist you usually follow at night, but the closest thing to falling asleep like you did when you were a kid.
That's what the feeling was like, except somehow I knew I was awake. Also, my mouth didn't feel like it was open. Well, more like I couldn't find my mouth.
That's when I heard this voice. It wasn't in my ear, but just jumped out in the middle of my mind like a bad idea.
"Hello? Can you hear me, Man of Earth?"
"Uh... yeah. I can hear you. Who are you? Where am I?"
"Who am I? That is a very, very good question! Oh, I knew you would be a higher lifeform. Just knew it. This is so exciting!"
"Uh, yeah. Whatever. Who the fuck are you?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. You actually expect an answer, don't you? Very well, but I need to narrow the question down a bit. Your language is so... ambiguous. Do you mean what is my existential identity in ontological reality? Or do you mean my name?"
"Let's start with your name."
"I'm sorry. You couldn't pronounce it."
"Try me."
"I... it would damage your neural structure and I think that would be a very, very bad idea at this point."
As this voice was already starting to give me a headache, I decided that I didn't want to test if his name would or wouldn't actually melt my brain.
"Okay, let's try this again. Where am I?"
"Again, I need specificity. Do you mean your place in time-space intersection or do you mean on my ship?"
"You have a ship? What kind of ship?"
"Well, first yes! Oh, I love binary questions. They're so gratifyingly stark! As to your second, or fourth question depending on how we'r counting, it is a functional ship."
"I mean is it a sailboat, a rowboat, an aircraft carrier; what kidn of ship?"
"Oh, it is not a water supported vessel at all."
"Uh huh."
"Does that answer your question then?"
"No! You are worse than Congress!"
"Hmmm... Congress? Is that the gathering of creatures in the area known as Washington, DC who decide laws for the so-called United States of America?"
"Yeah."
"Why are they bad?"
"How long do you have?"
"Hmm... I do not know the full extent of my lifespan, but I fail to see how that will help you make a qualitative assessment of Con-"
"Bad! They are very, very bad!"
"Morally or in terms of competence?"
"Both."
"Hmm... then why are they allowed to rule?"
"Look, I can't tell you."
"Oh, it's a secret. Well, I could be trusted with secrets, but if it is one which I do not already know about your kind, then I can accept that you do not wish to divulge it and I shall not pry."
"I... okay, groovy. Copasetic. Now, again... where the hell am I? In spacetime, please."
"Oh, you are in the time with which you are familiar in geosynchronous orbit over the magnetic pole at what you refer to as North."
"I... I'm in space?"
"So this is a spaceship?"
"Oh, that's what you meant? Yes, this is a space faring vessel."
"Uh... are you with the Russians?"
"Oh, no. I am not affiliated with any of your arbitrary geographical distinctions."
"You're not... you're not from Earth?"
"Oh no."
"You're an alien?"
"In your language, ye-"
"I knew it! I knew they were covering it up!"
"Hmmm... this empty, swirling feeling. Is that confusion?"
"Probably."
"Which is what you have been feeling?"
"A lot, yeah." I was starting to like this guy, sort of. We were making progress.
The alien said, "I must apologize and offer my regrets. I am so sorry I have made you feel this. It is revolting."
"Yeah."
"You ask questions to alleviate it?"
"Yes. The answers take it away."
The alien said, "Then I shall attempt two of them. When you said 'You knew it', what was it that you knew?"
"That extraterrestrial life existed."
"I see. And who was... um..."
"Covering it up. It's, uh, an idiom meaning to conceal something."
"Like the game where you peek the boo with children?"
"More like concealing facts from the general public."
"Why... why would anyone wish to conceal a fact? Facts are the common experience!"
"We're complicated. Let's leave it at that."
"I see. Who was doing this concealing, though, if I may still inquire?"
"Yeah, sure. It was those guys we were talking about before. Congress. They're the ones who locked me up."
"Oh, you were unable to leave that room I found you in?"
"Yeah. They threw me in solitary because I wouldn't lie and say we'd seen no evidence of extraterrestrials."
"Lies. I do not understand this concept. It is... completely outside my experience."
"Must be nice."
"I have no basis for comparison."
"So let me get this strai... I mean, let me recount the details to ascertain if I understand them."
It was important to try to speak like he spoke if I wanted to get anywhere. I could feel the thread of my freedom there. I just needed to tug.
The alien said, "Yes. Please do."
"You found me in my cell. You brought me on your ship. We're in space."
"All correct. So clever, you are!"
"Okay... so why?"
"I have no idea why you're clever."
"I mean why bring me here?"
"To speak to one of you."
"You just wanted an interview?"
"Yes. You didn't seem to be engaged in anything, so I assumed I would not be interrupting your schedule."
"Your really weren't. But when you put me back, I don't want to go there. I'd rather go somewhere else. Would that be okay?"
"Um... yes, but we will have to wait."
"Why, exactly?"
"I must apologize. I could not find where I left your body."
The fear was completely overridden by the white hot pool of frustrated anger I was swimming in.
