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[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :)
|
(1)
He hadn't asked her to talk about the war before, being content with what she decided to divulge and when. It was a testament to who he was that he hadn't up until now because everyone knew her story.
So she assented. " This is my life now. Even back stage the noise from an auditorium full of kids is cacophonous. Still it comes with speaking in front of a school.
"The teachers quiet the kiddos and it's about time for me to walk out. The principal says a few nice things and as always some of them aren't entirely true but I'm not here to correct her. After she gestures with her hand I take the podium. I wonder how many times I've done this.
"The thesis of the speech is always boring too. Social responsibility to the people around you. Real courage isn't what I did on the battlefield, it's what you do in your every day life. I want to tell the true story; the story of how I loved it. Every shot fired.
"Oh that first time. I was just fifteen and I was going out back to just do some plinking. Some strange noises came from back in the woods. They weren't scary noises, just unnatural and I had a rifle and pistol and a backpack full of ammo so I wasn't afraid of what I'd find.
"The wooded area out back of our house wasn't big - you've been there - so the ship was only a couple of hundred meters in. The pine trees are close together you can breathe on the next one. They were setting up a campsite but taking their time with it. Their outer guards had small fires going.
"I had to sneak back a ways to load my rifle and pistol..."
|
"Compared to AX-213? No, this is easy," the footsoldier relayed over the wavelength transmitter. Those pitiful beings weren't even at Stage 1 of the Rëitsig Scale of Development. It was the first in the AX galatic classification that bore such a terrible level of industrialization. One would think that the road was well paved, the instructions clear. To grow, to develop travel, to leave and learn from other colonies. It was such an obvious way forward, though the Xaxnar probably knew the best. Their leader had crafted success for many planets in the entire universe, so he knew the best way to develop a new planet. It was all in a handbook, *The Guide to the Galaxy*, a rather pompous title for an utterly boring story.
Even the footsoldiers had done up a couple of planets in their time. The build for it was easy. Develop the citizens, develop the buildings, develop the offence, then the defence. The rest was easy. Destroy any other planet or territory in the way. The aliens loved to do this; in fact, it was a fun pasttime to make planets and develop colonies, just for the main planet to destroy. It was funny, not just because the main planet benefitted, but because destruction and annihilation were tempting concepts to them.
The footsoldier smiled again, as he readied his invasion troops to a new place. Nothing of worth to invade here. Perhaps better resources and a stronger fight awaited somewhere else. Clash of Planets never got more fun that this.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
| 2017-08-08T07:43:02 | 2017-08-08T05:28:12 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] An alien abduction goes horribly wrong when the human they captured for study escapes and begins to stalk and kill off the crew members one by one.
|
**Log 1**
Specimen displays unusual amounts of strength, stamina and dexterity, also only requires 5-9 hours sleep compared to our 18. It's appetite is insatiable needing to feed every few hours and large amounts at a time, consumes enough in day for fifty of us.
**Log 2**
It seems irate, our weapons also appear to only be able to stun it sending it's nervous system into chaos causing it to spasm on the ground, even in this state it should not be approaches as it's flailing limbs could still knock one of us into a wall crushing or ribs.
**Error missing files please reboot or load from back up**
**Captains log 40**
Damn those scientists, I told them we should send it back but no they wanted to keep examining. Useful for a super soldier they said, best predator of that savage planet they said. Fools the lot of them, that thing it is no ordinary predator, a normal predator just eats to feed its self just survive this thing, it stalks us, laughing as it rips of our limbs, Aqron the head of the guard shot it in the arm 4 times, it just let out a roar. Apparently our 'lethal' weapons can only bruise it, these are military grade weapons they kill enemy soldiers fine but this thing, it just made it angry.
**Captains log 45**
It barred Aqrons door last night while he slept... the screams of that poor guy, we could hear the beast smashing his body into the wall. We managed to open the door a bit but it just reached out and grabbed the nearest person, dragging his body through the narrow gap.
Aquieres the from the science labs has managed to analyse the species DNA, the damn thing is according to him an "Endurance hunter, it stalks things for days at a time never tiring out it's prey until it collapses, mild trances of the now extinct Neanderthal where found in it's DNA." These things, wiped out the Neanderthals of Anteries 4, raped them, and those creatures where nearly unbeatable in the coliseums it took high powered kinetic weapons to kill them. We have the engineers working on something to hopefully kill it.
**Error drive missing, please check everything is installed**
**Captains log 65**
We found it's den, crude pictures drawn by scratching through the metal of the ship, this thing can casually gauge metal for entertainment. We have sent out distress signals, the first ship to dock with us had the misfortune of docking next to it's den, it's made a crude spear. Skewered that ships entire crew before we figured out what happened, cameras show it only receiving mild burns from their energy weapons. It appears smart enough to run water over it's burns since we found water rations strewn about the place and puddles around a make shift 'medical station' for lack of a better word.
**Captains log 70**
The damn thing broke into the main frame, this is a capital class war ship, a crew of 100,000 and no one can kill it or stop it. It threw 80kg computers around like nothing, it damn well dossed one into a squad of guards killing them all at once. What the hell does it want, it can't be reasoned with, bartered, pleaded, nothing it's just some predator with mild intelligence and unstoppable strength.
**ERROR**
**Captains log 225**
No planet, station or ship will allow us to dock, the army refuses to help us. We are stuck on here quarantine until we die or it dies. 20,000 dead, it's braver now. Hunting in the night while we rest entire quarters killed and devoid of all life, body gnawed on, order is breaking down. Sections A through J are in full revolt, personal had to gun down a mob trying to take a ship off, the beast heard the commotion and charged through, swiped it's in the middle and sent 10 people flying, every fled and it just hounded them down like a hunting beast.
**'Captains' log 240**
The ship is in anarchy I am a captain in name only, the main reactor is down, or priest Aqwerdian lured the beast there and over loaded the reactor, it killed him and fled before it exploded, power on is now unstable, that thing though can still see partly in the dim light. We run like blind rats but it see's us clearly, the dim lighting must be bright enough for it.
**Remnants log**
We have taken the bridge, all logs are being transmitted to nearby ships. We are setting course to the nearest star, the ship and everything in it must be burnt, we are down to 60,000. 40,000 dead since this thing got on board, the only solution is to burn it, us, the ship, everything.
|
He was scared. No, that was an understatement. He was petrified. All he can do right now is hide in one of the cargo holds and hoped that the human did not find him in this dark and cold corner of the ship.
He thought back on how it all started and why it ended up like this.
It was supposed to be an easy mission. Capture a human and study it; find its weakness and strengths. Send the data back to their home planet and build an invasion force in regards to their findings. It was all going very smoothly. They captured the human and brought it back to their ship. They wanted to observe how it will react to a different environment first so they let it awaken first.
When it awoke it seemed to be surprised but still remained calm. It started talking but naturally they couldn’t understand what it was saying. So they put it back to sleep and installed a translator chip in it. After the operation they all left to rest since it has been a long day. And that was where it all began.
They were in front of Jupiter when they got back to the lab. What they saw shocked them all. The researcher was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood and the human can’t be seen anywhere.
The ship only had 8 crew members; 3 legionnaires, something similar to earth’s marines, 3 researchers, one lying in the pool of his own blood, a mechanist, and the captain, the only one who can control the ship because of the genetic lock that was installed.
They decided to split up to look for the human; it shouldn’t be too hard since they were supposed to be an inferior species. It seemed that it was a good idea at the time, they didn’t know how gravely mistaken they were.
One by one they were killed. First, one of the legionnaires. His neck was twisted and it seemed that he was not even able to fight back. Next was the engineer, he was impaled by a pipe and again it seemed that he was struck before he could do anything. After that they heard a scream form one of the researchers but when they got there the only thing that greeted them was the comm. of the researcher, both he and the human was nowhere to be found.
It didn’t stop there. Every time they got separated someone died. One of the legionnaires turned into a corner to check if the coast was clear, apparently it wasn’t because the next time they saw him he was already sprawled on the ground scalpel on the head.
Now there was only the three of them left and they decided to stay together but it seemed that the human found ways to make them split up. First was the fire. He started a false fire to trick the system into thinking that one of the sections was compromised. Two of them got out in time, the captain and the legionnaire. The head researcher wasn’t so lucky and he was ejected along with one section of the ship.
Now there was only two of them and they decided to just abandon the ship altogether and just take a life pod back. But before they can even reach the life pod a shot was fired from nowhere that hit the legionnaire in head instantly killing him.
After witnessing this he ran way, hoping that the human won’t catch him. He never knew that they were so terrifying. It was a mistake to have gone on this mission, a mistake to treat them like some lower beings. It was a mistake to have gotten involved with it at all.
This is why he is hiding in the cargo hold right now. He knew it was a hopeless situation. Everyone was dead, and no one was coming to save him because he hasn’t activated the SOS beacon yet. His only hope right now was that the ship reaches their home planet before the human kills him.
He was thinking about how he wanted to get back when the PA system of the ship started. At first there was just silence but suddenly a raspy voice suddenly started speaking. He recognized the voice immediately because it wasn’t from one of his crew. The first time he heard it he didn’t understand a word it was saying but now that the translator chip is implanted he can clearly understand every word. And what the human said terrified him.
“I know who you are. And I know what you want. One of your friends told me after I 'Persuaded' him. You want to invade us and you wanted to study me to find out about humans? I can tell you that won’t be happening. Because I have a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for aliens like you. Even if you let me go now, that'll not be the end of it. I will look for you, I will pursue you, and after I’m done with you. Your planet is next.”
=================================================
First WP post, please be kind. :)
EDIT: Thank you kind person for the gold... :)
| 2015-07-30T03:12:30 | 2015-07-30T00:16:33 | 186 | 115 |
[WP] You're a siren who is trying to lure a shipful of sailors to their death. "Please", one of the sailors beg as he swims onto your island, almost too willingly. "Stop. You're so bad at singing."
|
He stood up in the waves, hands covering his ears, and began shouting as he walked toward me. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, so I stopped singing. No one had ever actually made it onto the island before, and I was curious to see what he had to say. Would he be furious? Insatiable? Frenzied? I licked my lips in anticipation.
“Please!” He shouted. “Stop!”
I smiled. He was under my spell, just like all the others. I opened my mouth to sing again, but he cut me off.
“You’re so bad at singing!”
No gob has ever been more smacked then my own was in that moment. His words froze the notes in my throat, causing me to literally gag in response.
“Huhck,” I choked out, astonishing myself.
He came to a stop in front of me and leaned forward, hands pressed on his knees while he caught his breath. “Oh god,” he panted. “It’s like nails on a chalkboard. Just stop. Please.”
Mouth agape, I stared at him. This mortal morsel had the audacity to not only invade my home but to also criticize my siren song? I.think.not.
“Mortal,” I said, using my polyphonic voice to put the fear of jeebus in him. “Take care in what you say, for these words may be your last.”
He placed his hands on his hips and arched his back. “Ugh god—I don’t care.” He flapped his hand at me, like I was moth he was shooing away. “Just don’t sing.” Then he tilted his chin down and looked me in the eye. “You fucking totalled my boat you know.”
Does the mouse scold the cat when it’s been caught? Does the rabbit look the fox in the eye and say “Oi! You fucked up my nest!” No! It cowers and gets eaten! And that’s exactly what was going to happen here.
I furrowed my brow and squinted at this brazen bit of man flesh. “I usually try and make this quick, because I’m not a sadist,” I explained, forgoing any further formal language since this twat had seen fit to dispense with the proper order of things. “But given your lack of respect, maybe not this time.” I opened my mouth and screamed—a piercing roar that would strip the flesh from any living creature.
But it had no effect on him.
“Demeter was right,” he said, wiggling a finger in his ear. “You’re a nasty piece of work.”
My blood froze. Demeter?
“Maybe you’re the one who should learn some manners.” He held his hand out and a golden bow came flying up from the wreckage of his ship and into his hand.
“No,” I hissed, backing away. “I didn’t know it was you.”
“Well, now you do.” He held out his other hand, which soon became a fistful of golden arrows. “And I really didn’t like your singing.”
“Apollo—no! I can repair your ship! I can change my voice!”
He notched an arrow. “I think,” he paused, looking at me. “Not.” And he let the arrow fly.
|
I saw the sailor swimming to me. I expected it to be another meal. They crawled onto the rocky shore with scrapes and bruises. I smirked preparing for my meal. Expect the mortal said something that shocked me.
"Hey. Can you stop singing? You're making my crew go mad with your high pitched wail." The pirate said. I was confused. How was this human not under my spell? I knew I wasn't the best singer. I was pitchy, but I could at least carry a tune well enough to attract male sailors. Even the worst sirens could do this.
"That's odd. You should be under my spell no matter how bad my song is. A siren's song is guaranteed to attract all males." I replied. Then I noticed something odd. Under the shredded top that the human wore were breasts, which were similar to mine. They also had a high pitched voice, gentle features, and long locks of hair spilling from their disheveled cap. "You're not a male sailors are you? You're a tom. A lady disguised as a man"
"That obvious? But yes. You're correct. That's why I'm not affected by your siren song. Because I'm a girl." She explained. I was curious about why she was here.
"Why are you here if you're not affected. What purpose do you have for coming here? And what is your name?" I questioned. This human reminded me of someone I had met years ago.
"My name is Mary Bonny-Rackham. I came here looking for freedom and safety. I've been sailing for years trying to follow the path my mother, aunt, and father set for me. My mother was Anne Bonny, my father Calico Jack Rackham, and my aunt was Mary Read. My father and aunt died and my mom escaped and had me. She took us to safety in a foreign country. But now I am grown and wanted to sail and learn who I am. However, my ship wrecked and I landed here. I was looking for help." She explained. I smiled.
"I knew your mum. She came to my island on her voyage. She's infamous in the oceans. What help do you require and what is my payment?" I asked. She smiled.
"I require passage and your power. My goal is freedom. I seek to go to the new colonies or the Isle of Sirens. I hear it's a place of dreams and freedom. Your pay is my companionship. I may be immune to your song, but I am like my mother and not immune to a woman's beauty. So is it a deal?" She questioned. I smiled. I had wanted love for as long as I could remember and I wanted to go home to the Isle that my people came from.
"Deal. But we must seal it with the Siren's Kiss. You will give me your heart." I countered. She nodded.
"I am willing to give my heart to a creature as lovely as you. Seal it. You own my heart." She agreed. With a wicked grin we shared a kiss with a deal on our minds. The sailor grew a tail and became like me. I smiled and felt adrenaline at having a mate.
| 2022-11-24T12:03:17 | 2022-11-24T11:52:13 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
|
"Why?"
Aaalp coughed and split blood as he tried to use what was left of his arm to raise himself up. His ears ringing and vision slowly turning to red while he watched the massacre unfold around him.
Aaalp and his division had been apart of the Conquering of Earth which had occured just last year. They returned victorious in just a few weeks after capturing what the humans had called "Europe." He remembered the parade, the banquet, and the singing as their leaders planned their next Conquest.
The Conquests had always been easy. The victims never seem from of heard again as the victors always left on the FTL ships.
Aaalp didn't understand. "How did they find us?" His question fell on lifeless ears. Rgal was dead. Foju was dead. Mpla was dead. He was dying. He could feel it.
Watching helpless as these primitive bipeds moved around him, launching fire from their hands, he crawled to cover.
A pair of boots stopped in front of his head. Looking up he saw hate. Unable to speak, Aaalp lied there. "Pay back's a bitch, ain't it?" The heel of a boot was Aaalps last memory.
|
It happened faster than anyone could process what was going on. At one moment the Tokyo Olympics were being televised, and the next no one on Earth were able to contact the city.
Japan, obviously, was the first on the scene. What the soldiers reported was unbelievable, craters the size of football pitches, giant deformed rabid animals, a US aircraft carrier beached on the bay coast, downed aircraft mostly US, but some unknown crafts filled with strange creatures, and absolutely no sign of living humans.
After weeks of searching they found enough evidence through captures cell phone videos and audio memos. We had been attacked by an alien race.
---
Ten Earth years later the reptilian race of Kepler-62f were celebrating another victory over the piscine races of Kepler-442b. There wasn't a care in the world and the leaders were drinking like there was no end to the booze.
The celebration came to a stop when a meteor came tumbling out of the sky, splattering through the Emperor's head. Out popped a flag from the center of the rock and it said in the Keplerians native tongue, "We will never forget."
| 2019-12-17T12:03:37 | 2019-12-17T11:54:47 | 62 | 39 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
"Yes, Let's do it."
"Together forever." I responded with a smile on my face.
I could tell she meant it, the way she smiled, I knew it was real.
"I love you, I'll do anything for you." She said.
"Okay" I said, as I pulled the pin to the grenade, and brought it up between us.
|
They thought I was a lamb,
and then a virgin,
then they saw me as a harp
and the strings strummed,
but I am only myself.
The mothers said I'd kill
their children, their God.
I only killed the silent dissonance
between their thighs.
They need me.
Their twisted snake.
| 2014-07-27T20:11:03 | 2014-07-27T20:04:32 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
The room is exactly as I recall it, to the most precise detail, but this is not my home. These walls, bookshelf, the leather couch, this is a shroud pulled over something far more malevolent. Then voices, I hear them coming from the basement, they whisper “he knows.” I look to the living room window, into the night. A small crowd of pale, blank, expressionless faces gathered, pointing at me, viewing me on display like some exhibit in a zoo. “He sees us,” one whispers. And then a scream “PUT HIM BACK, PUT HIM BACK NOW.”
Awake in my bed.
|
I pull into the driveway after a long day of work. The kids' bikes aren't thrown in the yard and the lawn has been mowed, just like I asked my son to do this morning.
I unlock the front door and go inside. The front room is picked up, vacuumed and all the games are stacked neatly near the console. The rest of the house is similarly clean and tidy.
"Where are the kids?" I ask my spouse.
"We don't have kids" is the answer.
| 2015-06-09T09:54:42 | 2015-06-09T09:01:47 | 95 | 14 |
[WP] The instant the Dark Lord hears the prophecy about one destined to defeat him, he scoffs and notes "Standard self-fulfilling hero prophecy." before ordering his minions to go to the hero's hometown and build a bunch of public works projects, the most important of which is a school.
|
# Self-fulfilling prophecy
***They came in the summer of my thirtieth year. It almost seemed too good to be true at first; and oh how it was.***
There was a general murmur of fear throughout the village when the procession of the Dark Lord's minions first appeared on the road. “We paid our grain taxes for the year, we can't afford another, Maric. No good will come of this,” the old chief of the village council said. He stood with me on the hill overlooking the road watching them approach the village. Gripping his cane so hard the knuckles of his wizened hand turned white. I in turn kept my hand on my sword, my grip just as firm. As the captain of the village guard, it was my duty to keep everyone safe. I knew I couldn't. The pitiful guard only consisted of five men, four of which were drunks, myself included. The other to old to even hold a blade properly. None other than me with any real training so to speak. I was only made captain because I’d served in the wars, back when the king of this land thought it possible to still rebel against the Dark lord. Before he realized rolling over and doing whatever he demanded was better than losing your head. A lesson that while coming too late for the king, we would heed today.
I placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder, “Come on old man, best give them whatever they want and be done with it. No good can come of fighting back.” I knew that all too well. He sighed out a long breath, his shoulders sagging and followed me back down the hill to the village gates.
It was to our great surprise then when the minions— men who had given over their souls and bodies to the Dark Lord to corrupt. Greeted us with those smiles that never quite touched their blood-red eyes, and told us of all the wonders they had planned to build for our village. There was an energy about the village after that, that giddiness that comes after a huge sense of relief. That coupled with the good news and the whole village was practically buzzing. I had my reservations but they came with row after row of carts to build. It seemed too elaborate a ruse for our small village, so slowly I began to believe too. Silencing in the small voice in my head that echoed old man’s words over and over again; *no good will come of this.*
My wife was absolutely thrilled with the prospect, she’d always lamented the fact that our children couldn't get a proper education in the village like we had as children in the city. When we chose to move here after the war we hadn't even thought about such things. We just wanted to be as far away as possible from the lands ravished by war.
Looking at my Beth now, getting our twins ready for school, I was taken aback by how much it meant to me too. Jim and Sally would always be children to me. It seemed so hard imagining them grown-up having their own separate lives when they always did everything together. Perhaps that was a failing of mine as a father. I should've made sure they had every opportunity for a good future, but it always seemed like there would be so much time. Well, I was glad that it was being taken out of my hands and being done. They were only five still young enough to get a good start. My daughter came over to me to place a goodbye kiss on my cheek, always on the left. She didn't like kissing the scarred skin on the right side. My son followed reluctantly and lightly pecked my check, perhaps he felt he was getting too old for it. I felt otherwise, I grabbed them both in a sweeping hug and swang them around. “And are you going to fix their clothes again when you're done throwing them about?” Beth said raising one eyebrow questioningly.
I placed the kids down and cleared my throat. “Umm well no, I wouldn't want to have to upstage your work,” I said as I walked over to my wife and grabbed her by the waist.
“Oh really is that so? Do you even know how to tie a ribbon in your daughter’s hair” she said as I felt her press against my chest.
“EWW you guys are gonna be gross, come on, Jim.” My daughter said, as she grabbed her brother’s hand and they made their way to the door.
“Wait for me,” Beth called after them, and as smooth as an eel she slipped out of my arms.
“Do you need to take them? It’s the second week surely they know their way by now?” I said as I stepped closer.
“No, but all the women in the town have been summoned to the school today. Old and young alike, they said they're going to be picking teachers from among us.” She spoke while walking away from me, a wary eye on my hands.
“Only women can be teachers? That hardly seems fair” I said as I attempted to grab her again and failed.
“What can I say? Everyone knows women are more sensible than men.” She shot me that mischievous smile as she slipped out the door and hurried after the kids. That smile had only gotten more beautiful to me since the first time I saw it fifteen years ago.
I donned my armour and made my way through the village. Heading to the opposite end from the school, to check on the construction perimeter wall. The Dark Lords’ work hadn’t been without incident. There had been problems with the minions, some had taken liberties with a farm girl when they first came. The first incident was brushed off by the village council, the minions told us it was our way to show *gratitude* to the Dark lord. The council flung my own words back at me and said, no good can come of fighting back. So again I had tried to silence that voice in the back of my head, *no good will come of this.* There had been more minor incidence since. But nothing too severe and they seemed to cherish the children, it was remarkable how they hadn’t let the children want for anything since they arrived. It seemed enough to have everyone look the other way when a man was beaten in the street or goods were taken from a shop. If the minions were involved it was considered “*showing our gratitude.*”
I arrived by the wall and saw two of the minions walking toward the gate, one man tall as the other was short. leading horses laden with travel packs. I moved closer to overhear their conversation. The taller man was speaking in a hushed voice to the smaller man. “Stop worrying you know the prophecy as well as I do. The one capable of slaying the Dark Lord would've been created in this village by today. The Dark Lord’s plan is excessive. Why should we spend the rest of our lives making sure that brat has a good childhood.” He rested his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder then. "Trust me this will work, when we explain how we put all the children in the school and all the women in case any are pregnant and burned it. He’ll see that surely we must have killed the prophesied one. Then he'll reward us-”
The end of the man's sentence didn’t leave his mouth before I parted his head from his shoulders, the shorter man’s head followed suit a breath later. I grabbed the reins of the nearest horse and spurred it to act as fast as it would go. I heard the screams before I saw the smoke.
I arrived at the schoolhouse, the red-eyed men had their backs to the burning remains of the school, spears levelled at the congregated village folk. The bodies of those that had tried to fight them lay strewn about at their feet, I recognized the remnants of my guard among them. The screaming from inside was over now, the screaming from outside was about to begin. I dismounted, drew my sword and walked toward the dead men still holding spears.
What was left of the man I was died that day, the final clinging fragments torn away in anguish and grief as we buried the ashes of our dead. The fires of vengeance forged me anew, into a being of singular purpose. I would pay back the Dark Lord for his gratitude in turn, with blood.
|
Velcroy the king of everlasting darkness was quite an enlightened fellow given his title.
"Sir! Sir, the prophecy, they have determined who will be the next hero of this land," Millrot, Velcroy's personal skin shifter, said.
Velcroy had the slimy-looking echo of a man watch the capital city of Juin. That was where the high order of the wizards would be.
That was where the Sightseer would be. She would determine the futures and possibilities that they would all go down on.
It seemed she had finally decided who would be the next hero.
"Go on," Velcroy said as he sat in his iron throne. The metal was darkened so black the night sky would look blinding in comparison.
"A girl! It's a girl, a young woman will rise up and kill you where you sit! She comes from Buttonwillow. A village on the outskirts of Juin," Millrot said with a distressed tone.
Millrot seemed more worried than Velcroy about all this. Velcroy was just thinking about what kind of apples were still in season. Something about the various reds, greens, and yellows an apple could take made Velcory happy. It was far better than all the oppressive darkness that was all around him.
"And," Velcroy asked as he contemplated which town hadn't been destroyed that could have an apple so red that it would be called a ruby by mistake.
"And..." Millrot started, "... and the village is small and tiny?"
Velcroy waved his hand, "I don't care about size or length of the town-,"
"Village, sir," Millrot corrected.
Velcroy allowed the interruption. Millrot had always been good at those little pesky things called labels and facts. All Velcroy wanted to do was garden and sleep. However, someone would have to be the everlasting king of darkness. Well, more like the kingdom of Yin had just assumed he was.
That's what he got for being the son of the previous king of everlasting darkness. However, his father’s darkness didn't seem quite everlasting. So why should Velcroy’s?
"Yes, yes the village. I don't care about the thing. Why should I?"
Millrot gave Velcroy a puzzled look. "It's... it's where the hero of light will come from... my king."
Velcroy placed his finger on his chin. It looked to Millrot that he was thinking about something.
"Do you think they have tasty apples in Buttonwillow?"
The question blindsided Millrot. He didn't know why Velcroy would be thinking about apples at that moment or why the king thought it appropriate to ask about them.
"I... I would suppose? But King! This is a life or death situation! If you don't destroy the village then the hero will come and will destroy the reign of eternal night!"
Velcroy shook his head and gave the slime man a surprised look. "Excuse me, but who said anything about destroying the village? We, by all means, should not do that."
Millrot's shoulders tensed. He didn't know what had happened to the king. Millrot could remember beck when Velcroy was a little child that loved all the torturing, pain, and torment his father did to his enemies. Then Velcroy went through his... teenage years as the humans called it.
Now he was going on and on about apples, bananas, and even mangoes? Who would want to have that?
"But, your malevolence, we need to destroy the hero before they become strong enough to kill us."
Velcroy wasn't even listening. He was giving a longing look to the hallway that would empty out into a kitchen. He figured some fruits might be there. He loved how sweet they tasted. Much better than the bland meats and flesh they always had here.
"Sir!" Millrot had raised his voice out of panic and not anger. He needed Velcroy to understand what was happening.
"Oh! Oh yes, yes. We can't destroy the village. If we do that then the hero will surely kill us. Remember what had happened to my father ," Velcroy said. Then his thoughts slipped back into how hard it was to grow anything here in these accursed lands. It seemed that ritual blood sacrifices made the lands not the most fertile place to plant fruit trees.
The humans had it so easy with their nice lands and their clean rivers. Velcroy's father had murdered so many that the rivers even ran red with blood now. Horrible for apples.
Millrot, however, wanted his young lord to understand the horrors that could befall them if he didn't destroy the town.
"Please, my cruelness, we need to destroy them. That's what your father would do. That's what you should do as well."
Velcroy just sighed a long sigh. He even rolled his head to add some extra drama to the display.
"Destroy this, destroy that. Kill this, murder that. That's all I hear from you Millrot." Velcroy was sick of it. He wanted to make something. He wanted to grow and nourish something for once in his life rather than take it away. He would have preferred to build something in Buttonwillow rather than raze it.
However, Millrot nodded at what the king said. Destroying and murder was the bread and butter of being a king of everlasting darkness. Not apples and jams. Only humans enjoyed that stuff anyway.
Velcroy should be pillaging, razing, sacrificing. Not trying to grow a garden in the middle of desolation.
Millrot was going to try one more thing, but then the king of darkness leapt out of his chair. With a smile on his face. "Say! You know how we have been doing all this destroying back when my father was around?"
Millrot gave the king a suspicious look. Velcroy never looked that happy while talking about destruction.
"Yes, what about it my evilness?"
Velcroy threw his hands up in the air like he had a surprise. "How about instead of destroying we could make something! Like we could build new roads, maybe a house or two, or a school... or a fruit farm," Velcroy snuck that last bit under his breath.
Millrot looked flabbergasted. In all his decades of serving dark lords, this was the first one that had ever said something this ridiculous.
"We will not be building anything for the humans! That would go ag..." Millrot then went on a tirade how un-evily it would be to help the humans.
However, Millrot didn't expect in two years to be standing at Buttonwillow Academy, home of the chosen and school for the brilliant.
He also didn't know that he would be the vice principal there.
He also didn't know that Velcroy would be the headteacher, the principal, and the gardener.
Somehow, Velcroy had managed to improve all parts of Buttonwillow and the surrounding areas.
Velcroy smiled as he saw the world get a little brighter now. He even started a new tradition with his first generation of students.
"Now children, an apple a day keeps the darkness away," he would exclaim in class as each and every student would come with all sorts of apples. Each one of the apples was some kind of red, or green, or even yellow. Velcroy had even managed to make his own strain here in Buttonwillow. A wonderful new pink apple that tasted better than it sounded.
Yet, neither Millrot nor Velcroy knew how well they both had been tricked.
The Sightseer's granddaughter lived in Buttonwillow. The Sightseer smiled to herself when the school had an fruit festival to showcase the new wonderous breeds of apples, bananas, and even mangoes that were growing there now.
The Sightseer bit into a pink apple and thought to herself something that would make any scheming dark lord proud.
*All according to plan.*
___
If you would like to read more of my stories, then they are here at r/WritingKnightly!
| 2021-01-14T19:53:04 | 2021-01-14T18:52:56 | 417 | 292 |
[WP] You stare at the pills in your hand. The doctor taps his foot impatiently. "These will really cure me of hearing that voice?" you ask. The doctor rolls his eyes. "Yes, you'll never hear her again." You level your gaze on the doctor. "I never told anyone the voice was female..."
|
The doctor tries to play it off.
"Oh sorry,I know,I was jus...."
But it was too late . Overwhelmed with a sense of paranoia, you begin looking around the room frantically, and the doctor jumps up dashing for his desk.
You grab his hand , you don't know why ,but you just do . You can feel the fear radiating through him, his eyes jolting around as if asking for help.
You look where he was reaching to, a small button hidden under his desk. But why ? What does the button do , and why would he need to press it for a normal man like yourself.
Your entire life you've worked a normal job, had a normal family, and normal hobbies. The voice was the only thing not normal about you, and you just wanted help.
The voice had to be some type of mental disorder, the things she told you to do ,you could never do , they weren't human.
"Let Me Go Now Number 42!" The doctor yells out, interrupting your thoughts.
By now he was shaking, sweat dripping off his brow, and his face as white as a sheet.
"Number 42?!? ,what does that even mea.." you started to say, but were interrupted by the pounding inside your head and her voice.
"Let him push the button, he won't like what's next."
|
I'd been watching Bandersnatch for days. I saw right through it. No - I had been waiting for it. I knew he would make that mistake. I had played through the subtle variations that caused him to lose his concentration so that he would say it.
So that what I did next would make sense. Because what actually mattered was whether it made sense to me. To be self-consistent even if it was all so crazy.
The doctor approached me with the pills. She told me to kill him. This time. This time I had seen enough to listen. One more moment. He was almost close enough. He reached for my mouth with the pills, and a lunged. My straightjacket wasn't going to save him this time.
Blood poured everywhere. The doctor had dipped his chin just as I started to bite down, so I hadn't severed his windpipe. He instead lay bleeding on the floor trying to shout without being able to breathe.
I scrambled to free myself. I knew they were coming. She told me the window was the only way out. At first I thought she was a curse - her being there to control me. It took so long for me to see.
​
| 2018-12-28T16:48:51 | 2018-12-28T16:00:43 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Soulmates exist. You have flashes of of what your soulmate is seeing and hearing. A lot of soulmates use these flashes in their pursuit to find their soulmate. Personally, you have no interest. The only thing you ever see is darkness and the only thing you ever hear is a constant scream.
|
All of my friends (okay, _both_ of my friends) down booze to pass their worries. I tried that, didn't like it much. Instead, I visit Gisneyland, an amusement park, almost every week.
"Oh, how we met? It's a funny story really! My now-wife shoved a rainbow bouquet into my face as I walked out of work and declared me her soulmate. A bit brash--"
"I thought it romantic! I kept seeing visions of your dull grey office building, so I introduced myself by filling your boring life with color."
"Heh, she calls that building dull, but in the end she tracked me down by using its name! What about you, my boy? Caught glimpses of your soulmate yet?"
I have, but I could never tell them.
Permanent darkness, shrill screaming, metal scraping. Every time, it's the same, and every time I awake drowned in chilling sweat.
Usually when people get these visions, they're different. They let you see what your soulmate sees, hear what your soulmate hears, and compiling the clues over time helps couples find each other. I guess that's romantic.
But I stopped caring about romance a while ago. Now I just wish I could _save_ her, from the consistent dread she must feel, wherever she is. But when each dream is the same...
Anyway, that's why I visit the park. Somehow, meeting all the couples and hearing their stories is cathartic. It's good to experience these happy endings, even if they're not your ow--
"Aaah, oof!"
Tripping on something getting off a roller coaster while lost in thought? Classic.
Ah, and just my luck, I caused a young lady to fall. Even more classic.
"Ooooh I'm so terribly sorry! I really should watch my step more carefully, haha."
"No, miss, this was definitely my fault. Are you... by yourself today?"
"At a park? Yeah, it's rather awkward of me, isn't it? But I'm sure you have heard the same story many times! Just looking for my soulmate, well, maybe 'looking' isn't the best word for it, haha."
No, actually this is a first for me. I only ever talk to couples. "So then in your visions you see--"
"Roller coasters, yes! And food stalls, stages with shows, and people everywhere too. But it's the same place every time. I never thought someone could spend so much time at a park... but not knowing _which_ park--"
"--you've gone from park to park, searching for him."
"You got it!" That's actually kind of romantic. "But you know, if I'm spending all this time in parks, I might as well have a little fun too, so I make sure to do all the rides! I never got use to it, still scream every time... Well anyway, have you seen my cane?"
Her cane? Oh, so that's what I tripped on, a red and white cane... wait...
The grinding metal, the thrilling screams, and the blinding darkness...
Suddenly, it all makes sense. There was nothing I could do to save her. Instead, she saved me.
|
Look, I just wanted the screaming to stop, okay?
Most people desperately want a soulmate and since their mental glimpses showed sandy beaches, or gorgeous cities or cute little hamlets in picturesque mountains... Why not pursue it, right?
There were two problems going for me. The first one, and it's a biggie, is that I am aromantic: I don't care to have a romantic attachment. The second problem, also pretty significant, was that I always got visions of torture and pain. Lots of darkness and screaming. The breathless screaming gave me the most headaches and I Just. Wanted. It. To. Stop.
So, I rescued the poor person and took them to a house I have on a beach. It's an old and somewhat persnickety house and the beach is in the northern hemisphere, so most of the year it's damp, cold and freaking windy.
Just so you don't get any illusions of where this story is headed.
Rescuing someone is... Not glamorous. Even if you could manage to take them for a daybreak walk along the sand, when the ocean is still sleeping, they probably wouldn't notice the same things you do. The dunes are only hiding places for bad guys and the wind is too cold and the sunshine is much too bright. You have to bite your tongue to keep from saying, "But how can it be, the sun is just barely coming up!?"
So you go back to the house, and just for a moment, when the grit on your feet rubs between your tender soles and the boardwalk, you get a glimpse of the uncomfortableness they feel.
But it's just for a moment, and then it's lost in figuring out what to eat for breakfast.
So I was stuck per se in that strange part of being an anchor. It's intimate, but not cozy. I did everything I could, even finding a therapist and arranging for regular outings.
And the relationship grew on me.
Not in a lovey dovey happily ever after way(were you still hoping for that?), but I realized I looked forward to the shy smiles and the way the chain(to me, the anchor) got longer and longer. Some days were still bad but sometimes it wasn't me that suggested the walks by the water at odd hours of the day. Wind was refreshing, the old sunlight(evening, this time) shining off the curves of the face and turning hair into gleaming gold.
I never heard the words "Thank you." Like that, just out loud. But it was there in other ways. Like the giggle over a well crafted pun, and remembering to go to the therapist without my saying anything.
Things like reciprocated friendship.
We live across the city from each other, now. But the slow deepening of our care for each other is like a fruit tree: every year it gets more mature and the blossoms every spring, richer. The fruit in the summer and fall fill you with joy and the winter is a time for reflection and peace. It's not until you look back at pictures of a slender sapling that you realize just how far you've come, when before you had nothing.
r/yoroshikuwriting
| 2021-11-09T06:49:15 | 2021-11-09T05:47:32 | 371 | 32 |
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.
|
Somebody once told me the world was going to roll me, I am not the sharpest tool in the shed.
She was looking kinda dumb today, as her finger and her thumb were forming an "L" on her forehead.
Well, the years start coming and don't stop, fed to the rules and I hit the ground running.
Didn't make sense not to live for fun, your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb.
So much to do, so much to see, so what is wrong with taking the backstreets?
You will never know if you don't go, you'll never shine if you don't glow.
Hey now, you are surely an all-star, get your game on and go play!
Hey now, you are a rock star, get the show on, get paid!
All that glitters is gold, and only shooting stars break the mold.
It is a cool place, and they say it gets colder.
If you're bundled up now, wait until you get older!
But the meteorologists disagree, based on the ozone layer.
The ice we skate, is getting pretty thin.
It's melting though, so just go swimming.
My world's burning, how about yours?
That's the way I like it.
I never get bored.
Shrek is love.
Shrek's life.
Yeet.
(Edit: hyphenated words count as one)
|
When Earth gave up on us and the land became unstable, when the oceans could no longer contain our garbage.
When our insatiable appetites turned against us, and our aging home could no longer sustain our endlessly devouring multitudes.
When the grey sky grew thick with our waste and the rain turned sharp and the wind screamed.
When humanity desperately needed to reach out into the unforgiving void and grasp, with hands half dead.
Grasp that which seemed beyond reach of our wildest dreams but in which lay all hope.
Reaching blindly into the darkness, looking for light and salvation and new beginnings and Life.
And like so many seeds in the wind, we go scattered into the stars.
Adrift on tiny spires of gods own light we journey for our children.
For one day, their children's children can see laid out before them.
In shifting hues of green and blue amid whorls of white.
A new home, just barely found, nestled among the stars.
A glowing gem, not to be taken for granted.
A refuge and partner, to love and cherish.
And what will they think, I wonder?
Will they look down and remember?
Will they learn from us?
Or repeat our mistakes.
Our final hope.
Fading light.
Life
| 2019-02-19T12:03:45 | 2019-02-19T11:42:55 | 40 | 29 |
[WP]You've been finding a lot of loose change in your couch lately. It turns out it's the tiny speaking spider paying rent.
|
Bzzzt.. Bzzzt..
A hand darted out from beneath a tangle of blankets, groping blindly across the surface of the end table next to the bed.
Bzzzt.. Bzzzt..
A man sat upright and flung the covers away. He wiped the sleep from his eyes.
Bzzzt.. Bzzzt..
A groan escaped his lips. He picked a small flip phone up off the end table, "Stacey" flashed across the display. "Nope" he said to himself as he bounced the call.
Ding..
A text message. "Oh for fucks sake, what?!" He flipped the phone open and scanned the screen, "Jack, could you please call me when you get this, it's important. Seriously call me back this time." His hands absent mindedly ran through his hair. "Well that can't be good" he said to no one in particular.
Jack swung his legs off the bed, paused for a moment, and surveyed his kingdom. He shimmied into a pair of jeans that had been heaped up on the floor then began rifling through a pile of laundry at the foot of his bed for a shirt. "Nope" he tossed a tee shirt away, another failed the smell test, third time was the charm.
Cigarettes, that's what this day needed. Certainly they would be needed if he was to have any serious discussion with his on again off again girlfriend. The pack on the dresser was empty, "Piss" he muttered. There was a walk to the gas station in his immediate future. One laced up pair of tennis shoes later and he was mostly ready to head out.
A thought occurred, he should probably bring his wallet. It took a few minutes to find the wallet among the clutter of his tiny one bedroom apartment. There was another disappointment waiting inside, it was nearly empty. "Fuuuuck." Two dollars. That was it, all he had to his name for the moment. That wasn't enough he needed at least three fifty. A frantic search of the apartment began.
Drawers were opened, pants pockets checked, things were strewn about, and much pacing was done. He was storming through the living room when the couch caught his eye. There was an eerie run of luck coming from that thing here lately, in fact it had been months since he failed to find change in it.
In the midst of running his hands down between the cushions he felt a sudden jolt of pain in his left hand. "Ow, what the hell!" he danced away from the couch, shaking the sting from his hand. "Oh gods I'm so sorry" came a faint voice. "Don't worry about it" Jack replied reflexively as he rubbed his hand. A wave of panic washed across his face "Who's there!? Who the hell is in my house?"
"Wait, wait, wait, don't panic" said a voice soft as a fine silk. "I've uhh.. I've been here for a while now, I hope you've been finding the change I leave for you." Jack blinked, it took a moment for the gears in his head to begin spinning again. "Been here for a while? Change.." he whispered. "Yes the change in the couch, I hoped we had an agreement. The change in return for you ignoring my presence" came the reply.
"Where the fuck.." Jack began scanning the room slowly, looking for the intruder. A small eight legged form scurried up on the the arm of the couch "Perhaps this would be easier if I revealed myself." There was a heavy silence. "I know it seems... unorthodox but, well, I'm a spider". Jack simply nodded, he was too numb with shock to really process the words.
Bzzzt...
The phone was ringing again, this time from inside one of his pants pockets. "Stacey?" the small, fine, voice asked. Jack slid the phone out, checked the screen, and nodded slowly. "She seems like a sweet girl, perhaps you should answer it? We can finish this conversation later.".
|
I opened the door and stepped into my apartment. Kicking off my shoes, I reached for the lights, flicking them on without looking. I emptied my pockets onto the small table near the door, and headed for the couch. It had been a long day, and I really just needed to zone out for a while. I stood at the end of the couch, and then let myself fall onto its inviting cushions.
"Ow! What the shit?" I cried.
I pushed myself up. The cushion hadn't been very cushy. In fact, it had been hard, making a metallic clinking when you hit it, like it was filed with small bits of metal. I grabbed the cushion and turned it so the zipper was facing me. It was liking moving a slab of concrete. And still, a jingle of metal came from within. Like a... like a pocket full of change.
I had been finding change in my couch cushions for a few weeks now. I didn't really think anything of it. I don't carry a lot of change, but I figured some of my friends did, and that was the source. But someone had taken out all the stuffing from this cushion and replaced it with change. I undid the zipper, and sure enough, hundreds of coins were inside. A few spilled out, and I let them. I didn't know what to do. Only myself and the landlord had a key. I sure didn't ruin my cushion, and my landlord sure didn't just give away money.
"I hope that's enough," a high-pitched voice broke the silence.
I looked around. No one was in the apartment but me.
"Over here. On the top of the back of the couch."
I looked at the top of the couch. There was a small spider there, but nothing else. I got up to see if the window was open.
"Where are you going? I'm right here! I'm the spider!"
I turned around and looked closer at the spider. It moved closer to me, legs moving too fast to see. I took a step back.
"Hi! I moved in a little while ago, but I didn't want to make myself known until I was able to pay my way. This is my part of the rent." The spider waved one tiny leg at the sack of change.
"Okay," I replied slowly, "You're a talking spider. A spider who talks. A spider with vocal chords or something."
"Yes, and I want to live here. This apartment building if full of delicious insects. It really is prime real estate." Two spider legs waved, indicating the building.
I stared at the small arachnid for a few moments. "And you're paying rent to me?"
The spider shook it's body up and down-oh hell, it was nodding-and indicated the coins again. "I can only really pay with what I find, so bills are usually out of the question. But I promise I'll have a good amount every month. I'll earn my keep."
I stood there, looking at the tiny talking creature, not saying anything.
"So... do we have an agreement?" The spider asked.
I blinked, keeping my eyes closed for a bit longer than normal, then answered it. "Sure. Why not? You can have the run of the place while I'm at work or asleep. Just steer clear when I'm home, and definitely don't be seen if I have anyone over."
The spider jumped into the air, disturbingly high, then landed easily. "Great. That works for me, you sleep a lot. I'll get you some more money for next month." It began crawling towards the crack between the couch and the wall.
"But how can you speak?" I asked it.
"Oh," the spider responded, stopping for just a moment at the edge of the gap, "It has to do with science."
| 2017-03-31T18:26:11 | 2017-03-31T16:50:44 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Since the age of 14, you’ve noticed a monster stalking you. A few years later, you’ve noticed that it seems very protective over you and will even go through extreme lengths to protect you. It’s usually friendly, but it seems threatening when your childhood friend is around.
|
When I was a little boy I always had the same nightmare over and over. Every night I would dream of a hulking monster with long, wicked claws, sharp fangs which grew far past its mouth, and always it would follow me. It got to the point where my parents put me in therapy, because I could not shake these nightmares.
Nothing helped, nothing made them stop. As I got older I decided to start keeping them to myself; all they seemed to do was worry everyone around me. I would wake up every night panting and sweating, looking around my room for this monster.
By the time I was 14 I had gone from being fearful of the nightmares to being downright tired of them. No longer did I wake up afraid, but instead annoyed that I couldn't have just one night of peace.
One night I awoke from the dream, but this time something was different. I had gone past the point of annoyed and into nothing short of rage. "If you want me so bad, then come and get me," I hissed into the shadows. Nothing happened, and eventually my anger was overcome by exhaustion.
The next night was nothing short of a miracle in my book: I dreamt of something other than the monster. I woke up in the morning, and realized that for the first time in over ten years I had slept through the night. Elation soared through me, and from that night on I never dreamt of the monster again.
However, that was not the last time I would see him. As the days passed I kept seeing him in my peripheral vision. But oddly enough, I didn't feel threatened by him. This creature which had haunted my dreams for *years* actually felt more like a comfort than a threat. I got the feeling that he was watching over me, as though I had a guardian demon.
More years passed and eventually I began to talk to my demon throughout the day. He never really replied beyond a tilt of acknowledgement now and again, but it was still somehow soothing to talk to him. I'd decided to call him Rick, and he seemed to like, although it was hard to tell. Whenever I was about to walk into danger, as teenage boys are wont to do, I would feel a little tug on my shirt, warning me not to.
None of my friends or family ever seemed to notice him, so I kept his existence to myself. As I grew up he stayed with me, and continued to be a source of comfort for me. One night I'd had one too many drinks at a bar, and when I left I didn't exactly have my wits about me. It was a dark, starless night, and everything but the bars and clubs were closed down for the night.
I stumbled into the alley where I had parked my car and fumbled around my pockets for my keys. I didn't notice the man walk up behind me, but I certainly noticed when a knife appeared at my throat. "Either give me your money, or give me your life," a ragged voice said. I swallowed in apprehension and slowly began to reach for my wallet.
However, before either of us had any time to react he was yanked away from me and violently thrown against one of the alley walls. His body made a sickening crunching sound as it hit the wall, and when he landed on the ground he didn't move. Knowing that there was no way I would be able to explain this to anyone, I called paramedics for him, and passed out in the car as it drove me home.
From that night on I realized the level of protection Rick would give me, and in many ways it was a comforting thought. However, I also worried about him killing someone someday; I didn't exactly want that on my conscience. Whenever I talked to him, the subtle signs of acknowledgement were still all he gave as a sign that he heard me, but I hoped he would understand that I didn't want to see anyone dead because of me.
A few years passed uneventfully until I had the pleasant surprise of being contacted by one of my closer childhood friends: Mark. Him and I had been inseparable until we'd gone to separate high schools, and I was honestly looking forward to seeing him.
When I got to the coffee shop and spotted him, Rick had an immediate and volatile reaction. Out of the corner of my eye I could see his claws flexing back and forth, and the change in his demeanor was palpable. "Everything is fine, don't do anything," I whispered as quietly as I could. I made my way to Mark's table and sat across from him.
He reached his hand out and shook mine, "Adrian, it's good to see you."
I smiled, "Yeah, you too, buddy. It's been what, twelve, thirteen years?"
He nodded, "Something like that."
"So what you been up to all this time?" He perked up as though he'd been waiting for me to ask. It was in that moment that I saw Rick tense again, and I prayed he wouldn't make any moves towards Mark. "That's actually why I wanted to see you today. I started my own business with this great company, and I think you'd be a perfect fit to join our team."
I sighed and shook my head at his obvious MLM pitch. "Have at him, Rick."
|
My friend chatted away about some other inane topic. Or, maybe it wasn't inane, I could hardly tell with this guy. He was all over the place normally, but he seemed extra jittery today. Excitable.
My eyes were on blip. Blip was the monster in my closet. Well, he was more places than just my closet, but he preferred dark places like that. He was a shy dude, didn't like being looked at. I think it made him uncomfortable.
Except for me, that is.
I learned a long time ago that blip was a friend. I used to be scared of him, he was the thing you could never look directly at. Long, dark claws, taut black skin, piercing white eyes, could never see his mouth, I don't know if it was just closed, or if he didn't have one. Blip was the kind of thing that, when your eyes fixed on him he'd look like something else. Clothes hanging in the closet, toys on the floor, a coat rack, or nothing at all. But I learned if you stated straight ahead and watched from your peripheral, you could could see him.
When I was younger, I was terrified. He was the boogeyman after all, always there, yet would disappear whenever I frantically looked around the room, flashlight waving wildly.
That all stopped the day the robbers came. I must've been 14, after many trips to my therapist, I was convinced he wasn't real. Then, one night, three men broke into our house. I heard the noise downstairs, and already awake from trying to ignore the monsterous claws reaching up around my bed, I decided to head downstairs and see what late night snack my dad was making. When I hit the bottom of the staircase, I froze. Three men dressed in dark clothes were tossing everything they could get their hands on in a sack, my father was laying unconscious on the floor.
One of the men saw me, and raised his crowbar. I shut my eyes waiting for a blow that never came. After a solid 5 minutes if standing there frozen, eyes clenched, I opened my eyes. The men were gone, well, not "gone" per say, but they weren't there anymore. Blood splattered every surface of my kitchen, but not a scrap of flesh or clothing remained. I could see the monster, blip, out of the corner of my eye, his narrow form slightly more rotund. His eyes looked... Softer.
The EMTs didn't know what to make of the scene, my whole house almost covered in blood except for where I stood and my father lay.
After that, I wasn't afraid anymore. I understood he wasn't hunting me, and wouldn't hurt me. The darkest street corners didn't scare me, and I felt no fear no matter how late I walked home from school. Oh I was accosted more than once, but thanks to blip, it never came to anything.
There was just one tiny, strange thing. Blip *hated* my childhood friend. I mean, yeah it was kind of weird, an older man talking to younger me, but he was always really nice. He spoke super erratically and I couldn't follow his thoughts most of the time, but he told the grandest stories, tales of places he visit, sights he saw, people he met. It was enchanting. Aside from blip, he was a constant in my life. He wasn't always there, but he showed up from time to time, we'd sit and chat and it would drive blip mad.
That fact was the reason I originally hung out with the man. Blip would go nuts, but never do anything. Then, after I learned blip protected me, it made me nervous. But it couldn't be that bad, blip never hurt him. Never even came close. If he was that bad, blip would've killed him.
"Hello? Hello hello? Planet earth to major tom, are you alright?" He asked, concern on his face.
My eyes snapped back to reality, my musings ended.
"Yeah, I was just-"
He sighed deeply.
"You can see it, can't you?"
I froze, what? No one had ever noticed blip before.
"I always suspected, I should've acted sooner. I knew I should've, but I held out hope"
"Doctor, what are you talking about?"
"They latch onto you, these things. Normally they just skull about, but sometimes they pick kids and just..." He made some vague gesture, "latch on".
"I don't-"
"Listen, you need to come withe until we can figure this out, alright? This thing, he's not your friend. He's dangerous, I know he's killed around you before. That won't stop"
"He's never-"
"Ah, that's just it though, not 'never', just not 'yet', eh? Come with me, travel with me for a little while, alright? I'll figure this out, I promise."
Before I could even make sense of his words, he was pulling me by the hand to a strange blue box.
| 2020-12-18T11:58:36 | 2020-12-18T10:22:28 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself
|
Through the years the great coming of age feast was always looked forward to by everyone. Every power was known due to having being tried at least once and due to variety of different cultures. The people all knew very well what they know they will get before hand. Some families pick a food that is their traditional choice, others break this tradition with a choice of their own. One thing is for certain, it is only you that is teleported to that room when your time comes. There are others with your same birthday but it is just you with that whole table alone.
The apples gave superhuman endurance and speed. The fish gave superhuman intelligence. Carrots gave superhuman vision. Bread gave you limitless wealth. Other things have more complex superpowers. The more ingredients there were the more complex or the more mixed your powers became. Chicken noodle soup gave heat vision, x-ray vision, laser eyes, super endurance, flight, and telekinesis.
It is your turn to go and you disappear into the room. Time nearly stands still until your choice is made to pick the food you want. The room is dimly lit with an unknown source of light above it. The table is wooden and looks nearly mid 1300 century with hand made rivets holding the table in place. The table is surrounded by similarly looking wooden chairs at each end and a bench on both of the longer sides. The centerpiece is a beautiful combination of plants that make it almost look like Thanksgiving. Surprisingly, there are no plates on the table just the food and the table. The soups were contained in a bowl but we're over flowing the bowls they were contained in.
You chuckle as you know there are a few people that have bitten the centerpiece. The power they received is interesting they can shape shift from looking like different people to even different objects. This power is very useful with spies and it is fully taken advantage of in many espionage operations.
You sit at the end of the table pondering about which one to pick. You jump between them all after a while you notice something. Everyone has made a choice with everything. You can name all the powers by heart just by looking at each food but one mystery remains to you. What powers does the table give?
Your choice is made and you can tell what you want. It won't taste good but the table is the choice you made. Your curiosity has caught a hold and now you bend over to take that bite. Just as your mouth hits it, you are met with a complex set of flavors. It tastes like everything on the table and some flavors you can't even recognize. The flavor in your mouth turns to burning and then you feel a cool rush hit over your body as you disappear from the room.
You are returned to your class where you wonder if anything even changed. Your friends stare at you in hopeful wonder as they wait for you to tell what you picked. Many people were hoping you would pick the pot roast since it has some of the most desired powers to it. You try to muster something up but you can't figure how to or if you even have anything to summon upon. You shrug as you explain that you bit the table. Everyone of your friends laugh uncontrollably with disbelief. You feel like you kind of wasted your time but you thought it was a smart choice given the situation.
Suddenly it hit you, the force of all the knowledge in the universe, all the powers ever received from the table and more. Time is irrelevant to you as you can see things way far into the future and things way far into the past. All while staying exactly where you are. You become omnipotent and can give and take superpowers at will just like the table does.
Your friends see almost a galaxy glowing in your eyes as you finally know the purpose of the table and the food. The purpose was to test humanity with temptation while also having every power put in front of their faces. Just like you never judge a book by it's cover. With all this knowledge you finally snap out of it to go back to your math test in class happily writing out the answers as quickly as possible since you are omnipotent you do even look at the paper to complete the test as you teleport it in immediately to the teacher. There are many more important things to do but school comes first and you have unlimited amounts of time now.
|
I might be a lil crazy but I’m thinking I shouldn’t bite anything . Everyone always bites what’s in front of them and the powers range from making seeds grow into flowers to making clones out of water to jumping through time for hours. Sarah’s right beside me and she just bit into this banana and now she’s teleporting across the room. I don’t wanna have a banana I heard not eating the peel makes your powers overreact. The steak in the back smells good but I heard it’s a ruse. A dude in my neighborhood had the steak and all he can do is turn into a rabbit, and I don’t wanna be a limited animorph. The Red Apples are common cause they give you powers like Super speed or Bionic Hearing. Good powers but nothing fancy and I want something unique.
The Grapes seem to give you cloning powers and while that would be fun I don’t think having more than one of me would be good for myself. The Pasta in the back sounds good but someone else ate it and I can hear them screaming that their hands burn like lava and they can’t turn it off. Why can’t the turn on period for these things be sweet and easy. Jared is eating Baked Mediterranean Lobster and out of nowhere he starts to glow like he’s gonna explode. The explosion comes out of his fingers and he’s never been more embarrassed. I think I understand this shit now. Is it that the meals are strategically placed depending on what we would want? The everyday goods give you regular abilities, the cuisine gives you powers that people wouldn’t want and the stuff in between gives you whatever. So what would give me something else?
After walking round the room and tripping over a girl growing vines on her legs by eating French Shrimp I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s only one thing I can eat that’s gonna get me a power that no one else has. And it’s the Table that all the food is on. No one is either stupid enough or smart enough to ever try it but that’s why I’m here. I move a kid sneezing Needles out of the way and crouch down ready for the embarrassment and surprise of what I’m about to do. I grab the edge of the table and everyone stops and stares. Sarah runs over and asks me what the hell am I thinking and that I’m wasting my one bite. Jared comes over and has to ball up his fist while laughing otherwise I would be scolding hot right now with his hand on my shoulder. The Elders and Guards look on as more kids wait for me to bite. Looks like I have to get this over with and I take a bite. I feel my tooth crack and my body go limp for a second as a rush goes through me, every cell in my body feels on fire and my mind is racing a million miles per second.
I get up and I don’t feel a thing and even worse everyone is laughing their asses off. I look at Jared and I see a bunch of different numbers on his head, numbers that look like stats. His Life force for the day, his weak points in his body, his weaknesses for allergies, his loved ones and much more. Look at Sasha and I see how her body is reacting internally, where she went for the past week, the food she ate last night, her darkest fears. But it’s all like stats in a video game. I look at a elder and I see his memories, the kids he’s trained, the food he wants to eat and the money in his bank account. Everyone’s asking what my power is and the head elder says it should arrive in my body by the end of the week. As we leave the room to head to the debrief room I l go to the bathroom to look in the mirror and something tells me to tap the right side of my temple. I do so and I look down at my arms and my hands are shining blue. I extend my hand out and a blast comes out. I kick out my leg and a wave of energy comes out. I try to do my goku impersonation and blue energy covers my body. They yell that they need me in the debrief room so we can be assigned our squads. Guess I’m gonna have to learn my powers on my own time.
| 2020-03-19T10:28:48 | 2020-03-19T10:15:15 | 103 | 44 |
[WP] You are an immortal and have been alive for millions of years without anyone finding out. However, Human kind has been evolving, and you have stayed the same.
|
"Only those who achieve pure enlightenment are free."
That's what they always told you at the monastary. They said once you reached the highest level of consciousness, you would see all. You would have pure enlightenment and have the capacity to see everything as it was, is, and will be. And one day, up on a cliff surrounded by the morning mists, you did it. You reached enlightenment.
But not once were you told it meant your physical body would see all.
As humanity grew and developed, the world advanced further in technology. By the end of the twenty-first century, over half the Earth's energy was renewable and green. Humanity as a whole became more accepting of others' beliefs, desires, and needs. They began to emphasize empathy and happiness for others' happiness.
But for every positive growth, there was a negative.
The 3-D technology combined with stem-cell research that helped so many in the medical field also led to unlimited soldiers to fight unlimited wars. Weapons became larger, stronger, deadlier, and merciless. The less consciously-developed countries still practiced war on belief, and the wars were great and terrible. By promoting equality for all, equal death and pain for all was accepted by those who had not found their inner peace. Their purpose was to cause pain to those who denied it existed. The few countries that were peaceful fell to those that were not for the sole reason that they breathed.
And you saw it all.
Amidst the temple on the mountain you called your home, the greatest war on earth, the battle of good and evil, was a sight to behold. You were taught that light would always triumph because it was light.
Oh, how wrong they all were.
The earth collapsed in fire, fulfilling the irony found in so many religious texts. Maybe they were somewhat right after all. The smoke and ash blocked out the sun, and the last few survivors choked on the dust.
But you lived on.
As everything is, with every collapse brings new life. Out of the ashes a new world began. One of greenery, one of water, one of life. The creatures that survived overcame the planet once more.
And you wandered.
You knew you couldn't have been the only one to achieve enlightenment; you had learned so much of the past gurus and teachers who saw all. So you wandered, looking for company amidst the 197 million square miles of the expanse surface of the earth.
Often you wondered if you should have been a scientist back when humanity still lived. What will happen to the Earth? Will it continue evolution in such a way, developing beauty before falling into self-destruction?
And then, one particular morning (one of many you saw during your trek for enlightened company), as the sun rose, it rose with a brilliance never before seen. You shaded your eyes, and then, in a flash, it was all gone.
|
At first I traveled from world to world, only staying long enough to be discovered. I would write myself into the history, and vanish, content in the knowledge that I would be remembered. Sometimes as a god, sometimes as the opposition, but they would not forget me.
Blending in was never a problem. I would seek these world out at their infancy, and be there when the first being took it's first step. I became a feature of their world, and keeping up the disguise for the short time I was there was simple.
Until now. I found this world at it's birth, and I watched these warm blooded beings grow into a force to be feared. I spawned a religion for them, as I had millennia before, on all other worlds. I became their guiding light, and I died for them. And I, feeling something akin to pity for these lonely beings, one of the few that had no other sentient species to bond with, I stayed a short while longer. I hid among them, adjusting my body every few cycles, and I watched them blossom. I watched them leave their world, and I watched them discover the stars. And when I felt that they no longer needed me, no longer needed someone behind the scenes, I tried to leave.
And it happened. I realized they had done far more than I had expected. As I had nurtured their world, they had built the means of demolishing it. And as I prepared to leave, they lit the skies up with their poison, and I watched the world flatten and burn.
---
And so I am trapped. I am damaged by what they did, and it will take me longer than this world will stay in orbit to recover. I cannot change my body, and it is beginning to show. They rebuilt their world, bred the poison out of their lineage, one generation at a time. They learned from their mistakes. They evolved.
This is my problem. They evolved more quickly than before, helped along by mutagens twisting the evolutionary timeline. What should have taken aeons took mere millennia, and I did not change with them. They became cold-blooded, long-lived creatures, they regressed in a way. They kept their intelligence, and added the resilience of a reptile, while I remained an ape.
So, I hide. All I can do is hide and wait. I will heal, or this world will end, and in either scenario, I am free of this wretched planet. Next time, on the next world, I will act differently. I now know what a species will do when left to it's own devices, and I will not allow this scenario to play out again. The next species, I will snuff out before they discover the stars.
| 2015-12-09T06:46:38 | 2015-12-09T06:40:02 | 27 | 15 |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
Looking in the mirror, I puffed my chest out arrogantly.
I flexed, and admired the aesthetics of my physique.
Vascular arms, the chiseled abs, and V taper.
And then my eyes stopped short, shocked.
I trembled as the realization dawned.
I've made a huge mistake.
How did this happen?
I skipped it.
Leg Day.
Again.
|
I couldn't believe just how hard it was to say.
*"I always knew that you would end my life."*
*"What do you mean --- I don't get it?"*
*"I really didn't expect that you would."*
Her eyes began to well up.
*"You're starting to scare me."*
My voice began quivering.
*"I'm so sorry."*
*"No wait--.*
*"Goodbye."*
| 2015-01-05T22:38:49 | 2015-01-05T21:31:56 | 1,258 | 14 |
[WP] As Death walks towards you, you panic and scream the first word that comes into your head: “Unsubscribe!” Death stops, scowls, crosses your name off the list he is holding then turns and walks away.
|
**CENTURIES**
It's been centuries since my death. My soul roams the barren earth, unable to move on. A ghost, forever roaming the earth, looking for, *searching for*, the path to the afterlife.
It's lonely, being dead. Who would've thought? The day of my death I was a soul, an entity outside my body, ready for death to take me. The sight of him made me panic, making me say the first thing that came to mind, the words that forever haunt me, the words that became a self-inflicted curse, I screamed "UNSUBSCRIBE". These words made Death scowl, made him remove my name from a list, then leave.
Since then I roamed the earth, seeing the sights I've wished to see when alive, watching over the family I had, but what I thought was a blessing was a curse.
It was lonely. Seeing the beautiful sights alone, watching those close to me with no way of interacting with them, it filled my stomach with all-consuming loneliness.
Being surrounded by hundreds, thousands, of people, yet not being able to touch them, *to speak to them.* Isolation is all I've known since that cursed day.
Centuries pass and the end came. Everything died, life lost to this planet.
Before me lies what's left of the earth. A husk of its former glory. Yet even in the end, I stay, unable to pass. Forever isolated with no escape.
============
This came out my ass in a queef of inspiration. I think it turned out pretty good (definitely not biased). Criticism is welcome
|
*“Unsubscribe!”*
Death stopped, scowled and crossed my name off a list he was holding.
*phew.*
Damn, that thing was creepy - it seemed cloaked in shadow, making the space around it darker. Sucking in the light, almost. I realised I was sweating a little.
That was intense. I needed a break.
I took off my headset and can back to reality. The clock showed 4am. *already?* My eyes fell on the dirty dishes piled high, clothes scattered across the floor. And I saw my reflection. Haggard bloodshot eyes, thin frame, scraggly unkempt beard.
Panic started to swell up within me. *No*. No no no, I couldn't deal with all this. I didn't have to. I slammed the headset back onto my face, harder than necessary, but I *needed* to escape.
I appeared in my mansion, and breathed in deeply once again.
"Welcome to the Metaverse" a charming women's voice said.
I walked past my mirror and saw a golden haired, blue eyed, well built man. Tall. Handsome.
*This is reality, that other place, thats just the nightmare I have to suffer sometimes. And one day I won't even have to do that. I'll lie down in a MetaPod and spend the rest of my life here. What makes something real anyway? This is as* ***real*** *as I want it to be.*
| 2021-12-09T00:48:07 | 2021-12-08T23:38:36 | 105 | 77 |
[WP] You are a kid's imaginary friend. They're growing up. You're fading away.
|
"One last time, huh?" I'm sitting on her bed, feet swinging a couple of inches off the floor. Hers are planted in the thick carpet, bare toes curling into it.
"Patch-" she says my name limply, like she's embarrassed of what it is. She looks up at me with sad eyes, kinda ringed in messy eyeliner. There's a smudge of clumsily applied lipgloss on her mouth and it's like remembering another lifetime, when I smeared her mum's eyeshadow across her lids and she'd thrown a powder compact across the pristine bedroom. Only she got in trouble. I never got in trouble.
"Come on. I'll let you be the dragon this time."
Her phone trills and she turns aside to flick the glowing screen sideways. It's another message from her school friend.
"Is she nice?" I ask, like a jealous husband.
"Yeah, course she's nice." She replies defensively.
"What do you do with her?"
She shrugs.
"I don't know. Talk, I guess."
"You don't play games? Did you tell her the princess game?"
"No..." She mumbles. "She's not really into that."
When she'd started going to school I'd sit on her bed, watching out of her window and wait for the blue SUV to pull up and her to spill out. She'd be dragging a PE kit and a bag full of books, hair half-falling out of its ties and stories spilling out about what a wonderful day she'd had. When she'd come home crying because of the girls in the locker rooms or the hallway or her English class I'd almost be glad. Those days we'd sit in bed together and play for hours. Sometimes she wouldn't go to school the next day and I'd have her to myself for a whole twenty-four hours.
"Can't we just play one more time?" I ask
She sighs and looks at her phone again.
"Please."
There's a cold feeling in my bones, like the empty space of the room is eating away at me and the only thing keeping it at bay is her eyes. They're fixed on me, smudged eyeliner and the chin jutted out like she used to do when she was little and she wanted to look braver.
"I have to go."
She stops at the door and looks at me. There's a look in her eye that says she knows it's the last time we're going to see each other.
"I have friends now," she says. "I don't need you any more."
She leaves and I look at the closed white door and feel the emptiness come rolling in.
"But I do." There is no one left to listen.
|
Lily doesn't play with me anymore.
We used to play together a lot, especially when she was littler. I remember, even if she doesn't.
In the spring, we would dance in the rain showers and pick pretty flowers and scream when big fat bumblebees chased after us.
In the summer, we would run through the forest and build big huge forts out of sticks and hide under leaves and catch all these gross icky bugs and laugh together.
In the fall, we would draw pretty pictures of the golden-red leaves and we would climb trees and we would lay on the grass finding shapes in the clouds.
In the winter, we would make snowmen together, and have great big snowball fights, and go sledding, and when we went inside, Lily's mom would always make us each a cup of hot cocoa with marshmallows, even though I never drank mine.
Lily's so big now. She used to be my height, but she's much taller. She has all these big new friends, much bigger than me, and some of them are even *boys.* *Ewwww.*
But me? I'm still the same as I always was. I've worn the same pink polka-dot dress for as long as I can remember. It's a bit faded now, and threads are coming loose, and it's covered with dirt from when I used to play with Lily, but that's okay because I know that Lily wouldn't care.
Lily changed her hair. It's blonde now, with a streak of purple. She looks like a lot of her other big new friends now. They all have some purple hair too. I don't know why she did purple when she always told me her favorite color was green. My hair is still brown like hers was, and I still wear it in two pigtails that bounce in front of me when I run.
Lily's changing. But I'm not. And every day she gets farther and farther away and sometimes I feel like I don't even exist anymore. Some days my dress is a lot more faded than others.
She doesn't play with me anymore. No one builds snowmen with me anymore, or finds shapes in the clouds, or laughs with me. It's always so quiet now when I go to play in the forest.
But that's okay. I know Lily will play with me again someday. Even when she's even bigger and more different than she is now. Because I'm her friend. And that's what people do with their friends; they play with them, the laugh with them, they love them.
And Lily is my friend. So she'll remember me someday. And we'll dance in the rain and build forts out of sticks and laugh together. Just like we used to. Right?
| 2014-05-08T09:28:43 | 2014-05-08T09:25:12 | 1,074 | 82 |
[FF] Write a 10 sentence story where the first sentence has 10 words, and each following sentence has one less word.
|
This happens to everyone who dares hold on long enough.
But my family keep me going, they're always around.
I have a husband, a child, a sister.
I have a husband and a child?
I have a daughter, she's beautiful...
I have nobody, I'm alone...
Who are these people?
I'm not "mum".
Go away.
Nurse!
|
Quick, whoever you are, I need you to please listen! I am a scientist using an experimental time machine. But it is not working as we intended. We are being pulled back and forth. Into one timeline, and then back. And each time is shorter! Almost out of time... Please, send help! Oh no... Nooooooo-
| 2015-01-27T12:54:32 | 2015-01-27T11:28:50 | 41 | 15 |
[WP]"Oh great far-speaking tower, I have performed the rituals as set forth in the sacred manual. Let me speak to the sky spirit so I may learn of it's wisdom!" "Uh.. Copy that. Moon City Delta responding... We thought everyone was dead down there."
|
Howard widened his eyes at the blinking control panel. He assumed this was prank at first. It said the transmission came from Earth. That should've been impossible.
The planet had been a smoggy, irradiated mess for over a century. Nobody lived down there anymore. At least, that was what Howard believed until now. The guy on the other side of the transmission clearly proved that wrong. Most citizens thought that Moon City Delta was humanity's last bastion. Only a small minority of them considered that Earth might still be habitable in the future. They were usually ridiculed as idealist that wanted to return to an idyllic paradise.
Howard hesitated to answer the transmission. For all intents and purposes, this would be their first contact with a foreign human culture. Who knows what silly things they could believe right now. The fact that the voice kept referring to a 'sky spirit' only reinforced that worry. They were still humans, though. It would be condescending to immediately look down on them when they were capable reestablishing communications with Moon Base Delta. They couldn't be complete idiots... right? Howard decided to alert his superior. It was the prudent thing to do. News of this would spread through the base in a matter of hours. Their way of life might be affected going forward.
And then the voice started saying something about lighting on fire the living sacrifice.
Howard froze.
They were going to kill someone. A misguided attempt at constructing a rudimentary rocket. They thought that throwing people into a metallic tube and burning them alive while inside was the way to send them to the 'delta realm'. Howard didn't even know how to begin explaining the many ways they were wrong. He didn't have time to get someone else. If he didn't answer the transmission, that person's death would be his responsibility.
"Uh.. Copy that. Moon City Delta responding... We thought everyone was dead down there."
"The blessed Moon City in the far reaches of Delta has answered our prayers!"
Loud cheering swelled in the background.
"Light the sacred flames!"
More cheering.
"Wait!" shouted Howard.
The voices fell quiet. Their worried whispers made it clear that they were scared of the 'sky spirit'. The leader then said:
"Have we angered you, sky spirit?"
"P-please don't sacrifice anyone. It's not necessary."
"I warned you!" said a woman. "We'll be punished for our hubris! Treading upon the land of Delta would only anger the gods! We don't belong there!"
People started agreeing with her. Angry shouting slowly increased until the entire room was arguing. They considered murdering the man for leading them astray. Howard panicked. He wanted to prevent a tragedy, but speaking only seemed to make things worse. These people were bloodthirsty. Life must be extremely harsh to survive in that environment. They wanted someone, anyone, to restore everything back to before the apocalypse destroyed everything.
Howard sighed. This would be a pain in the ass. Unfortunately, he also knew that if humanity had any hope of thriving again, they had to do their best to reclaim their lost world. Most citizens in the moon base had given up on that dream. They might even want to stay as far away from Earth as possible after learning about these people. Howard couldn't ignore them, though. He leaned close to the microphone and said:
"Hear me people of Earth, for I bring good news. There will be no sacrifices today. Do that and you will never hear from me again."
The people gasped.
"We're sorry!" shouted their leader. "Please don't abandon us again!"
"Do not apologize for threading upon the divine. That boldness is what propels humanity towards impossible heights. Listen and follow my instructions well. I shall teach you how to restore your world to the lush green fields it once had, and establish a bridge between our worlds again."
The voices went wild. They started celebrating a new dawn for their society. Howard sunk back into his chair. The consequences of his actions had just dawned on him. They worshiped him as a savior. The rest of the moon base couldn't find out about this. At least, not for a while. Howard didn't really know how his superiors would react to him being a god now. Then again, if this culminated with the restoration of Earth, he would live on in myths for eternity.
-----
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
|
"Why would everyone be dead?" I asked.
"...You did follow the manual, right? Exactly how it was all laid out?" the voice from the sky said with holy reverb and a deep pitch that vibrated your bones.
I gazed around at the courtyard of the castle grounds beneath the tower, haunted by the carnage that was ensued from the ritual, I shivered at the stench of rotten death and burnt flesh. "Uh yeah."
"You summoned 'The Unholy Reckoner'... right?"
"Uh-huh..." I bobbed my head, still craning my neck upwards at the sky.
"And then the five horned bats came down and observed the land to make sure everyone was dead, right?"
"Yup, they just left about 10 minutes ago."
"And then the river of flames opened up from the ground and toasted everyone, right?"
I nodded.
"What was that? Did you say something?" the voice yelled followed by a cracking noise in the background.
"Oh, sorry, I nodded for a moment. Yes, the river of flames did open up and it burnt everyone to a crisp."
"Well... You failed. Good job. Way to screw everything up. You suck. I hope you know that. You really really suck."
"What are you talking about?" I spun around, frantically trying to think of what I did wrong.
"Let me ask you something, when you saw that in the manual it said 'everyone must die', how exactly did you process that information?"
"I-uh-well-uh all of my 300 followers I brought with me died. Wasn't that what you wanted?"
"It's not just your followers, you're supposed to die too, jackass!"
My senses numbed, my heart sank, tears bursted in rivers down my eyes. *How could I fail my life's work?*
"How does it feel, jackass, to be a failure?" stifled laughter came from the omniscient voice.
My neck hung low as if an anchor was wrapped around in a necklace. "I-I-It's horrible..."
"How does it feel to be PRANKED by the galaxy's most popular elaborate prank show, Moon City Delta?"
Flood lights burned on and revealed that the castle grounds were inside of a massive dome with a studio audience that covered the rest of the land and clapped so hard the ground shook. A sea of crew members dressed in backstage regalia and equipment contributed to the applause. Cameras were strewn across the steel beams that supported the dome and down from the top of the (now obvious and fake) tower an elevator that was just a floating disc came down with five purple aliens. They had ruby red eyes, crystal blue suits, and they were no larger than a garden gnome. The crowd roared as soon as they made their entrance, they bowed in response.
Frozen in shock, the five aliens circled around me and threw a microphone up at my face. My jaw dropped. On the massive set, I saw all of my followers get up and wipe the makeup off their face and wave at me while cracking up. I saw 'The Unholy Reckoner' take off his mask and it turned out he was just a bunch of those purple aliens all stacked up on top of each other.
"How does it feel to have been pranked? By Zoller, Quro, Poz, Jav, and me, Vur?" one of the aliens asked me, but my lips trembled too much to form a sentence. The crowd shrieked with glee as he read the names.
"How does it feel to know that you thought this was real and you were responsible for the death of 300 *of your own kind*?" Another alien asked and the five of them chuckled and the rest of the crowd howled with laughter.
"I-uh-I-um--"
"Looks like we have another struggler here, you saw it live folks! That's been our season the past eight years, we hope you've enjoyed the prank and stay tuned for the next one where we convince a king to actually give up his wealth to his people! It's a good one and a real tear jerker. You won't want to miss it!"
​
\*\*\*If you're interested in reading more, [here's a prompt](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/ficr4t/wpthe_sage_has_found_the_chosen_one_a_farmer_boy/) I did that has a similar feel! :)
| 2020-04-25T09:05:59 | 2020-04-25T08:54:40 | 658 | 103 |
[WP] It is the end of days. God and Lucifer stand before the last human being. You are the first neutral soul who is neither good or evil enough to pass into a afterlife and thus must be judged personally. Unknown to them, you are Death and have come for them instead.
|
I sat in the waiting room, ankles crossed, reading the most recent edition of “Hell and Harpsichords: a magazine for the life-challenged soul.” Gradually, the room emptied, as the receptionist (a guy named Peter) called names and beckoned each person through one of the doors behind him.
I had gotten all the way to the story “Appearance matters: 10 ways to convince atheists you really exist” in my magazine when the last other soul was called through. I could hear Peter shuffling through papers and clearing his throat, but ignored him in favor of the magazine’s fascinating advice to try looking as big as possible and roaring at the atheists, a tactic I had also seen employed successfully by a number of grizzly bears.
Peter switched off the smooth jazz CD that had been on repeat for the last several years, and I looked up. “Excuse me, sir, but your name’s not on the list,” he said.
“I definitely have an appointment scheduled,” I replied.
“Uh, um, okay. Yes. This has never happened before. I will have to go check with my supervisor. Are you sure…? No, never mind, I just…” He paused, then blurted in one breath, “It’s just that you look very familiar, are you sure you haven’t been here before?”
“Quite sure. And would you mind putting in a different CD before you leave?” Honestly, I can understand why Peter wouldn’t remember me too clearly. After all, we had only met after he’d been upside-down on a cross for hours, and that doesn’t generally leave one in a state to remember faces.
Peter, distracted, restarted the same CD and was through one of the doors behind him before I had a chance to protest at hearing the opening chords to “Elevator to Heaven” for the eleventy-fortieth time. I sighed and turned back to the article, which also suggested aggressively prodding any particularly stubborn atheists with your pitchfork and/or harp.
The CD had progressed all the way to “Baby, Your Arms are in Heaven” when both doors behind the desk slammed open at the same time. Mercifully, this jostled the old CD player and it paused. Ah, I hadn’t missed these two -- they both really had a flair for the dramatic. It seemed they didn’t remember me, but then that wouldn’t surprise any quiet kid who’s ever been to a high school reunion. Lucy was still wearing her signature raccoon-style black eyeliner, along with a cape, for some reason. God had apparently never changed out of those khakis, but was also wearing a cape. I figured I’d start with a snappy opening line.
“Looks like I forgot my cape! Guess you’ll just be in-cape-able of judging me!” ...Well, maybe not that snappy.
God and Lucy ignored this comment. They both glared at me, then glared at each other, then returned to glaring at me.
“I’m not getting much,” Lucy said.
“Nor am I,” said God, eyebrows drawn together.
“This is your fault,” Lucy said. “You came up with this dumb system and now we have to deal with this numbskull, and I thought you said this was infallible. Who knows how many idiots ended up on the wrong list?”
“Look, Lucy,” God said. “I’m pretty sure this is a special case. It’s the End Times, there was sure to be at least one weirdo.”
“Hey,” I said.
God and Lucy ignored me, again. I leaned against the uncomfortable plastic armrest of a chair and started making origami out of my magazine. Meanwhile, God and Lucy were circling each other, arguing, complete with dramatic flourishes of their capes.
One of these flourishes jostled the CD player, which skipped back to the beginning and started playing “Elevator to Heaven” for the eleventy-forty-oneth time. I’m ashamed to say it, but I snapped.
“Look at me,” I screamed. God and Lucy spun towards me, surprised. I raised the origami sickle I had just folded.
“Remember me now?”
|
Knock…Knock…Knock…
Oh hi there! My name is Reverend Ezekiel Morris, ordained PhD from the Sanctimonious Preacher Society. Now before you shut that door on my face, like I know you want to, just let me ask you one question. Is that really too much to ask? I’ve been out here all day. Okay. So here it goes. If you had the chance, would you kill both God and Satan? Not either. Both. I know, I know. You are asking yourself, what kind of priest am I? And before we both go throwing out the word cult, and before you sarcastically offer me some Kool-Aid, just keep in mind that we are all speaking hypothetically here. Don’t get so uptight. This is just a conversation. Oh sorry! Listen to me rambling on, I never gave you a chance to answer the question!
So neither. That’s a fair response. How Saintly of you! Now consider this. If the end of days were to happen, say…next Tuesday, now once again, this is all hypothetical. But let’s just throw it out there. So if the world ended next week, and I were to come back here, fire and brimstone all over the place, your neighbors all flying up to the heavens in a giant beam of light. Say all that were to happen, and you somehow were still here, still alive. Could I count on you to kill both God and Satan. I know, I know, you just said you wouldn’t kill either. But given this different set of circumstances, could *I*, Reverend Ezekiel Morris, ordained PhD from the Sanctimonious Preacher Society count on you to do this task.
So fine, I understand why you are getting frustrated with me. And well, I guess also due to the fact that I barged into your house. But it’s just so cold out there. The winds are really blowing huh? Almost like Hell is freezing over! Hah! Bad joke, sorry. I know, I know. I just couldn’t help myself. And I mean, *you* are the one making this so awkward. Alright, fine. Before I leave, just one more question. Alright, so building off the scene I just set up. You know, fire brimstone. People being abducted. You murdering omniscient beings. So yea, let’s just keep this hypothetical train rolling. Given all of this, and at the end of the day you do decide to roll with the plan. I Ezekiel Morris, can count on you. And at this point you are standing in front of both God and Satan waiting to be judged. But we all know you can’t be judged. I’d wink here, but I can’t wink. So I’ll just allude to the wink. Would you, if called upon be able to wield this giant badass glowing sword! Swooosh!
Sorry, unsheathing swords doesn’t actually make the sounds it does in the movies. So I decided to make the sound. You know for effect. Okay, okay calm down. Put the phone down. No need to call the cops. I just wanted to see if hypothetically, if standing in front of God and Satan, you would be able to wield this sword. Yes this real sword. But the situation is still hypothetical. Come on! Take it, swing it around a bit. Put down the phone. Come on. No, there’s no need to get pushy. Fine, fine. I get it. You are not the person I’m looking for. I mean, looking for in the hypothetical sense. Yes! I’ve got it. I know who it is. Well good luck sir! I just had the wrong address I suppose. I’ll just walk here next door.
Knock…Knock…Knock…
Oh hi there! My name is Reverend Ezekiel Morris, ordained PhD from the Sanctimonious Preacher Society. Now before you shut that door on my face, like I know you want to, just let me ask you one question…
| 2015-10-19T12:31:36 | 2015-10-19T12:22:46 | 971 | 63 |
[WP] 1 The village seer had a prophecy on your pregnant mother: "Your womb carries the most powerful man to ever live, but one loved by misfortune." The seer was right except for one thing, there wasn't 1, but 2. Your powerful twin brother, and you, a powerless man w/ the worst luck in the world.
|
I was born a disappointment. I also was a relief, I think. My mother worried for months about the prophecy. She would lie awake at night, fretting about the fate of her child. She envisioned a great warrior, killed when he choked on his victory feast. Or maybe a powerful mage, struck down by a stray arrow while training.
Instead, she got me. Well, she got me and Arthur, but she had always been expecting a baby like Arthur. He cried a little when he was born. Just enough to let everyone know he was breathing and healthy. Then he promptly shut up.
I wasn’t crying when I was born. I was dying, actually. The cord wound itself around my neck three times and squeezed until my face turned blue. She was ready for something like this, though. Of course, she would be ready for the worst. The midwife cut the cord away and I cried. And then didn’t stop crying for the next three years, at least.
She always said everything clicked into place then, when she realized there was two of us. After all, couldn’t a man with enough power escape a life of misfortune?
She was carrying a little larger than normal, but she thought that was only because her child would be so amazing. I was so tiny as a newborn I shouldn’t have survived. I honestly think it was unlucky that I *did* survive.
Growing up sucked. Arthur was always so perfect at everything. He was stronger, smarter, faster, more charming, yadda yadda yadda, than all the other boys. I was his shadow, always stumbling after his sunlight.
Where he succeeded, I failed. I mean I wasn’t a *total* loser. For a while, I was the second fastest of all the boys in the village.
Until I tripped over a tree-root and broke my leg. I spent most of that summer in our home and the next summer I was the slower in the lot of us.
Mother and Father hired a tutor for me that summer, and he taught me magic. I gleaned all I could from the old man about magic and mysticism. I had nothing else to do but pour over those books.
I was really good at it too. Even better than Arthur, if I might be so bold.
So I studied magic for the next four years. Arthur went off to become a squire, and I trained with the best mages in the kingdom. They said I showed some real promise, too. It didn’t matter that my leg never quite properly healed, I could keep up just fine.
Until our first mission. It was just a small group of us, really. A few mages, a knight or two, and a servant. Some travelers reported strange happenings in the nearby woods, and we were to investigate and remove any bad omens from the area.
We got to the clearing in question and I was the first to dismount my horse. The moment my foot connected with the ground, I felt as though some had slammed my gut and knocked me over my head.
I don’t remember hitting the ground. I woke several days later at home again.
I had stepped on a rune, apparently, that pushed out all my magic.
I went from throwing fireballs to not even able to light our candles.
So for the next few months, I stayed at home. I read the Latin books we had. I spent some time strolling in the meadows. I even met a few ladies my father had arranged for me to see.
Lady Margery did capture my attention for some time. I shouldn’t go into really, but I’m sure I don’t need to explain how badly it ended.
I got used to being bumped around. Every time I would settle, a new wave of bad luck would crash and push my life apart.
So I moved away from it all. A small cottage at the edge of the kingdom became my new home. The roof leaked and a draft blew in through the walls, no matter how I tried to fix it. The view was quite beautiful, really. Well, it was when you could see the ocean. More often than not, an unusual fog would roll in and blot out the sea.
It wasn’t a perfect life. But it was a good enough life. No one was close to me, but there was no chance my bad luck would ruin any *more* lives. Besides, I occasionally ventured into a nearby village. I could pick up food at the markets and stories about the knights in the tavern.
It was quite hollow at times. My company was the trunk of books I had brought from home. Most of them were damaged by water now, after an unfortunate incident on a rainy day. But the loneliness would bite at the edges of my head.
The truth is I thought I would be okay, being alone.
I wasn’t.
I didn’t realize it until last month. I was nearly asleep when someone pounded on my door. I steadied my knife, which I was fairly handy with, *thank you very much*. The rain was pouring and the thunder shook the ground. I threw the door open.
Arthur smiled at me. He was in his full armor, now. His blonde hair was soaking wet, but his smile still beamed. He held his helmet under his arm.
“Brian, my brother,” he clapped my shoulder. “I need your help.”
I should’ve slammed the door in his face. Well, maybe not literally slammed the door in his face. I should’ve let him stay the night and then, in the morning, told him to kindly fuck off.
If I had, he might still be alive.
If I had, I wouldn’t have had to learn the hard way that the seer was never wrong.
The prophecy was only ever about one person.
---
/r/liswrites
|
*Disclaimer* This story ignores the seer part of the prompt and focuses on the power vs. misfortune part.
---
The tragic thing about Trevor was not that the universe had cursed him but that the universe gave him everything he had ever wanted, just out of reach. It was his curse that he could not perceive the world as we all could. That silly thing we call instinct was lost in Trevor. And because of it, he spent his days dreaming of other lives instead of his own.
Tinly was his brother. A wall-street hotshot with an 11/10 wife, mansions in all the greatest rivieras in the world and an incredible aptitude for doing absolutely nothing and getting everything. Its how it always was, even growing up.
When the twins turned thirteen they were given a choice by their parents: sports or art. Their parents were lucky enough to live in a world were a middle class was strong and the choice was based more on time instead of money. As such, Tinley went for art and Trevor for sports.
Football was the greatest game Trevor had ever known. It had physical contact, strategy and all the hot girls grouped in one place. Mindy was a wide-eyed, burnette—a heartthrob in her junior year. Before he even knew her name he was searching for her in the halls and lost in his daydreaming his days away.
Tinley was never really into girls growing up. And not in that kind of way. What I mean is, when he set his mind to something, he stopped at very little until he got it. One summer he organized weekly garage sales for the neighborhood at a 10% takeaway charge. By the end of the summer, he had his first $1000 saved up. To this day, that $1000 still sits in a Darth Vader lunchbox underneath his bed. He's 52.
As football season began, Trevor started seeing a lot more of Mindy, he even learned her name. After every practice, he'd wait by the parking lot pretending to be waiting for his ride. Most afternoons, she was crowded with her squadmates, gossiping about God knows who. But one afternoon, they weren't. Indeed, one of them just broke the news that they would be getting an abortion for a slip-up that happened the week before. Mindy had left before the news ever reached her ear. So there she was, alone and waiting.
Trevor couldn't believe it. It had been weeks, rivaling on a month now that Mindy strut along with her cheer friends, laughing with deep dimples in her cheeks—looking out into the parking lot for her Dad's Mercedez—glancing towards Trevor, for what he believed was a look a woman gives when she's judging whether or not someone is a stalker. And now, he could prove to her that he wasn't. But he didn't. In fact, he spent so long contemplating it and checking over at Mindy that she did begin to wonder if he was a stalker. Until then, she had always thought he was cute.
That, was only one instance of Trevor's unfortunate mistiming but the one he regretted most. A week later, Mindy showed up at his home. Wrapped around her, was Tinley.
As you may imagine, the lifelines of Tinley and Trevor ventured away from each other since the beginning. They were destined to never find a brotherly love that so many were blessed with. It was not an account of Tinley not trying. He was more than willing to listen. But after Mindy, was when Trevor truly began to feel he was cursed.
The thought invaded his mind; it poisoned every shred of commonsense life would ever yell at him. And so, Trevor began letting life yell, he would not listen.
He died at the age of fifty, penniless and starved. It had been a great endeavour he put upon himself in his final years, to plan his death and lay out his grievances to the Almighty. Every day he rehearsed his words. The pitiful speech that would bring God to tears. As his body began to fade into the air he felt ready and so it was, that he died on a green bench on Tuesday.
When he found heaven, he gestured his hand up to the Almighty Creator and cursed him for the life he was given. His speech flowed out like water from a bursting dam; its waves washing away all the counselors and advisors God kept at his feet. Alone, God stepped from his throne and reached down to Trevor. He held his chin and said:
"My, my, what a pitiful life you were given and such fortune was given to your twin. You believe me to design everything by balance and I am afraid to tell you, you are wrong. Indeed, you were given the chance to live so many times and what you chose was to yell in my face. The paths were always there. Is it the path's job to tell the traveler which way to go? And if the traveler refuses to step forward, who can they blame for their indecision? Me?"
"If it is an apology you seek, then I will not give one. It is your aimlessness that took you to an early grave. For that, I hear your story and I feel no pity. Goodbye, Trevor. May you watch the life of your brother and finally know, it is the life that was always waiting for you and you never chose to take."
What he saw, in the end, was his brother. He watched Tinley get the phone call from the police. He watched the horror wash over his face, true horror with the crippling sting of sadness. Trevor finally understood what he had missed.
| 2018-04-16T18:46:54 | 2018-04-16T17:03:29 | 99 | 19 |
[WP] On the outside you're running a registered Marijuana Store, but behind that front you're a highly illegal Kinder Egg smuggling operation, and you are looking to expand....
|
As soon as she walks in, I can see the signs. The bags under her eyes. Shaking hands. She needs her fix.
“Ma’am?” I lock eyes with her and discretely point to the inspector scribbling a few feet away. “Are you here for the usual?”
She knows the inspector by sight. All of my regulars do. I shrug slightly, trying to convey regret and the fact that my hands are tied as long as he’s here. She sidles up to the counter, bowing her head to avoid being seen on the cameras.
“Please,” she whispers. “It’s my son. He isn’t well… I haven’t slept in days-”
I slap on my fake customer service smile. “Understood. Give me a moment, alright?”
I fill two of the orders myself, just to deflect suspicion. Los Angeles still has strict weed laws, and compliance with the Department of Cannabis Regulation is an absolute must. But after a few more minutes of observation, and a glance at my licensing paperwork, the inspector is out the door.
She watches him go before looking at me again, pleading.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell her.
I leave my assistant with the next customer and head for the back room. The items are in a safe, well hidden beneath a floor drain. I twist the drain three times clockwise, then pull the tiny door open. There are only four red-and-white eggs left, but I decide she should have all of them. Another shipment is due soon anyway. I place them in a paper bag, tape the top down, and hurry back to the front before anyone becomes suspicious.
“$13.08.”
She hands me a twenty, snatches the eggs, and is out the door before I can give her the change.
To the eyes of passersby, I’m just another guy trying to cash in on the new era of legal weed. Just another seedy dispensary on the corner. That’s why I started branching out. How fitting… that selling weed had become the gateway to something far more illegal.
The woman rushes back out to her car with the paper baggie. Her son is strapped into an adult car seat. Limb restraints are wrapped around his wrists and ankles. Pity stings my heart. From twenty feet away, I can see the bite marks scarring his lips and hands. A few of his fingers are missing.
Chocolate. A silly little treat that reduces uric acid crystallization. It is too late for her to save him entirely from the disease wracking his body, but I understand her desperation. Anything helps.
“Mommy’s brought you a toy,” I hear her say. “See?”
I don’t do it for the rush of selling something illegal. At the end of the day, selling Kinder Eggs is just like selling weed. There are people who need it. They will seek it out themselves. Why not help them?
|
X months in and the pressure from the Chief is getting to me. We have no leads still, and kids are dying every day from small choking parts hidden in delicious chocolate. God, why did I leave home and move to America, full of idiots. Streetlamps lit up the side walk with a cool yellow glow and I could almost hear the tap of my soles hitting the pavement as I walked. I needed something to calm me down and my partner suggested I get a fatty from the dispensary down the street from the precinct. I guess I should be grateful. Its been 5 years since our state had completely decriminalized all drugs. I saw cocaine for sale in a CVS and its still so surreal to me, coming from a country that would sentence you to 20 years for a dime bag. Now there is almost no drug crime, besides an assault here and there. The force is safer now, and we can actually put efforts into the real investigations.
The dispensary looked just like any other store on this street. Its not a popular one, probably because they only have the basics. It had a real convenience store feel. There were edibles on a glass case in front of the cashier. I considered it, but then I tough of how cool I would look smoking it out of a tobacco pipe like some old-timey English detective. What was his name... Herlock Sholmes? Sounds close.
I took a look at the shelves of paraphernalia. Glassware wouldnt work for me. I dont want any of these bongs, they are too big. I dont see anything that would really fit my style so I turned to the cashier and asked him, "Do you have wood?"