I said, "Please elaborate?"
"Well, I observed your communications prior to contact. It was all very confusing, but one very common exposition, one which seems very popular among your kind, suggested that you had flexible outer skins which could be removed. They conform to the outside of your being."
"A suit?"
"Yes. So I tried to remove yours. I may have over done it a bit."
"You took my body off?"
"Yes."
"Oh shit! What... what's left?"
An image appeared in my mind. I was a brain in a jar. Literally.
"I assumed this was the core of your being. I am so sorry to have misunderstood. You seemed to need the rest of those organs."
"Yes, I did and I do!"
"Do not worry."
"How am I not supposed to worry?"
"Well, as it's possible that your body is irretrievable... perhaps ejected mistakenly used as fuel in my engines... I am building you a new one."
"A... huh... what?"
"That is why I woke you. I needed your final input. I do not know your bodies capabilities."
"Okay."
"Which of these communications most accurately depicts your natural state?"
Images popped into my head again, but this time it was films. Current ones. Films with flying men in red capes with symbols on their chests. Men and women who had shields or magic or who could run at supersonic speeds."
"Which one should I pattern you after?"
"Um... you can do any of them?"
"Yes. Any."
"I... choose the one with the S on his chest."
"Ah. That seemed a good choice. It will be only a little while. I am so sorry for the inconvenience."
"It's cool. Really. I'll wait."
"Okay."
As the voice left my mind, I tried to smile without lips.
The world was about to get a lot more interesting.
| 2021-11-01T15:02:20 | 2021-11-01T15:01:17 | 43 | 29 |
[WP] The house you just rented is beyond compensation - staircases and extra floors coming and going, rooms rotating and changing places. You just ignore it. On the fourth day, the eldritch horror informs you that you are the first to stay inside it for more than 72 hours without going insane.
|
Steve was getting kinda used to the new house he had, sure the sink had eaten his lunch one time and the stairs started forming 4d non euclidean structures, but as a theoretical mathematician Steve didn't mind them, plus nothing is perfect.
"HOW DARE YOU RETAIN YOUR SANITY FROM THIS DOMAIN MORTAL!"
Steve stood still as an abomination of circular squares and uneven geometries made of impossible lights rose from the ground and the tubes, then he realised what was happening
"So I think that you're the entity that lies out of space that the strange girl that sold me the house was advertising"
"ADVERTISING, I DON'T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND THE IMPLICATIONS OF MY EXISTENCE, I AM THE ANTITHESIS TO YOUR COMPREHENSION OF REALITY"
"Oh, you mean a differential manifold, I started studying you when I arrived and I m so impressed of being able to see an infinite dimensional space, I already studied the group structure that the corridors make when they rotate, it's the monster group right?"
"ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT YOUR TINY HUMAN INTELLECT CAN COMOREHEND OUR TRASCENDENTAL NATURE, THIS AMAZES ME MORTAL, BUT WHAT ARE THOSE PUNY NAMES YOU RE CALLING ME BY"
"Don't you dare calling my 10 years of experience plus a PhD in differential topology a tiny intellect, do you even know how stressful the academic world has become?
However if you don't know what I am saying I could have fun teaching you, so you'll know what you are"
"YOUR LITTLE BARGAIN INTERESTS ME HUMAN, but honestly I m more of a liberal arts person, I am not much into math you know, stop being a nerd"
"Ok but could you please show me the leech lattice you make again, pretty please"
"I HATE YOU MATH NERDS"
This is the first story I write here and as a mathematician the title inspired me, ya know math has its eldritch horrors too
|
<1/2>
“Mr. Matherson?” I asked tentatively as the thin, rather short man in his late forties entered his house again. It wasn’t so much what he said but how he said it that shook me. The fact that this house was meant to make me insane was a mathematical fact to him that should have resulted in the outcome that he… it? It had wanted.
—
Three days ago, a thin, short man looking much like the one that glided into the supposedly two-story bungalow that I had wanted, twitched and shook occasionally to unseen triggers. I had felt bad for him. Maybe it was a sudden medical condition or trauma that he never wanted to talk about and honestly I didn’t know if I could handle it. He needed the extra income from the house though and the three-bedroom had a hauntingly sad feel to it.
I stood in a room of vibrant pink that day wondering what happened to the girl that had so obviously lived here. It was empty but a couple of half stickers on the walls of unicorns and fairies caught my eye. I didn’t know if I should try and finish removing those if I had accepted his offer. The long strands of hair still stuck in the carpet made it clear that he hadn’t the effort to thoroughly clean this room himself.
“This would make a good off, office,” Mr. Matherson studdered as he stared at the floor. He didn’t seem to be able to look at the walls but added in a quieter voice, “Lots of plugins.”
“What’s your policy on painting?” I asked, knowing maybe I shouldn’t but having rented before I had always gotten approval and praise from helping improve the places I stayed.
“I,” Mr. Matherson hesitantly started before almost breathless saying, “I don’t know.”