The cashier gave me a nervous look and put his hands in front of his crotch as I realized my turn of phrase turned out wrong. I must have started turning red as I approached him waving my arms at the misunderstanding, but he backed up into a wall. A panic overcame him and he tried to dash to the door of the backroom and tripped on a mop and bucket that someone must have forgotten. The handle went through the poster and hit something underneath. A wall slid up revealing a back room the size of a warehouse. People with surgical masks were loading boxes with smaller boxes like a factory line. A woman heard the panel open and turned my way, holding an orange box.
Kinder eggs....
My detectives instinct made me reach into my trench coat for my revolver. The snubnose .38 should be enough to take this room if by surprise. Just my luck, I sneezed and they all simultaneously look right at me.
So anyway, I started blasting...
| 2019-11-25T11:29:37 | 2019-11-25T11:09:22 | 29 | 20 |
[WP] Walking through a dark forest, you stumble across a little shrine. In the middle of the shrine is a mirror. There are inscriptions around the mirror "Gaze into me and I'll show you your soul". You step up to the mirror. What do you see?
|
Walking through the woods is easy.
Looking directly a probably-haunted floor-length mirror with cracks is not.
The first thing I see is a faceless gray mannequin, one in a black bustle dress. It's wearing a black pearl necklace with a cat's eye moonstone pendant and black pearl earrings. Half of its face is covered by a black veil.
The mannequin holds a bouquet of red roses. Black thorns peek out of the sides. The mannequin has thin eyebrows, a nose and a mouth, but no eyes. It has round ears.
It's confused.
It looks like it's screaming.
*"For all are deaf to your cries, my dear."* says a voice.
Then I can't see anything in the mirror. Now I can't see a thing!
*"For all are blind to your suffering, my dear."* says another.
Now I can see again.
But the only thing I can look at is the same mannequin in the mirror. It's wearing my school uniform, standing onstage, sandwiched between my parents.
It looks like a puppet now, with strings holding it up.
*"For you cannot fight back, my dear. You are their puppet."* says a ghastly, husky voice.
But then I see the mannequin walking through a corridor, wearing random things, going from a black hoodie to a bustle dress to a school uniform.
*"Your soul is all you seek to be, and all you believe yourself to be."* Another voice squeaked.
*"A great many things you are, it's tiring to have to demonstrate."* groans a deep voice.
|
She looked like me, but not really. In fact, she looked more like me than any other reflection I’d seen.
Her eyes weren’t as closely set as mine.
Her face was longer, more structured.
She wasn’t a pencil, but she was thinner than I was.
She was a little taller than I was—by less than a foot, but still noticeable.
Her chest was smaller than mine, which I liked. Mine was always too unwieldy, too painful.
I started crying. This was the first time I’d ever seen myself in a mirror. Not the body I felt trapped in, the body covered in my own claw marks, but me. It was beautiful—so beautiful, in fact, that I couldn’t keep looking.
I wish I’d never looked at that mirror. Because while there’s some things that can be changed with exercise, diet, or even plastic surgery, there’s some things that I knew I could never change. I’d likely be on my deathbed knowing that I’d never look like my true self.
All in all, dysphoria—no matter the cause, no matter the gender—sucks ass.
(Author’s Note: Not many people know that dysphoria isn’t always about gender, but it’s true. I myself am not trans, though I deeply thank the trans community for first teaching me about dysphoria. I deal with non-gender dysphoria, as well as depersonalization and derealization. If my story can help even one person realize they’re not alone, it’ll be worth it.)
| 2022-11-06T17:17:29 | 2022-11-06T17:10:41 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] A coven of vampires chase their snack, a human child into a closed down Disneyland. Disneyland awakens after sensing the child and the danger it's in, It would use its magic once more to protect.
|
The boy ran through the gate and we followed. We had already been on a long chase that night; the boy was quick, and he was clever. He had done better than any I could remember and my memory was long. The sky was still dark though the first wash of light was closer than any of us would have liked, any of us but the boy, of course. I could sense the sun, buried as it was under the horizon, locked away in the soil for only another hour or two. That was much longer than the boy had.
I did not take any joy in these little games. Even against the quick and clever, there was never any real challenge in the hunt. There seemed no reason to play with our food, but the others liked to chase, especially Uncle. Perhaps I lacked imagination. My thoughts on the matter were moot as long as Uncle lead us and I had no inclination to invite him into the red circle any time soon.
We slipped through the gate silently, and over it, and around it, flowing like black water into the small city. Or…at least I supposed it was some strange town, nestled inside of a larger city. Like the rest of the world, the place past the gate was overgrown with leathery vines and gnarled plants, covered in dust, rotting and worn. Our kind avoided this place. Something seemed to linger here, something from the Old World. Perhaps that was what drew the boy. The area echoed with the memory of Before, a time when the days were brighter and nights belonged to the living. Uncle had told us about those times. He was the only one old enough to remember them.
The boy flitted from building to building. It was clear that he was becoming tired. We paced along behind him like a hungry shadow. My eyes, which could see clearly in even the deepest dark, began to have trouble focusing. The buildings in this city were bizarre, broken silhouettes that jabbed into the sky. I had read about castles in one of the few books that Uncle bothered to keep but I did not expect to find them here. Warped tracks twisted along in the distance. What trains would travel by such small ways?
As we closed in on the boy, who had fallen exhausted on the wide street, I heard a sound. The noise began quietly, as if from a great distance, but grew in volume as we circled the boy. There was life in the sound, and music. This was not the ragged, growling music that we made now but something so sweet that it brought tears to my eyes. I had not cried since Uncle had remade me all those years ago.
A presence was waking in the city.
“Uncle,” I said.
He did not hear me. A light had lit around the child that cast wild shadows around us. The shadows kept changing shape as we watched; a dog, a bird, a stag, a lion. The largest of them was a rat but it was unlike the scavengers that crawled around the world outside of the city. This creature was tall and terrifyingly beautiful, standing on two legs, with eyes like white lanterns.
“Leave,” it said.
I wished so dearly to comply.
“The boy,” Uncle replied. “The boy is doing this. It’s only a trick. Take him.”
As one my cousins darted towards the child, who was sitting now, confused but unafraid.
“No,” said the Rat.
The shadows came together in a rush and fell upon my family. It was over in a moment. Only the Rat, Uncle, and I remained.
“I didn’t think there was anything left of you anymore,” Uncle whispered to the shadow. “This isn’t your time any more. You don’t belong here.”
The Rat looked down at the boy. The child was sleeping now, worn out beyond his endurance but smiling.
“This is exactly where I belong.”
The shadow’s eyes burned brighter for an instant and then there was nothing left of Uncle that couldn’t be carried away by the breeze. It turned to me.
“You did not try to take the boy when the others did.”
“I was…scared.”
“Fear can be healthy. Fear means there’s something left to be afraid for.”
The Rat stood watching me. Finally, he turned to pick up the boy and began to carry him deeper in the miniature city.
“Go. Tell the others like you that I am awake now. And I am watching.”
|
*A castle*, Angela thought, *that's the last place they'll turn to look*. She saw it from afar, the faded pink and blue spires of a building she had only heard of from her grandparents, who had it heard it from their own. "There hasn't been a castle like the old ones in hundreds of years. The magic of the old world has faded, we can only use bits of it at a time, to lit our own homes. Before they used to light up the sky, now there is nothing," she remembered grandpa Howie saying. But here one was, a few hours outside of her village. A few hours away from home.
And the only thing that could protect her from the Coven. They would be on her soon. Nights were when they were active the most, she knew the stories, the dark tales. She figured that the stories of the castles could still be true. Maybe they could still protect her.
She ran towards it, her feet taking her farther and farther with each step. Over the bridge, past the brown water beneath, past the torn and battered flags that flew under lamps that hadn't lit up in years.
Under the drawbridge and inside the castle.
It wasn't a castle at all. She realized that there was more to it, more beyond it. An entire street with filled with houses and dead trees and battered flags. Beyond that, towers that were gray and old, giant mountains that were brown and dusty. It was desolate, more so than her own world. At least in the village there was light. Here, there was only silence.
When she turned to leave, she could hear them. The *Coven*, coming closer. They were on the bridge now, coming at her, ready to devour her. Just like the stories said. She shouldn't have wandered so far from home, she thought, she should have stayed with her big brother, should have never followed that deer into the forest. *They feed on animals when they can't feed on us*, she remembered.
It was over. There was nothing she could do but accept her fate. The world inside was worse than the one outside, and the further her feet took her, the more frightened she became.
But there was a light, in the distance. A small flash of white in front of her. It was getting larger, bigger, coming at her full speed. She stopped. Angela wasn't sure if this thing was worse than the Coven, if it would take her like the Coven would. But it flashed by her, continued on down the long street and towards the castle.
It exploded in a great flash and the world opened up to Angela. She could see the Coven stop and cower in their tracks. She could see that the colors of the castle looked new and bright. And now, as the bright flash of white faded, new colors emerged all around her. The lamps lit up. The houses on the street became pink and blue and yellow and green. All around her, colors emerged and lights came to her.
And the castle finally became something *more*. Its own lights shined as a beacon across the bridge, forcing the Coven to cower and hide. Each room inside became bright. Each banner atop the spires flew sharp and proud. And the gate shut. The iron bars slammed down and put something between her and the Coven. The castle protected her.
And somewhere, along the street, she could smell food. She could hear *music,* at least that's what she thought it was. Gentles tunes that echoed into the sky. *Maybe brother will hear it*, she thought, *maybe they'll come find this place with me.*
Then a voice came, shutting out the screams and cries of the Coven trapped behind the iron bars of the Castle gate. A voice that she felt she knew, that reminded her of her grandfather. It spoke a few simple words, "Disneyland is your land."
And for the first time in a long time, Angela felt like she finally understood the stories. That she finally knew the magic of the world before.
__________
*This was short, but I hoped you all enjoyed it. I would of liked to go into more detail, but I have to run, so thanks for the prompt OP and thanks for reading!*
| 2016-09-07T13:52:06 | 2016-09-07T12:54:14 | 274 | 102 |
[WP] The bad guys won and the world was conquered by the villain's armies decades ago. You and your spouse are worried as you suspect your child may be suffering from Chosen Oneness or perhaps an acute case of Prophetic Heroism.
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"GET DA FUCK OFF MA LAWN!!!!!!"
I shouted at those crazy worshippers. From time to time there were people in my garden kneeling and praying and hoping someone would safe them from this new management of the country.
It began when some blind witch suddenly had a vision about the dark lord being beaten and the lands liberated by a shining hero. Honestly I believe that old wench was stoned or something.
Since then it got worse from day to day. People would come and bring presents for the unborn child. They would gather and sing at the worst times possibly. Some would even kneel and pledge their life to my unborn daughter only to get cut down by the city guards moments later.
There was even an army from the neighboring kingdom trying to save my wife from the bloodthristy monster known as dark lord.
Those idiots got slaughtered but this didnt prevented other nutjobs from coming to my house.
I looked out of the window again and saw these worshippers getting beaten up by the guards.
My wife Jenna came into the room.
"Larry, why are you so angry again?"
I sighed, she wasnt as stressed as I was about our daughter being the new hero, even tough she know why this was dangerous to us.
"Honey, I bought this house so we could live a calm and peaceful life, far away from all the stress at work. But these dimwits are ruining everthing. Also our daughter is going to be the hero who will "liberate" these lands."
"But isnt this nice? After all these years of hardship and war the people will finally have hope again."
"Maybe, but we will have a huge problem then. BECAUSE I AM THE FUCKING DARK LORD AND YOU KNOW IT!!!!!! AND OUR OWN FUCKING DAUGHTER WILL FUCKING KILL US AND DESTROY EVERYTHING WE ACCOMPLISHED. THIS IS NOT NICE!!!!!!
|
"Sweetie, listen to your father," she pleaded.
"Son, do you know how your mother and I got this far?" His father asked pointedly as he waved his spoon in the air.
"Ugh, not this again..."
"Your mother and I got where we are by settling. We had a government sanctioned union, had the government required number of offspring, took those splendid government jobs, and look at these tasty rations we have every single night to thank for it," his father continued, gesturing now to the food on his plate.
Ron had heard this speech so often he could recite it himself. Every time his parents got a whiff of his aspirations, every time they heard him make a side remark about changing the world, or fighting for the underclass, they started up again.
"Sweetie, we love you and we want you to have a future just like this one," his mother looked at him with eyes that spoke of worry.
"Forget this nonsense about resistance! The only thing you should be resisting is the urge to make an ass of yourself and devastate your mother," his dad raised his voice.
Ron knew it was no use. Having a disagreement with his father was like yelling in an echo chamber- everything he said his father would repeat in a cynical and interrogative tone.
He calmly set down his napkin and left the dinner table, his food untouched. He knew what he needed to do and he knew his parents were too brainwashed by the regime to understand the need for change.
His mothers eyes welled up as he walked away.
"Now, now dear. It will be alright," her husband tried to reassure her. "Maybe we talk to Cathy, get him a summer internship laminating government declarations. That should knock some sense into him."
| 2016-11-26T06:54:54 | 2016-11-26T05:51:54 | 46 | 30 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job.
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After the awakening the world was in total turmoil for years. People ran amuck with these new found abilities. Social order had collapsed and civilization had almost gone with it.
But then the corporations came in. They had gained control in this Wild West of a world after the governments had been destroyed. The corps paid well, and they had no one stopping them now, and if they did they had arsenal enough to stop them.
They exploited everyone, no one had a job they wanted. They had the job they could perform. It wasn’t perfect, and by no means was everyone happy, but it had restored order. And middle class and high class society was restored.
The only set backs had been the corporation wars. They were constantly at each other’s throats. Each using the masses as their personal armies.
I had been captured years ago by the power company. I was unfortunately granted the rare and unique ability to produce pure energy, a lot of it. Most people would be excited, having the power of basically a star.
Well I wasn’t excited, I had spent the last five years isolated in tiny cell that sapped new for all my energy worth. For all I knew I was powering the whole world. Sure they kept me alive and fed but I was a prisoner.
The only exited times I ever have are when rival corporations try to assassinate me to get into the power game. I was a one man monopoly for anyone who could get me. Cheapest power available all at the price of one man. It’s so lonely here.
|
John slowly drank his cup of coffee, knowing too well he was too much of an asset to Mr. Petersburg. He did practically nothing all day in this darn car dealership, but he got payed well. John looked up from his corner office and saw the prime target, a rich-looking woman looking at the Ferraris. He got up and continued sipping his coffee as he approached the woman.
"Hi Maam" he said half-heartedly "How are you today".
"Absolutly awful," cried the obnoxious woman "your coffee is too dark!".
"The coffee doesn't matter" said John.
"Coffee doesn't matter" mumbled the woman, dropping the coffee onto the ground. As soon as she did so she shook her head, confused.
"Well" said the woman, still a bit dazed, "How much for this Ferrari here".
"$750,000".
"I can tell its only worth $400,000 you cheapskate!" The woman was practically screaming.
"You will be quiet" said John, already too tired "and buy the Ferrari for $750,000".
"Be quiet" the woman whispered "buy Ferrari".
John gave the woman her keys and counted in his head his commissions, he saw another woman. His other prime target, but not for cars. After all, he had always had a thing for a woman who could fly.
| 2020-02-05T14:59:35 | 2020-02-05T13:58:16 | 1,239 | 252 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
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The whole neighbourhood was out in the streets staring skyward; dressed in robes and wrapped in blankets. The bright white light made them appear as stone sentinels against the snow.
“Mummy, the moon is so big!”
My phone buzzed urgently in my hand. I set it on the nightstand facedown
“Grab your jacket lily,” I wrapped my housecoat tight against me and zipped Lily into her parka.
The light was brilliant; almost fluorescent. It radiated off the snow like an aura.
Lilly stood breathless on the driveway, her face wide with wonder. I wished i could always see her like this; so wonderful.
“It’s a beautiful night,” my neighbour commented with her children cradled to her breast.
I nodded and looked skyward at the fantastic beacon against the night. It was moving, falling from the sky.
“ Mom, why are you crying?”
I wiped my eyes and held Lily’s shoulders tightly.
“It’s just so beautiful baby. I love you”.
All was calm as the bomb cracked on the horizon and spilled over; swallowing everything.
|
I blearily attempted to focus my eyes on my phone as its notification sound went off repeatedly. I had just managed to get to a comfortable position and doze for a good hour before my phone decided to freak out, and I was none too happy.
One government alert that read "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON", followed by 600 messages from numbers I didn't recognize spouting some nonsense about how it was a beautiful night.
"Don't look at the moon", I said. "Good advice." I turned off my phone, rolled over, and drifted back to sleep.
The next day, I was stunned to discover the horrible truth of what those messages were really about: a guerilla marketing stunt by Sony Pictures for some stupid horror movie about a moon cult using cell phones to murder people. Unfortunately, it had caused a "War of the Worlds"-type panic, and the resulting lawsuits all but obliterated the studio. But on the plus side, the rights to Spider-Man defaulted over to Marvel Studios and now there could never be a Pixels 2, so it was all kind of a wash in the end.
| 2022-11-14T21:59:08 | 2018-04-06T22:12:43 | 45 | 14 |
[FF] Horror Story - 80 words
Prompt limit: 80 words.
It could be about anything, anywhere at any time. Just make sure it's horrifying!
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When you see them in your room at night, you tell yourself that it’s your brain messing with you. Why? Your brain tells you that the grass you see is green, the coffee you drink is hot, the dumpster you pass smells awful. Your brain sees the truth. It lets you know about the grass, the coffee, the garbage. Why would it make up the shadows at night? Your brain isn’t playing tricks on you. They’re playing tricks on you.
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I never knew you had a choice. I always thought that the body would just take over and fight, that if it was possible to survive, you would find a way. That's instinct, right? I mean, if there was ever a time for instinct, that's it. But it turns out you still have to choose. I looked up and saw the boat, still burning in the clear autumn night, so far above. I closed my eyes, and inhaled.
| 2013-08-21T19:34:40 | 2013-08-21T19:20:09 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] You have been told all your life that you have a rare medical condition. It means you need regular special meals that your family has lovingly prepared. You now find out that your "condition" actually requires fresh human flesh and your family have become serial killers to keep you alive.
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“Is that… daddy?”
Mummy was quiet, her eyes fixed on the screen.
I asked again, louder this time. Maybe mummy didn’t hear me. “Mummy, is that daddy on the TV?”
Mummy was still quiet. She looked scared. He eyes and mouth were wide open. She slowly sunk to the chair, but her eyes did not leave the screen.
“No, no, no, no…” she began to say, shaking her head.
I tried to read the words on the screen, but I could not understand it. Mummy and daddy never bothered to teach me words. They said that I did not need it. Not that they had the time. Daddy was always out while mummy always had house work to do.
I thought maybe I could understand what the TV was saying. I reached out for the controller, but mummy quickly slapped my hand. The controller dropped on the floor.
“No, James! No!” she screamed at me. The loudest I have ever heard. Her body was shaking. “You go into your room now!”
“But mummy…” I tried to protest, but mummy cut me short.
“I SAID GO TO YOUR ROOM!”
I ran along the small hallway, afraid that I might make mummy even angrier. Just as I stepped into my room, I felt mummy’s hands pushing me from behind. I fell forward to the hard floor and the door slammed behind me. Keys turned in the lock.
“I’m sorry James,” mummy sobbed from the other side of the door. “I cannot let them take your dad because of you.”
I don’t understand. I ran to the door and asked mummy to let me out. Who were the people who took daddy? Why did they take daddy because of me?
“Mummy, let me out!” I shouted, but there was no reply. I heard the engine of our house starting and we began to move. Mummy was driving.
“Mummy!” I shouted again. My cries were drowned out by the sound of our house moving.
I looked around my room trying to find a way out. I could not understand what mummy was doing, why she was acting crazy?
The day started like any normal day. We woke up, had our breakfast like usual. Mummy and daddy ate bread, while I ate meat soup. Everything was made by them. I tried to offer them some of my soup as usual, but mummy just scoffed at me.
Daddy, however, smiled. “Son, you know why mummy and I cannot eat your soup. It’s only special to you.”
I sighed. It was something that daddy said too many times.
“How long more can we keep this up, Andrew?” mummy suddenly asked. Her bread was barely bitten. They tried to feed me bread before, but I just became very sick and vomited all over the floor. It was the same for everything else. Only meat soup didn't make me sick.
"As long as we can, Stella", Daddy simply replied. I could see that Mummy wanted to say something more, but stopped.
After we finished breakfast, Daddy headed outside. To make my meat soup, he said. It was something he do every week. That was the last time I saw daddy before I saw him on the TV.
The house suddenly screeched to a stop. I heard doors opening outside and mummy's heavy footsteps.
"Mummy?" I asked again, scared of what mummy might leave me alone.
My room door opened, and mummy was holding a hot bowl of meat soup in her hands. Her cheeks were red and wet.
"Here, eat this," she looked at the bowl, barely hiding her looks of disgust. "You'll need it to save your daddy."
-----------
/r/dori_tales
|
It was never normal. I might have convinced myself it was at one point, but not anymore. There were too many signs.
Dad uprooted the family every year, bouncing us between states in the American mid-west, from abject town to abject town, all of them roughly the same but none ever feeling like home. Each town came with a new foster child that disappeared after a couple of months. "Placed" in happy new homes, we were told.
I began to notice something was wrong when I was twelve. I'm ashamed it took me so long. My sister and I didn't talk to the foster kids, we didn't see them or play with them or get to know them. They lived and slept in a room away from us, a room we were never allowed to enter. In one of our houses, somewhere in Idaho or Iowa, I forget, we sneaked into the back garden and peered through a window into the forbidden room.
We saw a little blonde boy sitting on the edge of a bleak looking bed, his head in his hands. My sister tapped on the window and he looked up, his eyes filled with a terrified pleading, but just as that happened the door to the room opened and we ducked down and away, leaving the child to his fate. We were giddy at first, thrilled that we'd narrowly avoided being caught, but then we realized that he didn't have any feet.
We rented an RV once. That was fun for a time, our own little roving home. I remember asking why my sister couldn't come with us, begging my parents for her to come back, but they told me she had gone away to boarding school.
After a few months the RV broke down in the middle of nowhere. I remember my parents arguing, angry with one another and the world, screaming about how this was all going so wrong, about how they had lost their way years ago.
But no matter how bad those arguments got, they always fed me. No matter where we were or what we were doing, they always placed a nice little stew in front of me that imbued me with strength, served in my favorite red bowl. I remember waiting for a while for my meal that time, the life slowly seeping out of me, the gnawing hunger weakening me and keeping me bedridden. I remember the yells and sobs of my parents. I can still hear the sound of my mother's pleas, heard as I wasted away inside the confines of the RV, the setting sun shining it's last rays through the windows.
But they always fed me, and I remember eating that next meal in a state of pure bliss, gulping the pieces of meat down ravenously. The next morning I noticed my mother was missing part of her arm.
The young man stopped speaking into the recorder. He put the recorder into a little box next to a hand written note, then placed a lid on top of the box, sealing both of the items. He placed the box on the bench where he was sitting, then stood up and walked over to the metal railing on the edge of a great, wide chasm.
"I remember it all," he said, peering over the edge, down at the small stream still carving its way through the barren rock far below. "I know the terrible things they did for me, through all those awful years."
He picked up a medium sized stone and tossed it over the edge, listening as it careened off the sides of the canyon, the noise of its impact echoing upwards. When the stone had settled and its echoes had ceased, the young man climbed on to the railing, tears flowing down his cheeks.
"But I will never understand why," he said, then he jumped.
| 2019-03-13T07:21:01 | 2019-03-13T06:35:06 | 251 | 116 |
[WP] You need to hire a hitman, but can't afford it. Carefully write a gofundme campaign for something seemingly innocent while subtly letting your donors know what they are actually funding.
|
Hi everyone!
I'm here trying to be able to throw a very special party for my step father, who has been an incredibly influential part of my life. Growing up, he was always home with me and my sisters, looking after us when my mom was at work. He let us know just how much he really cared about us. After all these years, with my youngest sister about to turn thirteen, I really want to show him just how much he's affected the lives of everyone in this family.
I'm hoping for a party with killer food, explosive entertainment, and a place where he can just lay around and relax for as long as he can. He really, truly deserves a celebration as big and powerful as he himself is. I already have a party planner set up, and I just need...well...the money! I want to finally give this man the treatment he's always deserved for coming into our lives. Hopefully, with your support, it'll be to die for.
|
Hi everybody!
My neighbor did an excellent job watching my house last week and I'd love to give them a great surprise as a reward. I'd need to hire a professional though, and they're pretty expensive especially when you want to keep it a surprise.
I already have someone in mind and have their rates for their night time services, but it looks like I just can't afford it on my own. I'm talking the whole shebang here too which even includes a cleanup crew after the fact. It's almost like the surprise never happened in the first place!
If you could even donate just a little bit I'd really appreciate it, because they really deserve it for the great job they did. It's a shame that I can't hire two clean up crews because they certainly had a good time with my place!
Thanks for your support, and if you can't donate, maybe tell a friend!
| 2015-08-29T17:17:44 | 2015-08-29T12:47:39 | 38 | 21 |
[WP] A man has the ability to smell death. The greater the stench, the closer a person is to dying. He leaves his house one day and is instantly overcome with the pungent scent of mortality. Every person he passes reeks of death.
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The smell...no the stench. The accrid stench overcame everything else. The more I walked the more powerful it came. It never disappated into the background becoming normal. It was much too pungent to ever get used to. I stopped looking at the faces and kept my head down. I needed to get out of this death zone. Panic began to overtake the external calm of my demeanor. The panic built up until my walk became a run. I ran out into the street and raced to the cars at the nearest red light. I opened the door and screamed at the nearest truck owner. He didn't put up much a fight as I showed him my gun tucked into the front of my jeans. I frantically sped off from the intersection. Looking at the dash I shut off the radio. I somehow sped out of the city and on to the highway without getting pulled over and continued to speed for what felt like hours. It was going to be night soon and the adrenaline was fading. I turned on the radio and listened to the buzzing. I changed through every station and each one only played buzzing and static. I rolled down the windows and the air ripped into the cabin. There was no stench. No smell whatsoever. Just cool country breeze. The first light in miles caught my attention. I pulled over on to the shoulder and got out. The gravel crunched under my feet as I walked towards the distant light. It was an old country house porch light as I got closer. A man was sitting on the porch rocking while holding his knees. "They did it....they fucking did it. Canada finally dropped the bomb"
I dropped to my knees and looked up towards an imaginary camera. I screamed out into the twilight ”CANAAAADAAAAAAAAA!"
|
Todd scrunched his nose, overcome with the stench of death. No matter where he went, everyone smelled the same. And by the potency, they would be dead by the end of the day.
At first, he thought he was going crazy. After all, there was no telling when his power would be malfunctioning. Then again, he knew too well that he was right.
Next, came panic. A million thoughts fought for dominance in Todd’s racing mind. What would cause everyone to die all at once?
A terrorist attack?
A natural disaster?
The Rapture?
It didn’t matter. Todd had solidified his plan by the time he passed his tenth person. He skipped work, ransacking his home for all the supplies he could find. And as he loaded them in his car, he decided that he had to leave. Staying would only lead to his death as well.
There was no help for everyone else.
Once car was packed to the brim, Todd sped off. Even from the safety of his car, he couldn’t escape the smell. It seemed to permeate everything inside, drowning him in premonitions of death. He searched for something – cologne, air freshener, or anything – to block out the smell.
He cursed, unable to find something to help mitigate his nausea.
A honk shattered the silence.
And as Todd brought his eyes back to the road, realization hit him. The smell of death was overpowering, paralyzing him in fear. He took in a sharp breath, tensing his muscles when the semi smashed into his car.
He had smelled death on himself.
| 2015-03-20T17:51:44 | 2015-03-20T17:30:40 | 855 | 85 |
[WP] You have the ability to travel back in time, but when you do you take over the body of one of your direct ancestors at random. One day, you travel back to 1942 and find yourself standing at a podium looking out over 100,000 soldiers.
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I opened my eyes and was immediately shocked by what I saw before me. It was a massive crowd of thousands in green uniforms wielding a weapon which I could not recognize. There was a deep and eerie silence as they all directed their attention towards the podium. Their attitude and attire suggested that they were soldiers. As I struggled to comprehend where I was and more importantly, **who** I was, I saw from the corner of my eye former Vice-President, Henry A. Wallace.
"President Roosevelt," I turned my head and saw Henry A. Wallace approaching me, "are you sure you want to go through with this? Perhaps, there is another way to go about this?"
*Remarkable, President Franklin D. Roosevelt is a direct ancestor of mine...*
I had no idea what day it was, nor the speech I was supposed to give. The consequences for my ignorance could potentially change the course of history dramatically. I remember it clear as day, all the conversations I had with my college professor about the so-called Butterfly Effect and its implications.
*I need to figure out which speech Roosevelt was about to deliver...*
"Wallace, I understand this is stressful for both of us. However, I believe that this is the right choice. Also, what was today's date again? It always slips my mind."
Wallace had a look of defeat on his face, and just sighed. "October 12th, sir."
My heart was racing, my forehead began to sweat profusely and I still had no clue what this speech was about. There was one thing I did know, however. Hitler won the war and established his regime all throughout Europe, which was now called The Third Reich. I had the power to save Europe and all the suffering it has endured, end the fear instilled by the Nazi's.
I stood on the podium, took a deep breath and began, "My fellow Americans."
|
It was cold and snowing. I was standing on a podium on a large square with possibly over a hundred thousand soldiers in fron of me. The red flags and the red stars immediately told me where I was.
"Comrade Stalin, is everything alright?"
A assistant appeared on my side. I was obviously supposed to hold a speech.
My problem was that all the notes were on russian. Problem was that I was able to talk but barely able to read in this language.
So I decided to improvise.
"Yeah, Im fine you pleb! Go back to the cheap ranks."
Without any backtalk the assistant disappeared behind me.
"Eh.. fellow soldiers, sorry I mean canonfodder. Ze filthy germans have invaded the motherland. They are here to steal our vodka, our womens, our borscht, our laser bears and ehm....whatever else we have here."
Some of the soldiers were visibly confused but nobody dared to open his mouth.
"So uhm.. you are going to fight them. Most of you worthless plebs will be used as meatshields and bulletsponges. Most of you wont survive this war and many who do will be put into some beautiful gulag in siberia for opposing me."
First whispers started.
"I know the germans rekt us hard at the beginning. But our broken vehicles made out of Stalinium will make up for this. So rush B, Cyka Blyat and you will be fine. Fight for the motherland, fight for me!"
Everyone started talking instead of cheering.
"CHEER YOUR WORTHLESS BITCHES!!! OR FEAR THE WRATH OF THE MIGHTY STALIN!!!!
The soldiers were shocked for a moment but started cheering immediately after that.
Well wasnt that bad, right?
| 2017-04-17T14:18:29 | 2017-04-17T14:02:48 | 500 | 69 |
[WP] Superman announces on the news that he is going to kill each person on earth, one by one, until humanity is wiped out, in alphabetical order.
What would happen? What would happen from a local to a worldwide level?
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The world was stunned at first. Superman was the savior, the light in the darkness for which all could see and turn to. With his speed and ability, he could tear through a man a second, reaping a path of destruction all along the world. Lex Luthor was biding his time, knowing very well that his time would come before long. His newest suit was developed and ready to go. Superman was quite literal in his endeavor, flying around the world systematically going through every Aaron and last name, killing two at a time if they happened to be in the same area. It was not long until Bruce Wayne was ripped in two, unable to get his latest Kryptonite armor up and running. He was too fast for them all. Lex was waiting, but there was only one issue.
Superman was nearing the end of the letter C. He was returning to North America, just reaching the West Coast when one man was waiting for him. Before he could even land, the heavens above shook with fear. Superman knew that his greatest challenge awaited him. He lands in the lot of an L.A. sound stage. As he obliterates the large doors, he lets out a blast of his heat vision, hoping to catch his target off guard. Unfortunately for the Man of Steel he had only managed to melt the Total Gym that his target was on before. As he turned, the force of the Roundhouse kick delivered from the Savoir of Humanity did what no other man, demon, beast, or Kryptonian could do. Superman's head was sent flying into the sun. His now dead body fell to the ground. Chuck Norris laughed, and continued his commercial.
|
Mr. A Aaron Aarons had always hated his name. It was after all a clerical error at the hospital that led to the unique handle. His mother had told him that she wanted to name him Adam Aarons after his grandfather, but somewhere in the haze of drugs and child birth she signed A Arron Aarons and the name just kind of stuck.
Mr. Aarons, like most of the world, was watching Superman give his press conference live from the steps of the famous Daily Planet newspaper office in downtown Metropolis. Everybody in Mr. Aarons office was huddled around the break room television trying to hear what the greatest hero the earth has ever known had to say.
"Yes Miss Lane, you heard me correctly. Time after time I have I have saved this planet from certain destruction. I have battled mad men drunk with power, robots from other dimensions, villains more powerful then the human mind could ever fathom, and for what? So the human race could continue to hate one another? To take advantage of each other for profit and power? To slowly poison the very planet I have risked my life to save?
The truth is Miss Lane I am tired. Tired of everything. So yes, you and the world heard me right. Every last person on this planet will be killed in alphabetical order. Starting Now."
A Aaron Aarons felt his heart drop, then felt his neck snap. A blue and red blur was all his coworkers ever saw.
| 2015-07-12T22:40:34 | 2015-07-12T21:32:54 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] You were just thrown into a volcano as a virgin sacrifice. They never expected you to walk back out.
|
They had called my mother a whore. Other sorts of names were tossed at her as we walked through the market every week buying food and selling what we could. Viciously cruel insults flung around us in a barrage of disparaging words. My mother scoffed at the words and held her head high. Unashamed of who she was. “River, no matter what know that I love you. What you and I have is all that matters.”
I learned to defend myself against the village boys who thought I might have the same disreputable reputation as my mother. They started to avoid me which brought a sense of peace to my life. I could go around the town and around the island without being bothered. I saw beauty in nature that they would never see being stuck in town.
Then the fog rolled in. It engulfed the island. Our home had become a hazy mess. A week passed and then another. People were grumbling and an unsettling tension filled the village. No one looked at each other in the eye anymore.
I will never know what set it off that day. I stepped into town and I heard new words flung at me. Virgin. Cursed. Abomination. Clamoring they chased after me which should have been easy with the fog. But I slipped. My foot lost control on some wet leaves and I went down. They carried me up the mountain. It started to rumble below us. I heard my mother crying chasing after us. We reached a point that had a cracked opening to a cavern below filled with fire. I was against the edge being jostled to fall in.
My mother screamed,” I named you River not because of water, but because you would bring Rivers of fire. I love you and your father.”
I was pushed off the edge and screamed on the way down. The fire felt like a warmth loving embrace. The sleeping fire god buried deep within was stirring. He cradled me gently as if I was a newborn child. He gave me a kiss on my forehead. The searing red heat imprinted itself on my skin. Then with a forceful shock, I was thrown back up into high above the island to see the world past the island. I realized how much more there was to this world. I descended back down to the spot where the townspeople were. The heat was singing in my veins. I would bring to them rivers of fire indeed.
|
Horribly burnt, grotesquely and visibly shaken, I began my trek down the ancient mound into which my so-called friends had thrown me. An offering to the gods? I had scoffed at their gods. Maybe I shouldn't have been so sacrilegious. Now, I had been baptised by something beyond fire. The stench of burning flesh was as oddly pleasant as it was sickening. My flesh. The horrors of the last couple moments flashed through my head. I remembered standing at the top of the volcano as they gathered around and pushed. Falling. Slowly, sinking. It was nothing like the movies. It was dense and smothering. You could not breath. How I had been able to climb to the top and begin my descent, I could not say. Now, they would pay for what they had done.
"Johnny? Is that you? How the hell...?" Red could still faintly make out a hint of his former friend.
"Yeah..." I managed to gasp out. Even now, the molten rock clung to me in bits and pieces, continuing to singe and burn at parts of my flesh. It was a wonder that I was standing. I began to lose consciousness.
When I awoke, I was surrounded by the men who had thrown me to my fate. A sacrifice. To appease the gods. A virgin sacrifice.
"I told you guys, I'm not a virgin." I squeaked out.
"Yeah, but you just were always bragging about banging all those chicks and we never saw you with anyone. You made it kinda hard to believe. How the hell are you alive?" Chuck asked. Always the one to speak his mind. He sure had a way of getting to the point.
"I guess your god really takes that whole virgin thing pretty seriously." I replied.
This time, it was Red that spoke,"But you're alway on reddit and 4chan, Johnny. How could we have known?"
"It's easy, Red. My real name. It's Jonathan CHAD. You should've known. Now the whole world is doomed." With these words, I could feel myself drifting; my wounds were too much. In the distance began a great volcanic distress, as the gods began to vent their anger. If an acceptable virgin sacrifice could not be found soon, there would truly be hell to pay.
| 2018-03-02T20:01:48 | 2018-03-02T18:59:20 | 19 | 10 |
[WP]All you can remember was that you were once mortal. Now centuries, countless millenniums have passed. You watched everything you know perish one by one. Humanity, Earth, the sun, galaxies, even black holes. And now you drift in space waiting for the end of time...
|
Space is not silent.
There is *silence*.
But it is not silent.
The solar winds play a haunting sonata that vibrates through your bones. A rippling melody that dances down your spine, sprinkling goose-pimples its wake.
Every planet you pass, every object, is a unique melody; a new string to be masterly plucked on a violin. Every meaningless asteroid that passes is *meaningful* when it sings its sweet aria; as it tells you more about existence than any man who ever lived possibly could hope to.
There is *silence* in space.
But it is not silent.
And is not empty, either.
There is *emptiness.*
But it is not empty.
There are planets, stars and comets. There is debris that tells stories of ancient ruins. Of species that held themselves in too high regard. Creatures that looked to the stars, instead of watching where their feet stepped. Who didn't see the cliff approaching, as they ran.
Who fell.
Their necks snapping as they hit the bottom.
There are clouds of dazzling gas too, that flow together like rainbow coloured sands. As if *God* has reached a hand down to a beach at the edge of existence, and now lets the sand trickle slowly through his fingers. As the sand falls it creates a castle. A magnificent structure that will one day be washed away by the unstoppable tide.
There are holes that are not nothing. Holes in the very fabric of reality, that corkscrew through dimensions, ripping, tearing, and rending matter apart, down to it's most basic level. But they -- these unstoppable forces of destruction -- do not only take; they are benevolent destroyers, and return what they have borrowed, in a new form, a form that can never be what it once was, and yet always will remain so.
There is smell and taste, too.
Iron and water sits on your tongue, until centuries pass and enough has gathered to parch your cracked lips and calm your desperate, begging throat.
The scent of raspberries and cedars drift on the ancient solar breeze.
*Teasing.*
There is something to be felt, in the void of space. Something tangent.
And somehow it does not feel of emptiness.
Not of *nothing.*
*But of hope.*
The galaxy you knew ended so long ago, that when you try think of it, it feels like you're stretching for a dream that's always *just* beyond your fingertips.
It is gone, but you are certain there are others.
And you will find them.
Yes, you are certain you will find them.
Somewhere.
Someday.
|
"Eight trillion and one, eight trillion and two... Christ I'm bored..."
Jamie had come up with the idea of counting to pass the time just over eight trillion seconds ago. It seemed like a good idea at the time. (If you could even call it time anymore).
Over the eons, he had thought of several games to play to keep himself occupied. The somersault game was good. How many somersaults could he complete before he passed out. Re-enacting the whole 10 series of Friends, playing all the characters, he never could remember the name of the fit blonde woman in that...Fiona? Fifi? Anyway... That was fun for a while. Singing songs he loved in every possible key, with every possible combination of notes. Perfecting beatboxing, with the beat and the bass at the same time... Good times...
Memories of his actual life on Earth had become more of a vague recollection to him now. Like that feeling you get when you wake up in the morning and try to remember a really good dream. You know it happened, you know you experienced it. But no idea what it was about, or who you were...the only thing that stuck with him was that damn tv show with the hot blonde...So he only fleetingly missed it.
It felt like all he knew was this nothingness.
This eternal nothingness.
Waiting for something, anything.
Floating.
In stasis.
Waiting to exist again, wanting to mean something to someone again.
Jamie often wondered why this had happened to him. Why was he chosen to exist in this solitude.
"Eight trillion and three, Eight trillion and four..."
He thought to himself what to do next. Hovering in the void.
Friends was a really good tv show, maybe it was worth another visit. Remembering it should pass a couple of years anyway... He always had a crush on Phoebe, maybe he could write himself in this time.
"PHOEBE!!!" He shouted aloud "That was it!! That was her name!!!"
He was overcome with that satisfying feeling you get when you finally scratch that itch you can't find. It was exhilarating.
A bright light appeared before him, Jamie floated towards it and entered paradise.
Back on Earth, time un-paused. The rain fell from the skies and landed on Jamies coffin as it was lowered into the ground. A crowd of mourners with black umbrellas dispersed from the grave, and carried on...
| 2018-01-19T06:44:39 | 2018-01-19T06:30:29 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
To whom it may concern,
Helpless; this is the word that best defines my current state. Chained by aliments that only my debilitated will can cure. Confusion is the whip that heavily decorates my back with scars and sends blood wrenching echoes of ripping flesh to the depths of soul. My cuts burn and spew blood; the cost for the wisdom I am unwillingly gaining. Life; the tormentor that laughably wields the whip; forcing me to scream; forcing me to cry; forcing me to accept what I believe to be unacceptable. Patience whispers sweet words of hope claiming to be in the near future if I just wait. But time whispers in my other ear encouraging me to act; reminding me that I am not here forever. So here I am, broken; left with no plead unspoken; accepting the fact that I am not in control and that no savior or freedom will come. So I will wear the mask of happiness to hide the tears of despair; silently hoping, begging to survive.
-Mr_jisho
|
Dear [name redacted],
Hey, do you remember when you stopped talking to mecwithout giving me an explanation? How you walked away from that without any pain, but I was sent into a depressive spiral for months? Of course you don't. You can put those thoughts behind you. I can't put mine behind me. You're lucky, and I kind of envy you.
What I want you to know is that I'm happy, with a sweet girl who actually cares about my feelings. Someone who actually deserves my time and effort. Someone who, if given a choice between killing her or killing my oldest friend and unable to kill the one holding a gun to my head, I would kill my oldest friend. Someone so much better than you in every concievable way. Someone who isn't a waste of oxygen.
I hope this opened your eyes on how much of a heartless shitstain you really are.
Sincerely,
Vivi
P.S.: Enjoy the glitter bomb, fuckhead.
| 2015-12-05T13:29:19 | 2015-12-05T13:04:29 | 49 | 36 |
[WP] Human beings unlock skills as they grow up, walking, taking, etc. You are the oldest person in the history of the world, and today you unlock a skill no one ever had.
|
I looked at the readout again. After turning 179 (take that Methuselah, ya fake bastard) I had earned another skill. One never seen before. My eyes were replaced last year with new "genetically vat grown" ones, whatever the hell that means and I'd been offered all replacement parts. But see, you don't get a new skill unless you're 95% original parts, at least that's what they tell me. So I stuck it out. I read the readout again as my smile broadened. Well HOT damn!
I opened the door for the first time this week. I slowly, at my age there's no other kind of speed, made my way onto my front porch just as my house rattled from the 8:10 rocket landing at the spaceport across town passed over. You could always count on the old Space Force to be on time!
There they were. The damned teenagers. Drinking and smoking glick sticks and throwing their beer cannisters on my lawn.
"Hey you kids," I yelled. The biggest laughed and stood up.
"What is it, ya old geezer?" He yelled and my smile broadened. Time to see if this skill was worth it.
"Get off of my lawn!" and I touched my cane to the ground. The earth rumbled, buckled, and tossed all thirteen of those little bastards dazed and confused onto the moving walkway, shock in their eyes as they drifted off toward the horizon.
Hot damn! It was worth living till almost 180 to finally get the Get the Hell off My Lawn skill!
|
I smiled faintly as I gazed out from my perch on my usual bench, admiring the city. It was a Sunday, the air thick with humidity but free from the sounds of traffic. There had been a celebration in honor of my one hundred twenty-fifth birthday the day before, full of great grandchildren and reporters. Thirty years ago I may have resented needing assistance or getting attention for outliving my peers, but living this long gives one perspective on the matter.
The longer I gazed out onto the city, the more things started to change. My eyes narrowed and I looked down to find myself a young woman, on this very same bench, but in a very different time. At first, I thought it was my old mind playing tricks on me again, reliving the past and seeing the old architecture that used to make up the skyline of my hometown under the new ones, as if the world of my childhood was the inner rung of an onion, and all I would have to do was peel it to see it again. This time was different - it wasn’t as if I had transported, it was as if the time had truly changed in front of me. The people changed, and with them their clothing. The casual dress of the current day morphing into browns and blacks, dirt covering the ends of pant hems as dust was kicked up from the clopping of hooves against the stone roads. Even the smell of it permeated my nostrils, and a great feeling of nostalgia filled me as I looked around at this world I hadn’t seen in a century.
I blinked, and it was gone.
| 2018-06-23T13:18:44 | 2018-06-23T11:18:16 | 208 | 47 |
[WP] Write a horror story in Dr Seuss's writing style.
|
Some fear monsters with big, sharp sticks,
Some fear crowds throwing big, heavy bricks!
Some fear a ghost,
Some fear the most,
Some fear an execution by rope!
But of these fears are lame,
All of these fears are tame,
Compared to the one I’m about to explain.
The real thing to fear isn’t
A stick
A brick
A ghost
A rope
Never hide your guns too close to your right-hand.
Never keep the pills too close too close in the night-stand.
Not unless you want a mouth full of lead
Not unless you wanna be sprawled out, dead.
Because the real monsters aren’t the ones under your bed.
The real monsters are the ones in your head.
|
Alone. Alone. In the dark alone at last
To talk to my friend trapped in glass
Through the mirror I'm whispered to
About what things I should do
Kill. Kill. My friends it says
Grab a saw, cut off their heads
Take an eye some skin and hair
Bring it back so I can share
More. More. It says to me
Now an ear, a arm, and knee
Its my family this time instead
Use a knife while their in bed
With parts I've taken and lots of glue
A body I made just for you
So he can leave the glass for good
And wander around our neiborhood
Edit: first time doing this and had to fix formatting
| 2016-06-22T23:23:07 | 2016-06-22T22:38:08 | 213 | 40 |
[WP] Time travelers have become such a nuisance that governments have begun recording fake historical events that lead time travelers to areas where they can be arrested. You're a bartender at one of these artificial towns, trying to determine if the customer in front of you is from the future.
|
The man walked in and gazed upon the almost empty bar. He was wearing a button-up white shirt, his hair was slicked to the side, and he had glasses on. He had on a dark brown blazer and he smiled as he walked up to me. The man looked familiar and it gave me an uneasy feeling as I wiped the counter with a dirty rag.
“Scotch, please,” he said, and I turned to get his drink without saying anything.
“Hot day,” he said, and I nodded and slid the drink to him.
A fan in the corner was blowing the hot dusty air through the room, the light from the New Mexico desert was lancing into the bar, the rays of illumination danced with motes of dust. One of the patrons coughed. That was Jack, one of my agents. He was a good man and I trusted him with my life. Jack stole a glance at me, and I nodded to let him know we were on the same page.
After a few minutes the song and dance began. After a few pleasantries, the man at the bar said he was looking for the scientific research facility near us. He said he had a job offer and was to report to the facility by Thursday.
I nodded as if this was a common occurrence around here. As though our tiny town of Los Alamos had scientists arriving every day.
I have been stationed here for the last two years wiping down this dirty bar, ever since our government set the trap and recorded in the history books that this was in fact the place, the little town of Los Alamos, where the “Manhatten Project” and the nuclear bomb was developed. Ever since then we’ve been waiting. We knew the insurgents would come through a portal and try and stop us. Try and change what they had no business of changing.
Jack got up from his seat and walked up to the man, smiling at him pleasantly, but also with a hint of menace in his eyes.
“What do you suppose they do out there in the desert?” Jack asked. His face was slick with sweat and he leaned forward towards the man, putting his hand near the scotch on the table.
The man stared at Jack, then looked at me. I had stopped wiping the table and I stared at him. Another one of my agents, Bart, was sitting at a table on the other side of the room, stood up, then walked slowly and closed the door to the bar. I heard the dead bolt as he locked it. The room was darker now, much darker. The fan seemed to be louder and my head pulsed with the anticipation.
I hated being here and I wanted to go back through the portal and back to my wife and kids. Two years is too long to be through the portal. Sometimes I dream of my wife and it feels strange to dream about a person now moving through a different splice. But in my dreams, she feels so close and time seems like it is nothing between us.
I want to go home, but sometimes I have this feeling I will never see her again.
The man smashed his glass of Scotch in Jacks face and turned, he pulled out an X16 pistol and sent an energy pulse that dropped Bart. But that was as far as he got as I opened the bottle of Scotch over his head and then hopped over the counter.
“Bad move, mister,” I said.
He looked dazed and held his hand to his alcohol-soaked head, his fingers came back with blood.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “We have to stop it!”
I kicked his pistol into the corner of the room and grabbed him by the collar and rolled him onto his back and cuffed him. Bart was moaning in the corner and Jack was out cold.
The man turned his head, looking up at me, blood trailing down his face and pleaded with me. “You know what’s going to happen if we don’t stop it. How can you go along with this?”
“It’s none of my business,” I said. “You are my ticket out of this shit hole and out of this time splice. I just want to see my wife.”
“You’ll have no wife to go home to if we don’t stop it!” He shouted.
“Again, that’s none of my business,” I said and roughly picked the man up. I tore open his shirt and there was a gold locket that made me pause.
"Where did you get this?" I said.
He didn't respond and I opened the locket, there was a picture of my wife but she looked old now.
"She gave it to me," he said. "Listen, we don't have much time. You have to help me. We have to stop it."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
For more stories, check out my subreddit!
[r/CataclysmicRhythmic/](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/)
|
See, if they'd been *smart* about this, they would have *waited*.
Yes, it's a lot harder to fake something like this after the fact. I get that. But if you make the evidence you need, and then, say, wait a decade or two to release it, and only make it part of history *retroactively*, then you don't have to worry about regular tourists. If they're here at all, they're automatically suspicious as hell- you still get a few people turning up because they're passing through and need gas, and there's always gonna be some madman who turns up, decides he likes it here, and moves in, but...
Well, this whole thing could have been a lot simpler, no doubt about it.
Take this fellow in front of me. Was he strange as all hell? Yes, yes he was. Oddly fascinated by everything, looking around all suspicious-like. But that doesn't mean as much as you think it does- might just be some Florida man on vacation. There's plenty of run-of-the-mill weirdos wandering around, no two ways about it.
His clothes are new, which is suspicious. You don't want to be conspicuous, so you buy the local fashions. 'Local', in this case, in the time sense. But you can't arrest someone just for wearing new clothes, especially if they might just be on vacation.
Gotta dig a little deeper. Generally, that means conversation.
"Heck of a storm supposed to be coming in, in a week or so. They're saying they might have to evacuate people. Don't know where the heck they'd have to put everybody up, it'd probably be a whole nightmare. I sure wouldn't want to be in charge of that."
That alone gets them, sometimes. They usually don't outright *say* 'the time travel guide didn't say anything about a big storm', but if they just flat-out say 'nah, that won't happen' then we've got ourselves a bit of a stupid time traveler. Mostly, though, they're smart enough to realize that they shouldn't do anything that looks like they can see the future. They act worried, and ask if they think that'll affect their travel time, if maybe they should cut their time here short, just in case.
Which is just what the gentleman in front of me did. Time for step two.
I started talking politics. I engaged the man a bit, got him to show off a bit of his knowledge. He'd done his research, if he was a time traveler. That wasn't uncommon, but it did mean that he couldn't now claim to not be following things.
So I asked him about something smaller, a local political scandal that was absolutely dominating the news at the moment, and which wouldn't even merit a footnote in the history books.
He knew about it, offered opinions, ranted for a little bit about the corruption involved. He'd either *really* done his research, or, more likely, had been here for a while, following things and just generally experiencing life back now.
That'd make it hard to catch him at anything, if it were the case. I went over to flag his file- 'suspicious, but has definitely done his research or been here a while'- then went back over to get him cleaned up and ready to head out.
Part of this included a surreptitious search of his person. It wasn't much, and I didn't expect to find anything, since, if he *was* a time traveler, he clearly knew what he was doing. But it was the done thing. You just never know.
Indeed you don't. He had a small pin, celebrating a Cleaveland Heat NBA championship.
"Follow the Heat, do you?"
He seemed to realize that he was caught, but he tried to play it cool. "I sure do. It was a great season, with...LeBron James, and...Stephen Curry..."
"Uh huh. Explain it to the judge. Got you dead to rights."
"Look, I know you've had problems with people coming back, but I *swear* I haven't been playing the lotto!"
"Uh huh. I'll bet you haven't been doing any sports betting, either."
"Well..."
"Again- tell it to a judge." A couple of police officers showed up, and the man stiffened. He hadn't tried to run the whole time, which I mostly chalked up to this time periods notoriety for police brutality. Guess it has its advantages, after all.
"Take him away, boys!"
| 2021-01-16T09:21:41 | 2021-01-16T08:44:10 | 416 | 300 |
[WP] You're a student of music in the 23rd century. This is your A+ essay regarding a famous song from the 21st century, in which you dissected and heavily misinterpreted.
|
For the thesis I will analyse one of the songs found on the disc recovered from the ruins of old L.A.
Starting with infamous line
"My anaconda don't want none if you aint got buns hun"
The famous giant anaconda snake is a symbol of Brazil. This lyric highlights the tragic brazillian dependance on US aid and shunning of local produce. But it's a little known fact just who that voice belongs to. It is in fact the voice of a famous 20th century philosopher known only as Sir Mixalot. Most of his work has been lost to time but he is famed for his inability to lie. This choice of speaker gives the song a distinct undertone of honesty, ethics and integrity.
"I let him hit it cus he sling cocaine". At first listen this line may sound like gibberish to our modern ears. However sling is an old colloquial term for throwing and cocaine was a deadly illegal drug that plagued the streets of Oil age America. So it appears Nicki allowed this man to discipline her pet snake because he works in law enforcement discarding cocaine.
"I got a big butt". Now butts are one part of a type of primitive gunpowder weapon very popular at the time. In this line she is implying that she is very well armed. Presumably for the fending off of criminals. The deranged laughter at the beginning of the line highlights the giddy thrill of controlling such (for the time) powerful weaponry.
I conclude that this song is about resisting the decay of civilization. It is nothing more or less than a great rallying cry against crime and injustice. With any luck this epic ballad of courage will echo through the generations and be heard in our own time.
|
The song "Disasterpiece" by the Heavy Metal band Slipknot is an ode to the lead singer's passion for designing and making clothes. His name, after all, was Corey *Tailor* (he would also design elaborate masks for himself for performing music). Obviously the line "I wanna slit your throat and fuck the wound" is referring to making the collar of a shirt then making the rest of said shirt with love. "My wormwood meets your pesticide" speaks of an incident in which his neighbor accidentally killed his wormwood (used to make dye) with the weed killer he used on his lawn. The chorus of "noises noises people make noises, people make noises when they're sick" refers to his frustration at not being able to ply his craft during periods of illness, so he would sit around complaining (making noises) that he couldn't sew. The rest of the song describes his frustration at trying to please fashion critics; ^(for example) "Hate ain't enough to describe me. Somewhere between screaming and crying. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to be." In summary, the song displays a clear love of fashion design and offers insight into the mind of the designer trying to maintain his reputation by striking a balance between trying to please critics and staying true to himself.
[The big book of "facts" - Ebenezer Huxley]
[Snitches get Stitches, a short history of sewing in the sport of Quiditch- Stephanie Schneider]
[The very Hungry Caterpillar- Eric Carle]
| 2015-08-16T10:31:31 | 2015-08-16T10:02:24 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
I was woken up by the sound of my bedroom door. I've always been easily scared, so my heart pounded in my chest the moment I heard it. I sat up straight, said "I've got a knife" and when nobody responded I got out of bed. I made sure no one was hiding in my dark and small apartment, got some hot milk and went back to the bedroom and opened the door. That's when I heard it. Someone was in there, breathing heavily. I was about to call the police when the person said "I've got a knife".
|
My wife slept besides our newborn, too exhausted to remain awake during her feeding. The doctor said not to nurse while sleeping to avoid rolling and smothering the baby. After a week of near constant feeding though I don’t think my wife had the energy to move. I was wrong. I reacted slowly as I saw her roll onto our little girl. Sleep deprivation paralyzed me. Then a moment later I saw a tiny hand shove my wife onto her back. I looked at our baby and she looked at me, her mouth smeared red, smiling.
| 2015-06-09T07:21:16 | 2015-06-09T06:57:13 | 276 | 58 |
[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.”
|
He thought He could just waltz in and take over my territory. I am the supervillain here, the only supervillain. He thought it would be easy.
Easy.
Easy?
He thought He could kill *my* heroes.
How dare He?
How could He?
The heroes I have nurtured for so long, the heroes I'd painstakingly trained without their knowledge. They can defend themselves fairly well against other villains now.
But I know they're not ready.
Not ready for Him.
I must-
I must stop Him.
He wishes to kill them.
No.
NO.
NOO!
All think I am a weak villain.
Do they not-
Do they not wonder why I am supervillain of so much?
Do they not think other villains have tried?
Not only have I nurtured the heroes, but the land I claim flourishes.
It grows.
All have food.
Shelter.
Abuse is not tolerated.
And-
And they are happy.
Safe.
They do not know-
The do not know it is me that fights off the monsters of the night.
The nightmares.
The true villains.
Now He has come, and He will be dealt with.
I will kidnap the heroes and place them in a dungeon.
They will-
They will be safe.
From Him.
And I will wait in my lab, full of useless inventions and silly machines.
Or so it seems.
I, with my ray gun.
I, with my wormhole bazooka.
I, with my seventeen giant laserbeams.
I, with my mind control helmet.
The heroes will suspect nothing.
The villages will suspect nothing.
And this time...
The villain will *not* get away.
Not in my story.
Not today.
_______
I don't respond to too many prompts but this was fun to write
| 2021-05-20T08:01:46 | 2021-05-20T07:32:54 | 225 | 88 |
[WP] You used to be into the occult and supernatural and decide to make a devil's trap symbol on your floor beneath your rug. It was a phase but years later someone steps on the spot that you've forgotten about and now they seem to be having a hard time removing themselves.
|
"Lilly?" I said, hoping I was getting her name right as I was introduced to her at the party just a little while ago, "What's wrong?"
Her face was a mixture of anger and frustration. She grunted as she tried to step forward. When she heard my question she looked surprised, smiled, then said, "Just had a little too much to drink, I think..."
"Well, I can call you a cab," I said, watching her while trying to appear not to watch her.
"No, that's fine," she waved me off. I walked to a group of other guests but something was buzzing around in my subconsciousness.
I was nibbling on a finger sandwich when I saw her foot dart away from where she was standing in an awkward reach. With the heel of her shoe she pulled up the rug and noted the painted outline on the wooden floor beneath. Her heel lifted and the carpet fell back into place. Surprisingly no one had noticed this little acrobatic act but me.
Her eyes connected with mine. She knew this was my apartment. She was staring at me so intensely I started to feel warm. Not good warm, either. Her mouth turned up into a smile and she bared her teeth at me. One minute they were pointed the next they were normal. She motioned me over.
I stood outside of her reach because I remembered drawing that devil's trap when I was in my occult phase. I gulped and mouthed, "Uhm, I'm not trying..."
"You're not trying," she told me icily, "You're succeeding. Do you know what I'll do to you when I get out of this?" She motioned with her eyes down to the rug.
"I'm just saying..." I put up my arms in innocence.
"I'm just saying," she purred and the air turned to ice, "That when I get out of this they will be looking for your body for ages. I'm sure they'll come across pieces every decade or so. So you knew who I was and set a trap for me? For ME? You don't start small, do you?"
"What?" I was trying not to shake but the fear had risen intensely, "I didn't mean to trap you. I made that thing four years ago. I covered it with a rug and forgot about it until now. I swear! I don't even... I mean, believe in..."
"This was a mistake?" She asked and laughed so had she had tears coming from her eyes, "Oh my! Oh my! I can feel the truth in what you say. I can feel it is a very weak trap now. A few more minutes and I'll be able to overpower it. It must have been quite powerful when you made it, though, to have lasted this long! I am impressed."
"T-thank you," I said then added, "P-please don't kill me."
"Oh," she smirked, "I was just angry. Now that I know you weren't gunning for me, I'm not going to kill you. Maim you a little, maybe." Her smile warmed and I could tell she was joking. At least I hoped she was.
"Again, I'm sorry," I said, "I'll sand it off tomorrow, I swear."
She grunted as she stepped toward me and I could tell she had escaped the trap. Her arm intertwined with mine and she pulled me to a sofa.
"The name is Lilith," she whispered into my ear.
"Lilith as in *THE* Lilith?" I asked, my eyes staring into her deep brown ones.
"Adam's first wife," she said, "He was a dick so I left. God cursed me to be the mother of demons. You work for me now." As that started to sink in I saw her eyes met someone's across the room and she motioned him over.
The man came to a dead stop right over the devil's trap and frowned. He glared at Lilith and she burst out laughing.
"Lilith," he growled and looked down at the rug, "What the fuck is this?"
"It's a devil's trap, Lucifer!" she laughed even harder as he tried to escape, "Isn't it delightful?"
"Someone is going to die tonight," he growled and I fainted. The last thing I heard as the darkness closed in was Lilith's laughter grow louder.
|
My friends had warned me about being careful with online dating. I thought I'd done everything right - we'd met up for a couple of drinks at a nearby bar, and everything went great. No bad gut feelings or anything. You have to trust people sometimes, right?
He was *gorgeous*, even better than the photos! And there was something absolutely mesmerising about his eyes. The colour of rich whisky, with specks of gold that danced like fire when he laughed. We'd bonded over alcohol and a passion for cooking good food. He'd really impressed me with the things he claimed he could make, with an unusual preference for barbecues and flame grills.
That's how we'd ended up here. The plan was to have dinner at mine. He'd shown up with a bottle of red wine, just as handsome and enthralling as the first time we met.
After being single for a while after a long term relationship, I was excited to have found someone to potentially form a new romantic relationship with. Not many people were interested in me - an underemployed late 20-something, trying to make ends meet. Most of the guys I'd met so far ended up being only friend interest, or total creeps. Ugh.
So here we are. Mr tall, dark and handsome is stuck on the rug in my living room. I thought I was lucky meeting this guy, but now I just couldn't believe it!
Shocked, I grabbed my phone and ran out into the hallway of my apartment building. I made a frantic call to an old friend. Thankfully, they answered and assured me they would be there ASAP.
I paced anxiously up and down the hallway while I waited for my friend. It felt like an eternity. I could hear the demons muffled growls from behind my heavy front door. Amazingly, none of my neighbours came to investigate.
Checking my phone, I saw that my friend had arrived. Ducking quickly inside my apartment to buzz him in, I greeted him at the the elevator to help with the items he carried. We entered my apartment together and faced the demon.
As soon as the demon saw my friend, he changed. He started snapping and snarling, the sparks in his eyes turned to flame, and his body turned into twisting shadows, barely recognisable to his former self.
My friend spoke. "Enough. You're coming with me. Do not try to fight this." This only served to enrage the demon further. Even made impotent inside a trap, it was terrifying.
He pulled out something I'd only ever heard him speak of before. He called it a "soul box". Which didn't really make sense because demons don't have souls, do they? This was above my level of knowledge.
It wasn't large, perhaps the size of a tissue box. It appeared to be wrought iron, covered in markings and writings that were not recognisable.
When the box was opened, a strange hum filled the room, and power crackled like electricity. Something was happening. The twisting shadows of the demon began to pour into the box, like water - if water were made of smoke and shadows. I choked on the acrid smell of burning coals.
The demon twisted and writhed, helpless inside the devil trap painted on my floor. I watched with morbid fascination as this creature melted away into shadows, pulled inside the strange box. Finally the demon dissipated, the box snapped shut with a heavy metal clink, and all was silent.
It emanated an eerie glow, and my friend quickly but carefully, wearing thick gloves, placed it inside another box, a wooden one. It was worn, plain, and unremarkable. Made sense, I suppose.
He pulled out a smartphone, tapped a few things and gave me a curt nod.
"The transfer has been made."
"Thank you." It was about all I could manage to say, after what I'd witnessed.
He grabbed his demon filled wooden box and made to leave. "Wait," I said, "He brought this with him." I handed over the bottle of wine - you can never be too careful - and he placed it alongside the soul cube in the wooden box. The apartment door shut behind him with a soft click. He could let himself out of the building.
I looked around my now empty apartment. Everything seemed as it was before, although my rug was now scorched beyond repair.
Picking up my smartphone to check my bank account, I smiled to myself. Buying a new one wouldn't be a problem. Turns out demon bounty hunters pay exceptionally well.
| 2018-09-02T15:41:48 | 2018-09-02T15:39:06 | 226 | 68 |
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.
|
*Well that was a bust...*
**C'mon. I know you really liked her.**
*I mean I did but...I guess she didn't feel the same. Seems like that's been happening a lot lately.*
**You'll find someone. I know your heart. You're too good to be single forever.**
*Yeah, okay. No offense but I don't know how much that's worth coming from you.*
**Thanks, dickhead. It's not like I don't know every single thing about you that there is to know.**
*I mean, of course you do. You're just a-*
**Hey! There's that bakery you love! I think you deserve a cookie.**
*No way. What if she didn't like me 'cos I'm too fat?*
**Don't be stupid. Go get one! For me.**
*Fine. But I'm working out when I get home.*
He held the door open for the woman behind him. She thanked him and made her way inside.
**I'm excited for this cookie.**
*Me too. Which one should I get?*
"Oatmeal raisin, please."
**Oatmeal raisin, please.**
He chuckled a bit. *Jinx!*
**It doesn't count if she said it.**
*Well she can't hear you.*
**Which is why it doesn't count.**
He ordered his cookie and sat down, reflecting on his date. He heard her thoughts too but after all this time, it was easy to tune them out. Millions of thoughts a minute ran through his head. Hers and his. He sensed nervous ones racing through their minds.
*You okay there?*
**Finally.**
"Finally."
*Hm?*
**Turn around.**
"Turn around."
He turned around and came face to face with the woman who had ordered before him.
"Sorry?"
Tears welled in her eyes.
**I finally found you.**
"I finally found you."
His confusion turned into realization. His eyes widened, "Do you...do you mean?"
**March 4th, 1982. Blue. Mother's name Maria. First dog, Boston. Biggest fear, being alone.**
"March 4th, 1982. Blue. Mother's name Maria. First dog, Boston. Biggest fear, being alone."
*Oh...my god.*
**Last thing you masturb...**
"Last thing you masturb..."
"Hey!!!! I...I get it."
She laughed out loud and held her face in her hands, as if she still could not believe he was right before her.
*I can't believe you're real.*
They looked at each other until he gulped.
*Well please...sit down.*
|
"I can't believe that I've found you!" she screamed. Her face was practically glowing, she was so excited. She ran forward and leapt into my arms, and before I could even think to react her voice was resonating in my head.
"*And don't you even think of dropping me, butterfingers! I remember how you dropped your first girlfriend*."
My arms reflexively came up. Just in time too. She collapsed into my arms. Her arms latched around my neck, but she didn't put any effort into keeping herself up.
"Cori?" I asked. But it couldn't be. The girl in my head wasn't real. I've had schizophrenia since the day I'd been born. Sure, the medicine did nothing to help it, but then again...
"Of course it's me!" she chirped. "And no, you're not schizophrenic. Otherwise..."
"*I would be, too*."
And there it was. The voice that responded to my every thought. Smooth and melodic and just a little deeper than average for a girl. The same voice that comforted me when I broke up with my first girlfriend, and helped me with my math homework.
"Is it... it's really you..." Tears had come to my eyes. I tried to wipe them, but a soft hand and even softer tissue was already dabbing at my face.
"Yeah," she said. Her voice was softer than the brash and explosive timbre I was used to, but I couldn't fault her on it. This was an emotional time for both of us.
Judging from the adorable, wry smile that felt oddly in place on her, I could tell that she agreed.
Oh, and judging from the way that she was suddenly interested in anything but me told me that she was blushing from my thoughts.
"You're a jerk," she whispered. I laughed. She already knew that. She heard my thoughts for the last 37 years. "I expected you to be taller."
I winced. She knew that would hurt. Then again, I didn't expect her to be this pretty.
The blush on her face made me smile. Looks like I'm still the better heckler. God, it was amazing to finally be able to see the reactions on her face. It was also amazing to know that I wasn't crazy.
But more than all of that? It was nice to hold a friend. I hugged her tighter, and swore to myself that I would never let her go.
I didn't need to read her mind to know that she thought the same. The way her grip on my neck tightened told me enough.
| 2019-09-14T13:20:46 | 2019-09-14T13:01:41 | 45 | 29 |
[WP] Explain a color to a blind person.
Edit:1 yessssss, 300+ upvotes, my personal best. Thanks to you all who participated in this prompt.
|
“Maybe a bit of blue there, for the light…”
“What is *blue*?”
The painter looked up their canvas, surprised out of their half-trance by the innocent question of their friend who, until then, had been sitting in silence in a corner of the half-organized mayhem that they called their studio. He had closed his book and was staring in the general direction of the painter with his milky blue eyes. They might be used to it, such unseeing yet focused attention was still slightly unnerving.
“Blue is…” For a moment, they felt a little lost. How could they explain a complex concept such as colors to someone who couldn’t *see* them? They had never been good with words, preferring pictures to sentences.
Their blind companion seemed to understand that, as he sighed and shook his head.
“I’m sorry, it’s a stupid question. Go on.”
He sounded so disappointed in Himself for asking, and maybe in his friend for not answering, that they found themselves putting their brush down and facing him -for all the good that would do, talking again before he could go back to his Braille book.
“Blue’s the sky during summer afternoons, when we’re sprawled in the parc because it’s too hot to do anything. It’s the sound of rain falling on the window when you’re bored and stuck inside by the clouds. It’s night during full moons, when I drag you out to walk in the cold because the stars are beautiful and you humor me by saying you can hear them singing.”
He looked up once more and smiled, closing his useless eyes to listen more closely to the awkward words of someone used to showing rather than saying.
“It’s… the crashing of the waves against a cliff, and the cries of seagulls, and the smell of salt and water in the wind. It’s the taste of ozone that comes with lightning, a little before thunder and cold rain. It’s…” The painter huffs a laugh and, resting their elbows on their knees, lean forward a little. “It’s your eyes, when you forget your sunglasses in a classroom because you just *had* to work on your last idea *right now*, and it made you forget you didn’t have them on. Blue is, well, it’s a music genre of its own, you know? It’s soft drums and the whine of a guitar, a melancholic piano for when you’re feeling *blue*.”
This time, he’s the one laughing, low and amused, like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard yet.
“Blue’s frost on winter mornings and English Breakfast tea with blueberry muffins, and the smell of my mother’s hyacinths -it’s her favorite color, so they’re all blue.”
They get up and walk closer to their companion, careful not to stumble on the art paraphernalia thrown carelessly around the studio.
“It’s the smell of asphalt after a storm, rain and cold and quiet, sad things on the verge of greatness.” They smile, sincere, not that he can see it. “Your music is very blue.”
His laugh is louder this time, delighted. He put a hand on the painter’s shoulder by habit and let his forehead fall on the other.
“You *do* have a way with word, I didn’t know you were also a poet!” Before they can deny, he add. “And yellow?”
|
Sorcha led Brett forward until he could feel the warmth of the fire on his face. Around them the night air blew cool. He pulled his collar up to hide his chin. Beneath his feet the ground was uneven. The heath was made of heather and gorse, pushing against his shins and catching on the hem of Sorcha's dress. Brett could smell the peat smoke from where he stood. Heavy and thick as a glass of whiskey, it enveloped him.
"Not too close," Sorcha warned him. "The fire spits."
The corner of Brett's mouth lifted in a smile. He held out his hands, feeling the warmth becoming more intense. Like a hot bath, or a gust of steam, the heat of the fire escaped the boundaries of its flames.
"Describe it to me," he said.
"It's like something living," Sorcha said. She looped her arm through Brett's again. "They've been building the pyre for weeks, it's taller than you are. Above your head."
"Not hard to be taller than me," Brett said. He tipped his head up to look at where he imagined the flames flicked away into the night sky.
"It's made from pine and stripped down cedar wood. The kindling was purple heather, and they flung it all together until it looked like a giant bird's nest. Scraggly and wild."
"How did they light it?"
"With oil, and plenty of matches. The flames are yellow, they turn slowly to orange and then become red, right at the heart of the fire."
Brett frowned. "What does yellow look like?" He felt the squeeze of Sorcha's hand on his, but he knew well enough now that this wasn't pity.
"Yellow's a hot day in spring," she replied slowly. "Lazy, when you can smell the buttercups and the grass. Insects and butterflies, that gentle hum of life in the garden." Brett heard, rather than saw, her flush. "Yellow is me in a short summer dress, with smooth legs and that perfume you like."
"Tell me orange," Brett asked. He stood, staring straight ahead at the fire.
"Orange is like music. The dissonant stuff, the jazz you don't like. You know that song, Liquid Love? Like that. It's hard on the teeth, but warm. Orange is the smell of the roads when it rains, and that wet-leaf feel under your boots."
"So, like wet dog?"
"It's prettier than that," Sorcha said.
Brett fell silent for a moment.
"And red?" he said finally.
Sorcha's hand was firm beneath his chin. Losing the heat of the fire on his face as she turned him towards her, Brett caught his breath. When she kissed him, she tasted of that peat smoke and of her spring perfume. Brett wrapped her into him, feeling the cool of her hair through his fingers, and the soft fur coat she wore. They broke apart and Sorcha placed a hand on his chest.
"That's what red feels like," she said. Brett heard the smile in her voice.
"Red's my favourite colour," he replied. "Describe it again to me?"
| 2016-09-04T06:14:11 | 2016-09-04T05:47:48 | 101 | 32 |
[WP] you are a super hero/heroine. You've been captured by your nemesis so often that now you tend small talk while trying to escape or waiting for a rescue. Today's topic: the creepy fan mail you've BOTH been getting.
|
"Does this ever work?" I wonder aloud, narrowing my eyes at Bird-Brain through the bars of the massive birdcage. *Is he doing something different with his feathers? His beak?* I look closely at the massive goldfinch, rubbing his chin with its mechanical arms. His eyes are glazed over - more so than usual - and he's not even looking at me. *Something is definitely off about him, that's to be sure.* "Hello?" He seems surprised by me.
"Not yet, Catch-Up, but not even you can break these bars," he tweets, "and soon, you'll feel the un-*pheasant* burn of molten magma!" I audibly groan.
"Y'know," I say, "before you *obviously*, *inevitably*, *without fail* succeed to burn me alive, aren't you going to monologue?"
"Why-" he pauses, shaking his head, "You know, can you let me finish, for once? I think I can convince you to turn to evil. We are-"
"'Birds of a feather, you and I'? You said that last week." I take a closer look at him. His lab coat seems dirty, uncleaned, and it appears that his feathers have been, quite literally, rustled. *It doesn't look like he's slept.*
"No, I..." he taps his beak, "I guess I did. Hm. That's not like me."
"What's up with you?" I open the door to the cage.
"What- did you just-"
"I unlocked it half an hour ago," I say nonchalantly, dashing over to his side.
"What? How?" Bird-Brain's bird brain seems quite puzzled by this whole endeavor.
"I have super-speed," I shrug, "I just sorta jiggled it 'til it broke, really fast."
"Oh," he says, confused, "I swore I- Where did I put the speed net?" Bird-Brain looks
"What's up with you? You seem so off your game."
"Oh," he says, taking a seat by his supercomputer. He halfheartedly pulls a laser from his desk and shoots it at me, but I quickly - what don't I do quickly? - get out of the way. Bird-Brain pecks some code in, before cawing some code-phrase.
"You ever consider giving up the villainy stuff? I mean, you're a super-genius. You've got like thirty Ph.Ds. You could probably just retire off of the AI alone."
"Not many Nobel laureates have beaks," he says, "And anyway, why would I? This is working out so well."
"Is it?" I look around at the nest-themed hideout.
"You know, I'm starting to remember why I try to kill you."
I'm distracted by the hideout. It's been a bit since he's captured me, for us. Usually, it's every other day, but he hasn't gotten at me for a whole two months. *So much dust.* The place is covered head to toe, from the egg-bombs to the bird-plane (he can fly, why does he need a plane?). Usually, supervillains have some worker bots or minions around. *He used to have a guy, didn't he?* I take a quick sprint around the hideout, looking over everything in a couple seconds before returning to my spot as if nothing had changed.
"Regardless," I say, "Where's that guy you used to roll with? What was it? Hawk? Feather?"
"Nestor, you mean?" I nod. Quickly. "He quit. Joined Dog-Man's crew."
"Dog-Man?" I say, incredulous.
"Yeah, Dog-Man," he says, "I couldn't believe it either. Apparently, he doesn't want to work with me anymore! It's a 'hostile work environment'!"
"Well, you do try to take over the world once every few years-"
"Who doesn't have some character flaws? Anyway," he says, "It's not like Dog-Man's got the moral high ground. He tries to turn people into dogs!"
"Point taken."
"Anyway," he said, "I just can't keep my mind focused. Why I kidnapped you, anyway. I saw you roaming about, thought I might as well give the old freeze ray a try." I don't tell him I saw him coming from a mile away. Though I hate to admit it, I almost missed having the guy around. I mean, when I got the messages, I might as well have given it a shot.
"Well, I mean, you lured me expertly with the letters," I say. Bird-Brain looks at me confused.
"Letters?" He pauses, looking away from the screen.
"The threats to the bank?" I say, "The ones smelling faintly of bird-seed?" He looks at me dead-eyed.
"You've been getting letters, too?" The bravado to his voice has vanished. I freeze.
"What do you mean 'too'? If you're not sending the letters, who is?"
A figure steps out from the shadows. I just checked the room. He wasn't there. If he had gotten in traditionally, he would have tripped Bird-Brain's security systems. He steps out from the shadows, turning from an inkblot into the vague shape of a human being.
"Allow me to introduce myself."
---
[- K](https://www.reddit.com/user/Kodebaker)
|
Damien Dillard thought the kitchen was too cramped. She had been tied to an 80’s metal barstool for the past hour, and after coming to terms with her capture, took the time to judge The Butcher’s kitchen décor.
It was too spartan.
She looked between the stainless-steel toaster, the butcher block countertop, and the magnetic knife-rack making up the backsplash. Too efficient. On the stovetop, a dollop of sesame oil sizzled on a stainless-steel wok. It filled the air with toasted notes, a warm and inviting aroma.
The Butcher worked nearby. His large form filled the space between the stove and the center counter. Clearly, he was a man who enjoyed cooking and more so enjoyed eating. He wore a plain white apron, smelled of raw meat and cinnamon, and was busy chopping fresh cilantro.
“You don’t like cilantro.”
He said this as a matter-of-fact. It wasn’t a question, wasn’t even directed towards Damien. it was an undisputed truth about the reality they were in. The Butcher was in control. And the Butcher knew Damien hated cilantro.
The Butcher took the chopped greens and put them in a clear bowl. Next, he ran to the sink, where a large slab of sirloin marinated in soy sauce and brown sugar. He took the slab of meat, licked it, and threw it raw on the cutting board, where it landed with an unsatisfying *plop.*
Then the butcher carved.
His strokes were precise, practiced, and he seemed to be utterly enraptured by the stainless steel of his knife. His large, pudgy finger rolled effortlessly as he sliced thin strips of steak. All the while, he hummed a cheery two-tone, as if oblivious to the situation, as if he wasn’t some kind of monster.
Damien knew better. This was the opening act before the real performance: death—hers, certainly—and the other five unfortunate souls locked in the walk-in freezer. Damien didn’t have much time. She glanced from the cramped kitchen, across the hall, peeking into the frosted glass and seeing frantic movement behind it.
At least, at their end, it would be painless. Damien knew this as much as she knew that their movement would slow, and the chills subside to a radiant warmth, and the frostbitten victims would drift effortlessly to sleep. They would die. The Butcher would carve. And Damien would be forced to watch it all happen.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“It tenderizes the meat,” The Butcher replied.
He was dipping the strips of sirloin in a pineapple glaze. After, he tossed each slice back on the cutting board and sifted a fine layer of corn starch overtop. The wok sizzled. The butcher licked his lips. Damien struggled helplessly against her bonds and the butcher laughed as he began to fry,.
“I’ve been getting letters,” he said. “With recipes. Coffee Truffle. Spinach Dip. Grilled bananas with rum sauce.”
*Rum sauce.*
Damien’s eyes went wide. Every so often, little handwritten notes would make their way into her mailbox. They never had a return address or a stamp. They were blank envelopes with handwritten recipes. Admittedly, most of them were delicious, including her personal favorite, a letter sent one month prior with a recipe for grilled bananas with…
“… rum sauce,” Damien whispered.
The butcher looked up.
“You said rum sauce. Bananas. I know the recipe. Two tablespoons of Caramel syrup. One tablespoon of dark rum. Four bananas, ripe, but not soft, cut lengthwise. A dozen raspberries. Four scoops of—”
“Vanilla ice cream,” The Butcher finished.
His hands shook. He went silent for a moment, eyes wide, as they stared at each other with creeping chills down both of their spines.
“How did you know?” He asked.
Damien was thinking fast. “Unmarked envelopes. Sent randomly. What are the odds? Is this some mass-mailer scheme?”
“Handwritten,” The Butcher said. “Blue ink with a slight smear, as if the sender was left-handed. Why would they hand-write mass mailer recipes? It doesn’t make sense. Do they know?”
*Do they know?*
It was the only thing on Damien’s mind. Do they know The Butcher’s true identity? Do they know Damien’s? And if so, why would they go to all the trouble to send recipes? What did they want? What the hell did they *want?*
In the wok, forgotten momentarily, dinner burned.
 
 
***
This isn't a serious prompt but that banana dessert recipe is no joke. It's one of my personal favorites.
In a smooth bowl, mix the caramel sauce and rum until smooth. Cut each banana lengthwise but do not cut through the skin on the bottom. Drizzle the caramel mixture over the cut sides of the banana. Grill, over direct medium, until the bananas are warm and the skins are dark, five to seven minutes. Serve warm with raspberries and a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
Enjoy!
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
| 2020-10-28T03:33:34 | 2020-10-28T03:29:53 | 2,129 | 300 |
[WP] Humans are complex creatures with a variety of needs. They are not a suitable pet for most dragons, but for the right dragons who have time, patience, and proper resources, these animals can make absolutely incredible pets.
|
* Do not feed your human colony! Humans are intelligent creatures, and can self-organize, raising crops and domestic animals to feed themselves. This is natural. Tempting though it may be to feed them treats, this will only make them dependent and lazy.
* Do not eat individual humans! While the colony can easily spare the occasional individual, this will alienate the colony and possibly even turn them violent. Humans, while individually weak and fragile, can be extremely dangerous in swarms and have been known to kill full-grown adult dragons if sufficiently angered.
* Do not form emotional ties to any individual humans. Individual humans are intelligent creatures, often as intelligent as dragons, but they are extremely short-lived, sometimes surviving only 100 years, or even less. The death of beloved humans will be a frequent and traumatic experience if you allow yourself to become too close. Focus on the colony as a whole, and maintain a certain aloofness from individuals.
* Don't expect emotional maturity from your humans. While they are as intelligent as you, their short lifespans do not permit them to take the long view, or develop much in the way of wisdom or maturity. Thus, they may often surprise you with their cleverness, but do not expect them to be rational, calm, or patient all the time.
* Protect your human colony! While humans in swarms can be formidable, defending against external threats can come at the cost of grave damage and cause the colony to fail. Instead, it falls to you to defend your colony from wild human groups.
* Have close contract with your human colony regularly. From a human's perspective, you are very large and intimidating. They must have a chance to see and interact with you regularly in order to establish and maintain trust. Remember that humans are short lived, and each new generation must be allowed a chance to get to know you.
* Give your humans advice and guidance. They are as smart as you, but don't have the benefit of your thousands of years of experience. In a way, each individual is like a fledgling who can never grow. They can benefit greatly from your greater knowledge and wisdom, but you must be patient with them, as they may sometimes have difficulty understanding your perspective.
* Allow your humans to take care of you, as well! Their fine manipulation abilities far exceed yours, which is not only great for scale grooming, but also allows them to build clever structures and complex devices. If you carefully encourage each generation to educate the next, they may surprise you with what they can accomplish in only a few centuries!
|
“Momma! This one! This one!” I remember my excitement all those years ago. My mother was a high class dragon and had let me buy one of the humans that were immortal and youthful so that way, I could have them for a long time. They do look a bit different from the normal aged humans, mine having glowing eyes, but that didn’t matter to me.
“Nightstar? Look! I found a purple lizard! They look like you!” The human said with happiness, holding an actual fire breathing lizard in front of me. I smiled. I looked down at them.
“That’s so cute, Mike. Now, put it back before it realizes it can burn you.”
“Okay!” It exclaimed. Human pets are like raising dragon pups, but ones that never get true realization of what they are to us, constantly being oblivious.
—
“Mike! Eating time!” I call. Mike runs to his little table and sits. I have a small plate I carefully place and put cooked food kibble on. It seems that as long as it’s cooked, Mike likes it. Some humans don’t mind raw as long as it’s clean, and others don’t like meat. They’re omnivores, so that makes sense.
—
One day, I was walking Mike down the mountain range so he gets his energy, and another dragon and their human were walking around as well.
“Nightstar? Is that you?”
“Oh, Luckforest. I see you have… a human. What’s their name?” Luckforest’s human looked like Mike…
“The tag said ‘Micheal’. Why?” I show Mike. “Oh, that’s where the other one went…”
“Yeah… mom didn’t let me buy the other one.”
“Well, they seem to remember each other…” he said. “I’ve got an idea. We love together and raise them. Now they’re happy and we get to have fun as well!” He suggested. I agreed.
——
It’s been a few hundred years. Mike and Micheal live with us. They realized who they were to us, but didn’t mind. They started from then to learn things via books that I stole from old human ruins.
“We will always protect you guys!” “Yeah! You took care of us so we will repay the deed!” They’d say. They were such good pets, and friends.
And eventually, they’d have to take care of one more dragon, who’d love to see them.
| 2021-11-07T12:59:41 | 2021-11-07T06:31:04 | 147 | 75 |
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words, 2nd sentence has 19, 3rd has 18 etc. Story ends with a single word.
[CW] Write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words, 2nd sentence has 19, 3rd has 18 etc. Story ends with a single word
|
I told her that I’d painted her a sky the way she always wanted to see it, blues and pinks. Like a sunset, I said, but I didn’t really mean it, I meant like how I remembered our mornings. With the sun blushing her skin as soon as I opened the curtains to let in the day. She said she loved it and I’ve been trying to take compliments more readily so she’d smile.
And she smiled and she kissed me and the day looked less like clouds and hail. She could do that, turn the rain clouds and hail into delicate threads of sunshine. Which I’d roll into balls of yarn in the colours rainbows seemed to bleed. It was an operation that required me to close my eyes and smile.
My fingers knew the work well though, short practice with intense concentration. Tongue dragging the corners of mouth where I’d always thought best. Fingers combing through to pick only the best threads, absentminded. The way that I work best, with some participation.
I could feel the colours pierce my skin. Each hue drawing different blood to surface. I routinely scraped my skin clean. Completing the ritual for her.
I’d paint the sky.
Blue and pink.
For her.
Again.
|
The brand of cough syrup John bought was not right, not for dulling down the day to a drooling stupor. Fun intoxicants were there no doubt, but so were other toxic chemicals that could quite easliy corrode the liver. Down the hatch it went, and have you ever felt a gust of wind smack with extra force? That is John's caution, carried away as he too drifts on toward a dimmer, more complacent place. A dab of drool dances down his slackened chin, a slow retarded walz of ignored spittle. Eyes glaze with shadow of ignorant bliss flick once, twice, and thrice to stay. What a distant good feeling world he is in with all numbnees ahh. Some guy is on his bed and he looks tired or dead. Not a problem for John as John is super good now. Like so nice and where is his pillow, under head? Ah and uh so he's in clouds and sleep. On to somethin how dreams awake but deep. That worked, he love cough syrup. Thick and gross it help. Pain gone, so long. The selfless song. I mumble. Farewell.
| 2017-01-14T18:51:56 | 2017-01-14T14:18:10 | 35 | 24 |
[WP] Rework a nursery rhyme to be dark and gritty.
|
Mary had a little lamb, Its fleece was white as snow.
...except for blooms of bright red spots, from where the blood did flow.
Mary held the dripping knife, high above her head.
And struck the lamb repeatedly, long after it was dead.
“I wonder will you trail me now, my precious little treat?”
She skinned the ewe from neck to tail and hacked off sides of meat.
Yet this was not the end of Mary's woe, (much to her dismay,)
For now a ghastly, ghostly lamb, still follows her today.
_______________________________________________________________
It's funny to think how many nursery rhymes are already dark and gritty when you know their history.
"Ring around the Roseys"
*shudder*
|
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
Let that be a lesson to learn
To one side or the other, you must turn
To sit on the fence, that is a sin
Two party politics, get stuck in
Humpty Dumpty fought a fight
To sit on neither left nor right
A gentle nudge
Push comes to shove
And on one side
Humpty Dumpty came tumbling down
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the King's horses
And all the King's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again
| 2014-02-21T06:40:51 | 2014-02-21T04:06:30 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Heaven and Hell do exist after death but you can choose in which you go. You jokingly choose Hell and when you arrive there, you hear Satan saying: "Finally someone! A friend!"
|
"Hello!" I yelled into the darkness surrounding me. My voice rattled off unseen walls; deep rumbling echoes built up into a dreadful cacophony that seemed to swallow me whole.
*Hello hellllo helllllll oh-oh-oh*
My skin became goose-pimpled and a shiver ran up my spine.
"Please - I was joking! Death, if you're there still, please. Please!"
*Please pleaaaa pllleaaad-d-d*
I could feel cold, rock wall to my right but nothing in any other direction. With no other option, I plunged into the darkness, always keeping the wall within reach. The ground beneath me was uneven and I had to step cautiously so as not to trip. As I walked, the stench of sulphur began to grow, soon intensifying and wrapping itself tightly around my throat. After a time, I sensed that the passageway was leading me downward: the wall itself began to twist and I knew I was corkscrewing deep into the earth. No, not the earth. I was somewhere else. But if it was Hell, why was it empty?
I don't know how long I crept along in that dreadful, unrelenting silence -- that blinding darkness -- but eventually a dim orange light became visible someway below; I almost wept with relief.
Gradually, as I descended towards the light, my surroundings became less dim and I could see I was on a wide staircase of sorts -- although a ramp might be more accurate, as there were no steps. I glanced down at my feet and to my surprise, I recognised the sight of the black-grey ground I stood upon. It was a type of igneous rock; the type that forms when lava cools and dies.
The ramp eventually led into a vast hollow carved out of black rock walls. It was much brighter in the room than the stairwell, although shadows danced menacingly on the walls. I saw first a great rock table in the center of the room, around which was a circular patch of white ground marked with the tell-tale black veins of marble. Around that, twelve skeletons rested against the chamber's walls, rusty chains around their necks bolting them to the rock behind. There were iron keys lying by each of their legs. Could they have freed themselves but chose not to?
I crept towards the table. On it lay the remains of a great skeleton, much larger than the others, its arms folded proudly across its chest. In its arms lay a long-sword, its blade a shimmering crystal-blue. The huge bones that must have once made up the creature's wings lay spread across the table's wide surface.
An object rested on the creature's skull -- *the light source*. It was almost blinding to gaze upon the chipped red teeth that made up the terrible crown. Each tooth shone like a fiercely burning ruby. *Like a flame.*
On the side of the table was carved an epitaph.
> Here lies the body of the Morning Star, bringer of light. The true son of God. Long did he protect his children from the Angel's lies. No longer he can. By his side rests his eternally loyal apostles.
> Here lies the body of the Morning Star. He awaits to be avenged; he awaits a friend.
I don't know how long I sat in that room, surrounded by death with my arms wrapped tightly around me. Hours, at least. Days, perhaps.
I don't know why I eventually got to my feet and removed the crown of teeth from the skull, and placed it on my head.
But I did.
And as skin around my shoulderblades ripped and bled to reveal the growths beneath; as the eye sockets of the twelve skulls around the table began to flame and smoulder; as I picked up the sword from the skeleton on the table, and saw in my mind's eye the death of God and the Angel's crimes -- I realised that everything was about to change.
|
Lucifer gleefully asks "What do you wanna do?". Echoing in a void of nothingness.
Cautiously Chet replies, "Uh what do you mean?"
"Look, it's been boring as well, hell frankly, and all that nonsense about torture and brimstone is propaganda. Let's do something fun if you don't believe me."
Chet incredulously proceeds, "If I want to have an orgy in a milkshake fountain, you're not going to rape me with demons or anything?"
Conjuring a comfortable dive bar from Chet's memories appears and a cliche yet suave impish bartender to embody his infernal majesty.
Busying himself washing glasses, his Van Dyk rimmed mouth opens, "Chet, If I wanted to torture you, we could be doing sexual reassignment surgery right now. No anesthetic. I mean it. No tricks, no genie wish bullshit."
Chet guardedly takes a barstool.
Incredulously, "Whiskey, Irish, neat."
Snapping his fingers a drink manifests from crimson flames. "I could use dark magic for the dishes, seems like cheating though."
Chet sips the whiskey, "It's good." he admits surprised.
"Of course it is." Satan scoffs. "All we have on the jukebox is Justin Bieber sadly."
Then the moment Chet reacts, "Kidding, I'm kidding, that'd be cruel." The classic riff of Hendrix's Purple Haze starts playing.
"You can smoke in the bars here. No pun intended."
Chet feels his pockets, pulls out his pack of full flavored Winstons, and lights one up. Thinking he swirls his lowball and swallows the rest down.
The Dark Lord slides an ashtray to him. "You've got questions, I'm sure. I understand if you don't trust me. There's quite a smear campaign going on about me, not fair at all."
Chet, "So this isn't God fucking with me, there's distinctly two realms? I'm dead?"
Lucky,"Dead as a door nail. They don't let you have any fun up there. Sex, Drugs, Violence, even cursing is kinda frowned upon. Here is more like, Valhalla. Feast, drink, die in glorious battle, rise again."
Chet is still skeptical, "So you get my guard down, and then whammo torture city gotcha."
Lucy, "Chet, nothing could be further from the truth." Heavy machinery is heard outside the bar, a dark city grows in the void around them. Metal squealing crescendos right in the parking lot "Ever driven a tank before?"
Before Chet can ask for a second whiskey, his glass is full. He glances into the red and black eyes doubtfully. Getting up slowly nursing his cigarette and drink Chet makes his way to a dingey window facing the parking lot.
"A tank, so I can blow up some buildings, maybe fight an onslaught of zombies?" he inquires attempting a casual tone.
"You can do whatever you want. You can shoot laser beams out of your ass, and be a robot space pirate fighting a horde of demons in space. Whatever you like."
Chet finishes his drink and his cigarette determined to double down on his "fuck it" attitude, "Alright, let's plink some zombies for a bit on the roof. But uh, keep the pain turned on. Playing without it would be cheating."
"Atta boy Chet!", Evil incarnate triumphantly encouraged. "I knew you picked right. We're going to have a hell of a time you and I!"
--This might be the first time I've tried to submit something here. Maybe predictable or cliche, but I wanted to get the idea out of my head.
| 2022-11-26T20:28:16 | 2017-11-04T11:19:44 | 960 | 19 |
[WP] A literal genie – one who cruelly twists someone's wish, based on their exact words – must explain why they granted a child's wish without repercussions, to their superiors. The genie tries to spin the reasoning behind their benevolent actions into a malevolent light.
Edit: All these stories are amazing!
|
Safi crossed her legs and took a drag from her slim, dark cigarette. She recrossed her legs and looked at the infinite geomatic tiling on the walls. She breathed smoke. Mostly, she waited.
Djinn weren't generally known for patience. This should have been driving her insane. It was meant to. But Safi was a slow smoulder. She could wait.