“That’s okay,” I said quickly. I had gone too far with that, “I don’t mind the colour. It’s very cheery.”
“Yes,” the thin man agreed before stepping into the hall and whispering to himself, “she was.”
Try as I may, I never was able to get how he said that out of my mind. The entire upper story of the house was bare and if I had my wits about me I would have seen such potential in it. That forlorn little whisper stuck with me though through the tour. I needed to know after that what had happened. I needed to know the how on top of the why of this man’s pain.
I signed the paperwork for the rental on the top of Betsy, my trusty sidekick of a van and handed over both the first month's rent and the damage deposit. Regardless of where or why, this house was the best deal in the city and I knew it. I just sort of wished it didn’t come with a story as it did. If it had been a story that I could write about that would have been one thing but this poor old man looked like he had been through enough.
“Mr. Matherson?” I asked as the man quietly looked at the cheque I handed to him, “Is everything okay?”
“Call me Ira,” he responded a lot smoother than he had ever been before but studdered out, “You, you di’ don’t know what this, this means to me.”
“Well, if there is anything I can do let me know,” I responded on instinct. I really didn’t want to be at this man’s beck and call regardless of how he was doing but something inside felt different.
“Just stay Ed,” he quietly said back, “Ma, make this your home for a while. Tha’ll, that will be enough.”
He handed me the key, a rather old-looking brass thing with a far simpler grove pattern than I was used to then left in his offwhite, possibly rusting sedan. Private rentals always felt weird to me for their simplicity of them. Renting from a corporation always had move-in dates and credit checks and all sorts of nonsense. I wasn’t even sure if Ira could do a credit check. Not that that matter to me. I knew I was good for the money.
Most of my family didn’t think that my life in art would have been as successful as it was. I had managed to get a full ride to USarth and had gotten my BA quickly and with honours. My mom was so proud. She kept saying that I would change the world and even in the end, Dad seemed to be happy with what I was doing. That was before everything collapsed and I couldn’t find a studio that would touch me.
I had a thousand and a half projects on the go at any time though and if someone needed an illustration or concept art whipped up I was always on it. The internet changed a lot of what I thought I was going to do with my life and now with working from home, studios wanted some people that could work without supervision.
With this house, I could pay my bills, have space to spread out and work on what I wanted in the spaces that I wanted. I frowned at the idea I would probably have a darker edge to everything that I was working on now but such is life. Maybe do a couple of the more macabre projects in his daughter's room just to get the vibe right and then sing something to compensate for it.
The master bedroom was nice but I figured I set up my room in the bedroom just opposite the pink one. It had a clean sense about it. The grey walls were a nice neutrality to an otherwise lived in and earthy house. Downstairs had a large den, with a standard washroom and utility/laundry room combo. The door on the other side was just a closet that Ira said had some spare cleaning supplies.
“I’m not sure if this counts as a closet Ira,” I muttered to myself as I opened the door to what was an almost identical copy of the grey room upstairs. Smiling, I added, “four-bedroom, two-bath for fifteen hundred? Not bad.”
It sort of made sense in my mind, this room would have been right below the one above and the layout was a bit wonky. Maybe Ira just had forgotten about it? Seemed like someone in his state would probably be forgetting a lot. Hopefully, he was taking care of himself.
Leaving the room and walking out the front door, I started to plan where everything was going to go. Well, that and trying to change over my utilities. Janice would probably be happy to get me out of her house. She was a good friend but staying with her these last couple of weeks reminded me why we always kept to being friends.
“What, wasn’t I in the basement?” I muttered to myself when I got to Betsy. Looking back at the house I tried to remember where I had been but couldn’t quite remember coming back up the stairs to check the other room. Did I check the other room? Sighing and shaking my head, I muttered, “Ira, you’re wearing off on me,” before getting in and starting the task of moving.
Janice was indeed happy to hear that I had found a place at last but was then rather jealous when I went into the details. Ira’s place was closer to both downtown and the college campus that Janice had told me had better functions. She had graduated with a degree in software engineering a couple of years after me when she said she found the strengths to deal with mouthbreathers for a job. Saving for two years after that, she bought this place and had spent a good amount of money fixing it up.
“You should really just settle down somewhere though,” Janice told me again, “My mortgage isn’t that far off from what you're paying.”
“But if something goes wrong,” I countered, “You are on the hook for it. I phone Ira and he comes and does what he can.”
“You really going to make a man that lost his daughter and needs the money renting out his family home do home repair?” Janice asked, rather coldly, “For that rent?”
“Yes,” I stated, “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You know what, Ed,” Janice backtracked and put her hands up in her own defence, “You do you, I just want my basement back and a schedule that is actually followed.”
“I’m sorry little miss I-have-a-calendar-for-everything,” I mocked, “I do when I can and do other things when I can’t.”
“And nothing in between,” she muttered as I stuck out my tongue and walked away to start my journey of moving.
| 2022-05-29T11:45:54 | 2022-05-29T10:00:03 | 59 | 30 |
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