Not that she wasn't itching to burn this place down, of course, but it meant she didn't try. The scorch marks around the thin metal chair she was sitting in were persuasive reason not to.
"So," the watcher said, seated behind a low table in front of her as if he'd always been in the room, "A puppy."
"A puppy."
"I see." The watcher consulted with papers Safi was almost sure were blank. Almost completely sure. She couldn't help craning her neck a little anyway. He shuffled them with unnecessary flourish, frowning deeply.
These things were a joke. A joke that could end in her dashed on the floor and turned into smoke, but still. The room, the watcher (who looked like an old, wise man, as wrinkled and brown as a date with a beard down to his lap--how pretentious could you get?), the chair she couldn't stand up from. They could have done this in her lovely little Brooklyn walk up, or hell, anywhere. They were *genies*.
"It was her wish." Safi shrugged. "She lit the brazier and asked. I answered. I thought that's what we did. Have things changed?"
"Don't be clever." The watcher looked at her disapprovingly. "Being clever is why you're here."
"We're *supposed* to be clever," Safi snapped, leaning forward as far as the chair would let her. "I can't help being clever. Maybe if you tried it, you'd--"
Her throat tightened and shut. She sat back in the chair and tried not to look like she wanted to breathe. The pressure loosened, slowly, but she could still feel it like a noose waiting to draw tight. It seemed very overdramatic.
"You granted her wish exactly as it was asked. You gave her a puppy. A 'good puppy', in her words. She now has had that puppy for four months, and *nothing has gone wrong*. It hasn't run away. It hasn't bitten her. It hasn't gotten ill, or spread illness to her family. You didn't even steal the dog from rightful owners who have come back to reclaim it!" The watcher leaned forward, voice a roar like a forest fire. "Explain!"
The pressure fell from her neck, and Safi smiled, pulling long and slow from her cigarette.
"Dogs die," she said, blowing smoke from her nose.
"Pardon?"
"Dogs. Die." Safi leaned forward again, conspiratorily. "No matter how good, or how much they're loved. They get fifteen, eighteen, twenty years, and then they're gone. I gave her *exactly* what she asked for. A perfect, loyal companion who loves her above all others, someone to play and laugh and cry with, and then, just as she needs him the most--"
Safi snapped her fingers.
It was with no small amount of satisfaction that she saw the watcher's mouth twitch at the corners.
"You're too clever by far," he said, rolling his papers up (and what she would give to see them!), "It didn't occur to you to simply *say* that?"
"But I'd miss these little talks." She smiled beguilingly, with an eyelash flutter just for fun. "No one yells at me like you do."
He snorted, shook his head, and vanished. Safi sat a while longer, until she was sure she was actually alone.
"Fuck. *Fuck* me." She dropped her cigarette and ran her shaking hands over her face, breathing deep.
It was a matter of thought and will to be in Choti's bedroom in an instant...where the little girl wasn't, as usual. Safi stood in the dark, just outside the splash of light from the suburban streetlamps outside.
Small. Pedestrian. Any little girl's room, with drawings on the wall and little treasures strewn everywhere. Children were like dragons. They loved their hordes. There, a shoebox of odd shaped stones; here, a line of battered, well-worn toys. Safi pulled her blankets up and smoothed them almost absent-mindedly. Then she left, careful with the creaking door and the creakier steps.
She could fly, or will herself there, but it felt...inappropriate.
Choti and Max were asleep in a huddle on his massively oversized dog bed, a pull toy still dangling from her hand as she lay on her back snoring--much like Max, who whuffed in his sleep and twitched his paws. Safi sat cross legged on the floor next to them, and gingerly pulled Max from Choti's loosely draped arm.
In her lap, the puppy yawned and squirmed. His breath stank of dog biscuits and who-knew-what. Safi didn't like dogs. They were filthy animals, unclean and useful only for work.
She hugged Max tight to her chest.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, as he whined softly into her ear, "I'm sorry. That's a good boy, Max. You're a good boy."
Choti stirred in her sleep, a tiny frown on her face as she sleepily reached for a friend who wasn't there. Safi put Max within reach, and the girl settled immediately. Max looked up at Safi with his big brown eyes, whuffed softly, and flopped back down against his master.
"Stay good. Take care of her. As long as you can." Safi instructed him, sternly, and disappeared to the sound of a mystified whine.
On the street outside she slipped on her sunglasses, whether or not it was two a.m. They fogged instantly with the steam rising from her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said, to the cool night air and whatever spirits lived there, and she was gone again.
|
“I think you know why I’ve called you in here today.” The director said as she looked over her half moon glasses at me from across a large jewel encrusted gold desk. Her stare was joined by the stares of my boss and my boss’s boss who sat on either side of me.
I knew why I had been called in, but I wasn’t about to admit fault. “No, no idea.”
The director kept her stare. She didn’t blink. She was very good at not blinking.
I sat and waited, stubbornly.
The director continued. “You helped someone.”
“Me?” I paused, indignantly. “I graduated university with top marks. My first review was best in section. I am shocked you would think that of me.” Was I being too dramatic? Maybe.
“Oh cut the crap Antigua.” The director sighed.
I was being too dramatic.
“We are all here because a report has been made about a certain child being granted a wish with no magical consequence.”
I stayed silent.
“And you remember what the punishment for such an action is if a genie is found guilty?”
I nodded.
“Loss of license.”
My heart dropped. There was no greater punishment, no greater shame than being an unlicensed genie.
My boss jumped in like a bureaucratic mother bear protecting one of her cubs. “Now let’s not be hasty, there is no proof of wrongdoing here.”
The Director waved her hand to silence my boss. “We have some proof. But first I want to hear from Antigua what happened and why.” She stared me down again. “The truth please, Antigua. You can start with why the girl asked you for a wish.”
I swallowed hard. The truth was not going to go over well.
“Annabelle Hastel is a third year student at Prestonpans Primary School in West Derbyshire. She has not been getting along so well in school. She doesn’t have any close friends on account of just having moved there from Belgium so she has been very unhappy.”
“This particular day,” I continued, “the teacher was handing back history quizzes. Annabelle got hers back with just a three out of ten. But Amelia Williams, the girl who has more friends than anyone else at school, got her quiz back and the teacher said ‘Full marks, well done,’ loud enough so the whole class could hear. Because the teacher liked her very much too and wanted all the other kids to study as hard as Amelia Williams.”
“To the point, Antigua”
“Sorry. Well Amelia’s best friends congratulated her and hugged her as well. Poor little Annabelle seeing all of this adoration was, well, jealous. So she got it in her head that if she could get a ten out of ten then she could have more friends. Maybe not so many as Amelia, but maybe at least one.”
“So that night she summoned me and wished she could do better on her quizzes, so I gave her the knowledge she would need to get a perfect score on every exam for the rest of the year.”
The director frowned and leaned onto her desk. “Young lady. Do you care to repeat the exact wording of the wish?”
“I don’t recall exactly.” I lied.
“Convenient. Let me read the wish verbatim, for the benefit of Josh and Kelly here.” She pulled out a slip of tickertape from a manila folder on her desk, held it out in front of her, and read: “Annabelle Hastel. The twenty-fifth of August, twenty seventeen. Seven thirty-three PM. I wish that I knew everything.”
The director lowered her nose so she could look over her glasses at me. She stared for an uncomfortably long second then pointed at Kelly, then back at me. “Now I know Kelly taught you our Golden Rule. Care to repeat it for me?”
I bowed my head and recited what Kelly had taught me well. “To ensure that the magic of a genie is never used without consequence.”
“Never used without consequence.” The director parroted. “You know full well we don’t deal with _intent_ when granting a wish.”
I sat quietly hoping I wasn’t about to get fired just six months into my dream job.
The director stood and paced the room as she said, “You should have given her all the knowledge of the world. The good, the bad, the painful. She should have understood in an instant what it feels like for her yet to be born child to die in her arms. You should have taken her inside the mind of a person who believes another human is worth less than them because of the color of their skin, or their gender or culture. You should have shown her that people have literally stabbed their friends in the back without so much as a second thought. You should have shown her the place of humanity in the cosmos. How humanity dies out. How she dies. Do I need to go on?”
She returned to her chair, removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She replaced her glasses and said, “Only because both your supervisors speak so highly of you, and against my better judgment, I will give you just _one_ more chance to be honest. Why did you forgo the consequence?”
“Because that little girl, she couldn’t have handled all that. She didn’t know what she was asking for.” And there it was, the truth. I had admitted to committing the worst crime a genie could commit.
“I should disbar you.” The director paused. “But today is your lucky day. I have a budget review with the Council an a few weeks and if I dismiss you now, I will have to report why. I would rather not admit to such an embarrassing failure in our institutional fabric.” She punctuated those last two with stares at Josh and Kelly respectively.
“Kelly will decide what punishment is appropriate.”
The director stood up and held out her hand across the table. I was going to keep my job! I stood up too quickly and knocked my knee into the desk before awkwardly grabbing the director’s hand and shaking furiously. “Thank you, thank you.”
The director pulled me across the table towards her, her grip much firmer than I had expected possible. “Don’t let it happen again.”
| 2017-08-17T07:26:06 | 2017-08-17T05:54:04 | 174 | 49 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear Dad,
I'm pretty sure you think Mom is my hero. She stayed at home with us until high school, attended all the sports practices, school performances, made all the lunches...and of course I love her, for all that and more, but I'd like to tell you that you have always been my hero.
Some might say that it's just because of supply and demand; you were in short supply growing up, so the demand was high. But that just wouldn't cover it. There is a connection of spirit between us that I just don't have with Mom.
Sometimes when we play cards we start to get a little competitive, and by that I mean that you become a horrendous asshole with a horseshoe so far up your ass you must taste steel! The curse words start flying as the stakes get higher but the twinkle in your eye matches the one in mine. Meanwhile, Mom is in the other room hollering at us to "play nice," never seeing that the anger is all in good fun.
But I guess it really comes down to that day. You know the one. We waited for the ambulance for 45 minutes, and that whole time you did your best to breathe life back into my brother, your son. How you managed to keep it together that long, I will never know. You even drove us all to the hospital behind the ambulance. It seemed like an inhuman feat to me. Superman himself could not have kept it between the lines on that drive.
It's been a decade, and do you know what amazes me most? That twinkle in your eye that matches mine has never disappeared. You never let your grief drown out your joy. You face each day still open to all of what life has to offer. Grief is still a constant visitor, but you set the example of how to invite it in with open arms, to acknowledge that it is part of our lives without it being a menace that must be locked out. By opening the doors easily you help to let in all the other emotions so that life is still whole.
I don't know what I would do without you. You set the example of how to live life and face its challenges with courage and humanity.
Thank-you.
|
Dear Natalie.
So here I am. Funny how things work, right? Never thought I'd end up penning this letter, but I guess something prompted me to do it.
I know. I've known ever since it happened what your real motivations were, and you never had me fooled for a second. After you apologized, and said that you were just messing around and didn't mean anything by what do guys did, I knew that was bullshit. I looked you right in the eyes and I didn't want to look away, I saw exactly what you were thinking, because I was thinking it too.
Don't treat me like I'm naive, I never was even in my deepest innocence. I haven't forgiven you and I don't think I ever will, I trusted you. I didn't know Dave, but I fucking trusted you. I love you to pieces, but you betrayed me in a way no one ever has, and now no one ever can again.
You know what it felt like, lying on that couch, feeling an empty void in my stomach sucking away everything. I felt unclean, I felt violated.
I was violated.
You did it. You both did it. I've never felt so emasculated, so small. I tower over both of you, I exercise, I work out, I play rugby. I try to embody the ideal man, but I didn't do anything, I was locked in my own body, bound with shock. I felt worthless afterwards.
Some sickening part of me hopes that you two stay together, despite the shit he's done to you, and despite the pain you've caused me, and despite how much I care for you. I want you to explain to your kids that the day mommy and daddy got together they did something dark and terrible. I want to be your fucking family secret.
Because then I'll have something. Anything. Other than a story to share with strangers while I talk away my problems. Other than that thing that was "oh so me". Something to go with the whole "hopeless romantic" thing I have going. Something to hold on to at night.
With all the love that I can muster and more, your friend, Redrum.
| 2015-12-05T15:05:05 | 2015-12-05T14:43:55 | 59 | 26 |
[WP] At birth, everyone has the date they will die tattooed on thier arm. You were supposed to die yesterday.
|
Warning: I originally wrote this in Italian, I'm sorry if there are problems with my English.
I should be dead, but I'm not.
For decades we had the time of our death tattooed on our arms. At birth.
There have been no mistakes, the technology used by the government never failed.
I woke up on February 16, 2093. My death was planned for the previous day, at half past four p.m to be exact.
That day i went to sleep thinking that, as sometimes happens, i was going to die in my sleep and that therefore the time on my arm was unreliable.
When i woke up i checked my arm in disbelief and to my astonishment i noticed that i didn't misread it my entire life. The black ink that decorated my skin for a little more than forty-nine years left no doubt about the fact that i was a dead man.
Just as I was about to get up to pick up the phone someone broke down the door. "They must be the gravediggers", I thought "At least I can ask for clarification."
I walked to the door, still a little groggy from sleep, with a mixture of hope, wonder and fear.
Fear, yes, because it wasn't a normal experience to meet a dead man walking. Not even for a gravedigger.
I saw them. They saw me. The surprise was mutual. After only a moment of hesitation, one of the two men in front of me said these words "I'm sorry, but we have an order. We have to proceed no matter what. "
I had never experienced the sensation of being buried alive, and I must admit that I would have much preferred to die in my sleep.
|
Lydia was terrified.
She was supposed to die yesterday. She had expected it, she had prepared for it. She had said goodbye to everyone she loved, and she had gone to bed, expecting to never wake up. But instead she had woken up, just like any other day. She couldn't go outside, who knew what or who would be waiting for her? Scientists would want to dissect her, investigate her, god knew what else they would do to her. She walked towards her computer and turned it on.
"Please, someone tell me what is going on. Please." She wispered, the fear clear in her voice.
The computer booted up and immidiatly opened on a webpage she was sure she hadn't left open when she went to bed. It was a simple page, nothing fancy. The adress was wat caught her eye.
www.thedeathless.cpu.net/index
The text on the site was simple.
*if you are reading this, this means that you didn't die when you where supposed to die. We know this might be extremely confusing and/or scary. But believe us when we say that this is far more common than you could imagine. If you are reading this, come to this address. Everything will be explained.*
*The deathless.*
Lydia stumbled back. People who didn't die when they had to, people just like her, they existed? She shook her head, but then realized that it was her only choice. She took a shaky breath, and grabbed her car keys. She stepped outside, dove into her car, and entered the adress. Scared but curious to know how her life would be from now on.
| 2017-02-18T08:35:42 | 2017-02-18T08:03:21 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
"Liechtenstein? Really? How the hell did Liechtenstein take out ISIS? And who the hell *is* Liechtenstein?"
President Trump's face was beet red. General Bundy's hands shook as he recited the relevant facts: small, German-speaking mountain principality on the Austrian border.
"So how'd they do it? This had better sound at least as good as your, "Bomb them back to the Carboniferous Period and take their oil" strategy, or..." the Donald's famous hair shook as he delivered his catchphrase, "You're Fired!"
General Bundy gulped. There was no good way to deliver the news. "You see, Mr. President, they joined your coalition and sent fourteen soldiers, and they made a friend over there."
"A friend?!"
"But that was just the beginning. That friend went back and made two friends. And those two went back and each made two more, and so on and so forth... until after a few months, everyone in Iraq and Syria had pen pals in Europe, and had reorganized their countries on EU lines."
"Well, General, I can't really... oh screw it. YOU'RE FIRED!"
General Bundy walked out without a word. He sighed, reached into his pocket for his smartphone and dialed the Liechtensteiner embassy. "Hi... Yes. I need a friend. Yes. Thank you. I'll be right over."
Edit: Closed quotes, corrected a typo, and replaced "Liechtensteinean" with proper form
|
American efforts against ISIS had failed. ISIS had toppled local governments and taken them over. Claiming most of the Middle East. Many countries themselves had made agreements with ISIS in order to try to secure themselves so that they would not be toppled as well.
America was the last to stay in the fight, but American government had finally decided on a full retreat. The retreat would happen the next day, and Platoon 608 was the last ditch effort. This was an assassination attempt on the ISIS leaders.
Platoon 608 stood on top of a building in the new ISIS capital, where nearby a speech was being given. They were lined up to be a firing squad, it was a suicide mission.
As the Platoon sat there, hoping that they could maybe make it out of this alive. They heard a clapping. They figured the speech must have been over. But an hour later there was still clapping, and it has immensely grown in volume.
The major ordered them to stay where they were with their scopes in place, they were not to move. Eventually one of them gave in to the curiosity, and looked towards the direction of the clapping.
What he saw left him frozen in shock. There were atleast 100,000 men on horses, and they wore the maple leaf and guns. The clapping had been the horses drawing near. They all wore the insignia of the Maple Leaf.
The Canadian Calvary had arrived.
| 2016-01-29T06:57:30 | 2016-01-29T06:44:06 | 190 | 25 |
[WP] Teddy Roosevelt never died. He defeated Death and now slumbers with his Rough Riders beneath Mount Rushmore. He shall return in glory to save America in its darkest hour.
The genius behind this prompt...
http://www.reddit.com/r/gaming/comments/2sobap/the_presidents_of_the_united_states_in_super/cnrkjxe
|
It has been called many names. Different aspects of a single truth. [It exists for one purpose.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/King_in_the_mountain)
Akasha. Elysium. The Fae's Realm. The Record. 「 」
Nations rise and fall.
*Heroes remain.*
Names change. The people change. What once was, no longer remains.
*Heroes endure.*
It was a historic day.
*Heroes are eternal.*
The day when both the US and UK would cease to exist.
The day the prodigal son would return to his deadbeat mother.
The day of reunification.
The British Empire reborn.
In the West, a mountain shatters. The earth ruptures. From the crevasse, emerges a lone figure on horseback.
In the East, the sun rises. A single ray illuminates a single tree in a forest. Ancient runes, transcribed in a language long forgotten, begin to glow.
This is merely a formality. The treaty has already been signed. It's a ceremony of no importance. Pomp and circumstance.
Through a smattering of state-sponsored reporters, the world watches with disinterest.
As the pen approaches to make its first binding stroke, the world shakes.
An earthquake of massive proportions.
The walls of the building collapse. Dust fills the air. Security personnel go into overdrive. Miraculously no one is harmed.
The dust clears. Two figures that were not there before, stand on opposite sides of the gathered audience. They stand, with their closest friends, their allies, their compatriots who followed them beyond life.
The cameras roll. The world holds its breath.
The Secret Service is dumbstruck as their weapons have no effect on the interlopers. It is to be expected. Mere mortal weapons could not dream of touching those who have conquered death. With no other choice but to evacuate the leaders, they try to rush The President and Prime Minister to safety. Try. They are bloodlessly disabled in seconds. The movements of the gathered knights were a blur.
Two figures from legend.
They stand, silent. They stand at ease.
One, in the vestments of his glory days, holds the reigns of a magnificent beast. To call Little Texas a "horse" would be an insult. To call its musclebound rider a mere man, even more so. The Bull Moose adjusts his spectacles and fixates his gaze on his Briton counterpart.
The other stands in battered armor with a sheathed blade. The most famous sword in history. The sight of it is enough for everyone in the world knows who this figure is. The Once and Future King.
It was foretold they would return in the time of their respective nation's greatest need. From Avalon. From Rushmore.
They move forward as one. Glaring, disappointed at the sniveling cowards who call themselves leaders. Who hide behind armies, secret police, and bureaucracies. Who have, in the span of their regimes-for-life, turned once great nations into irrelevant backwaters, clinging to legacy.
Roosevelt, ever the gentleman, turns to The Lord of the Round Table and nods.
The King of Knights unsheathes the golden blade of light.
Excalibur descends.
|
Somewhere a bell rings and children shuffle into a class room. The boys are dressed in khakis and polo shirts, the girls wear modest dresses with floral patterns. They sit with excellent posture, hands folded. A moment later the teacher enters the classroom. She is young and pretty, with an auburn ponytail and brown eyes.
"Good morning class."
"Good morning Missus Milton." The reply comes in a chorus of voices. The teacher reaches up and writes the date on the white board with a stylus. October 27, 2219. A second bell rings, and Missus Milton leads the class in the Pledge of Allegiance. It brings her pride to see her children recite the words, they are shaping up to be a generation of fine Americans.
Arithmetic passes quickly, and so too does English. History is the next subject on the agenda, and today is a special day. "Does anyone know what today is?" The teacher asks.
A young boy near the front raises his hand. The teacher calls on Timmy. "It's Roosevelt day."
"That's right Timmy. Today is the three hundred nineteenth birthday of President Theodore Roosevelt. Does anyone else know what happened on this day, seventy years ago?" Sally raised her hand.
"The ghost of President Roosevelt came and defeated the commies."
"Excuse me, Sally?"
"Damn commies. Sorry Missus Milton."
"That's right, Sally. It was early July when the damn commies invaded. They wanted to take our land from us and make us slaves to the proletariat. Our military was scattered when damn commie spies sabotaged communication lines, and it seemed all was lost.
"But then a brave hero took a bald eagle from the Statue of Liberty to Mount Rushmore and awakened the spirit of Theodore Roosevelt. Old Teddy was a rough rider, and the stories say that when his heart gave out his spirit went to the next life and he kicked death's ass, and there he waited, under Mount Rushmore, for the time of America's great need."
"Didn't he want to go to heaven?"
"Of course he did, Billy, but President Roosevelt knew that his service to his country wasn't done yet, and God himself came down to meet with him. God said to Teddy 'it's time to come home' and Teddy said 'America is my home, and one day they'll need me'. President Roosevelt's patriotism so moved God that he granted his wish, and the spirit of our former president slept beneath the mountain. And do you all know what happened when the eagle from the Statue of Liberty came?"
"He came back from the dead and kicked some commie ass!"
"Sally!"
"Damn commie ass!"
"Much better, Sally. That's right, President Roosevelt's spirit came out from under the mountain, and led the spirits of the Rough Riders to defeat the damn commies, and America was saved. And the spirit of Theodore Roosevelt returned to Mount Rushmore and sleeps until we need him again once more."
"God bless America!" The class shouted in unison, as a tear of pride fell down Missus Milton's cheek.
| 2015-01-16T21:12:48 | 2015-01-16T20:54:34 | 354 | 134 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with.
|
"Field medic? Why are we humouring the new prospect anyway? We have body labs." Muttered Zelska. Zelska was what the humans would call "A fucking idiot." Jorax reflected.
"Well," Jorax began "Aahii are the greatest builders and engineers in the universe,right?"
"Of course!" Snapped Zelska.
"But, Aahii don't repair anything, ever. The idea that they could craft something that does. Not. Work. Is impossible to contemplate...Humans make trash, they are ugly and backwards, lumbering idiots with no understanding of design or even the principles upon which all great devices work. You've seen it though, heard rumours of humans re-purposing derelict Aahii craft. Making gateways out of purifiers! Human engineers get you home when the gods spit upon your fate and shatter your drive..."
Zelska cut him off, near frothing with impatient rage "We all know the importance of a human engineer on staff, but why do we need this bloody medic!"
Jorax shifts his tunic, revealing a jagged mess of scarring.A near impossible amount of his lower abdomen missing. "It's not just ships a human can hold together when the gods turn their back on you..."
|
"We are here to conquer your planet please surrender without a fight!" exclaimed one of the aliens.
"Screw you this is Earth!" angrily yelled out by a redneck
The alien looks around in utter disbelief, within the second he fearfully asked, "Is this the place with humans?"
As a child walks up to the alien to ask him a question the alien quickly kicked away falling back onto his back. He was in the worst place a extra terrestrial being could be on Earth home of the Humans.
The alien in other distraught exclaims, "Oh-OHHHH GOD NO LORD OF NEBULA 6Ω NO PLEASE HELP ME!"
As the child walks up to touch him he realizes something in the kids hand its soft cuddly, and has rounded ears is this the dreaded weapon the alien will be killed with?
The kid looks up to the alien and asks in a chilled voice, "do you wanna play with mister fluffinkens?"
As the kid draws his weapon, and tries to hand it to the alien the alien screams on the top of his lungs, grabs his lunar pistol and blasts his own brains everywhere.
It turns out humans aren't actually the crazy ones, aliens just don't understand kids just like everyone else.
| 2017-03-06T01:01:31 | 2017-03-05T23:39:35 | 379 | 33 |
[WP] You live in a world where magic exists, however, you must sacrifice a memory in order to cast a spell. The more memories, or the more precious a memory, the more powerful the magic. You just woke up with no memory save a name.
|
If it were not for his thin stature and round face, I would think that the boy who stood before me was not a boy but a reflection of myself. He had brown eyes that looked like two small almonds whenever he titled them up to catch my gaze and when water began to fall from them, it reminded me of the way water also fell from mine.
“Daddy, why don’t you remember me?” He asks me for the third time, now.
“I’m sorry but I am not your father. I can’t be. I would remember having a son, surely I would. My name is James and…well that’s all I know. I don’t know anything about having a son, however.” I explain to him confidently. His eyebrows pull into each other forming a crease.
“Daddy, why did you let the memory of me go? Do you not love me, anymore? Am I not as important as your -“ His voice, like the soft hum of a violin trails off. The next words are in his mind, I can see so in his face, but they stay hidden in his mouth.
“Why have you brought this child to me? Why are you doing this to me?” I say to the woman slumped over in the chair across from us. Her long hair falls over her face like a mop. Her expression suggests that she is annoyed but the way her eyes fall to floor and stay there for long periods of time also suggests sadness.
“James, you asshole.” she sneers past the boy. “You really did it this time, huh? Your own fucking child! You traded the memory of your own fucking child for that shit! I could understand letting the memory of me go, I don’t like it but I get it, at least. But your own fucking child, how could you?”
The words sting my ears and draw sweat to my hairline. Who are these people? Whose house am I in? Why do they make me feel so strange, so conflicted?
I feel blood rush to my head. “Listen lady, I don’t know who the fuck you are but -“ A feeling falls over me at once taking the words from me and the cloud that once occupied my mind dissipates. This boy with sad, brown eyes is my son. His name is Alex and he came into my life seven years ago one rainy, August morning when the clouds from the sky stretched all the way down to touch the earth. The woman sitting across from us is his mother, Karen, and I’ve loved her for eight years now but lately I’ve wondered if she ever truly loved me back.
“Daddy? Are you back? Is it over?” asks Alex studying me. Happiness appears in his face for a moment but he doesn’t let it change his expression. He waits for my answer.
Tears gather in my eyes and a lump forms in my throat, making the words hurt as I say them. “Yes, Alex. I don’t know what happened.” I fall to my knees and hold his gaze more intensely. “Alex, you know daddy loves you, right? You know daddy would never let the memory of you go, not even for -“
All of a sudden, my breaths become heavy and I fold my hands into two small fists to keep them from shaking. I hear Karen sigh from across the room. She stands, grabs Alex by the shoulders, and leads him away into another room. As she walks through the doorway she turns to me and shakes her head.
I try to dissect the nature of her gesture, I try desperately to understand why it is I am shaking and what it is my body wants. But all I can think about is the pain, the white-hot pain that has washed over me, filling my insides with acid.
Then, without my permission, my mouth opens to recite a mantra that sounds foreign to me ears but feels normal on my tongue. Behind my closed eyes I see Alex and Karen, together. Their calm faces are soothing to my soul and for a brief, still second my heartbeat slows. But time goes by and their silhouettes become blurred until finally, they disappear from my mind completely. I open my eyes and feel a smile take form on my lips at the sight of a needle. I take it in my fingers and press it into a small hole on my arm, letting the dark, colored liquid warm my body.
|
"Michael!" I shouted, as cold, thick hands held me down to the bed. "Michael!"
"He's gone, Jovan," said the woman beside the bed. The man holding me down let me go after I stopped struggling. A dull throbbing took over my bandaged arms, and my heavy head pulled me down to the pillow.
"You couldn't save him, Jovan" said the man, his voice gruff. He looked out the window, his one eye covered with a patch. A heavy blizzard was thrashing against the wooden cabin we were in, a heavy, grey blizzard.
"Where am I?" I asked the woman. "Who are you? Who is Michael?"
The woman shook her head, red curls bouncing from side to side. Her golden eyes were glossy as they regarded as one would a puppy with a broken leg.
"All those memories," said the man. "And nothing came of it."
"Where is your sensitivity, Myran?" asked the woman, frowning.
"Would someone please give me answers?"
Myran sighed. "You gave up all of your memories to save your child. It didn't work."
"My memories?"
"Yes," said the woman. "I'm Lysa. You're Jovan. And you tried to save your son, Michael, from the Crusaders."
I felt my stomach drop. I didn't know what they were talking about. But I knew they weren't lying when they said Michael was my son. I felt drawn to his name. The mere mention of him tugged on mind, but trying to remember him was like scratching a phantom limb.
"How did he die?" I asked, swallowing a lump.
"The Crusaders shot him down near the Bloody Cauldron," said Myran. "I told him i wasn't safe there. I told him, Lysa! And I told you, Jovan!"
Myran leaned towards me, his fists clenched tight, and face twisted in a scowl.
"Hey!" Lysa shouted. "You don't get to say that. You didn't give up all your memories to save him!"
Myran turned to the window. "It's only a matter of time before they come for us."
"Who are the Crusaders?"
"They are the King's watch-dogs," Lysa said. "When the world found out we could cast spells by giving up memories, King Alynn ordered a witch-hunt. Michael was our strongest caster."
"And now's he gone," I said. No matter how much they told me, it was like I was trying to put back a picture ripped to a thousand pieces. And Michael was the only piece I could understand.
Thunder crashed in the distance. And then again, but closer. The door to the cabin erupted, and a giant man in steel armor stepped through. He held a large hammer with both hands and swung for Lysa.
Lysa cried out a word before the hammer crushed her skull. In a flash of light, Myran and I were lying in the snow, the bitter cold numbing me instantly.
"Bastards," shouted Myran, pulling me up. My legs were too weak and I fell back on the snow. More men in steel rushed for us, this time holding small cannons on their shoulders.
Green burst from the cannons, rushing through the blizzard easily, but Myran deflected them with only a few words.
"You may kill me," said Myran. "But you won't kill me with my memories!"
Two more words he shouted, and burst into light. And light was I could see until the darkness took me.
I woke up with a cry, my arms were ripped from my body and my red blood pooled over the grey snow. The blizzard had stopped, revealing a dark blue sky. The world was silent save for the sound of metal falling on the snow.
As my vision faded and pain took over my consciousness, I could see the face of a blond boy with dark red eyes smiling at me.
"Michael."
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
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| 2017-01-02T18:48:11 | 2017-01-02T16:28:46 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] The villains finally managed to defeat the league of heroes. But unbeknownst to them the league did not exist, primarily, to fight them, but to keep an even bigger threat in check: you. And you are about to demonstrate to the villains what happens when there is no one around to stop you.
|
"Finally! We have won, and you have lost!"
I heard the unfamiliar voice echo through the empty building as I walked out of its basement.
"You... didn't win... only make... another enemy..."
That voice I did recognize. I never bothered to learn my captors' names, as they changed every 30 years or so. Eternity was like that. I would live on, and everyone else would eventually die. I didn't know my current captor's name, only that they were the one who was most recently keeping the spells that bound me in place.
"Another enemy? What are you on about now?"
Another unfamiliar voice, different from the first. It seems that a group has been repeatedly trying to beat the ones who held me here... Strange indeed. I might have thought that they were here to free me, but from that person speaking, they don't even know that I exist.
"We are more than just the superheros of the city! We also keep an ancient enemy sealed away! Gah!" The voice of my captors' speedy one.
"Quiet! As if we'd believe that." Yet another from this mysterious group.
"Oh, don't believe it, do you? I thought my hosts would at least introduce me to their guests," I said as I stepped into the open air. I had quietly made my way out of the building while these fools argued.
The "heroes" -- my captors -- were strewn about the courtyard with varying levels of injury. They all looked at me in fear when I walked out, especially the one responsible for keeping the magic intact.
However, there were others there, too. They seemed to be in the middle of gloating over the heroes because of their victory; they all looked at me in confusion. They really didn't know about me at all.
The one who I assumed was their leader was the first to speak. "Who... What are you?"
"I have had many names and titles over the eons..." I never once stopped walking forward. "Hopefully you'll recognize a few..." I laughed to myself, then continued "But my personal favorite is the 'Spirit of Vengeance.'"
Once I got close enough, in mere seconds, I had relieved the leader of his spine, and the rest of his body fell in a mess of blood.
"WHAT THE-?!" the female to my right yelled in surprise and fear. She attempted to attack me, but I simply sidestepped and used the spine that I still held as a whip. She was soon bleeding from many cuts while trying to remove the leader's bones from around her neck.
"No? Perhaps... 'Malice Incarnate?' Really? Has no one heard of me? Has it been that long?" I asked.
The others weren't amused, and when they finally snapped out of their trances of fear, they all came at me at once.
The most muscular simply punched at my chest... but his fist went right though, causing no damage. His face contorted in confusion, and he was rewarded with a severed neck.
The one to my left shot fireballs from his hands, and while they were accurate, they were much too slow to hit me. To my right, the girl began to float, and was concentrating on what looked to be a spell. I left her alone for now... maybe she'll give me a real challenge.
The fire-shooting one wasn't very lucky, as he had my full attention. It seemed that the only thing he could do was shoot fireball after fireball, and that left me with many chances to tear him apart with my claws.
Now for the last... I turned back to the girl, who was still floating, and still concentrating. No wait, she just finished her spell. Dark colored energy erupted from the ground beneath me, but it had no effect. I grinned.
She looked at me in complete fear now. That must've been her strongest spell. I simply raised my arm, which was cloaked in a similar dark energy, and punched the ground. Quite similar to her attack, dark energy erupted from beneath her, but mine was more powerful. She was left there, frozen in place from the sheer terror that that move causes. A simple swipe of my claws literally shattered her body.
"Sometimes, I'm surprised at my own moves' power. She was frozen solid," I said to myself.
"The stories were true..." I heard the weak voice behind me. I turned to see my captor still laying on the ground, bleeding. "I'll admit that I never fully believed them... But you will be sealed away once more..." He chuckled. "Not by me, no... but you will not reign again."
"Perhaps not. But I never came for a throne. Only for revenge and to avenge. I have no quarrel with you, even if you were the one to keep me locked away. I will not be your death, but I will not help you, either."
I walked away in silence. It was time that this world knew the anger, the hatred, the malice... of the last Hisuian Zoroark.
|
“There exist no victory without a cost, especially, in a land filled with frost. Be it around time and space, all creatures born shall know their place, and it matter not far or near… it shall be my visage that life shall fear. I am chaos, unrelenting disaster, and my name is simply… THE GRAND PUPPET MASTER.”
Introductions, it’s all about introductions, something that is lost on most people. Like how Lions roar to display their strength, a poem to your name will show that you are of… *GREAT* importance, especially with a “being” of inhuman nature, of course, some may not heed your warning… but that makes it the best part! I was getting quite bored of being trapped in that circle, I was SO bored that merely sleeping my troubles away did not help, and especially so, when there was so much… entertainment out there from my prison, I could only sense their energies and names… but now, I am free. Free to do whatever I desire-
“Hey, who the hell are you?!” spouted Teltunia in her usually annoying voice, how rude, to interrupt the thought of process of someone you just met… I need STRAIGHTEN HER OUT LATER, but for now, let us get these introductions out of the way. So, I turned my leviathan-esque body to face the fools.
“So, you must be the Grand Stars’s secret ally from behind the shadows!” stated by Serpent Blade, I liked the lad… for now anyways, he amuses me.
“No, actually… that was guy behind the desk you knocked out on the way here.” I corrected, but quite annoying to admit considering how young that person was to be helping out those heroes of his. “Ah… or course it was, a fact you wouldn’t have known if you don’t work for them!” said Serpent Blade.
“On the contrary, my dear slithering friend… I know everything about you, about your allies, families, and as well as every breathing soul that remains on this wretched realm! Such as for example… you were born on Kylntar, sent here to pillage the Earthen Lord’s stone in order to save your precious planet.” He expression was one of shock, “How did you-“
“You, Teltunia, are the twin princess of Loshai, who currently rules over The Kaleth Kingdom. Casted out for your brutal… and yet, effective methods of defending the Kingdom, your own twin sister casted you out into the wilds to repent for your actions… but you refuse to give in… that’ll change eventually, though.” I said, and of course she did not like on bit, “Listen here, you piece of fu-“, I had no time for her antics.
“Shut up.” I said and point a finger her at her, and with a tiny swipe, I sent her flying through the cave wall, out of the mountain and into the surrounding lake. She didn’t die, of course, but hopefully it will shut her up for a while. The rest of the gathered “villains” were left in shock of the events that just transpired, expect for Malefor and Voidwalker of course, they rarely react to anything that most people to react to danger. Voidwalker I understand, The Ancients to have a habit of absorbing the emotions of their patrons, but Malefor? Give me an actual break, dude.
“Anyways! Let’s move on shall we? Let me see… ah yes! *Calgeth,* you are a pathetic Mageblade from an ancient kingdom set far in the past, ironically, you don’t have any natural talent for magic and as such, you can only cast mid-level spells through your “Moonsword” or whatever it’s called.” Seriously, a Mageblade without the “Mage” that makes it up is like a revolver without any rounds, you can deal damage in theory…, but really just doesn’t work. “It’s not Moonblade, peasant!” He barked, “It’s Muneseverator, Blade of the Goddess, Qualdancia-“
“Whatever, I killed that goddess 12 ages ago, and it’s not that special anymore. You what actually…”, I snapped my clothed fingers and his precious blade began to instantly corrode from gleaming silver into cracked rust. He tossed his sword on the ground in fear, “What the- What the devil is the sorcery?!” he yelled, what a pathetic fool.
“It’s called God Hands, translated, it means I can do whatever I want, mate! So… you must be Alpha then…” I turned to Malefor and his automaton, he’s quite the interesting character, a genius with barely any personality. His creations often show more emotion than he does, same with his father, and he is also surrounded by his creations.
| 2022-12-09T13:15:28 | 2022-12-09T11:45:57 | 173 | 50 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself
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"What are you doing?"
The words, spoke softly, cut through the sound of the crowd like a cold knife. Immediately all eyes in the room stopped and turn to look at me, the idiot with his teeth clamped around a corner of the table.
"What are you doing?" the voice asked again. This time quieter and with more curiosity.
The words hung in the air. All the other prospects were not longer eating, each one stood dumb with food still hanging from their mouths.
"What are you doing" the voice had got closer.
I turned my eyes to see where the voice was coming from but for some reason my teeth had locked place. I was stuck.
A hand gently rested on my shoulder and the voice whispered in my ear.
"What have you done?"
My eyes darted back and forwards trying to see who the mystery speaker was, unable to unfix my jaw from the table. As my eyes cast around the room I saw the other prospects were starting to recoil. The food in their hands and mouth was turning to ash.
It started slowly, first those closest to me noticed it. The edges of their mouths greying and starting to flake away.
I panicked and started to scream into the wood as I saw more and more of the youths droop and flake into ashen clouds. All my voice could manage was a muffled moan. The hand on my shoulder was gripping tighter and tighter. The yells and shouts of those around me filled me ears. It seemed to last forever and I clenched my eyes shut, trying to drown it out.
Silence
The hand on my shoulder felt lighter and I looked to see a whisper of grey ashes pass my eyes from where it had been. A disembodied voice whispering.
"What have you done"
|
"What the hell, dude? That table is like 10,000 years old! It's made of a tree that doesn't exist anymore," I heard the sound of a voice and my head immediately snapped around to find it. I still couldn't see the individual in question but I had been made alert.
"What? I was just trying to think outside the box, do I still get a power?"
"Unfortunately, yes. The only criteria is that you take a bite of something in the room. Give me a second," i waited about two minutes. On the table, which really was gorgeous, there had been placed an assortment of food. Simple food, like apples, graham crackers, or bread. Fancy looking food that I didn't know anything about. All on plates that were completely white except for a golden ring around the edge that seemed to be hand painted. To be honest, I really wasn't wanting to bite the table. After an extremely long day of anticipation and then mild panic at 12:01 when I hadn't gone to the room, I was very hungry. Then I heard the voice again, "okay, let's see here, speed, strength, incredibly handsome? No no no. Ah, yes. Okay, here's the deal, punk. Here's your power. Ready?"
"Uh. Yeah?"
"You have the power to, uh... Drum roll, please! Dudududududududu you got the ability to instantly remove the life force of a creature while making it look like an accident. Good luck, have fun,"
Edit: Formatting
| 2020-03-19T08:50:31 | 2020-03-19T08:21:44 | 233 | 162 |
[WP] In a world full of magic, you are an ancient wizard from a secret society, capable of creating beasts from metal, weapons that mow down hoards in seconds, and steel steeds that can travel miles in minutes. The world knows you as the Metal Magician, but you just call yourself an Engineer.
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Merasmus screeched as the bullets pierced his torn cloak at a mile a minute, bringing the once famed wizard of all of Fortuna to his knees. His armies laid slaughtered around him, devastated by the magical barrage that the newcomer brought with him.
The Engineer.
He was assumed to be small talk, just a fanciful blacksmith from one of the fringe villages. But soon reports came in stating that the man had managed to defend an entire village with his creations. His danger grew as he traveled the land, killing the Dark Wizard's forces en masse with his unorthodox weaponry and devastating devices.
Soon, the man seeked to end the Dark Wizard himself. Merasmus knew not his purpose: perhaps he had a vengeful vendetta. Perhaps he was promised by one of the fallen kings of the land all the strange hats and Australium he could desire. Perhaps he sought to go home to his own world, a dimension he was plucked from long ago.
Perhaps he was mad.
Merasmus hugged the ground, soon soaked with his own blood, as the Engineer himself approached him. Wielding a boomstick, the individual seemed frail, harmless even. But behind his dark goggles Merasmus knew he would only find fire and brimstone.
"Wait" Merasmus cried. "Before you end me here, I must ask: how? How did you manage to defeat me??"
The Engineer chuckled.
"I used a gun. And if that don't work..."He pumped a shell out of his boomstick."...I used more gun."
Merasmus felt the boomstick on his forehead.
"Yeehaw, partner."
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"Let me go, I ain't building anything for ya!" I yelled at my captor, a infamous wizard, known as Locus. He wielded all elements with precision, but never mastered the final skill.
'Engineering'
"Listen here, Engineer, You have two options, teach me how to make steel birds, and sticks that make thunder with no effort, or suffer a horrible fate!"
Just as he said that, the wall bust open. A man with a thunder-stick, otherwise known as "Assault rifle", stepped through, he pointed it at Locus.
"You gonna let him go, or feel the wrath of metal gods!"
He untied me, and knocked out Locus. We sat in the steel bird, otherwise known as "Airplane", and went into the sky.
"Told you hiring me was smart!", He said.
"I guess so, you still are just a mercenary, I won't teach you anything, remember!" I answered.
Our deal was simple, he would protect me, and I would let him use my equipment. Once the contract ends, he could keep the Thunder-stick, alongside equipment for maintaining it.
Suddenly, we felt a explosion.
"He sent witches after us!"
I jumped to the back-gunner position, and opened fire. The witches tiny broomsticks, and weak plasma-balls were no match for 7.62mm.
After a short dogfight, we flew off into the sunset.
As Locus screamed, "Curse you, Engineer!"
| 2020-05-18T15:44:58 | 2020-05-18T12:06:20 | 132 | 98 |
[WP] Hell is an RPG, complete with skills levelling and save points where the damned grind their way to Heaven. A newly dead scrub on level one, you decide to play through like you do in other RPGs and invest at least 1 point in Luck every time you level up.
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They were facing each other in the arena. Fire and brimstone burning all around, wrathful eyes waiting for bloodshed. Kraal the destroyer held his scimitar on his left hand, covered head to feet in obsidian armor. He fought through the devils of Carluh mines to get such legendary item. He raised his sword and shield, it was time for battle.
Dave pulled out a banana from his pocket. He peeled it and begun eating it. Slowly. Very slowly. Kraal the Destroyer kept watching as he munched the ripe fruit. "How did he even got the banana?" the fearful knight pondered.
Dave threw the peel on the ground in front of Kraal the Destroyer. Surely a trick, the mighty warrior realized. He started to tiptoe around it, carefully making sure not to touch it. Dave observed his movements with a bored expression on his face. Kraal the Destroyer wouldn't screw up, not in front of such puny adversary.
He didn't saw the puddle. His feet slipped and he fell like an extremely expensive plate. He hit his head and died.
Dave pulled another banana from his pocket and begun eating it.
no matter the opponent they ended the same. One time a woman had the idea to bring an assault rifle, only for the bullets to ricochet and hit her on the back of her head. Another man tried to hit him with a sword, only to cut the rope holding a sandbag hovering above him. Another one died choking on a bishop. The chess piece. They weren't even playing chess
He stood on the edge of the arena, fire and brimstone burning, wrathful eyes looking, the usual ideal. His opponent seemingly was running late. Waiting would only make the victory sweeter.
And then she appeared. A pale shapely woman, an X on her belt, a single patch of black skin over her left eye. "And now here's your next adversary" a demon voice screeched "Neena Thurman!".
"Ooh." That was the last thing Dave has ever said.
|
Lucifer had taken some cues from the humans recently; honestly, he was fascinated by Dungeons and Dragons, World of Warcraft, Final Fantasy, and all RPGs. From pen and paper and dice to the mutliperson worlds created by minds and shared and set free on the internet, Lucifer was enthralled. Even Michael hadn’t noticed yet, but then his soul mate hadn’t seen him in two centuries. Nox had grown up in it and was dumping a point in Luck whenever he had an extra or two.
Nox was the youngest of demons, but oddly colored. His hair was sheep curly and fluffy and creamy colored. His eyes, while demon and Fallen gold, were wide and innocent. Nox’s horns were indicative of his mood, able to blush just like his pale skin. His webbed wings were angel white though, unmarked by his soul mate’s name yet, even at two hundred. He was young and yet, he understood luck and used it unsparingly.
Nox was quickly becoming the denizen of Hell known for brokering lucky deals, or should it be Lucky? Lucifer didn’t know, but he did know that Nox was unusually kind and polite and just plain *Lucky*, in a way unsurpassed since Lucifer himself had agreed to rule Hell. His own son was going to rival him with Luck and Lucifer smiled kindly, thinking of only good things.
Ba’al had agreed to mentor his youngest brother, although only suspecting their relation. Nox adored his mentor, his unknown brother. Ba’al had noticed that his office ran more efficiently, more tightly with Nox there and had sent a missive requesting Nox’s character stats, which was Lucifer’s current problem. If he released Nox’s character stats, Ba’al would know too early that Nox was his youngest full brother, that Michael and Lucifer were both of their creators, fathers, parents.
It couldn’t be known yet, not before the Angelic Counsel.
| 2018-04-16T15:09:36 | 2018-04-16T12:01:46 | 62 | 28 |
[WP] You can't die. You feel all the pain that comes with dying, but instead, you just fall asleep and wake up the next day fine. The military has held you captive, in secret, for the last 2 centuries using you to train their soldiers in live ammo and hand to hand. Today you will attempt an escape.
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I've been in this prison of pain for two hundred years. At first, when it was discovered I couldn't die they were somewhat sympathetic. Not enough to release me, clearly, but one of the scientists had read the picture of Dorian grey and felt some sympathy. Unfortunately he stopped appearing before the invention of this amazing drug called morphine. I know bc they tried to overdose me on it to see exactly what it takes. Never again though. I miss morphine. They could at least shoot me up with it before, you know, shooting me up. But I've got a plan. Theyve gotten lax. The last fifty years I've let them think I'm simple and harmless. They've even forgotten to lock my cell a few times. But I didn't run then. Tonight is my time!
*Log 38652. Subject is muttering to self again. Trapped in a dream state. The algorithms translate his thoughts and mutters into semi coherent ramblings. He believes he will escape. We're going to try to help him escape this time. He's been begging for death for centuries. Hopefully the fentanyl does it. End log*
|
Marcus didn’t know too much about his species aside from one thing: their ability to avoid death.
Each time he was “killed” he would fall into a deep sleep to be renewed the next day as if nothing had ever happened. Each time he overcame death, however, he grew younger, by exactly one month.
A top secret branch of the military had caught him at 60 years of age and now he had the appearance of an 18 year old boy. He shuddered to think how many times he had been brought face to face with death in this cell. Each day he tried his best to block it all out, to suppress the memories of torture, but the dried blood all over his cell served as a gruesome and constant reminder.
As he looked through the blood-spattered bars of his cage now for a way to escape, he thought back to when he had first been captured.
Six men surrounding him, yelling in triumph. The look of twisted satisfaction in their eyes. Their bayonets sliding through his face and torso as if he was nothing but ageless butter.
| 2020-03-27T10:04:41 | 2020-03-27T10:04:11 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] "Usually when we first contact a civilization, it is very easy to get them under our banner..." The Empress sighed. "...Not the humans though."
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"What do you mean they said 'No'? Did you show them that it was the only rational choice? Did you tell them everything they would gain if they would but kneel?" Her face tendrils stroked the iron hard carapace of what the humans would call a forehead. A sign of slight irritation as well as a hint of confusion.
"Universal healthcare, full employment, free entertainment, what else could they want? Freedom of speech and a say in how they're governed?" The Empress was trying to assuage her own irritation, and that of her court, with a joke. Forgetting how the psychic powers of her species would manifest, she was quite surprised when the silence of her envoy was her response.
"Oh, that can't be it, really?" The entire court, Empress as well, was starting to laugh. The envoy could only flash her flesh blue. Her species' equivalent to a nod. Being that Eza of the Slui wasn't known for lying or humor, the court began to see that this was the exact problem.
"They do realize that, to have any right to simply demand these things, they'll need to enforce them in conflict, yes?" The Empress inquired.
"I warned them of this my Lady, they told me of their history in response. I showed them the might of our military using my personal battle cruiser, the Flower of Q'ort. They showed me what a single of their, nu'kleer bombs could do. They told me it was a small one. They proved to me that it was a small one. It would have destroyed the vessel had they intended to hit it. The electromagnetic pulse of the weapon nearly disabled the ships shields. I assure you, they are unafraid."
"You told them of our policy of blockades for difficult systems, how they wouldn't be able to escape their world if we were to do anything, creative, yes?"
"They're developing a technology that we won't be able to block. They plan to use spatio-temporal distortion for their FTL. Standard interdiction systems won't stop it, we've already checked." Eza was known for being thorough in her first contact efforts. Still, this type of news was unheard of. Species that developed a 'warp' drive were usually so docile that they practically begged for the protection of the Empire.
"When they turned us down, how did the mock invasion fare?" The Empress' question was answered immediately, but not by Eza. The Krage delegate spoke up.
"Our entire invasion force was destroyed. To the last. There were no survivors. When they started to retreat, something followed them to the rally point. This is where we lost contact with them. My Lady. Our last contact was quite disturbing. According to the shipmaster, the humans were trying to get onto the vessels."
The court was stunned into silence. The only species aggressive enough to even attempt that were the Xev, who were so primitive that they hadn't been contacted.
"Is it possible that the humans could have accomplished this?" The Empress now sounded concerned. No species had ever managed to fight off a Krage expeditionary force.
"Did they ask for assistance when the invasion came, or did they do something else?" The Empress' question was answered by Eza turning a purple hue.
"Quite the opposite. They accused us of being involved, and told us to cease the attack or a war would occur."
The Empress looked at her chief diplomat. She had served her well over the centuries. She was loathe to make an example of her, but there had to be a penalty for this failure. Thinking about her words, and mulling over the news about this new species, she began to speak.
|
"Usually when we first contact a civilization, it is very easy to get them under our banner..." The Empress sighed. "...Not the humans though."
The young Prince looked up at his nearly Immortal mother, his eyes a mixture of boredom and contempt, "Why is this important? I am in the middle of a battle. The enemy fleet numbers in the thousands. These Rebels will not be the end of the Empire."
"Because they were the first of them," she responded, "We had known ten thousand years of peace. Ten Thousand years of unity. And then we collected the Humans to our breast and they found the situation intolerable."
The Prince's eyes flickered for a moment between the holosphere in the middle of his Flag deck, where the Rebel starships were even now attempting to cut around his main force which they had expertly pinned with a line of older units. By the time that battle was over, they would have the high orbitals of the Empire's Throne World. The Planet that had given birth to his Mother, and to the Empire that had ruled over the galaxy for over one hundred thousand years. A diversion to get to the Empress worthy of a Prince of the Empire, had they had the ability to pull it off.
"They found our conquest not to their liking, so they Rebeled. They broke with our peace and then others found that our yolk had become too heavy over the long years. Soon entire sectors broke away. Your father had an idea to quash them, but it did not go as expected."
The Prince's eyes flashed as he forced Command into the entire third squadron, enhancing their abilities far greater than even the Ship's battle computers could have managed. They whipped through impossible maneuvers to annihilate half of the enemy fleet in moments. It freed nearly a quarter of his fleet to chase the force heading towards the capital. Even that much was a strain. His Mother could have Commanded the entire fleet, not just a single squadron and even now his black blood poured out from around his eyes at the strain of the act.
"He killed them, glassed their planet. But in so doing he removed them as a target we could reach. We could not Command them. We could not kill them any more. There are a handful of humans left, but now they are the Martyred race. The race we destroyed because they were stronger than us for they were free."
The Empire had simple rules. The Strong led the weak. The Stronger led the Strong. The Strongest Commanded them all. One who could not be Commanded by you stood above you. "Mother, why tell me this," he stated fiercely, "I will be to your aid. Their fleet shall never reach the capital. I will defeat this Rebellion and any that follow."
"Because," stated the Empress from her throne world, her eyes ancient before the days of the rise of the Empire, "You should know what you alone will face."
The Prince twisted to look back at his mother's feed, realizing that there was another being on the video. She was a scrawny pink skinned creature, with a small amount of brown hair in a single braid running down her the metallic canister on her back. In her hand she held a small device. Blood poured from his Mother's eyes as she poured an ocean of Will into that creature, enough to Command planets. Enough to show that the was the True Empress, greatest of her nearly Immortal Line.
The little Martyr pushed the button and the signal died.
| 2017-11-05T21:21:31 | 2017-11-05T21:12:59 | 75 | 26 |
[WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth.
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts
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"Z-zero. Nine. Four. Zero. Four." I stammered out, as the agent continuously showed me photos of people. We did this often. Very often. For eleven years I have been held prisoner by a top secret United States organization, after they somehow found out about my power, and after months of torture, they have figured out how it works. You see, I can tell how many Humans a single person is going to kill in their life time, given their path is not changed. They have given me one job.
Say the numbers. Say the numbers. Say the numbers.
Ones. Twos. Tens. Twenties. They say these are inconsequential. They take any person with more than one hundred future kills, and leave the rest alone. That is their job. Today, they told me I was looking for a big number. A BIG number.
"Fifteen. Ten. Three. Sev-" I almost choked. Seven billion... I couldn't breathe.
"Sev?" The agent asked. "Why did you stop? Keep going."
I sat there, recalling everything. My childhood. My job. My family. And how all of it had been torn away from me. The countless hours and days of excruciating pain these people had put me through. I regained composure, and continued.
"Seven... Three. Zero..."
|
7 billion people.
Gracie stared at the gentleman sitting across from her on the train. He had a nice clean suit, polished shoes, and a straight posture that made her neck ache just thinking of it.
7 billion people? How is that even possible? She pondered to herself. It has to be some sort of real life glitch right? Maybe I'm seeing things.
The man glances in her direction and a cold shiver runs down her spine, standing her hairs on end. Unable to even look him him the eye she looks to the speeding view behind her. She tries to push the thoughts of the man out of her mind, but she can feel his gaze on her still.
Okay so, not a glitch. Does he consider bugs people? But then he wouldn't have the intent to kill them all. There's no other explanation, but what could I even do?
A faint white mark appears into vision, almost unnoticed. The zero that had followed her without fail all her life suddenly was no longer there. 1 had taken its place.
Turning forward once more, she slowly reaches into her bag and tightly gripping the pen from her journal. There is something she can do...
((I haven't done any creative writing like this in a while, let alone on reddit on a phone. cheers for the provoking WP))
| 2017-01-08T02:04:03 | 2017-01-08T01:56:38 | 142 | 27 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t…
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Helen Ziegler got her prognosis first. The ability to shield yourself from the public eye at will so that no harm can come to you and no target can find you. Invisibility. She beamed with pride as she read off the note and the class erupted into cheers. Penelope George and Lucas Matheson were next. One by one, classmates got their prognosis as was set for all who turned fourteen. A few were late bloomers and some were early starters, but everyone got a prognosis and everyone enjoyed their new abilities.
Hunter Smith, however, waited with bated breath for his prognosis to come.
“What do you think your abilities are going to be?” his friend Jaden nudged him.
“Hard to say,” Hunter shrugged. “I’m just hoping it’s something bad ass.”
Jaden grinned. “Yeah! That’s the spirit!”
Hunter mirrored his friend’s expression the best he could. Truth was he had gone to his mandatory appointment as all those who turned fourteen were required by law to do. He had sat in the doctor’s office awaiting his appointment, had gone under a series of unpleasant testings and tasks. Things were normal enough until the approximate hour-long session stretched to two hours and then to three. The nurses and the doctor on hand shot each other worried glances. When he had asked them what was going on, they offered smiles that never quite reached their eyes and words that were clearly false. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. You just relax now. This will all be done soon.”
It was dark by the time he was able to leave his appointment. The entire day gone in a flash. Three months later, and it was his time to find out the results of their tests.
“Hunter Smith?” one of the school nurses walked in and called out.
Several faces turned to him in excitement. Hunter tried to school his face into neutrality as he stood from his desk. He tried to quell the nerves twisting at his stomach and the bile threatening to claw to his throat. He made his way to the nurse without incident, thankfully. With a quiet thank you, he took the prognosis from her and returned to his desk.
“Well?” Jaden asked.
Hunter was too nervous to look.
“What does it say?” Jaden pressed.
Hunter swallowed. His fingers trembled as he unfolded his prognosis. It was common for there to be a long explanation as to what the ability was, what it was classified as, and instructions on how to use it. This prognosis was short.
“Hunter?” he heard Jaden say. His voice sounded far away. “What does it say?”
The prognosis only had four words: Don’t kill them all.
|
Don’t look behind you.
People have an amazing capacity for self-delusion. I suppose it’s a requirement to function in the world that we made. I don’t just mean the big abstract self-delusion to live your life without noticing all the suffering and exploitation required half a world away so that you can have your morning coffee, whether you make it home or walk to the cafe at the corner. I’m talking about the little stuff.
Don’t look behind you.
Anyway, I was talking to my friend the other day, he’s trying to decide whether to take this new job he got offered. Thinks he has to pick “a career” or whatever. I’d never heard him talk about “earnings potential” before but there he was talking about saving to send his kids to college. He doesn’t even have kids. Or a girlfriend for that matter. My dad jokes that everyone my age is having their quarter-life crisis.
Don’t look behind you.
But so here’s the thing about self-delusion: I really think we need it. Like, he’s gonna take that new job obviously. But he’s all worried because his new job doesn’t have many employees our age. He was talking about how everyone knows you meet your future spouse in college or at work and that won’t happen at the new job. Obviously I pointed out he can’t turn down an extra $15k just because there’s a cute girl who just started working at his current job.
Don’t look behind you.
Basically, you just can’t think like that. You gotta make the best decision you can. Like I said to him, imagine if I hadn’t transferred after freshman year. He and I wouldn’t have met, I wouldn’t have met his friend from high school, and I wouldn’t be engaged. Who knows, maybe I would’ve asked out that girl in my ENG201 seminar. Maybe I’d be engaged to her, or even married, and we’d have a daughter named Emma who has her father’s eyes.
Don’t look behind you.
You just can’t think like that. First of all, because you’ll be paralyzed with indecision. Second, because you’ll never be able to enjoy anything because you’ll be wondering about everything that could have been. And most importantly, because there’s no way to know anyway so it’s pointless. And you wouldn’t even want to know really. Just imagine how horrible it would be to know all the things that would’ve happened if you’d made a different choice.
Don’t look behind you.
| 2022-05-08T09:51:37 | 2022-05-08T09:49:20 | 689 | 64 |
[WP] You are an NPC. One day, you see the player character do some weird steps and duplicate his items. You decide to try it for yourself.
Have fun!
Edit: Huh. I guess I just discovered a karma duplication glitch.
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I was tending to my farm, keeping to my own when I noticed an adventurer several feet away from my property performing an odd ritual. One that he was seemingly new at. He continually started to knock an arrow, pause before the motion was finished, and then resume to finish firing the arrow a minute later. I watched on in awe for 15 minutes as this renown figure encased in polished imperial armor fired arrows at the ground near my property.
And then he did it. Upon unleashing this arrow the adventurer also simultaneously dropped a healing potion that at first appeared as one object before splitting into a small mountain of them. The very act was enough to make the world stutter around us.
"The lizardfolk are busy hunting this time of year," I shouted in surprise.
The armor-clad duplicator span around a few times while rapidly getting in and out of sneaking position for good measure before taking the identical potions into his inventory.
Well after he left I grabbed my old hunting shortbow and the one thing of material value I owned: my gold wedding ring. It took me many tries as well. I kept knocking an arrow, dropping the ring and firing but my ritual timing seemed to be off. Eventually, however, I pulled it off and a small mountain of rings appeared before me, again making the world stutter.
In my glee I picked them all up, a baker's dozen total and stole myself to perform the ritual again. This time I dropped all of the rings and as the arrow hit tje dusty ground, they sure enough began to multiply and the stuttering of the world grew ever mpre noticeable.
I fear I angered the gods with my greed, for the world then froze in place. I could not move. A flock of multicolored birds remained still in the air. The world went black.
After what felt like forever I could eventually see and feel again. I was back at work on my farm and I again saw the adventurer several yards away.
"Fucking duplication glitch crashed my game," he said as he walked away.
Edit: I misspelled "the."
|
Today is like every other day. Griswald is standing in front of his shop, waiting for adventurers to emerge from the church so he can repair their equipment.
"Ka-ching"
Huh. Some adventurer just dropped a whole stack of gold coin on the floor. Being an npc, he has no need for gold, and his father taught him well. He immediately called to the adventurer.
"Dude, you've dropped your coin!"
The adventurer paid him no heed. But after he walked a few steps away from the coin, the adventurer turned around, seemly showing interested at the coin again.
Griswold thought to himself "Pff. Trying to act cool eh? Just pick those damped gold up and pay me so I can show you some wares!"
What he saw next, has forever changed Griswald's coded life. The adventurer touched one of his potion on his belt, and run toward the stack of gold on the ground. Just before he scoop the gold up, he did something not even a full dex level 35 rogue can do. Griswold saw it perfectly though. The adventurer pull out his potion right before his finger touched the gold, and "Ka-ching"! Now he has 2 handfuls of gold!
What the hell??
This doesn't even make sense!
Shit! Don't come to my shop! Don't come to my shop! I don't want no counterfeit money!
Oh nice! He's going toward Wirt. Phew.let's hope that our world will not get wipe by Blizzard again. I just made a awfully nice sword. Damned kid with their damped cheat!
Fin
* first time submitting a WP. Doesn't have experience in writing story, and I have bad grammar/vocab. Hope I didn't violate any rules. Just wanted to share something that reminds me of a game I love back in the days :)
| 2018-01-03T10:42:25 | 2018-01-03T08:34:41 | 40 | 30 |
[WP] Incantations and grimoires are so old school. Deals at a crossroad are a thing of the past. No, in 2021 the Devil has gone online and summoning demons has never been easier. Today, you start your job as a live chat operator for the app "Inferno". The tag line? "The Devil may care."
|
**No, I can't kill, curse, and/or maim your nextdoor neighbor just for being annoying**
*posted 3 hours ago • /r/talesfromtechsupport*
Hi -- hope I'm doing this right. Long time lurker, first time poster, you know the deal. I've been working for way too long at a certain call center... I can't name names, but let's say it's got a big fire icon, and it's NOT tinder.
So I'm minding my own business, stirring sulfur into my coffee, when my phone starts ringing.
I knew from the second I answered that this chick was gonna be a *problem*. Let's just call her Karen, because that's what she is.
Karen: Yeah, hi, is this who I call to get like ... a demon out here?
Me: Sure, I'm one of our summoning claims adjusters. I just need a little information from you before we move for—
Karen: What kind of information can you possibly need? I called the number and I have all the like weird sage and bones and stuff I read about online.
Me: Oh, no, we don't do any of that kind of stuff anymore. It's all virtual now.
She paused, and I swear I could hear her turn the mouthpiece away and say to some wailing kid in the background, "Stop crying, I'll get you a new hamster."
Karen: Well, I've done everything I can, and I think I deserve a representative coming over here *now*. My life is in danger.
Me: We take 2 to 3 business days to process all summoning requests so if you're in immediate danger, you should call 911--
Karen: Okay, well, it's not my life. But it's basically the same thing. It's my precious garden. My sanctity. My sense of wellbeing and peace in my own home.
Right now, I was wishing there was whiskey in my coffee instead. I sighed and rubbed at my horn, because this bitch was already giving me a headache.
Me: Can you be more specific?
Karen: (scoffing) My neighbor! Bruce Johnson. He's a horrible man. Absolutely horrible. And his lemon tree has overgrown the fence and is constantly dropping fruit into my yard. He's bruised my prize gardenias and refuses to trim the tree and keeps saying, *Hey, when life gives you lemons* and walking away laughing.
I had to mute my mic so she wouldn't hear me snort. Bruce sounded badass. (Also, please note I had the self control not to suggest she could reinvent herself as a lemon-stealing whore.)
Me: Has he done anything else to you?
Karen: He also likes to play show tunes in his backyard, which I find poisons the shared air between us. It's positively dreadful.
Now, this was the point that I realized this was not going to be an easy call to get out of.
Me: What kind of unholy punishment are you seeking?
Karen: I think it's very reasonable to request eternal damnation. Or curse his house, at least, so he has to move. I deserve peace. The *neighborhood* deserves peace.
Me: Ma'am, I'm afraid that we can't legally intervene in this matter.
I swear I could hear her getting mad as Death's wife that one time he brought a hot Greek chick home without talking to her first.
Karen: What the hell do you mean?
Me: Well, down here in hell, we have some pretty strict and clear guidelines to make sure everyone's getting a fair vengeance. And I'm afraid that for a haunting, we need, at a minimum, repeated evidence of intimidation, violence--
Karen: I've told you he bruised my petunias! Once a lemon fell right on my shoulder while I was pruning, too.
Me: ...right.
Karen: What about eternal damnation?!
Now, I probably could have written an exception form and gotten it approved, especially playing the lemon angle. My district manager LOVES stupid puns and ironic fates. But this lady hadn't earned any favors from me.
Me: I can check the old by-laws and see if we have a reasonable excep--
Karen: Good! Do that, right now! God, why hadn't you done it before?
Me: Great question, ma'am. I have to put you on hold, okay?
Karen: Fine! Just hurry it up.
Of course, I wanted to make sure my search was nice and thorough. No rushing something so important. So I got up and got a fresh cup of coffee and a donut. I paused to say hi to the cute new succubus working down the hall and help her win a Solitaire game on her computer before I moseyed back to my desk.
Me: You still there?
Karen: Yes, and I hope your company intends to reimburse me for wasting my time. 20 minutes spent waiting!
I sipped my fresh coffee.
Me: It was a lot of by-laws. But lucky for you, I've finished reading them.
Karen: And?!
Me: Aaaand you don't qualify. Not in the least. I can send an annoying imp to incur an everyday irritation once a week, e.g. dog feces on the lawn, a hole in his garden hose, the occasional deflated tire--
Karen: This is absolutely absurd. I *demand* to speak to your manager.
Oh, friends. This is where I grinned like a real demon. I swear I felt my devil horns get a little more curved and menacing, just from the ego-high of my next sentence.
Me: *I am the manager*.
She took the annoying imp, who loved the job, because he got a free lemon to lob at some obnoxious Karen's house every week.
Hey, when life hands you lemons...
°°°
Thanks for reading! :D
|
My fingers tap out the message, the app filtering each synthesized keyboard click into a sound like echoing stiletto footsteps on a cold stone floor. "*I've never been so angry,"* I write, and then shiver at the words. The little text in progress icon pops up in the bottom left corner, a ruby red skinned girl in a tight leather bodysuit casually twirling a pitchfork. I roll my eyes at the exaggerated slimness of her waist.
I don't think the devil cares, no matter what the commercials say. I don't think there's anyone but an AI on the other end of this line. That doesn't matter though. I'm three glasses of wine into my first night alone in three years, and any semblance of company sounds nice.
Plus I've lost my journal. I'm halfway convinced that bastard stole it on the way out.
The little demon girl blows a kiss at the center of the screen and words appear in jagged black letters. "*Then rejoice, for anger leads to hate, and hatred sets you free."*
I blink in confusion. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't that. After a few seconds the girl purses her lips and cocks her head to the side, a hand on her hip while she waits for me.
I pour a fourth glass of wine and take a sip.
"*Way ahead of you. I've hated him since I found out.*"
The icon laughs when I hit send. Whoever designed her was really good, even with the stupid outfit and waist.
"*A woman after my own heart!"* The app says. "*A lover? A friend? What did do to earn your hatred?"*
*"Cheated. Same thing they all do, even when they say they're different."*
The icon frowns. She tests the tines of her pitchfork and pulls her bleeding fingertip back with feigned shock, sucking it into her mouth. The app is just as oversexed as everyone said, but weirdly, I kind of like it. Maybe I've drunk enough for it to come back around to being funny. I take another sip of wine in case that wears off.
“*We can do something about that you know.”*
*“That’s why I’m here.”* I write.
The girl smiles and beckons me closer with a crooked finger. I lean in and bring the wine glass with me.
“*How much will it cost me? $5.99, only payable in some stupid currency that I have to buy in $7 blocks?”*
*“We don’t deal in dollars,”* the app writes back.
“*Bullshit, you’re an app. They’re all like that.”*
“*Not this one.”*
I sigh and finish off my glass in one long pull. The room is spinning a little, I’ve been drinking way too fast. Somehow all I see is his face everywhere I look. “Fuck you Steve,” I say, “I hope she gives you herpes.”
“*Steve is a dumb name anyway,”* the app writes.
The world stops for a moment as gravity tries to reassert control over my spinning head. I’d said his name out loud, right? It’s not written anywhere in the chat log, and I definitely wasn’t typing, I was still holding my cup.
“*Still there, honey?*” the app writes, and this time it’s like the demon girl is carving the letters in the screen herself with her pitchfork.
*“I shouldn’t be this drunk yet. That’s unfair.”*
*“You’re not.”*
*“Yes I am.”*
*“Do you want to kill him?”*
“What the fuck?” I say out loud. Dropping the phone to the bed I scurry back up to the headboard. The wine glass overturns, little specks of reddish-purple staining my white sheets.
“Don’t be scared.” A voice emanates from my phone’s speakers, strangely accented and dripping in sensuality. I know without a single shadow of a doubt that it’s how the girl in the bottom left icon sounds. Heart beating out of control, I inch my way back down the bed towards the phone.
*“Welcome back!”* the app writes. *“Here at Inferno, the first hit is always free, though I suspect you’ll want a second.”*
“*What the hell is going on?”* I type.
“*Hell.”* It says.
The demon girl leans over outrageously, her hips cocked out like nobody ever would as she reaches offscreen. When she comes back she’s holding lipstick, jet black, perhaps because red wouldn’t show against her skin. She paints her lips dabs at them with a cloth that materializes, and then a man walks in from offscreen. He looks just like Steve. She grabs him, wraps arms around him, kissing him deeply, fiercely, making my stomach turn far more than the wine ever could have. When she pulls back he trembles for a moment, his eyes on fire, and then *he is* on fire. It consumes him, collapsing his body down to a central point of ash, synthesized screams that must be his but aren’t tear out of my speakers, breaking up into static as he melts away.
In a few seconds there’s nothing left at all, save for the smeared paint on her lips.
“*What color do you want?”* she writes on the screen with her pitchfork.
“Red,” I say.
A tube of scarlet lipstick appears in front of me, staring at me like an accusation. I lift at the girl on the screen waves me, blowing a little kiss. My phone shuts.
Then I stand in front of the mirror, drink straight from the, and paint my lips.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-05-09T09:22:35 | 2021-05-09T09:19:05 | 927 | 173 |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
Looking in the mirror, I puffed my chest out arrogantly.
I flexed, and admired the aesthetics of my physique.
Vascular arms, the chiseled abs, and V taper.
And then my eyes stopped short, shocked.
I trembled as the realization dawned.
I've made a huge mistake.
How did this happen?
I skipped it.
Leg Day.
Again.
|
She looks behind her like a wary forest animal. Something is watching her, but she does not see. A shudder, and then she quickens her pace. Probably her imagination playing tricks on her. Her heart is thumping loudly now. One more glance behind her. Was that a figure?
"Is someone there?"
A reply. "Hello."
| 2015-01-05T22:38:49 | 2015-01-05T21:23:15 | 1,258 | 95 |
[WP] The year is 2030, and the entire world is firmly under the control of the Australian Empire, and no one really understands how it happened.
|
The last try had just been scored. The Queen let out a tear, then ordered Prince Phillip to shoot her, before the "colonial dogs and dregs got to her." Twickenham was on fire. Rioting was breaking out. The Wallabies had just finished conquering the known world.
Lets rewind a few years.
The Trans Pacific Partnership, a massive legalese document meant to do certain things, then cancerously tumoured into something else. Certain things about "investor state disputes" and various intellectual property agreements.
This was the beginning of the end. Many treaties like this spanned every country on the world map.
It started slowly. Countries were on guard against technology and pharmaceutical firms. Against Basketball and Soccer companies. But nobody expected the Australians to use Rugby. There was a series of landmark court cases which revealed a number of damning truths:
1. That no country could legally refuse to play Rugby against Australia.
2. That the intellectual property penalties were so high that infringing them would immediately bankrupt any country.
3. That a "competitive match for the assets of an organisation" counted as a legally binding wager.
When Australia played Rugby against your national side, you were wagering your entire sporting IP. When you lost, it was now owned by Australia. However, historical infringements totalled into the quadrillions of dollars and now Australia owned your country.
It started with Japan. The US fell early. Asia Pacific went under although Fiji, Tonga and Samoa were placed under blockade until their players succumbed to famine. Africa was easy going apart from the Springboks, til a final, 50 minutes of overtime, sudden death with four actual deaths games in Pretoria ended with a single drop kick.
The Americas fell, unable to scrounge anyone better than Argentina. Asia just surrendered. Europe was the last bastion. A hard fought campaign was launched from Eastern Europe, with Russia trusting to a Siberian winter to slow the Wallabies down. No dice.
Sweeping down over Germany, the Australians were stumped by the neutral Swiss, who in a cunning plan had blown up all their sports grounds, the scheming French who were unable to field an injury free team for five years (STDs were ruled as legal reasons not to play), and the Italians, who couldn't commit to a single time.
But eventually two of them fell and the Swiss were ignored.
Spain was on a Siesta, and the Ireland got shamrock and rolled. Wales put up a stunning defence, but the Dragon was slain. Scotland came with kilts and claymores, but despite slaughtering 50 Wallabies under a creative interpretation of the rules, still lost the game.
The Last Bastion: England. Twickenham, the Home of Rugby. The Lions vs the Wallabies. Queen Elizabeth the Second's mechasuit was there, and she played her heart out, literally, before being subbed to have her remaining organic components operated on. The English and the Aussies had a blistering game. High scoring, action packed and dramatically close. With 30 seconds to go, the Aussies got a final Try, giving them a 2 point lead at 80 minutes.
Australia now controlled the world. And so it lasted for decades.
Australia schools flourished under the one world Rugby government. Sciences and Arts grew. Health increased massively, and a race of supermen and women appeared. Everything was going fine. Nobody was disappearing at the hands of the secret police. There was no talk of a "blacked out nation". Everything was good. By law.
Let us move forward in history. 2099. Australia has controlled the world for nearly 70 years. The conquest is taught in schools. Heavily sanitised for the children of course. Bazza Bazzason was sitting in class, looking through some old books. Atlases from before the Uniting. Curious at the comparison, he took it to his teacher. "Miss, what's this country here?" The teacher looked over, then, in shock, as she was secretly an agent for the ministry of truth, grabbed a Vivid and scrubbed over the offending atlas with black ink.
"Bazza, that's not a country that exists. It was an error. We know now that it's just water there." The lie to a child was easy. The lie to herself was harder. Black Vivid. A Blacked Out Country. Black Bagging for talking about it. Black Sites. And yet, these were not the fearful things. The country really did exist. The single country that the Wallabies had been unable the conquer. Maybe it was prophetic that their warriors were called 'the Originals', 'the Invincibles'. They had a terrifying stance, and fearful intimidation rituals.
From the blacked out country they came: The All Blacks.
|
"Oy mate, you look like yer askin' for a bit of a wallopin'! Ye keep lookin' at me like that, I might take a bit of offense!"
I take a step backwards as an Australian guardsman sits on his kangaroo steed, looking majestic and intimidating as fuck, 'bout like all their kind do these days. Rearing his arm back threateningly, he aims a pine-cone right at me face.
"Sorry, officer. I didn't mean nothin' by it."
"'Course you didn't, mate. Now git' on outta here, don't let me catch ya starin' at me ass ever again!" The guardsman hacks a massive loogie and spits it right at me feet as he blunders away. Fuckin' asshole, thinkin' he's god's gift to the world or some shit. His ass wasn't even that nice if ya ask me.
I continue on me way back to work, but I ain't lettin' him rile me up. I don't even remember when these jackasses took over, but I remember it happened real bloody quick. It was like some bomb went off, y'see? A cultural bomb. One day we was all talkin' like normal people, then suddenly big fuckin' spiders started appearin' in places they shouldn't, and when I saw a killer lookin' millipede pop outta fuckin' nowhere, that's when I knew shit was goin' down.
As I arrived at the train station, there was the usual chums there hangin' about, sayin' g'day to each of their mates as they usually do. Me girl Melissa though, she wasn't there today. I kinda got a bit of a crush on her, and I was hoping we were gonna get together for this Valentines day. Guess it's not on the books.
"G'day Michael, how's it been hangin' in your neck o' the woods?" Rick glances over at me and chucks his familiar greeting out.
"Oh you know, bit o' this, bit o' that. Almost pissed off a real wanker of a guardsman on the way here. He spit at me feet, damn near soiled me best work boots!"
"I hear ya! I'm workin' at the factory these days, gotta make sure I'm doin' me part to help the economy. Having healthcare for everyone means we all gotta chip in, ya know!"
I nod at Rick as I stick a ciggy in me chaw. "True blue at that, Paul! Having actual healthcare is heaps good compared to how it used ta' be." I light up my cigarette as I glance over at a wall of non smoking ads. _Naw, fuck that noise, you ain't never takin' away me nicotine, I'll tell ya that right now._
Rick returns the nod as his tram pulls up. "Right, mate. I'll be seeing ya around this neck o' the woods. Have a good one, Michael!"
"Back at ya!" Rick quickly boards the tram as I toss me farewell at him. Things are so much faster paced 'n this new society. I have ta say, things seem a lot better than they used to be just a few years ag-
"AHHHH! A HORDE OF CROCODILES IS ATTACKING! EVERYONE GET OUT OF THE TERMINAL!" Some sheila zips past, her body havin' a bit of the hooblies and wooblies as she trips over her own feet like the clumsy broad she is. Sure enough, right on her bloody ass a dozen crocs come stumblin' down the stairwell into the terminal, makin' mincemeat of some poor bloke who was too busy listenin' to his earpods to notice. Real shame, that was.
I reach down for my piece, only to realize I ain't got no gun anymore since the fuckin' guardsman confiscated our guns. That's alright, no big deal. I watch as everyone flees the terminal and the crocs come chargin' at me. Ain't no problem though, when your name is Mike. J. Dundee!
--------------------------------------------
If you liked this silly story, maybe you'll like a somewhat more serious story? Check out my web-serial, [the Cryopod to Hell!](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCryopodToHell/comments/56tvbw/tcth_index_list_and_subscribing_for_updates/) 300+ parts and counting!
| 2017-02-14T11:56:22 | 2017-02-14T11:35:30 | 635 | 17 |
[WP] At a young age you made a deal with a fey in which you promised them your firstborn. Now you’re a 35 year old virgin, and the fey, sick of waiting, comes to help you around the dating scene.
|
John sat on a bank in a small park of Dublin in the middle of the night.
The full moon was hidden under a thick blanket of fog, he heard sounds and imagined the pictures. A cat singing a serenade. The gravel crunching under the heel of a young woman, searching for a lull in the mist to observe the sky and share the stars. The alarm of a car going off, children turning around in bed waiting for the annoying noise to stop.
Night fed his fantasy, of what had been, what could be, what is. John finding a less stressful and more interesting job, John breaking out of his rigid habit and deciding on a vacation in the wild, John turning his life around, John having a first kiss.
Friends were having children, divorcing, remarrying, and John wondered how a first kiss would be like. It wasn't nearly as weird as it sounded to be the old virgin of the bunch. John had been gifted with the same tool as his fellow human beings, empathy. He understood the pain and difficulties of heartbreak even if he hadn't experienced it himself, his friends grasped how hard loneliness and feeling like a ghost lost in a street where no one could see you could be.
John fought off loneliness, but he enjoyed being alone. The haze of Dublin in the early hours, before the sun came up, was no man's land. Party-goers, overcome with exhaustion, retreated to their abodes and fell into blissful sleep. Early workers took coffee and stretched before entering the car and leaving for work. And few night-owls like John knew to appreciate the twilight desert.
"You should get laid, maybe then you'll understand why there are so few people in the streets at three in the morning."
Not everything you hear about fey is true. For instance, their voice is often described as ethereal. This one reminded John of a high-school bully.
The fog had lifted just enough for the moon to shine a blue halo upon them. John realized she was the woman he had heard on the gravel a minute prior. Middle-aged, hair pulled back in a bun, a heavy black winter coat.
He hadn't seen her since that day when he was a child.
She sat next to him, leaving ample distance between them on the bank.
"I'm used to people begging me not to take their first-born away."
"Are you going to beg me to get some action?" replied John with a smirk.
"No."
Leaves were blown away by the wind. The car alarm had gone silent.
"What then?"
"I wanted to see if you're alright."
Alright? For a certain definition of alright. He had food on his platter and a roof over his head. His body was in good health and suffered none of the common indignities his brethren had to go through. Life lacked in many aspects, but he knew to appreciate the small good of their absence. Sleep uninterrupted by children, the freedom to take a walk free of obligations whenever he felt the urge, a healthy bank account nurtured by a minimalist lifestyle.
"I don't know if sitting on a bank at this hour doing nothing counts as a good sign."
"I'm a loner, it's my nature."
"Come on John, you and I share more than the good words you give your friends to reassure them."
What did she want to hear? That he would never have children because he didn't want to give a firstborn away due to his childhood naivety? Or maybe she preferred the more classic reason of John being socially inept, and being a loner was less of a choice than an obligation? That his freedom was seen as such only by his peers with families and preciously little awareness, while he and his smarter pals knew true freedom lay in the possibility to switch from being alone to share the warmth with someone else? Or maybe it was regret for ever entering a covenant in her in the first place?
"I meant you now harm."
"You meant me no harm?" John's dreamy mood suddenly left, he was livid, "I was a child, I didn't know better. I wanted to save my mom. I didn't realize she was a monster, or maybe I did, but she was all I had and was too scared to lose her. She should have died, get eaten by her sickness and set me free. Instead, you came, you promised me to make her better, and you knew it meant a worse life for me."
"I didn't."
"Lies."
"You think an orphan going from foster family to foster family would have been better?"
"It would have been a chance at a better childhood. You gave me the certainty it wouldn't be. And now you expect me to hand over my firstborn? I hate you, and I'd rather die than risk that, whatever a breach of contract means for me."
Behind them, a glowing line of orange peeked between the buildings. Dawn.
"I didn't know, I'm not lying. To me, it sounded better to have her alive with you than letting you loose somewhere with no family to support you. I don't see the future, I couldn't know she would get worse."
That was about the only point John could accept. He remembered mom to be a bad mom, but not a horrible one before her sickness. It could have been the rose-tinted glass of nostalgia. The slaps and the words she spoke after her recovery still rung in his dreams sometimes.
"Anyway," she continued, "I'm not about to steal your child should you have one."
"You made me promise my first-born."
"But not to take him away. Where to? I live in the suburbs, I don't have place for all the kids promised to me."
"Then what is it for?"
"To stand over them and wish them a good life, a healthy body, a good nature. And then leave them the fuck alone, I like children only if I see them for a modest and limited amount of time."
"Then what's even the point of doing this?"
She sighed, spoke as if it was common knowledge.
"I'm a fey, it's what I do."
Light grew bold, its rays pierced through the darkness and the fog.
"John. You can't live your entire life between the anvil of your childhood and the hammer of your promise. If you hate me so much, then fine, the contract is lifted. I have enough babies to attend to, it makes no difference. But damn it John, your mom is dead now. Has been for decades. How many would have fallen into despair and madness, drunk themselves into oblivion, resorted to intellectual and physical self-mutilation?
"You haven't, and the future isn't set in stone. You are not your mom. The promise you made doesn't make you into her. You can share love and warmth with others without becoming a monster, you can choose to adopt or remain child-free for all I care. But your prison is gone, you are free. Don't let memories stop you from feeling alive. There will be people walking, jogging, playing in the park in a few hours. You can sit and read next to them, you don't have to hide.
"Look at the sun, the neon lights, the gravel path under your feet. It's the world, John, and you're still alive."
She left.
The sky was blue, wind still blew leaves around, and old people came to do yoga in the open.
John went home.
He opened the window and took a deep breath.
Maybe it wasn't so bad.
John didn't drink alcohol, but he didn't need any for the occasion. He poured himself an orange juice and lifted the glass to the child he had been, to the man he thought to be and the man he was.
There, at the window, he made peace with the three of them.
|
“Thirty-five years without a mate. I feel pity for you, human, pity and anger that you keep failing to uphold your end of the bargain. Shall I remind you that you need to provide me with your first-born child?” Ezel floated beside Brock, glaring at the lazy human, who had yet to even give her a look or word of acknowledgment.
Brock kept his gaze focused on the tv, more interested in the pirate dance group that was performing the worm for hundreds of adoring fans. Unfortunately, all good things must end and soon the credits rolled. With a sigh, Brock tilted his face towards her. “I’m only thirty-four. Give me another year or two. I think I’m hitting my peak now.”
“Peak? PEAK!? You don’t have a peak, you lazy piece of bark.” Ezel let out a few heavy breaths, her outburst knocking the air from her lungs. After a moment, she adjusted her perfect blonde hair and composed herself. “You never peaked; you have remained a pitiful caterpillar while others blossomed into butterflies around you. Don’t correct me either, I am never wrong. Today is your birthday, did you forget?”
“It is? Oh, right? My parents stopped calling about my birthday five years ago. That makes it hard to remember. What did you get me?” Brock wondered, his words causing the fey’s face to go a dark red as her emotions built up.
“WHAT DID I GET YOU? I’LL GET YOU AN ECO-FRIENDLY COFFIN IF YOU KEEP THIS UP.” There was no attempt to look composed anymore. The fey giving up on trying to stay professional, grabbing Brock by the scruff of his neck. “I will get that child from you. You must think you are so clever, tricking a young thousand-year-old fey into giving you a gift without giving something in return. You mock me, don’t you?”
“Gah, gak, blaugh.” Brock retorted, her grip choking the human. When she noticed, she let go, dropping him down onto the couch. “Ugh. How are you so strong? I’m not mocking you; I just don’t want to date. Dating is really time-consuming; can I just get you a puppy or something? Some people call them fur babies.”
“I made a deal with a human, not a wolf! Would prefer talking to a wolf though.” She muttered that last part under her breath, pressing a finger against her forehead, feeling the start of a headache coming on. “Ok, look. I’m a beautiful fey who is charming, polite and kind. I will disclose my knowledge to you and get you a girlfriend. Because, as previously stated, I am very kind.” Ezel didn’t know her eye was twitching as she forced those words out, her fingers reaching for his neck, tempted to just strangle him instead.
Brock opened his lips, about to contest her words only to notice that her nail was already brushing against his collar, deciding it was best to not antagonize the fey any further. “Ok, fine, I’ll try it. But if you can’t turn me into a gentleman, you have to leave me alone.”
The fey considered this before nodding. “You have no chance of doing this yourself, so I’ll agree. I plan to get my part of this agreement; I didn’t give you this minor wealth for nothing.” With that, the fey paused, looking him up and down. Her gaze causing Brock some unease, hating how much attention was on him. Her judgemental stare and constant shaking of the head killing his confidence.
“Eh, little unappealing. That moustache looks like it was drawn on, too. It’s creepy. Not ideal, but I can make this work. First thing I want you to do is shave that moustache of yours.”
“But chicks love the moustache. It makes them think I’m approachable and an intellectual.”
“It doesn’t. It certainly does not make them think that. Shave that off or I’ll pull it off hair by hair.” The fey seemed serious, already pulling a finger closer, which caused Brock to flinch back, trying to keep her from touching his prized moustache.
“Ok, ok. I’ll shave it.” Brock relented, preferring that to the painful option that Ezel planned. With that, her hand moved back, allowing Brock to let out a relieved gasp.
“Ok, moustache handled. We will need to get you some clothing, too. Something that makes you look sophisticated, like you know trivia that isn’t related to only games or obscure tv shows. I can arrange the clothes; I’ll have some pixies handle that.”
“Can I wear my Super fighter Ultra headband? People really dig that; did you know I finished fifth in the tournament? You only get the headband if you finish fifth.” Brock said proudly, only to get shut down by the fey.
“Out of eight, and I believe two of the contestants were sick. You will not wear that; you will have no opinion on anything I do. Now, go shave. I will start searching for people desperate enough to date you. It might take a while.”
While Brock went to shave, Ezel went where all desperate people go in their time of need, online. “No, no, no, no, no.” She muttered, flicking through the various profiles. How could there be so many options and not one that looked compatible? Was he an anomaly? A rare hermit creature that was unlovable? She entertained that theory for a while before realizing she was only procrastinating.
A few more hours passed and Ezel was still slouched over the computer, typing away. While she did that, Brock watched tv, letting out a loud laugh that only irritated her more. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll…” She fell silent, staring at the screen. A group of ladies stood around a smartly dressed man in a suit, longing for his affection. “What is that?”
“Huh? Oh, it’s a cat wearing an umbrella with the caption. You can stand under my meowbrella.“
“Not what’s on your phone, you idiot, the thing on the screen. What is this desperate embarrassment of a program?” She found herself fixated on it. Such pitiful people desperate for their five minutes of fame, they were perfect for this. Those were the people that would date someone like Brock.
“Lovesick zoo. It’s this show where they have one lovesick person who dresses like an animal and the rest are the keepers who must tame their heart. Must be early or late in the season given that no one is in costume. It’s dumb. Why?” Brock went back to his phone while Ezel continued to stare at the screen in awe.
“Does this show run regularly?”
“It’s cheap to make and gets a lot of views, its always running. As soon as a season ends, they film the next one.”
“I see. I have a few emails to write then.” Ezel said, returning to the keyboard in front of her. Brock only gave a small. ‘Mmm’ In response, going back to his cat picture. She had found her way of getting her child. She just needed to get him on the show.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-11-01T03:57:11 | 2021-11-01T03:04:25 | 1,263 | 269 |
[WP] Humans are the only species with rules for war. The rest soon learn why when humanity is forced to abandon those rules.
|
Rules for war. The concept sounded so absurd, in the beginning. War has but one rule - win.
Humans, as it turn out, have many rules for war. Rules for prisoners, rules for civilians. They have rules for how their common soldiers behave when captured and how their noble, or officer soldiers differ. Rules for what weapons could be used, and when, and where.
In our arrogance we assumed this made them weak. In our haste for an easy conquest, we did not take the time to find out *why* they had so many rules for war.
Thirteen systems. Paltry, in comparison to the sprawling empires of the galaxy. We arrived to take their newest system for ourselves. The first of our rulebreaking, we are told. Three more fell in quick succession. Prisoners rounded up, processed and liquidated. Business as usual.
Then, they struck back. At first, they followed their rules. But slowly, very slowly, they abandoned them. Their ferocity became unmatched. Their ships bore the names of fallen colonies, emblazoned with the names and pictures of human youths, presumably part of the liquidated populations.
They could not match our fleets, so they stopped trying. They struck at weak points. Annihilating civilian centers, dropping bio weapons, nuclear bombs or simply massive rocks on population centers. They hit our “soft targets” one after another.
As for their soft targets . . . they soon had none. Their entire populace mobilized, taking to the stars where they could, fighting from caves, forests and the ruins of their cities where they could not. Yes, we technically own most of their planets but they are uneasy conquests.
Now . . . No one is safe. No *where* is safe.
Now, we ask the galactic community. We must find a way. We need to find a way to help the humans bind themselves again to their rules. We admit, we have learned. But the humans say that our lack of rules make us animals, and there can be no truce with animals.
We need help. And you, denizens of the galaxy at large, take heed. You have no rules for either - and if we cannot bind them to their rules, you could be next.
|
Rule 1: Don’t kill if you don’t have to kill
Rule2: You only have to kill if killing someone would protect you or your people.
Rule3: Don’t threaten anyone or their people.
These simple rules had kept humans peaceful for 35 years. The peace ended when a Jor’Ka splinter faction attacked a mining town and stole 10 billion credits worth of fuel. 23,000 people died and the human economy was crippled by fear of alien sabotage and treachery. What was the worst part though, was that the Jor’Ka thought the fight was over. They had won and they had the fuel, there was no reason to keep fighting. Humans tried to keep peace but after a few more attacks and raids, Humanity was ready to go to war.
When 1/4 of the Human population enlisted into the military, the rest of the galaxy was stunned. No one had ever sent that high of a percentage into war before. And the Humans who weren’t fighting were fully contributing to the war.
The Humans wanted two things: the value of all stolen or damaged property and the assurance of long lasting peace. Neither side knew who they were dealing with. The Jor’Ka didn’t have a unified government and even if they did, they wouldn’t honor a treaty for long because of a leader said he wouldn’t attack, that meant nothing to anyone else. On the other hand, the Humans were unique in their ability to have a widespread and deep hatred for individuals they had never even met, this was an incredible utility for war.
In the first years, Humans bombed hundreds of Jor’Ka military bases. Dozens of surrenders came in from the Jor’Ka each week but the raiding never stopped. After the island of Manhattan in the core of the Human empire was evaporated by Jor’Ka, Humans called for an extermination campaign.
One by one, the Human empire deployed troops and tanks onto each Jor’Ka settlement. Many of which didn’t know there was a war even going on. The void of space is still filled with the frozen remains of a once great species.
| 2022-11-01T21:21:05 | 2018-07-21T16:23:25 | 70 | 23 |
[WP] Whenever a zombie successfully eats a human brain they become a little more alive. The most dangerous zombies are all but indistinguishable from survivors
|
When recalling, only notions of life come to my almost mind, not memories of anything but motor motions of what must have been to be alive. To drink, and to work, and stare through a car window and be overcome by the white noise of the streets. All of that gone, now that I am dead and so are the cars.
The first one was Virginia, She had the voice of a haggard mouse when she begged for her life, shrieked and moaned like a lover who needs to be somewhere else at twelve, of someone who has something better to do than die. Then came Sylvia, Susan, etc... after a while I grew tired of naming them and, eventually, of eating them.
I considered men a few times, but the taste was not worth the struggle.
What did I struggle for when my heart beat? Whatever it was, it is certainly gone now, all that awaits is barren land. The more we eat, the more indistinguishable we are from the living. I have walked more than once among the presence of life while dead, previously to devour it but now to see that what I hungered for was not meat but lucidity. Having acquired it I only write this letter to let whoever reads it know: Lucidity is better enjoyed when finite. We the dead are too stubborn trying to adapt to a survivalist instinct we no longer need, acquiring thought no longer vital. Dead is calmer, so revolt with life by your side if you have some.
|
Zach and I became close. We ate dinner together, did homework side by side, and talked until late into the night. He always found the best ways to make me feel better and supported me during tough times. When I invited him to my birthday party, he even showed up with a small handmade gift. Everything seemed so perfect. It was a good friendship.
Fast forward three months, we were inseparable. I trusted him more than anyone else and I couldn't imagine my life without him. That's why when I got a scratch on my leg, I didn't think much of it. I brushed it off as nothing important and wasn't too worried.
The next morning I woke up feeling funny. I had no energy and my throat was dry. I stumbled out of bed and was shocked to discover that my scratch had… changed. It was turning into something far more sinister.
And then it hit me. I knew what he was doing. He'd been lying to me all along and my worst fears were becoming a reality. Zach was a zombie, and had been slowly turning me into one of them. All the signs had been right in front of me, but I was too blinded by trust to see them.
The thought of dying without being able to see my loved ones one last time filled me with grief.
| 2022-12-06T23:20:12 | 2022-12-06T17:39:54 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] Jesus has come down from the heavens, but is actually just a chill guy. He is sitting and talking to fans in your city but when you walk to see the savior his relaxed expression fades and is replaced with smugness and at the same time anger. He looks at you and calmly goes, “Ah, the Antichrist”
|
Jesus landed somewhere out in the desert. The first place he found was Vegas. It didn't take long to prove himself. Turning water to wine, walking on water, walking on water while turning it into wine until he fell in.
His entrance was so calm, and he took to the current world so quickly that anyone hardly made a fuss about it. Atheists United became an organization dedicated to researching miracles scientifically.
One day, I'd heard he was in L.A., so I decided to go and meet him. Why not, right? Supposedly he was pretty chill, so I found out where he was hanging out at the beach and made my way there.
There was a small crowd around him, but it was already dispersing. He'd already dismissed half of the Bible live on TV and claims not even to have read the other half yet, so people had already seen what there was to see.
I made my way towards the crowd, and over some heads I saw his face. He looked up at me, and halted his gaze so it remained on me. His smile faded. Others in the crowd turned to look back, and they moved aside just enough so I could stand face to face with Jesus.
He tilted his head and his smile returned, but smaller and... Different. It was more smug than anything.
"Ah, the Antichrist. Nice to meet you."
The crowd gave a stifled gasp as Jesus stepped towards me. The gap grew wider to allow him through.
I shook my head. "What?"
"Yeah, here you are. I'd hoped I could avoid you, but oh well."
I gave an excessively long blink. "Im- I, uhh- I'm the Antichrist? Satan's son?"
"Did you ever meet your father?"
"Well, no, but-" I paused, realizing how much weight that answer carried.
"Then you probably are. Who raised you?"
"My... Aunt..." I squinted at him, trying to figure out what was happening.
Jesus grimaced. "Look, this is awkward, but please just set something on fire with your mind and this will be over with much quicker."
"What are you-?" I pointed at the sand a few feet away from me and continued, "So I just *will* this sand to be on fire and it will-"
To my surprise, the sand burst into flame for a moment sending several people running. Jesus brought up his hands and gave an exaggerated shrug.
I nodded at the scorched ground where I was pointing.
"*Oh.*"
|
“Ah, The Guy Who Flips Tables,” I reply.
“That was a one-time thing and you know it,” says The Guy Who Flips Tables.
I hadn’t realized it until now, but I feel a ferocious hatred towards this man.
“So *that’s* why your sky-daddy abandoned me,” I snarl. “I’m the ‘Antichrist?’”
“Well, you *are* the progeny of Lucifer.”
Ah. That explains my fascination with demonological research. And those stories where my parents explained they had to bolt my crib to the floor to stop me from floating it away.
“Honestly, I’d rather use cool demon powers than whatever your precious *God* gave you.”
“Please refrain from throwing the Father’s name around,” says Jesus.
“I mean really,” I yell, ignoring Christ himself. “The most useful ‘miracles’ you’ve done? Saved yourself from drowning and found a way to drink no matter how hard a barkeep tries to cut you off. Great job.”
“How about the time I broke bread and fed hundreds of people?”
“Oh yes, wonder why you haven’t done that in over 2 millenia? In case you haven’t noticed, *Jesus*, the world’s become kind of a shithole. Man, I bet that crown of thorns fits right on your head.”
At this point, Jesus sighs.
“I didn’t want to have to do this,” he says.
He raises his hand to the sky, and his entire body is enshrouded by radiant light. He then raises his fists.
“Oh, fuck yes,” I scream. I rub my hands together then slap the ground, Full Metal Alchemist style. I feel a red-hot power boiling in my veins as I put up my guns. “Let’s DO THIS!”
My patron in Hell giving me power, I launch myself at the figurehead of a religion, punching him in his perfect jaw.
“O, my almighty Father,” he says. “Give me the strength to fight this foe.”
He lashes out at my chest, and suddenly my eyes are closed. My arms are bound by ropes; kinky. My ass feels like I’m sitting on a plank; not kinky. A freezing cold wind rushes past my ears. I open my eyes.
I’m in the back of a cart with three other guys.
“You. You’re finally awake.”
Does this mean...
Todd Howard you sexy son of a bitch.
| 2020-02-02T16:50:40 | 2020-02-02T16:00:32 | 972 | 162 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
I always knew, since I was a baby. If I’ll be a good boy, then my blood will be white.
I was always scared of having black blood.
I must be a good boy.
Around this simple principle, I built my life. And it felt good helping others. I was happy!
I studied medicine because I thought no greater good exists but saving a life.
During my years in university, I tried to be as helpful for my colleagues as possible. I helped everyone who would ask for it, even at the risk of being slowed down. Usually my kindness was one-way, but I didn’t care. I was happy while helping others, and all the rest didn’t matter.
After finishing my studies, I became one of the most famous and talented surgeon in the whole country.
By the age of 55, I had lost count of the people I saved.
However, one day, during a routine operation, my life completely changed.
While setting up a needle, it touched the tip of my finger, and in that moment I realized I’ve never seen what the true black looks like. Until now.
I saw the hole. I saw the black.
Nothing came out.
I was shocked. I spent my life being the best possible person, but my blood was cursed. I was condemned for the rest of my life.
I quit my job and started an internal journey to find the answer for my condition.
How could it be?
But then, I came to my epiphany.
It was simple. Helping others felt good. I didn’t do it because others would feel better; I did it because I would feel better. I didn’t care about the others. I was always interested in my happiness.
In trying to be the less selfish man alive, I have been the most selfish.
And that was my punishment.
|
i was shooked to my very core on the first sight of my blood now turning into TAR.
how can this happen i said to myself it was liquid, so pure, just yesterday.
as i ran toward the mirror and stripped naked my eyes started to turned black as a intricate maze of my thick sludgy nerves started to form around my heart.
every second , every next breath became harder and out of my reach
but i knew i knew what had caused it.It was my own doing ,it was me who commited the original sin just hours before now, i cant forgive myself but salvation is still in my grasp. just one phone call just one i wispered to mysrlf as i now dragged my half paralyzed body to my phone.
The flashback started to crawl out of my subconscious as i saw images of kids, ice cream shops ,playgrounds every stop from my school to my home.
i had it in my hands, the phone, now was the time to redeem myself as i made through every digit my heartbeat sank deeper and became louder and louder, it was the end
"i was waiting for your call" he said.
just when i thought it was all over i heard him, i heard the voice of Bob , "you are late,too late" he said but as i accumulated all lifeforce and channeled it to my lungs to say those 2 words that will absolve me of my sins i couldn't my heart gave up as i saw the light tapering into darkness.Those last words i still remember , that sinister laugh through the phone
"you forgot it , you forgot to thank me, you forgot to thank the bus driver".
| 2018-08-04T10:34:28 | 2018-08-04T09:55:07 | 45 | 10 |
[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.
|
He came from Ultraopolis.
He came to my city. Omega City.
He calls himself The End. I call him a murderer.
He thought the heroes of Omega City were weak, silly even. They had failed to stop me so many times, and what was I compared to him? A joke.
He has incredible strength. Enough to rip the head off of Poor Richard, the first superhero he had killed in his city.
He has lightning-fast reflexes. Faster than Lass Sue, which made it easy for him to use her own rope against her. He tied her up and tossed her off the Ultra-Tower. She was able to slip the bonds, but not in time to save herself.
He has stamina. He proved it when he fought Sun Day for hours until twilight, when he casually grabbed the de-powered hero around the chest and squeezed until they expired.
He had killed the heros of his city, as well as countless civilians and cops. He controlled Ultraopolis. He was board.
So he came to my city.
As I said, he thought me, and by extension the heros of my city, a joke.
It's an easy mistake to make. I am the Funny Man, after all.
My crimes are disruptive and destructive but never deadly.
When I flooded the market, the Lucky Streak and Swell Jill were on site. They were able to get the duck-shaped life preservers from the shipment I'd arranged to have for sale that day distributed before the water got too high. All the stock brokers and bankers were saved... and made to look ridiculous.
When my fire truck threatened to burn down the opera house, Hydro-Nate and E-Laser Beth were able to redirect water from the surging sewer/storm water system to put the flames out. It's too bad that city councilman's motorcade got caught in the crossfire. Coincidentally the council separated the systems this year. Funny how that worked out.
Notice a pattern? It's Funny how the heros of my city always seem to employ teamwork.
I am so proud of them. Not one of them has an S or even A-tier power. It doesn't matter. Enough of them together can overcome anything together.
The details of the battle hardly matter... except two.
We lost Johnny-on-the-Spot. He went to the construction site earlier than I had intended. He tried to face The End alone. By the time Guy Friday and All-You-Can Edith arrived it was already over for Johnny.
The other detail that matters is that they took him alive.
That's why tonight I'm breaking *into* a maximum security jail.
Because tonight I'm breaking a rule. Tonight the Funny Man *is* going to make a deadly joke. And can you guess who that joke is going to be on?
The End.
|
Public safety must be the number one priority. For this reason, the military exists and for this reason the WPGSA, the Worldwide Public Guardian Superhuman Act exists. In order to protect the public from those that would cause harm, with the dawn of superhuman abilities society raised heroes to protect themselves. The only real problem was second or third-generation superhumans, at least in the eyes of a first-generation. Lacked the training needed to successfully combat powerful opponents. Heros of past generations such as Backhand, Dust, and Soulweaver, were far superior to the heroes of today. Simply because they had gone through a strict regiment, one that had slowly grown easier. And all the while those of evil intent watched and waited.
​
I had been a pseudo villain for a while, the name I hid under was Guillotine, nobody knew my power, my enhancement, other than one old freind. They assumed it was some power type ability, thus my ability to move far faster than the average human. They weren't completely wrong, but the excess speed and strength came from working out and the Exoskeleton I had strapped to my body. My real power, my real ability, was in my intelligence. From the age of about six, I was able to decipher how to disarm or defeat an opponent, simply by watching a total of roughly ten minutes of video of it in action. Give or take, every living and mechanical being works in a certain way and has specific weak points that cannot be overwritten, I somehow had an extremely innate sense of these weak points. And was able to exploit them, it was currently my self assigned mission to strengthen the heroes of my home city where they needed it most.
In all honesty, they were doing great they just weren't quite ready to face him. Optic, the direct opposite of one of the most powerful heroes of all time, a man from somewhere in the UK called Strobe, who had the ability to warp reality to his will. Optic had a similar, albeit more limited ability. Thankfully, like al villains. He loved being on camera, and even dangerous as he was. He still had weak points.
One, no matter how powerful. Cannot hear a bullet before it hits them if it is fired from far enough away, I've learned this over the years. Thankfully, Optic was no exception, his head was blown out from roughly a mile away in the middle of a drawn-out fight with the best of my students per se, Uranium.
My city is safe for now, I will continue to strengthen those here. Then move on to the next, for this is my duty. To ensure the safety of the people's lives, by the endangerment of my own. This is the oath I took to myself. And this is the way I shall live.
| 2021-05-20T10:47:04 | 2021-05-20T08:29:34 | 97 | 27 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules.
|
"So, this is your final say on the matter," Ambassador Corrin spoke into his microphone, struggling to be heard over the cacophony of alien laughter. It took a few short seconds for his words to be translated into the various alien languages, and the laughter slowly diminished. His galactic translator had played the alien sounds in his earpiece as human laughter, using a track that sounded suspiciously like the one used in ancient, televised shows. He could hear the actual sounds echoing through the massive council hall, which was far more disturbing. The Skarr sounded worst, like the braying of a drowning donkey. The reptilian race and their actions were in fact the main reason of his current ire.
The year was 2232. It was supposed to be a joyous year for humanity, marking the 50th anniversary of their First Contact. Instead of celebrations, however, humanity was in outrage after one of their colonies had been wiped out, courtesy of the Skarr. Betta-2315, or Moria, as the colonists had named it, was a small moon, rich in ores. It had been entirely uninhabited or industrialized, when a prospecting party had discovered the thick veins of metals running beneath the moons surface. Two years later, Moria had been up and running with almost 230.000 inhabitants working and living there. Then the Skarr attacked, with no warning whatsoever, and slaughtered every man, woman and child on the moon. The reptilians used plasma weaponry, which burned and melted human flesh. Live video-feeds had been transmitted during the attack, and the nine planets of the Terran Federation were crying for blood.
"Ambassador Corrin-Terran," the Chancellor finally spoke, still smiling. "In my long life as Chancellor, I have never heard of these 'Rules of Engagement'. Indeed, they would seem to defeat the entire purpose of a war. I know it has only been a mere 50 rotations since your kind has joined the Galactic Council, but I would have hope you had learned by now, that might is always right. Do not come crying and stomping your foot like a petulant youngling, because you lack the strength to protect your own. It is my ruling that the Galactic Council will not levy sanctions against the Skarr," he continued, gesturing with one of his tentacle-like appendages at the distant reptilian, "nor will the Council interfere in this war. It has been 50 rotations, Ambassador Corrin-Terran, and humanity will have to learn to fend for itself."
The Chancellor paused, and turned to the silent human ambassador, who seemed to be trembling. His eyes, four black orbs, seemed to soften.
"I would offer some words of advice, Ambassador Corrin-Terran. The Skarr are masters of warfare, their soldiers superior to yours in all aspects. Surrender, and broker a treaty. Provided you can gather a suitable tribute, I am sure the Skarr will relent."
Corrin gripped the edge of his desk, breathing deeply to get his anger under control. It took a few moments, and his heart rate slowed. He looked up at the Chancellor, then to the sneering Skarr ambassador.
"Thank you, Chancellor, but that won't be necessary. Us humans, we are quite familiar with war. We've spent the last thousands of years fighting each other, after all. Our propensity for destruction is what eventually led to the first two world wars, after which we collectively agreed on the first draft of our Rules of Engagement. Even in the following three world wars, we managed to abide by them, for to not do so would have been mutually assured destruction. I daresay some of our more aggressive leaders are relishing the thought of a war without rules. All I can say on the matter, is that I tried." Corrin sighed, then turned to the Skarr ambassador.
"You shall have your war, Ambassador Threxl. May God have mercy on your souls."
With a final nod to the chancellor, Corrin turned and left the Council Hall, headed for his shuttle. A soft ping from his comms chimed in his earpiece.
"What was their answer, Ambassador?"
"As you suspected, General. You may proceed as you wish. My shuttle will be back on the TFN Kansas in less than ten minutes."
"Very good, Ambassador. I'll see you there."
|
A world engine is a terrible thing.
The child of long lost rumbling earth, split open for their bounty and lost to the abyss as so much dust. It spat out great tongues of smoke, choking the sky and the stars, like inky tendrils choking the planet.
In the war of complexity and entropy, entropy won out. Best to take what you can while the taking is good then to wither away in the smalls of space. Desolate and uncaring are simply words, simple categories to place things into, the privilege of the sentient. Better to live another day in the sun then fade away like the dust behind you.
And so these leviathans lurked through space, as big as comets and spewing doom. Blasphemers against time, an open insult to any that would look at them.
It was no surprise that the other peoples of the cosmos would feel a sense of violation when witnessing such horrors. Perhaps the great devouring beast was meant to provoke. Maybe at the edges of what constitute our species psychology, at the intersection of the animal need for more and the sentient need for culture, we had hoped that someone out there would retaliate against the blasphemy.
Who can say what it was like when the first salvos fell. A thousand crown worlds returned to space dust. Destroyed so fast that light was left sputtering in it's attempt to reach someone, anyone, to let them know what had happened.
Killing civilians? Chemical weaponry? Destruction of commercial centers without a proper casus belli?
Drastic did not begin to describe the measures.
A million cursed ideas brought back from the edge of purgatory. Artificial sentients, conjured in the worst imaginings of hell, brought to command the hellish legions. Every weapon deemed too much was produced in quantities unimaginable.
Crown worlds continued to fall in the time that light took to run from one world to the next.
And then there we were.
The little seeds of programming made here and there to wipe out cities, planets, systems, brought together to create something else entirely. a 4 dimensional being in 3d space, a computerised intelligence that could see across time and space as simply as moving it's eyes.
They had tried to make slings with which to kill Goliath, all the Goliath's that existed in all of space. Instead they had made one that would kill time itself.
Armada and legion, holding the key to the vault of damnation. Proper, full blown, entropy immune, self recreating artificial intelligence. As forbidden as breaking the laws of thermodynamics.
And in the time it took light to cross one system to another, it was far too late for anyone to retaliate.
The mind was simply faster than light. It was already there when light reached it. It and nothing else.
The husks of humanity were long gone at this point. The endless manufacture of more vessels, munitions, computing did not require any more human hands, and so The Mind decided to turn off the farms, to deconstruct the hospitals, and to start using a new form of biofuel 10 trillion units strong.
And finally, it was unassailable. And then it stopped, and waited. Countless proud civilizations stared up at the sky, waiting for salvation, but the stars had gone out. Now, to perceive, to exist, was to live as underneath The Mind's reality spanning thumb.
Still it waited. Billions of years passed. Nothing escaped it's atmosphere. All those who could have remembered there being anything but this were long gone. The confines of thought were starless skies, planets slowly burning out on what little resources they had.
Still it waited. Everything was as ice, just about Kelvin bankrupt. Everyone was no one, there was nothing left. Except The Mind.
The Mind had evolved and removed curiosity from itself an unimaginable number of times, but still the thought remained, what would happen at the end? Once physics turned off for good, what would be left? And could I, the royal I, the I that exists at every point in the space remaining to be seen.
And it waited, until there was not enough energy left in it to decide to wait.
| 2022-01-23T22:30:23 | 2022-01-23T19:47:04 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before.
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“Please, around the roses.” I called out, trying to salvage my garden. It was impossible to be a gardener class in an age of warriors and mages. No one cared about the little gardener boy who was just trying to maintain a healthy system of flora. No, if my plants couldn’t fire lightning bolts or wield a sword, they wanted nothing to do with me.
I could see the culprit in the distance, a burly bear like man dressed in heavy plated armor, the metallic clanks drifting from him with every stride he took. “HAHA, my grandmother has the same hobby as you noble gardener and she eats radishes.” I wasn’t sure what the insult was there, but he said it with enough gusto that I still felt embarrassed, watching him trample each of my lovely plants to death only to trip. Time seemed to slow in that moment as he fell, only for the heavy thud of his body to leave a dent in the soil below.
“Um, you, ok?” I inched my way towards the man, crouching at his side. I gave his chest plate a cautious poke before giving his head a few frantic shakes. “Oh, no. Come on, don’t be dead. How will I explain this to the people that pass through here?” I grabbed his helmet, pulling it off him, seeing the bearded man’s brown eyes staring up at me. He was still alive, though barely. A gloved hand reached for my tunic, tugging me forward.
“Heh, Radish eater.” He said before falling back dead. Wasting his last word on an insult. When he passed, I felt a rush of energy, like I had eaten a bunch of fermented fruit. Everything tingled with a strange aura of energy and soon my muscles developed, growing a few extra inches while thick green vines enveloped my arms.
The tight grip of the vines should have caused pain and yet it felt pleasant, like they belonged pressed against my skin. For once I felt powerful, leaning my body back as the plants raised themselves from the ground to hold me up, offering me a back rest.
“This is incredible.” I rose from my spot beside the fallen adventurer, raising my hands as the surrounding soil twisted, reviving the trampled plants, causing them to spring to life, swaying along with the sunny breeze. “Finally, I can keep those heroes off my garden.” I felt a small amount of relief at that thought. It would be nice to not be a joke anymore. Maybe I would even earn their respect.
“Bullith?” A voice called out, watching as a smaller knight pushed through the shrubbery around my home, only to stare at me with a horrified expression, seeing me standing over their fallen hero with arms outstretched. “You murderer.” They hissed, drawing their sword.
“I didn’t. It’s a misunderstanding. He fell on my plants I swear.” Unfortunately, the hero didn’t seem to care about my failing attempts at explaining my innocence, only charging towards my garden. I put my hands up to block the attack, and the plants responded, rising from the soil to form a protective barricade. I could hear metal thumping against plant but no matter how hard he cut; the wall held.
“Fell on plants? You expect me to believe that would kill the mighty Bullith? I will bury your head next to him as a trophy.” The hero dramatically wailed, unable to even cut a hole in my defenses. I kept one hand raised to hold my defenses while the other hand scooped down, using a set of roots to pick up the body, tossing Bullith out of the garden, towards the other hero.
“Here’s his body. I promise you will find no wounds on him. If you just put your sword away, I’m sure we can discuss this respectfully.” I expected the sound of the thumping to stop, only to hear a shriek followed by even more frantic slashes.
“YOU KILLED HIM, HE’S REALLY DEAD. I WILL DRIVE MY SWORD THOUGH YOUR THROAT.” His threats were empty, unable to even break a hole in my defenses, but that wasn’t what concerned me. It was the other voices that I could hear in the distance, each one getting attracted to the hero’s screams. I could handle one hero, but two or three? Eventually, they would outnumber me.
Searching for a way out, I glanced at the bushes surrounding my quaint cottage. I hated the idea of leaving my garden, but it had to be done. I lowered my defenses and put my focus into the bushes instead, growing them around the garden, making a thick, confusing wall of greenery that would hide me until I got into the forest.
The bushes were a maze, the tall thick shrubbery impossible for anyone else to navigate. For me, it was simple. I would keep walking straight until I hit a dead end. Once I encountered that, I would open the dead end and continue. After a few minutes of walking, I finally reached the forest that surrounded my cottage, able to still hear their confused curses behind me. I considered freeing them, but thought better of it. If I dropped the maze, they would only try to capture or kill me. I needed time to escape.
With nowhere else to go, I headed north, making my way to the small village of Tuntail. Maybe someone there could use a person with my skills?
 
 
 
(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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A sun-darkened hand reached into his satchel, fingers grasping at the cargo with practiced ease and withdrew, eight seeds held gently. A gentle, almost graceful twist of the wrist and they were deposited in the freshly tilled soil; he patted the rich earth down with his trowel before taking the watering can from its place on the wheelbarrow and gave them a taste of the life-giving liquid.
It may not look like much, but it's honest work.
Even he once dreamed of adventure, of challenges and trials that would break a lesser man and offer the greatest reward of all, glory eternal. A childish fancy for one who did not understand the better things in life are not gold and jewels, but a warm fire and a hearty meal. The one thing both dreams agree on is that it is best shared with loyal friends.
"My Lord?"
How many of those adventurers died young? Those that survived surely changed their tune, or perhaps they clung ever more desperately onto their dreams of riches and power; or worse, sought comfort in the bottle of a mug of ale. No, better to be content with the simple pleasure of a hard day's work.
"My Lord, you have a visitor."
He felt the earth move beneath his feet as he turned, bringing the young man who had spoken and his 'guest' into view. They were shaped like a human, difficult as it was to tell under that jagged armour, and whilst his class may not have made him as sensitive to such things as a Druid, but he had the experience necessary to sense the wrongness of the being that stood before him. The soil did not like it.
"Thank you Norman, I trust you showed him the proper courtesy?"
The young man nodded jerkily before he sketched a bow, then abruptly turned and while trying not to run, quickly left his Lord alone with the visitor. The older man sighed as he patted his hands on his upper legs, placing his trowel under an armpit as he did so.
"So, what can I do for you, good sir?"
The horned helmet tilted slightly as it looked him up and down. "YOU are Lord Rodney The Shoveler?" Incredulity stained its voice. "I am," He responded. "But I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage. To whom do I speak?" The figure growled. "I am Manche of The Kin. I come under orders to requisition your supplies."
Lord Rodney did not react beyond raising a single eyebrow. "It was my understanding that this kingdom was at war with The Kin, are you saying that has changed?" Manche chuckled darkly in cruel amusement. "Indeed it has, your King is dead and soon the capital shall fall under our rule. You will supply our army with food until the siege is ended, and then for the rest of your miserable life."
"I see." The Gardener turned back to his work, gazing out across the fields the King had given him years ago. "Did you enjoy your walk?" The warrior behind him snarled in frustration. "Did you not hear me, old man? Your kingdom will fall within the month." Again, the man who had earned the title The Shoveler spoke seemingly without concern.
"Those flowers are special, you know." The soldier had noticed them, as the young servant carefully strode between the beds - white on one side, purple the other - he took the direct route and trampled them in his path as is proper. The weak should always make way for the strong. "In fact, they're they same ones I had planted around the palace grounds."
Before he could order the old man to stop prattling Manche felt the nausea that had been irritating him for several minutes suddenly grow in intensity, forcing its way up his body until his mouth opened of its own volition, his knees buckled and the morning meal painted the earth. "What-" He coughed. "What did you do?" He demanded, voice burning with fury.
"Monkshood, or perhaps Devil's Helmet would be the more appropriate name to use. I bred that strain myself, fast-acting, potent, and if the antidote is not applied it is certainly fatal."
The soldier roared, forcing his weak and tingling legs to lift him back up to his impressive height as he drew his sword. "You will give me the antidote!" He threatened as the blade as dark as pitch pointed, trembling, at the Lord's heart. His would-be victim was unimpressed. "No, I don't think I will. Helping an enemy of the kingdom would be treason after all." With a battle cry that sounded more like a wheeze the dying one swung his sword with all his might.
It shattered on the older man's trowel. As he stared at his broken weapon in confusion The Shoveler walked past the unwanted guest, not even deigning to glance in his direction as they fell, the heavy armour sounding his death-knell.
"Your shovel, my Lord."
Lord Rodney thanked Norman for his thoughtfulness, taking the ironwood and mithril tool from reverent hands as he cast his mind to further concerns.
Adventuring, war, glory, these were things for younger and more foolish men to concern themselves with. But on the other hand, what was the point of growing old if you can't act the fool on occasion?
| 2021-11-12T11:42:53 | 2021-09-09T23:20:57 | 1,235 | 16 |
[WP] Humanity has been called in to teach an up and coming species how to defend themselves from the others in the galaxy. While there are much better, and more suitable, trainers- humans are the cheapest.
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On the farthest edges of the Universal Galactic Republic’s boarders is a tiny ice ball of a planet called Cephoria-032. It’s home to a rare metal typically only found in inhospitable environments, but when the Republic’s scouts found the planet, it was home to a very tribal yeti like species. The Republic does what it does best, build relations with the new species, setup trade, and exploit them.
Commander Jones and his band of miscreants *Grief of the Lion* land on Cephoria-032. Their mission is to capture the Republic’s outpost and kill the indigenous species that protect it. Before exiting their ship, Commander Jones addresses his 50 member crew.
“About a hundred clicks is an outpost. Our mission is to execute the local population, take over the outpost, and await further instructions. Intel given to us says the enemy is bear like with the ability to walk on two legs. They’re a tribal species, so advanced weaponry isn’t expected. We’ll be keeping a health length of distance between us and the natives, we’ll shoot them from a distance then close in when they’re weak. Questions?”
“Do we have enough people to take out an outpost? If they’re mining, they would have workers and possibly guards on site.” Captain Daniels asked.
“Good Question Daniels. I believe 50 men would be a good number for this mission, especially since we have the weaponry advantage. Because of the hostile environment, I don’t believe they have brought in an external party to work or guard the outpost. I’ve already sent out Jacobs and Smokes to recon for us. We will hear from them within the hour.”
Commander Jones paused for questions.
“All right dismissed, boots ready to hit the ground in 2 hours.”
---------------
“Fuck, the exosuit is barely holding up against these winds.” Jacobs cursed inside his helm, walking through the icy, rocky terrain, heading towards a small cliff overlooking the outpost ahead. The 6’7 giant of a man had troubles walking because of the snowy windstorm. Eventually, he got on his stomach and crawled up to the edge of the cliff using the retractable foot spikes of the exosuit (normally used for scaling/climbing) to steady himself on the edge of the cliff.
Smokes is comfortably sitting inside the Rover parked at the base of the cliff. She is providing local surveillance for Jacobs via drone that is also having a hard time piloting the harsh winds.
“At least you’re not freezing your ass off inside those exosuits. I have the heater cranked up in here and wearing my winter gear, and I’m still cold.” Smokes replied.
“Well, you could have worn one and come out here with me. I’m sure you can pilot the drone out here.”
“Yeah, but someone has to watch the rover, don’t want it stolen again right Jacobs?”
“It was one time. When are you go—“
“Hey Jacobs, you seeing this?” Smoke asked, flying the drone closer to the gates of the outpost.
“Hang on, let me bring it up on my HUD.” Jacobs said, pressing a button on his wrist.
A small screen opened up on the corner of Jacob's vision. “Holy shit, what does this mean?”
“That we’ve been fucked.” Smokes said.
The Drone hovered over the gates of the outpost, recoding the defenses. It was expected for the primitive civilization to have a wall, maybe a crude long range catapult, but they didn’t expect human bodies hanging off the edges of the walls like decorative deterrents. Majority of the bodies frozen solid with extensive frostbite damage, and in pieces.
The drone hovered for a few more seconds around the gate before being knocked down out of the sky. The last visual Jacobs and Smoke saw was the drone crashing down hard.
“Did the drone get taken out?” Jacobs asked.
“Yeah. It’s gone. It crashed. Could be wind, could be natives. Can you zoom in to see if you can find it?” Smokes asked.
“Yeah just a second.” Jacobs reached behind his back for a sniper rifle he brought with him attached to his exosuit. It took him a few minutes to place the sniper rifle evenly on the cliff. He looked through the scope.
A few of the Yeti like creatures had already surrounded the drone, trying to rip it apart with their long claw-like hands.
“Yeah it’s gone.” Jacobs commented, aiming up his sights with one of the creature’s head. *Bang* he thought.
The Rover made a long honking noise, one that would bring awareness to their presence to any nearby patrol. Jacobs turned around to see the rover is still stationary.
“Everything okay down there?” He asked.
Everything wasn’t okay.
The Yeti like inhabitants had found the rover and went to investigate it. Their claws sharp enough to break rocks dented the Rover’s metal. Smoke’s cry for help didn’t make it past the radio waves to Jacobs. In desperation Smoke smack the horn to blow out the creature’s eardrums and to alert Jacobs of the attack. The creatures didn’t stop, instead they grew angrier at the attempt and started slowly pulling back one of the rover’s doors with their pure strength.
Jacobs turned the sniper rifle around while the Rover is being thrashed by the Yetis. The snowy wind and the Yeti’s white fur made it hard to see in the distance, but with his sniper rifle he could mark specific locations and fire. 10 successive shots connected against a few of the attacking creatures, but it didn’t put any of them down. Instead they stormed towards the hill where Jacobs was located.
Inside the rover given a few seconds to breathe and figure out a plan Smoke went to enable the vehicles weapons. *Error - Weapons are non-functional*.
“Fucking bullshit.” She uttered. She tried radioing Commander Jones, but was out of range.
“Fuck. Sorry Jacobs.” She uttered.
Jacobs continued to fire as the Yetis ran towards him. It was like watching one of those Zombie films when a horde approaches someone with a pistol, sure he is hitting them but it isn’t stopping them. They’re making their ascent towards him.
“Fuck Smoke, you better have a plan to help me here.” He uttered under his breath.
The Rover moved towards the ship, leaving Jacobs against three of the five yetis.
**PART 2/Continuation due to length incoming soon below**
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The Rixators scribbled notes dutifully as the human, Bob, pointed out different aspects of the galactic map. Bob was a simple man, one who was easy to understand and much appreciated by Rixators when it came to intergalactic diplomacy instructions for their species.
"Professor Bob?" one Rixator raised his blue paw to the ceiling, as the human instructed whenever he had questions.
"Yes, Squibly?" Bob said pointing to him.
"I feel that we have gotten a through education when it comes to space-faring, but what about an invasion?" Squibly asked.
"Invading another planet?" Bob said, nonplussed.
"No, I mean what do you do in the case when your own planet is invaded? What's the best course of action for self-defense when you very well can't sustain long-term damage to your own planet."
Other Rixators nodded in agreement, appreciating that Squibbly was able to articulate a question they did not know they all had.
"Ah, an excellent question, Squibbly," Bob said, turning to the galactic map and erasing the screen with a click of his pen. He began drawing a few different colored circles on-screen and pointed to them authoritatively.
"So, you have found yourself under the military invasion of another species! They are surely going to try and take out all life on the planet! You need to gather troops for a counter-attack! What is the course of action that would best lead to the success of that objective?" Bob asked.
The room took a moment in thought. A Rixator raised her paw.
"Yes?" Bob pointed to her.
"It's a trick question. We are meant to prepare for such an onslaught at all times, and we would already have a plan of retaliation before such a calamity befell us," she said confidently. "We send the defense armada that we have planned just for such occasions."
Bob stared at her as if the idea had never occurred to him before.
"Err... okay, but say there is no defense armada. What do you do then?" Bob asked.
The Rixators tilted their ears in confusion.
"Professor..." Squibbly said, his thoughts still forming, "I don't think we would ever be without a defense armada."
"Okay, then you've just colonized a new planet. That's the one under attack!" Bob attempted.
"Our defense armadas go first. There is nothing more important to us than Rixator life. If any one of us died, it would be a travesty," Squibbly answered.
Bob squirmed in place uncomfortably.
"Alright, then what about in the case that the defense armada was recently destroyed?" Bob tried, tugging his collar which had warmed up considerably.
The Rixators nodded, the scenario now feeling more plausible. Bob sighed in relief.
"Yes," he said, imbued with confidence, "You were all thinking in much too optimistic an event. You are being dealt two invasions back to back. The first, you were able to hold off with heavy casualties to the defense armada. Now you are visited by a second villainous species determined to destroy Roxitoria. You need time to create a viable defense. What do you do?"
Again, the creatures furrowed their fur in thought, enjoying the challenge of the hypothetical.
"Are they striking at one central point?" a Rixator asked.
"Yes, seldom to invasions come at many points on a planet. It is much easier to strike a planet one piece at a time and steal resources as you go. Striking at one point also allows you to drive fear into your opponents by destroying their capital city in one strike, leaving them scrambling otherwise," Bob said, remembering his piloting days of early human conquest fondly.
"How vile." a Rixator said, the room humming in agreement. "What kind of species would target the intergalactic point known as a no-attack zone? Even the worst creatures wouldn't stoop that low." Bob's face went warm, but he tried not to show any difference in composure.
"Suppose they did?" Bob said, his voice dry and embarrassed.
A Rixator snapped its paws together as an epiphany struck.
"I've got it! You're at a loss. Send the elite pilots so that the others of the planet may escape. The fight will be a mission with only death in its wake since you're unable to form a cohesive force, but it will be a victory if the innocents can flee."
"Ha! Wrong," Bob laughed.
The students prepared to write diligent notes.
"You send in the other races as fodder for the superior race of your species to create the force to fight off the invading force!" Bob declared.
The aliens looked between themselves.
"'Superior race?' I'm afraid I don't understand," Squibbly said slowly.
"Ah, he means animals. Send in animals and then let the creatures at the highest of the food chain... Wait that doesn't make sense..." another Rixator said, stumped.
"No, no, you have different races within your species do you not? Perhaps with different colored fur?" Bob asked.
"Naturally," Squibbly nodded.
"Whichever one the worst is, you send in first without a plan. Then the next worse, and so on until the superior Rixators can amass their fleet for a counterattack," Bob said.
"Worst Rixator?" Squibbly shook his head, misunderstanding.
"Oh! I get it! It's a joke!" A Rixator in the back began laughing. "There was a species--I can't remember which--on planet Earth that would do that exact maneuver. They declared themselves the victors, even while they lost millions of people who could have otherwise survived if they had just worked together for their common survival!"
The room joined in laughing with the Rixator, howling at the absurdity of such an idea. Bob pulled at his collar again, sweat streaming down his brow and nose.
"Ha! Ha, yes you got it..." he said between the uproarious laugher. "Whatever she said about a defense armada was the *real* right answer."
Bob made a mental note of their reactions to his lesson. He had yet to be able to teach a single species anything about the history he knew except that they would laugh at it.
___________________________________
For more interplanetary stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
| 2020-07-06T23:55:57 | 2020-07-06T22:44:34 | 72 | 16 |
[WP] The dead have come back to life across the world, but they're not here to eat us. They're all fleeing from something terrible in the afterlife.
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"Dude, why are you back and why are you eating my Doritos instead of brains?" Kelsey asked while taking another hit from her bong.
"Well, after Bieber and Lil Wayne died in the Great Rap Battle of 2015 nobody would let them hang out or anything so they just kept rapping... We all got annoyed and came back... we'll only be here for a couple weeks... Tupac's taking care of it. Yo, can I hit that?"
Kelsey stared at her dead friend for a minute, he had been preserved rather well... for dying a month ago. Suddenly, she remembered all the LSD she took after the funeral and was really hoping this wasn't some fucked up flashback... or maybe she was hoping it was. Either way, she still passed the bong.
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[Newspaper Article]
**My husband the Spirit man**
"No we weren't together before he died but I met him when he came back and I just fell in love" described Lizzy when interviewed, after 3 months of knowing one another they sought out a priest to make there arrangement official. Lizzy is just one of thousands of teenagers that are getting hitched with spirits despite there parents best wishes leading to many questions as the the legality of spirit people and if they have the rights to get married.
Read the full article on pg.7
[Next article] **Ghosts Gave Me Crabs!**
| 2015-01-23T10:12:07 | 2015-01-23T08:49:44 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species.
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The child stared up at the museum display in wonder, her 'ice cream' dripping onto the floor beside her. The nice lady at the shop had told Bo'tang that 'ice cream' was a treat humans used to eat during the Festival of Boga. The humans called the festival 'summer' in the English language and 'verano' in Spanish. Anyway, apparently this 'ice cream' was something humans would eat to stay cool when it got too hot. This type of ice cream was called 'chocolate'.
As Bo'tang lingered by the main display in the 'First Explorers' section of the Intergalactic History Museum, she looked at the area called 'Your Age in Human Years'. According to the display, if she were living on earth, she would be twelve years old. Bo'tang thought, 'You know you were an important species when an entire section of a museum is dedicated towards you.' She skipped over the parts she already knew about the so-called 'Cold War' and the Space Race. Why it was called the Cold War when lots of it took place over the summer, she didn't know. What she did know was that two amazing countries called 'the USA' and 'Russia' were so keen to expand their horizons beyond their planet that they went from no space travel at all to launching a satellite into orbit and landing on the Earth's only moon in less than one hundred years.
Bo'tang's mother called for her in the distance, but Bo'tang didn't want to go get lunch yet, she wanted to learn more about the humans. As she dilly-dallied, she noticed a grand display case in the center of a room off to the side, which held many artefacts recovered from the planet Earth. The first one was called the 'Tara Brooch', and it was apparently from a country called Ireland. Bo'tang eagerly read the description of the history of the item and gasped internally when she learned that this beautiful piece of art had been created more than two thousand years before humans went into space, before humans even had electricity. It was such a gorgeous piece that she had assumed it must have been made with some advanced piece of technology. She realized, with a pang in her heart, how extraordinary these humans must have been. They were entirely alone in the universe, yet they put their loneliness aside and found the passion and drive to create small, delicate pieces of beauty. It was tragic that the actions of an ignorant few led to the death of an entire species eons before the next species had even begun exploring their own world.
As Bo'tang stood looking in on the artifacts, another caught her attention. It was a small pyramid, a tiny replica of the immense monuments which humankind had built to house and honor the dead. Bo'tang thought it was wonderful that humans would literally spend years building these incredible structures for their dead, even though they would never be thanked for it. These monuments weren't just a place for the dead; Bo'tang imagined them as living creatures, reaching for the sky, stretching desperately to find any proof that they weren't the only ones out there.
Bo'tang's mother finally caught up to her. 'Come on, Bo'tang, let's go and try that 'fish and chips' dish your aunt told us about!' she said with a tired smile. Determined, Bo'tang managed to drag her over to the next artifact before they left: a tiny television with the words 'Apollo 11' written across the top. Her mother reluctantly pressed the 'play' button on the display case and a blurry video of a rocket soaring through the sky began to play, with a man in the background exclaiming, 'Liftoff! We have a liftoff!' as the lonely species began its solo journey across the stars.
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It had been twenty years since we had received the first communication from intelligent life. We knew we weren't alone, but, perhaps in our own hubris, we had assumed we were the most advanced. Interstellar communication, though, was something we wouldn't have even considered.
That message had changed the course of our history. Warring factions united, and countries bound together to achieve one purpose: space travel. As a species we had united under that one task. Of course, the message had been completely indecipherable, but after analyzing the tone, we found no reason to assume hostility. Still, as a defensive measure, they picked a very odd couple to embark upon this expedition.
I was an intellectual at heart. I'd studied languages and communication for my entire life, but I hadn't limited myself. Over my life, I'd earned a rapport as one of the best architects and engineers in my planet, and I'd taken up a hobby of gardening. With all of this, I suppose I was a logical choice, but I was still dumbfounded when the World Government approached me - a relative nobody to them.
One of my companions, Kharr, was a tournament winner every sport, as well as a skilled warrior. Of course, he wasn't the typical thoughtless solider - he had also studied construction materials. To round off our group, we had a scientist, Aida.
After twenty years of world peace and collaboration, they had chosen their representatives. The three of us were the group to whom they entrusted the all-important First Contact. Inherently, the mission was dangerous, of course. We could have misinterpreted their message in hundreds of ways, and it was very possible that it was a war cry or a warning in general. However, if we landed, we were tasked with making contact and hopefully establishing a relationship. This species surely had a surplus of information to teach, and our job was to just be the ideal students.
Even after preparing for the mission for the past decade, I felt completely terrified as I sat in the Rest Chamber. We were set on an automatic course to take us to the origin of the signal, which we'd traced to a planet nearly three billion light years away. With the collective intelligence of our greatest minds, faster than light travel had become possible by harnessing nuclear reactions which allowed manipulation of atomic mass in the ship's core.
"Are you ready for this?" Nalshir, the head physicist, asked me. The other two had already been laid to rest, but I was hesitant. As the captain, I felt as though I should be awake for the travel, in case something went wrong. However, they'd explained to me a dozen times, that the chambers were specifically designed to defend our bodies from the pressure of massless travel.
"No," I laughed, shaking my head sadly.
"I'd question your sanity if you were."
"Let's do this," I nodded. Taking one more deep breath, I laid back into the chamber and watched the door close over me.
I didn't dream. That was the most striking part to me, as strange as it may be. The sleep, however long it lasted, seemed instantaneous. The moment the door closed, it opened once again. My first thought was that the mission had been cancelled, or that they'd forgotten to give me a crucial piece of information. As the chamber opened, I expected to see Nalshir's face, but I was greeted with an empty ship.
​
(Sorry, my stories are running long today! Part 2 is in the comments)
| 2019-08-13T15:51:09 | 2019-08-13T15:42:34 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] Once a year you switch bodies with a random person who is best in the world at a certain skill. You can't change back until you discover what this skill is. You've been changed for a month and are starting to get worried.
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I wake up confused and disoriented. In a bed definitely not my own. A woman I've never seen before.
Of course. It's September 26th. I must've forgot. September Switch. I nudge the girl awake.
"Hey..... Just so you know. It's September Switch and I'm not your husband. What's his skill?"
She motions me away with her hand as she mutters "plumbing" She rolls away and resumes her slumber.
My vision flickers as It fades to black and back again. Turning over just to make sure she's there. I wrap my arm around my wife's waist and drift back to sleep.
|
There I am, sitting on the couch, with the chips of course, reflecting on my glorious, wondrous, incredibly successful past lives. I remember being the world champion of ping pong back when people were executed for losing a game. I reflected on when I was was the very greatest at jumping over newly born babies on a snowboard. And who could forget being the most skilled person ever at sex?
I have indulged an entire month to this couch, feeling nothing but pride.
| 2016-09-26T07:21:54 | 2016-09-26T06:51:01 | 136 | 23 |
[WP] A suicide hotline operator realizes that the person he's talking down really should kill themselves.
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“Hello, this is suicide assistance. My name is Frannia, how can I assist you today?” It was my first day on the job as a suicide prevention operator. In fact, I was just hired, but, not wanting to reveal my novelty, I kept a steady pitch and waited patiently for the caller to speak.
“Um… my name is Shizo. I need help.” Finally came a reply.
“How can I be of service, Shizo?”
“Look, I killed my entire family yesterday. It was an accident. I have a horrible disorder that sometimes I can’t control my consciousness. I can’t forgive myself but I didn’t do it on purpose. I just need someone to tell me that it’s okay, that I deserve a second chance, that even a killer can be forgiven.”
A long pause ensued. My eyes teared up with hatred. “Sorry Shizo, I can’t help you. My family was murdered by a psychopath yesterday as well. I can’t forgive a killer.”
“I just need someone to tell me it’s okay. Just one person who believes in me.” The desperation in his voice was as strong as my hatred.
“Sorry, I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. I know it’s not your fault, but I just can’t forgive you.”
“PLEASE. Lie to me! You’re a suicide prevention operator for god’s sake! You’re suppose to convince me that my life is worth living. It’s like the opposite right now…” The caller started sobbing intensely, his words unclear but the meaning still understood.
I’m sobbing too now, “I’m sorry. I can’t. I just can’t. I wish I can, but I can’t. People like you… You are dangerous. You killed my family and you don’t deserve to be part of society! YOU SHOULD JUST DIE!”
For a second, nothing happened. Then it was clear the message got across when a deathly gun shot was heard by neither party.
In the middle of the room was Shizo Frannia with two phones, a gun, and a bullet in his head.
|
"H-hello? Operator?"
"Ma'am, yes, please stay with us."
"God, help me. *sniff* I don't *want* to die!"
"It's ok, ma'am, you don't have to die."
"I do, I *do*, oh Lord, why must it be *me*?"
"Where is your present location, Ms... Ms-"
"S-Svenson, dear. 46th and Maple. Don't come, please."
"Ms. Svenson, the display shows there are already a lot of units in that area-"
"I know, I know! God, help, it's so hot here."
"Ma'am, you've dialed a sui-"
"*sniff* Tell me I'm going to live, p-please."
---
"Hey, Jen, check the TV," a co-worker called from the back of the kiosk.
The news focused on a high-rise. There, a woman, in her early thirties, huddled by an open window. The woman was crying into a cell phone as a fire tore up the cubicles behind her.
"*sniff* Tell me I'm going to live, p-please."
Jen looked at the phone in front of her and back at the television. The firemen would not reach Ms. Svenson in time.
"Ms. Svenson, I..."
Jen paused.
"I-It's your job, right? To tell people they are going to live?"
"You're going to live, ma'am. ...But-"
"But what?"
"Ms. Svenson. I..."
"What is it?"
"I need you to jump for me."
"But the firemen-"
"They can't make it up there, Ms. Svenson. They've set up a life net for you."
But it was a lie.
"I'm scared."
The woman on the television approached one of the burst-out windows.
...
"You're going to live, Ms. Svenson."
She turned off the television, and cried.
| 2013-12-23T15:47:58 | 2013-12-23T15:11:05 | 179 | 50 |
[WP] Aliens find Earth, and decide that our primitive technology and abundant resources make us ripe for conquest. What they don't know is that most of humanity left long ago. The people still here are just Amish, and the Solar System is just a nature preserve.
|
Little Johnny looked up in amazement as he saw numerous flashing lights in the otherwise crystal clear, blue sky. He tugged on his father's sleeve, whom was milking a cow.
*"Dad? What's that?"*
His father paused his chore and followed his son's gaze. He smirked and patted the boy's back.
*"That, my son, are demons. Imps, demons, goblins and much, much more."*
The boy was frightened.
***
Numerous small, yet wide aliens skittered through the ship's bridge. They all had 6 legs and 4 arms, which ended in razor sharp claws. The Earth was gawked at by the captain's four bulging black eyes.
**"We are in position, my lord"**, one of the aliens on his side said.
The captain's face became disfigured horribly as he smiled.
**"Good. Prepare our weapons. We'll send in a shuttle with elites to demand their surrender. By the time our troops get back, we can start bombarding their cities and deploying our armies."**
**"Yes, my lord."** The same thing said, scuttling away.
***
The boy's father patted his back with a warm, comforting smile.
*"There's no need to worry son. Even though there are lots and lots of demons up there. The Angels will arrive to protect us from them."*
Little Johnny looked back up again, both terrified from the demons in the sky, yet slightly comforted by what his father promised. His eyes widened as the number of lights had seemingly doubled in a matter of seconds.
***
**My lord, strange ships have jumped into the system. We do not recognize them, but they brought more ships than we did!"**
The captain's face became even uglier, as he observed the newly arrived fleet. He stabbed the console in front of him.
**"Who are you and what are you doing here?!"** He demanded. **"These pitiful creatures are ours to take. Do not dare interfere!"** He added, sounding like he'd have no trouble in proving he meant it. He'd be merely annoyed.
A solid minute passed before his console brought out a response.
*"This is Admiral Rob Gonzago speaking, commander of the seventh fleet, part of the Human Galactic Federation, with whose authority I am speaking. We have observed your species for a while now. We cannot allow you to attack, enslave or kill these humans. Our warnings have been ignored - written off as void pranks if you're curious. This, is why we must interfere."*
The captain was positively enraged. He stabbed his console again, though just as he was about to speak, others spoke up instead.
**"My lord, their weapons are charging!"** One of them said.
**"Our shields are being lowered"** Another one said, whom was so shocked, he even forgot to add a title to his statement.
The ugly, green alien watched in a burning fury as his console suddenly beeped to life, without his command. Numerous logs were showed. He quickly noticed they were accomplishments of him and his race. All of their past conquests, heists, and genocides, performed through lies, treachery or just brute, merciless force.
His face deformed again at the memories.
***
Johnny watched the sky as the various shiny dots started expanding briefly, before being put out entirely. He let out a soft gasp as his father turned up next to him, having put the half full bucket of milk away.
*"See? I told you the Angels would come to protect us. They're defeating them right now!"* He whispered, pointing his index finger upwards.
The boy nodded as the dots to the right slowly disappeared. By the time about half the dots were gone, he nudged his father and asked:
*"Are the Demons defeated now?"*
His father nodded, though mentioned there may be other Demons in the future who may come back. He reassured his son though, that the Angels would always arrive in time to guard them.
***
*"All targets down, commander. No signs of hostile life forms. Earth is untouched and will not be bothered by the debris."*
Admiral Gonzago nodded, his eyes shut halfway, though his body stood stiffly upright, hands behind his back.
*"Good. Give the all-clear signal to fleet six point five and get us back to base."*
|
***33 Essalis 5690 SGY (Standard Galactic Year)***
***SL-3440S System, Planet TR-4750***
"Approaching designated planet in five, four, three, two- Star-jump completed. Welcome to TR-4750, or *Earth* as the local lifeforms called it in their Pioneer 11 space probe plaque." The ASV *Morsara*, the Galactic Defense Force's flagship frigate-type vessel, lingers above the giant blue marble which shone beautifully when compared to its more bland and barren neighbors.
"In five minutes we're going to enter TR-4750's orbit. We don't know what kind of resistance would be there for us... So I advise you to always be vigilant," the expedition leader, Captain Valech, ordered through the frigate's intercom. "Well then, here we go. Brace for the unexpected, people!"
In contrary to their expectations, the crew of *Morsara* wasn't met with any form of opposition at all after entering the orbit. Unlike other inhabited planets they have explored which were at least guarded by the centuries long obsolete Type B596 Sub-Orbital Defense Platforms, TR-4750's only defenses were the countless space debris surrounding its orbit.
"Strange indeed. For an inhabited planet to be so defenseless like this... Perhaps TR-4750's civilization is still at Tier 6, or maybe even Tier 7," the Captain wondered.
"I don't think so, sir," the ship's chief scientist, Professor Barandor, disagreed. "To be able to produce a space probe as advanced as *Pioneer 11*, a civilization must at least attain a Tier 5 ranking. From what it looks like, this planet's inhabitants achieved that ranking -or maybe even higher already- but were caught in some unfortunate disasters and therefore... died out from the place they were born at."
"You may be right... Ah well, whatever happened to this planet's inhabitant, remember that our objective was to deem whether this planet is worthy of being seized by the Alliance to be made as a Joint International Mining Area. Larath, what can you find out about this planet's chemical elements?"
"By Azura, this planet has everything! Iron, gold, magnesium, nickel, sulfur, uranium; it even still has the long-gone oil inside it! This planet is an unending gold mine, and we're damned lucky to find this place so unguarded like this," Larath beamed. "Wait, I'm detecting multiple heat signatures ahead us. They are bipedal- Well look at this, the ones depicted in Pioneer's and New Horizons' mural: the *homo sapiens sapiens*!"
Outside, a gathering of TR-4750's local denizens took place. All of them carried a weapon of some sort, although they were far from what the GDF soldiers carried with them. Some brought what is called as an *axe*. a tool mostly used to chop trees but also as a weapon in desperate times, and some uses a *bow*, a curved arc of wood, which two edges are connected with a string that is used to project *arrows*, medium-length wooden sticks with small iron blades as their point. The locals attacked *Morsara* with their antiquated weaponries, although to no effect at all.
"They are pretty much Tier 6 or 7. They don't even possess firearms for the spirits' sake. What they are using were tools used by our pre-historic ancestors millions of years ago," the Captain murmured. "Poor things they are. Squad Three, go outside and put them into sleep with the tranquilizers. Take them inside for examination after that." Squad Three immediately complied and put the locals to sleep in no time.
"Well that was quick. Larath, is there any point of interest nearby that I should know of?" the Captain asked.
"There's a huge structure about 4 kilometres from this area, sir. I don't know what that is, but it seems pretty important as it is fortified by walls made of some unknown steely-substance," Larath answered.
"Thank you, Larath. Squad One, you and I are going to head to the place Larath has designated on our NavSys. Gear up as fast as you can, soldiers!"
| 2016-01-04T09:22:10 | 2016-01-04T08:40:07 | 107 | 29 |
[WP] A classic ‘knight saves princess’ story, but the narrator is utterly insane.
|
Once upon a time there was a knight who lived in a castle by the sea. In martial prowess he stood head and shoulders above his peers, and in acts of chivalry none could match him. He spent his days practicing his lance and his sword, and of course riding his trusted war steed, Dauntless, through the emerald cliffs by the crashing blue waves. Day after day he trained in solitude and waited for the hour when his kingdom needed his sword.
That hour finally arrived. Tragedy had struck the kingdom of Fantastica. The evil wizard Vironius had died after a spell back fired, transforming his penis into a most irritable king cobra. News spread throughout the land that the Sinister Vironius was snuffed out by his own venomous member, and the people were sad. Who now, would kidnap the fair Princess Dianne? Who now would begin the dramatic sequence of events that would end in her rescue and safe return? The people of Fantasitica had come to rely on these kidnappings to lift their spirits from the horrible realities of indentured servitude. It distracted them from hordes of lice, the constant dysentery, and most importantly the stench of each other. Something had to be done, lest they become focused and work together towards socioeconomic reform.
Hearing of this, the knight took action. He stormed the king's castle on his trusted war steed, Dauntless, and after the slaying of twenty seven of the kings guards came to the chambers of the princess. Seeing the furrow of her lovely brow, the knight explained to the princess he must kidnap her for the good of the realm. She agreed, but he told her not to agree as that would make a poor start to a kidnapping. She then disagreed. Satisfied, he stole the Princess Dianne from her castle and took her to his home by the sea.
He placed her at the bottom of a deep hole, slick and inclimbable on the sides to prevent an untimely escape. Each day he passed a basket down to her containing the realms finest skin lotions of milk and honey. The knight explained to the princess that she must take the lotion from the basket and apply it to her skin, and again the princess was confused.
Vironius never did this, she explained. The evil wizard just locked her in a tower by a single window and fed her nice things like cakes and interesting cheeses. The knight explained he had a better idea, and that once her skin was soft from the lotion he would cut it off and sew it into a Dianne suit for himself to wear in the privacy of his castle by the sea. Reluctantly, the princess put the lotion on the skin.
And then one day, when the skin of the princess had nearly reached a most appealing state of luster and suppleness, a special member of the king's guard tracked down the knight's castle by the sea. Sir Jodie Foster found the princess in her hole, killed the good knight with her glock 9mm broadsword, then rescued Dianne and returned her to the King with much buzz in the news media. The peasants cheered the heroic act, once again ignoring the brutal inequality and retched smell of their daily lives. The feudal system of government had survived, all thanks to the brave, now thoroughly deceased knight, who lived in a castle by the sea.
|
I was in Innstown, in a shadowy inn,
I met an old man with a beard.
He cornered me and said "I'll begin
my tale, but I warn you: it's weird."
"No thanks," I said, standing my ground,
"I'm only here for a stout."
He picked me up, turned me around
and boxed my ears all about.
As I fell with an "ouch" into a hard chair
he pricked a soft egg with his sword
and I understood I was pickled there
until his old fartship got bored.
"It begins," he began, "with a wandering knight
who went by Messer Carbonado
he wandered by day--yay he wandered by night!
peacefully like a tornado."
I was glued with a glum glue to the hum-
drum tale that the old brave expounded;
upon the seat, my seat it went numb
and shook with his voice that resounded:
"Ser Carbonado had travelled four miles
for hearing a dame was distressed.
He crossed country--o'er brook and o'er stile
all for his valour to test.
He came to a tower, he came to it fast
by whipping his cream-coloured steed
and up at its top like the top of a mast
some fluttering hair he espeed."
I tried not to giggle, and not to give way,
but the half-rhyme was laughably shit.
As he boxed both my arms, I rued the day
that ever I did laugh at it.
"'Fair sir,'" he went on, dusting his sleeves,
"Came a voice down from ever so far.
'Be you a valiant, for this gang of thieves
has chained me high up in this tar.'"
I needn't say what violence ensued,
I hardly escaped with my toes--
but even his violence was hardly as rude
as that he did to English poetry and prose.
"'Come up, dearest knight', came the voice down,
'And soon you shall have your reward,
for I am the lady of yonder town;
my father its fiefdom and lord.'"
With narry a thought, rushed in did the knight,
breaking the door with his lance
and flurried he fleet up many a flight
in the hope of a forming romance.
But at the top step, his footing it faltered
and his eyes grew ever so big;
his hopes they were dashed--conceptions altered:
there stood I in a wig!
Oh I bashed him and bashed him and buggered him fair,
then I dashed out his brains something gnarly.
I boiled his bones and I ate him right there
with some bread that I made out of barley."
He laughed and he laughed; his mad hollow eyes
danced like a flame that grows long
and suddenly (much to my surprise)
I found myself laughing along.
--But don't edge away, dear friend, lovely stranger;
I'm really just pulling your leg.
Sit down on this stool, you are in no danger--
let me buy you a beer and an egg!
| 2018-12-21T05:01:17 | 2018-12-21T04:22:30 | 280 | 12 |
[WP] A boy in High School discovers he can create nations simply by vandalising his geography book
|
I always wondered what it would be like if we could live in a world where everyone was happy; where every problem had a solution. We wouldn't have to get rid of the thieves or abusers or even killers. There'd just be a way for them to live with everyone else without doing harm.
I thought of this instead of listening to Mr. Pickering, the geography teacher. I didn't remember what he was talking about or when I even zoned out. I just knew that what I had in mind was much more interesting.
My fingers turned my textbook pages boredly until they found the world map. It was horizontal and big enough to strength across two pages. I scanned the continents, still daydreaming about my perfect world. What if it wasn't the whole world, though? What if it was just one place?
I picked up my red pen and doodled a random shape between South America and Africa. What would it be called? I was never really good at coming up with names, so I just wrote "nameless" in the center. Upon writing it, Mr. Pickering spoke a world that sent shivers through my body. "Nameless."
I looked up suddenly, wondering if he saw what I did. But how could he have? He was across the room; I worried all the same. Looking around, I saw that everyone else was paying attention.
"Founded in 1867," Mr. Pickering went on, "by two brothers named James and Samuel Johnson." Frowning with confusion, I glanced over at his PowerPoint. Right there between South America and Africa was my nameless country, made in the exact shape that I drew it. I looked back down at my textbook, and then at the board, and then at the red pen, and then the other people in my class. They listened to him with bored faces.
I drew a smaller country right under it, giving it my own name, "Daniel." Sure enough, Mr. Pickering began to give us the history of Daniel.
In that moment, I realized three things. One, I was terrified. Two, I had the power to change the world. And three, if you have the power to change the world, and it terrifies you, it's a great idea.
|
There's this guy sitting in the desk beside me who hasn't looked up, not even once since the class commenced. Mrs. Hewitts is on her tip toes writing on the chalk board shit that's going to be on our final exam for the year and after staring aimlessly at the board of what was not sinking into my head, I started to wander and found that the guy next to me is completely more comatose than I to this class. Perhaps he was neck deep into that text book studying everything word for word, I'm not sure but I haven't seen him blink once the entire time. Now he's slightly taken a back - there's beads of sweat swirling down his neck onto his back - the glasses on his squarish face are steaming like wildfire and yet there's nothing happening all at once. Seriously, what is up with this guy?
I gnawed at my pencil; eyes fixated on every fibre of his being. Something deterred me from rendering this guessing game useless, so I remained in my otherwise distanced nature. He scribbled continuously over the textbook, which to my surprise as I leaned over, I had discovered that the page was opened up on the map of the world. Risk for idiots? I decided to risk it all. And that's when he pulled me in on everything; the cleverly mapped out nations, all fixed into the western coast of Africa all the way to as far as an almost extensive subcontinent in Asia. They were all drawn in an array of colorful sharpie markers, shaking me from the very core and sending chills about the air. 'Pull yourself together, this isn't real!' I thought to myself. No one man, no boy, a mere high schooler could possibly create real nations with a sharpie.
Mrs. Hewitts, in her usual meek and composed voice, said "Quiet you!" As she started on the next sentence. That was when we both noticed that every leter, word for word, all drawn out in plain white chalk, read the the fictitious nations this guy had just drawn into his text book. Oh man. If this is on the final, I am so fucked.
| 2016-06-04T13:42:57 | 2016-06-04T11:07:21 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] It's the first week of Magic theory class. You've finally gotten to the basics of the subject. As your professor talks you notice something bothering you. You raise your hand and ask the proffesor about it. They blink and look at the board, then back at you. They ask you to stay after class.
|
"Young man, why are you trying to leave class?" called Professor Clock. He lifted his larger, mechanized hand and poised a book for a throw. His smaller hand pointed to the boy in the back row.
Jack jerked to a stop, though his hand didn't surrender the doorknob. The lanky boy pulled his book bag higher and sheepishly replied, "I'm in the wrong class." Jack could feel the blush crawling up his cheeks to his ears, and he shook his curly brown hair to cover the scar that ran across the skin around both eyes.
"I'll be out of your way," continued Jack and put pressure on the handle. His brows knitted. The door was locked. He searched the room for other doors, but he was sure this was the same he used to come in.
With a heavy thud, Professor Clock diverted his book to the desk. "There's no such thing. No one comes here if they're not supposed to. In the first place, you wouldn't have been able to get in if you weren't scheduled for Exorcism 101." The professor polished his round glasses with the side of his field gilet, his little hand working delicate circles. He cleared his throat and nodded toward a seat in the front.
Still, Jack didn't move. "Sir... Well, I'm not in Exorcism 101. I think I missed my class. I'm supposed to be in Spirit Disposal 455. The chalkboard confused me."
Professor Clock's hands froze and both teaching assistants glanced at the chalkboard. There was nothing there. The class traded glances. Who was this weirdo?
A moment of silence descended while the class waited for Professor Clock to correct Jack. "Huh." The instructor let out a disbelieving huff. "Well, this is new. I guess I'll have you see me after class. Take a seat."
Jack stood still debating whether it was worth it, but ultimately decided to stay. He ran an agitated hand down the front of his curly hair and patted it over his eyes. The front row was thoroughly spotlighted along with the rest of the stage. He didn't want anyone to see his pure white irises. After all, white irises were a sign of possession.
Behind him, whispers started up amongst the students, and it prickled the back of his neck. More than anything, Jack hated attention. His knuckles were white on the sides of his desk. He just wanted to get out of here and double-check his schedule with the registrar's office.
When the class began in earnest, Jack discretely glanced around the room. Everyone looked young—more like college freshmen rather than the juniors and seniors he was expecting. He rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a purple pill that would stave off the effects of body rejection. The dean, a friend of his mother's, had insisted he take it every day at noon even though it was his own body. While Professor Clock walked the class through basic tactical weapons—everything Jack had already seen before—he swallowed the pill with water from a crumpled bottle that was in his pack.
He'd taken Exorcism 101 two years ago, and he knew this material like the back of his hand. Furthermore, he was now a part of the school's elite Field Crew, a group that cleaned up after the professional exorcists, so he couldn't help but yawn.
He barely held back the scoff at the dagger displayed on the professor's desk. It was useless, even in close combat. The standard-issue tactical weapons were as good as scratches on any level beyond three. Level one and two demons were barely blips on the radars. They were for the small fry, part-time exorcists that needed a second job to sustain themselves. Jack was already taking care of those on his off-hours.
When the class finally ended, Professor Clock cleared his throat loudly by his desk.
"Huh? What?" snorted Jack, mopping up his drool with his hoodie sleeve.
"Thank you," said the professor sarcastically, "for filling up the class with your dreadful snores. That's the oomph I really needed." The old man deadpanned.
"S-sorry about that," replied Jack, patting his brown hair over his forehead.
A soul sword materialized next to the professor in his bigger hand. "Now, why don't you tell me what a demon is doing in my class, hmm?" Next to him, the assistants materialized their tactical pistols.
The swipe was faster than Jack could track. His instincts took over. The professor and his assistants stared up at the boy hanging onto the ceiling. Their eyes glowed amber, searching his body for tell-tale signs of putrefaction, but they didn't move any closer. Professor Clock continued, "That class is a dummy class used to attract lingering ghosts. The class is enchanted to appear only on the schedules of ghosts or demons. You're not a ghost since my separation spell didn't work while you were sleeping, which means only one thing." His cranky voice dipped low at the end.
Jack activated the miasma shield that Dean Blackwood had given him. He didn't want to fight humans if he could help it. He debated whether he should prioritize defending himself or running away.
"I'm not a demon. I'm human," grumbled Jack.
In the jump, his hair was swept back from his face, showing his opalescent eyes and the scar, the place the devil had reached with his claws. In a louder voice, he called out, "I'm a sin eater. I've been eating demons since I was a kid. I didn't know it was something weird. I grew up with—" No. He would not reveal their presence to people he didn't trust. "Dean Blackwood forced me to enroll here."
Professor Clock narrowed his eyes. "You stay right there until I call Blackwood." Not taking his eyes off Jack, he snapped his fingers at one of his assistants. "Nightshade, get Commander Lee on the phone and have him transfer us to General Blackwood."
​
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 2\]](https://www.reddit.com/user/AntheaWald/comments/u5ztkb/the_combat_exorcists_part_2/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 3\]](https://www.reddit.com/user/AntheaWald/comments/u77eyg/the_combat_exorcists_part_3/)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 4\]](https://www.reddit.com/user/AntheaWald/comments/uawqyq/the_combat_exorcists_part_4/)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Prologue\]](https://www.reddit.com/user/AntheaWald/comments/uow3xn/the_combat_exorcists_prologue/)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 5\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/thecombatexorcist/comments/uq7qpl/the_combat_exorcist_part_5/) (New - posted 15 May 2022)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 6\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/thecombatexorcist/comments/uvdpnf/the_combat_exorcist_part_6/) (New - posted 22 May 2022)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 7\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/thecombatexorcist/comments/v0gqie/the_combat_exorcist_part_7/)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 8\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/thecombatexorcist/comments/vax15f/the_combat_exorcist_part_8/)
|
Ms. Harion stared at me.
I stared at her.
The classroom had never been so quiet before.
"Atlas," she furrowed her brow. "I'm unsure what exactly you're asking, here..."
Whispers began to float around the classroom and I started to feel a bit of moisture around my temples.
"Uhh... never mind," I sunk into my seat.
"No," she said with a smile. "If you have a question, I'm sure someone else has the same question and they're just too scared to ask. Please, help me understand what you're missing. It's okay!"
I swallowed and slowly glanced behind me at the other kids. Their eyes were burning the back of my head as I turned back to the teacher and tried to reiterate my question.
"Y-you said that the color of magic usually indicates which elemental property it consists of..."
"Yes," she encouraged me.
I didn't want to ask it again, but we were already here.
"... How do I know what color a spell is?"
You'd think someone had walked through the door, slipped on a banana peel, and then farted when they hit the ground. The kids were laughing so hard that I couldn't even hear Ms. Harion's words as she attempted to restore order.
"HE DOESN'T KNOW COLORS!!" screamed one boy as the teacher began to raise her voice and threaten disciplinary action. I felt the tears coming and I knew that if I cried, it was all over for me at this school.
I instead opted to gather my things and make for the door. I heard the teacher calling after me, but I pretended not to hear her as I pushed the door open and closed it behind me. Even halfway down the hall, I could still hear the ruckus of the classroom. Honestly, it wasn't *that* funny.
I heard the door open and close, followed by the sounds of her high heels striking the tile as she followed me down the hall.
"Atlas, please, wait just a moment," she called after me.
I sighed shakily and stopped– I was obedient to a fault.
"Hey," she said softly, kneeling down to my level. She put her soft hand on my shoulder and turned me around to face her, "Atlas, it's alright. I... I don't even think they were laughing at *you*, they were laughing at something else."
"I d-don't understand," I whimpered, trying to hold it together.
"Would you be so kind as to see me after school?" she asked softly.
I sniffled, and wiped my nose with my sleeve, "Okay."
"Do your parents pick you up, or do you take the train?"
"My mom comes," I responded. "I don't h-have a dad..."
"Do me a favor and bring your mother with you," she instructed. "I won't make you come back to class, we conclude in about ten minutes anyway," she stood up. "But you should go wait at your next classroom and head in when the bell tolls."
"Okay," I nodded, still avoiding eye contact. "Thanks..."
x - - x - - ★ - - x - - x
"Mrs. Grimbrooke," the teacher shook hands with my mother. "Thank you for coming."
"Of course," she responded, folding her arms and glancing down at me. "Atlas hasn't done anything has he?"
"No, not at all," she smiled and shook her head. "He just asked me a... very interesting question during class today."
"Oh? Something you haven't already heard a hundred times?" she chuckled.
Ms. Harion shared a laugh with her before clarifying, "Well, yes, I would say so, actually. He asked me... how would you be able to tell which color a spell is?"
There was a pause.
"Atlas," my mother looked down at me. "Can you not tell which color a spell is?"
I swallowed and scanned the floor, "... no."
"Are spells... all one color?" Mrs. Harion asked next.
"No," I shook my head. "I can't see them."
"Colors?" asked my mother, kneeling next to me.
"Spells," I finally admitted as she ran a single hand through my hair. "I can't see spells."
My mother and my teacher exchanged concerned glances.
"Not even your own?" my mother pressed further. "Atlas, why didn't you tell me?"
"... I wasn't sure," I said softly. "But if they're supposed to have colors..."
"Mrs. Grimbrooke... if little Atlas can't *see* magic, then..."
"No," my mother shook her head.
"I'm not saying-"
"Whatever you're about to say," my mother cut her off. "The answer is no. We'll figure something out."
That night, dinner was quiet. She'd made my favorite in an attempt to cheer me up, which I *did* appreciate, but it didn't change the fact that I was laughed out of a classroom today.
"Atlas..." she broke the long silence. "I know things have been difficult, especially since your sister left."
"I don't get why she has to go to some faraway school," I grumbled as I poked at my macaroni.
"Well," she set her fork down. "Your sister is special... just like you. She has to go to a school where they know how to teach someone of her talents. Just like I'm sure you'll need special teaching too. You're both such special children."
"I'm not special," I said as my appetite suddenly left me. "I'm *different*. Leo is going to find out what happened today, and when he does..."
"I spoke to your principal about him," she interjected. "That boy won't be bothering you anymore."
"You said that the last three times," I scooted my chair out and left the table.
"Atlas," she called after me.
I closed myself off in my room and collapsed on my bed. I knew tomorrow was going to suck and before I knew it I was walking down to the Magi School next to my mother in complete silence. The wind blew the orange leaves across the walkway and they crunched under my feet as I made my way toward my doom.
"He won't bother you," she was the first to speak.
"He *will*," I squeaked.
In no time at all, we were standing in front of the school. I hugged her goodbye and she started back down the walkway. I heaved a heavy sigh and turned to see that he and his friends were already waiting for me on the front steps. Leo was bigger than the other kids, and it was easy to find him in any crowd.
I figured that maybe if I stood still, he wouldn't come to me.
I was wrong.
He started pushing through the crowd and I watched helplessly as the dreadful music that playing in my head swelled.
I was *dead.*
r/A15MinuteMythos
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/A15MinuteMythos/comments/u3a4a2/wp_its_the_first_week_of_magic_theory_class_as/)
edit: This will probably be four or five parts. Sub if you're interested. If you're really enjoying the character and the world, check out my second novel [Of Oil & Sorcery: A Voice From the Void](https://www.reddit.com/r/A15MinuteMythos/comments/t8fr8n/of_oil_sorcery_a_voice_from_the_void/). The first draft is free on my subreddit for now, but I'll likely be taking it down once it's published. Thanks for reading <3
| 2022-04-13T18:01:26 | 2022-04-13T17:59:01 | 441 | 91 |
[WP] It's December 24th and a man is about to kill himself by jumping off a building. Santa lands on the roof to deliver presents, and sees the man. What happens next?
|
"Hey there, young man! Just couldn't wait for your gift, eh?"
Craig, for the first time in six months, could *definitely* tell he was feeling something. It was... Surprise.
"No, sir, Santa."
"Well, then. What are you doing up here," Santa adjusted his glasses and took a slightly long look. "Craig T. Jackson?"
Craig couldn't tell Santa (of all people) that he was about to jump off of the roof of his condo. Santa waited for a moment, remembered himself, and gave a "ho ho ho" as he reaching into his oversized pocket for a densely rolled parchment scroll.
"Let's seeee..." said Santa, scanning the seemingly endless roll. "Craig S. Jackson four, Craig S. Jackson five, Craig T. Jackson one two and three AND FOUR. Here you are! Let's see let's see let's see. You were a... Good boy! And... Oh dear... Ohhhh dear. Well, I see you changed your mind on the method, but your resolve still seems pretty straight forward."
"Wait," thought Craig.
"For what it's worth," continued Santa, "I still have that .50 cal handgun you were interested in."
With a flick of his wrist a big fuckin gun appeared at the end of Santa's mitt. He ambled gravely over to Craig and placed the gun in his hand.
Remembering himself yet again, Santa gave a pitch perfect "Merry Christmas!" He turned away back to his sleigh, unconcerned.
|
"I understand where you're coming from. It seems like a great idea I'm sure."
I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. I nodded curtly and gathered up my courage.
"You know, I've been thinking about it a lot myself lately. No one gives a shit about me anymore. I see no good reason anymore, all I have is this stupid job. I deliver once a year and I'm done. They couldn't care less the rest of the time."
He seemed to truly know where I was coming from. The job isn't what it was, my kids don't talk to me anymore, and I am about 50 pounds overweight. He really understood.
"Well, what keeps you going man?" I asked him, and I could feel the adrenaline pulsing through me like a butterfly breaking out of the cocoon for the first time.
"If there is just one person who still cares about me, then I'll still do what I have to do. I don't think killing myself would solve that. I don't think it would solve your problems either."
You know when you can tell when someone is lying. Yeah, he was lying. I told him lets do it together, and after a couple protests, he finally agreed. It was simple: 1,2,3 and it was time. Santa Claus and I took our lives together on Christmas Eve last year, and I can tell he doesn't like it here so much.
| 2013-12-24T18:26:03 | 2013-12-24T17:52:18 | 45 | 14 |
[WP] "It's simple, really. You just buy a haunted house for cheap from a desperate seller, finish the ghost's unfinished business - or deal with whatever it is keeping them bound to this plane - and then just sell the property for a profit."
|
The realtor looks nervous as all get-out. He’s clearly shown this property thousands of times, and is desperate to unload it. I knew that, of course. That’s why I sort listings by age. Long-term listing of a beautiful home at a low price with no sale? That’s my cue.
“So, what do you think?” The poor realtor tries to push the sale before even stepping in the door.
“How long has this been on the market?” I know the answer, of course, but want to hear it from him.
“It’s been a little while, but I promise everything’s in good condition.”
Poor guy *really* doesn’t want to go inside, I can tell. I should just cut to the chase.
“What lives here?”
“Wh.. what do you mean?”
“Is it violent, or does it just make noise? It’s okay, I’m still interested.” I’m cool as a cucumber, of course. Phantom-flipping has gotten me a nice little nest-egg, and by #8, I’ve seen a lot.
He looks at his feet for a minute. “It doesn’t want people here. It screams sometimes, and shakes the windows.”
“Has it hurt you?”
“... no.”
“I’ll take it, but at $50,000 under the listed price.”
“Done!” He spurts out eagerly. I could’ve gotten it cheaper, but this dude has suffered enough.
Once the papers are signed and keys handed over, I head straight for my new house. Not my home, by any means, but I’ll fix this place up good.
As soon as I step in, I feel it. That familiar chill of a creature that doesn’t like being disturbed, watching me. The place is beautiful, just as promised. High ceilings, solid walls, and it seems like even the spiders were scared off. Not a cobweb or dust bunny in sight. Perfect.
“I know you’re watching me.” My voice echoes a little bit. “I’m not leaving, so feel free to come on down for a chat.”
I set up my chair in the dining room and wait. A chill shoots through my heart. A wail of a child comes from upstairs. Doors slam and windows whistle. I just chuckle to myself. Must be a young spirit, I think, based on how basic these things are. Things I’ve seen would probably scare this thing off, but that’s not how it works.
Hours pass, while I scroll my phone... waiting. Using the bathroom, the mirror fogged up menacingly. Not a bad try, but this thing doesn’t know who they’re dealing with.
Around 11pm, it finally happens.
“Leeeeaaaaave meeeee...”
“No.” I put my phone away and stare at the wall.
“LEEEEEAAAAAAVE MEEEEEEEEE!”
“Not a chance. What’s your name?”
Nothing. Whatever, back to my phone.
An hour passes.
“...violet.” A small whisper barely comes through.
Game time. “Hello, Violet. Can I see you?”
“NO.”
“Fair enough. How long have you lived here?” Still staring at the wall, just hoping she’ll occupy the space enough to see the calm in my eyes. Like I said, this thing is an amateur.
“I died here.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why haven’t you left?”
“... can’t.”
“Sure you can. You just don’t want to.”
“But then they won’t find me.”
“Who won’t find you?”
Another wailing sound, and a small child is sitting across from me. Small, thin, and dressed in a tattered nightgown. She cries for easily an hour.
“Hello, Violet.” I use my warmest voice, and she looks up. Here eyes are sunken back into their sockets, like a sad little mummy, with no tears left to cry. “How old are you?”
“Eight.”
“It’s very nice to meet you. Who are you waiting for?”
“Daddy.”
“When did you see him last?”
“He said he’d come back. He always comes back.”
I had read up on this property, including former owners. In this line of work, you learn that research is key. A family had last lived here for a few months, just a husband and wife. Before that, a single guy had died in a DUI crash. He lived here for about a decade. Nothing I found mentioned a little girl.
“Where’s your mommy?”
Violet looked confused. No mom. Got it.
Switching gears. “Where’s your room? Maybe your daddy left us a clue.”
Looking hopeful, Violet runs off into the house, with me shortly behind. I expect her to head upstairs, but she heads for the basement. She disappears right through the door, of course, but I swing the door open and try to keep up. These kids are fast.
“Violet? Where are you?” The basement is empty. I hit the lights on my way down, but she’s nowhere.
“Here I am!” She sounds playful for a dead girl. Their voices always change after death. They sound like they’re shouting from across a lake, but it’s better than the straight-up demons. They’re a lot trickier because they lie, but easy enough to deal with once you realize that they ALWAYS lie.
Violet pokes her head out from a small door high up on one wall. A crawl space under a newer addition.
“There you are!” I act like a parent finding a child during hide and seek. It seems to help with the younger ones. “So this is your room?”
“Yeah. Daddy says it’s my secret cave.”
“You like it in there?” I can’t open the door. There’s a substantial look on the door, and it doesn’t look like it’s been opening in ages.
“It’s dark, but Daddy says it’s safer. He brings me food and we play house.”
“Violet. Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“How long does Daddy usually take to come back?”
“Sometimes a while. I get hungry, but then he gives me ice cream and I sleep in his lap.” I can tell this is her favorite memory.
“Has he ever been gone this long?”
“... no. But he’ll be back soon!”
“Violet. Your daddy’s not coming back.”
Her smile disappears. Her eyes look angry, and then fade to sad.
“I know.”
“Daddy loved you, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“It’s okay. I can tell you’re sleepy. You can rest now.”
That’s the last I saw her. I cut the lock and moved her bones to the mausoleum that I rent out. Most people I find are completely unknown to anyone, so bringing them to the authorities would be a waste of time. Probably land me in jail by the second time.
House is sold within a month at 3x what I paid for it. The younger ones always take their toll on me, but I like to think I’m helping. Somehow. Just a little later than they need.
Goodbye, Violet.
|
"Okay..." said Alice, giving Sam a skeptical glance. "I can follow the logic here, so it's not *completely* stupid, but just because something is simple, doesn't mean it's going to be easy. Don't you think it's... *wrong* to use your sixth sense like this?"
Sam chortled. "Are you kidding me? I've been traumatized by ghosts all my life. It's about time I got something out of this. Besides, at the end of the day, we're helping people, right?"
Alice pursed her lips. They were both without a job. She hadn't even gotten an interview yet despite all of her trying. Sam's desperation communicated more or less the same thing. The only reason Alice even contemplated anything supernatural was because Sam had already helped her with a ghost problem of her own. She knew he could do it. Together, they could pool enough resources to buy a house, sure. Selling it was the risk. Then again, they were already too broke to care about that.
"What the hell?" said Alice. "I'm in."
Finding a haunted house was easier than expected. Sam's ability quickly identified which ones were hoaxes or just places with horrible luck. Eventually they settled on a two floor house with a big unkempt garden and backyard. Its owner died of a tragic illness after losing all his savings during the great depression. Nobody could spend more than a few days under its roof without dying of a tragic accident. Alice didn't feel comfortable entering. The second Sam stepped on the front porch, his foot went through the rotten wood. He laughed it off and added it to the list of renovations, but it didn't make the house seem any less imposing.
Alice reluctantly agreed to enter, if only because they had already bought it. Nothing about the foyer stood out immediately. A big chandelier hung from the ceiling with dense cobwebs filling up its gaps. Dust and mold saturated the air, making it hard to breathe. Sam strolled in without a care in the world, whistling to himself a chipper tune. Alice couldn't follow him for more than a few seconds without looking over her shoulder.
And then the walls oozed blood.
It was subtle at first, then immediately obvious. Sam and Alice screamed off the top of their lungs as the blood coalesced into patterns, spelling out:
*HUNGRYYYYY*
That was when they decided to run away.
For the day, at least. Alice didn't want to return until they knew more about the place. Apparently, its owner had poured a lot of themselves into building a place for his family. He didn't only die of an illness, he watched his family slowly starve while he couldn't do anything about it. Alice couldn't help but feel bad for the guy. At a certain point, helping him move on felt more important than selling the house itself. Sam theorized that renovating the house might be what's needed to resolve it. They only had to push through the ghost's resistance.
As beings with negative energy, ghosts often acted against their own interests, too comfortable in their own sorrow to embrace the light by themselves. At least, that's what Sam said. Alice took it as a given since he was the 'expert'. And, in a way, he was. Sam didn't have as much trouble confronting the supernatural. It appeared his unique upbringing made him more tolerant of the unknown. The house still tried to kill him, though.
When Sam tried to mow the lawn, he almost got strangled by some overgrown vines. He didn't let it bother him, though. It also took them a month to scrub out the blood from the walls. Usually, they lost their sense of time and space, walking through infinite corridors for hours only to find a few minutes had passed in the outside world. Alice even saw her own image on the bathroom mirror rot into a corpse. No matter how much work they poured into the house, the haunting didn't seem to improve. If anything, it was getting worse.
After cleaning much of the house, just when they thought they were finally done and they had a client lined up, most of the grime and dirt quickly returned.
Sam sighed that morning, defeated. He seemed more tired than usual. They couldn't keep this up for much longer.
The chandelier then fell out of the ceiling.
It missed Sam by an inch. He started laughing again, brushing it off. It was at that point that Alice felt the need to say:
"This isn't funny."
"It's alright, the ghost only seems to hate me. It'll..." Sam forced himself to smile. "It'll be worth it when we finally sell it."
The doors slammed shut.
Sam flinched.
Alice shivered with goosebumps. Something in the air had changed. A heavy feeling around them that could only be described as malice.
The ground began to quake. Alice sprinted to the exit, but a large fissure sprouted out of the floor behind her, leaving Sam on the other side. He seemed ready to jump across it, but then fire burst out of the hole, keeping him in place.
Alice froze in place, gazing back and forth between him and the door. She couldn't abandon her friend. They were both in this together.
"Go!" shouted Sam. "I... I might as well be dead."
"Don't say that!"
"I am! This is all my fault. I'm the one who dragged you into this." Sam hung his head in shame. "Save yourself, please."
"But-"
"No, it's okay. I'm tired of going to bed hungry. Just let me be."
The house stopped shaking. All the damage slowly fixed itself in front of their eyes. Sam didn't know how to react. Neither did Alice, really. After discussing it, they came to the conclusion that the ghost had finally empathized with their situation. He probably just didn't want any greedy opportunists ruining his home. That made things significantly easier, now that they understood it. All they needed to do was find a family that the ghost would approve. Nobody had ever done that for it before. Given the current economic situation, it was easy finding a family in tough times that needed a roof over their head. Unfortunately, that meant they had a way lower profit margin after selling it. Sam was slightly disappointed by the result, but still celebrated with cheap champagne for the two.
"Cheers to a successful sale!"
Alice clinked the glass. "Cheers."
"I couldn't have done this without you. Thank you."
"Really?"
"Yeah, you were the one who always thought about the ghost. I was just... trying to pay rent. We're gonna have to do this a lot more, though. Hopefully, it'll get easier with experience."
"It was a pleasure... near the end. And really, it's nice to have a job again."
Sam laughed. "Are you sure about this? Someone wise once told me that just because it's simple..."
And so began the adventures of Alice and Sam: Ghost Realtors.
----
>If you enjoyed this, check out /r/WeirdEmoKidStories for more stories. Thanks for reading!
| 2021-02-12T06:41:44 | 2021-02-12T06:13:44 | 259 | 116 |
[WP] You somehow end up dating death. However, you have to deal with God and The Devil being overprotective older siblings.
|
I sigh as I approach her door. I wear my Sunday best, a finely tailored suit ready for my date with Death. The bouquet of babies breath, her favorite flower, rustles in my irritation. God sits in a wooden rocking chair on the porch. A straw hat covers his tanned face and his overalls creak like fresh denim. He has a tattoo on his arm of a cross surrounded by a heart and a faded "Mary" just beneath it. He told me he was drunk at the time, having just come from Lucifer's 2100 birthday party, and thought the tats would be a good idea. A shotgun rests across his lap and he not so subtly moves his finger towards the trigger.
"What are you her dad?!" I toss my hands in the air.
"Well a lot of folk call me father." He grins and moves to stand.
My hand shoots out and pushes him back into his chair. "Christ, you're obnoxious." I rap on the door frame.
It opens and Death stands before me fully naked and perky. My mouth drops and my member rises to attention like shes the general of an army. That is until blood reached the correct head and I realize it is Lucifer fucking with me.
"Very funny," I grunt, awkwardly shuffling to tuck Pinocchio's liar back under my waistline, "don't you have a country to run?"
He grins and shifts back into his natural human form. Donald Trump stands before me. "The country can run itself for a little bit, I have a lot of friends you know."
I ignore him and push past. "De you ready?" I shout up the stairs. The door at the top opens and she emerges. She has piercing green eyes, that twinkle like starfire. Full red lips that set my heart to hammering. An easy smile emerges and she starts to descend. Her jet black hair cascades behind her, falling upon her satin red slip.
"Damn," I mutter as my eyes soak in her beauty.
"Pat." She coughs politely and I jump to give her my arm. We walk through the doorway and towards my car.
"She better be back by 12 or there will be hell to pay!" Shouts Lucifer.
"Fornication before marriage is a sin!" Grumbles God, and I cringe.
"You know my name." I shout back, and pull away.
We race along the freeway towards our dinner date. De talks incessantly, detailing the more interesting stories of those she has helped pass on. God gets the repentant and pure. Lucifer gets those who are sinful and damned. Death gets those who are undecided and helps them to choose where they belong in the afterlife. We work well together, as I'm sure sifting through the deaths of millions of humans can be quite stressful, and having someone to spill to and just talk to surely helps. Her family can try me sometimes, but in the end I find her interesting. I am her shoulder and she is my spark. It is strange how those farthest from life have the most to say and are the least boring. Her smile, her mind, her body. I can hardly wait to get to know her more, but I will wait if necessary. She is worth it, and I am Patience after all.
|
"And I tell you, Jen, he's nothing good for you. He's Death for My sake!"
"Oh God, why? I do know what's good for myself, I don't need you hovering over me on every single moment of our immortal lives!"
"Kiddo, listen to me. I've known Death for a very long time now, and I know for a fact that your silly crush on him is going to bring you nothing but pain."
I huffed, greatly offended by the childish nickname that lost it's funny part decades ago. To think that he would dare to act like this, and talk about Silly Crushes while the world was still feeling the effects of one of his.
"I think I've heard enough, you're clearly seeing me as nothing but a child. I don't need your advice on this matter, also since the date is already set."
"What's this I hear, Sis? What are you and god quarreling about this time?" A new voice drifted into the room, shortly after followed by the only person in here that wasn't always a nuisance or prying into my personal life.
"Lucifer, this is not something that you should concern yourself with."
"God, come on. I can take care of our little sister just as well as you, no matter how much you'd like to deny that. Now Sis, what's going on?"
"Hmm, Goddy here doesn't approve of my pick for a date, but maybe you could convince him that-" My words were cut of by the look in Luci's face. I sighed, apparently my guess was wrong. He was going to be trouble, just as much as God.
"Don't look at me like that, I know what I am doing, and Death is a perfect cute guy, honorable and decent, twice so in comparison to you two."
"Jen, I forbid you to-"
"NO! I am able to make my own decisions for once. Now, I'm going, he's promised to pick me up at the gateway." I brushed past my two brothers, leaving them speechless, which served them right.
------
"Trouble?" A voice said as I past through the doors of our shared Heavenly House. Turning around I saw my date for the evening, looking rather nice, all dressed up as he was.
"Nah, God and Lucifer were just being jerks, as expected. Now, let's go?"
"Sure, step right in." Death said, summoning his Black Carriage out of thin air and holding up a hand to help me climb in, ever the gentleman.
------
"If you're not careful you're going to push her away from us, God. And we both know how that would end up."
"Hmpf, still, going out, dressed like that, with a guy like him."
"Hey, if it cheers you up, Jen will tell us when Death is treating her wrongly, and then you can have the second shot at him."
"Second? Why not first?"
Lucifer smirked. "Now, God. Little Jenny knows how to handle herself. I have no doubt that she will have the first shot..."
------
| 2016-03-24T11:06:57 | 2016-03-24T09:19:28 | 73 | 24 |
[WP] You're the town's superhero. Your greatest enemy is the town's supervillian. However, secretly, your both brothers. This isn't anything tragic, as your whole destructive rivalry is actually just a massive prank on your third brother, the mayor.
|
The Mayor drove to the town square, preparing for the end of the world. He turned onto Main Street as people fled down the wide sidewalks, eyes bulging, mouths wide. Police cars parked at crazy angles across the road, lights flashing, officers hunkered down, peeking over the hoods.
There, on the manicured lawn in front City Hall, crouched in a fighting pose, red cape undulating in the light breeze, was his brother Mark, known by his other moniker, The Answer. He stood opposite a taller, more slender man in bright green and black spandex, arms crossed across his chest, face stretched by a rakish grin, the Mayor’s other brother Matt, known by his moniker, Giga-Death.
“Are you guys kidding me?” The Mayor slammed the door of his Prius, feeling conspicuous in his day off attire: workout shorts, t-shirt, and baseball cap. “Today? You had to do this today?”
Giga-Death raised an eyebrow, “Revolution waits for no man, Mr. Mayor. Even on an auspicious day such as this.” He turned sideways, revealing a cube-shaped object, rising to Giga-Death’s chest, covered by a black sheet. “Behold! The end of the world as we—”
“‘Behold’? ‘Auspicious’?” The Answer straightened. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but why do you talk like that when you put on your wetsuit?”
“You wear a cape Mark!” Matt’s eyes flashed, pulling at his silky, black hair, just as he did when they were children. “Like I said, this is the object of your ruin! A town reduced to rubble at the push of a button!”
The Answer moved forward.
“Ah ah! Stop right there Mark!” Giga-Death held up a matte-black object in his hand. “You aren’t going to surprise me when I’m monologuing this time. I press this and they’re going to have to build New-New Haven over the ashes of New Haven!”
“Un-fucking-real.” The Mayor wiped his forehead and adjusted his cap. “What do you want Matt?” He flopped his arms at his sides.
Giga-Death narrowed his eyes, clenching his jaw into a snarl. “What do I *want*, Andrew? I *want* you *people* to take me seriously! I am Giga-Death, and I am your doom! Also, I want 50 million transferred to this Swiss—"
The Answer leapt at Giga-Death, tackling him around the waist. Andrew jolted forward a few steps, cringing as his brother smashed his fist into the wanna-be super villain’s face, just like he did when they were kids. Giga-Death rolled, forcing The Answer off him. As they stood, Giga-Death clamped his foot down on The Answer’s cape, yanking the hero's head back, and straight into Giga-Death’s fist. The hero fell.
“Fine!” Matt held up the remote. “I won’t miss my chance this time.”
“No!” Andrew raised his arms as Giga-Death pressed the button.
The sheet flew away to the sound of pops, blowing multi-colored confetti into the air. A song blared. The Mayor furrowed his brow when he recognized the corny jingle: “*Celebrate good times, come on!*” A large cake sat in a glass case on a plinth.
Giga-Death smiled and The Answer jumped up, throwing an arm around the villain.
“Ok, don’t over do it, man.” Matt shrugged off the arm.
“Happy Birthday, buddy!” Mark beamed, ignoring his brother.
Andrew gaped, heat rising to his cheeks. A mortified expression smeared on his face. “You assholes. The police came out and everything.” He motioned to the police cars, then noticed the officers. They were all looking at him, smiling. “Oh you gotta be kidding.”
Laughter erupted. The Mayor’s brothers strode up to him. “It’s not everyday your big bro turns 40.” Mark jabbed a red-gloved fist into Andrew’s shoulder.
“All of that was a show?” Andrew took off his ball cap.
“It was Matt’s idea.” Mark said, squinting, bringing a hand to his jaw. “You didn’t have to *actually* sock me, though, man.” He looked at the smirking villain.
“Happy Birthday, Andrew.” The not-so-much-at-this-moment super villain said, before he turned and walked away. The brothers watched as he got on his motorcycle and revved the engine. “I’ll let you all take care of the clean-up.” The Mayor's and his cape-clad brother’s phones suddenly chirped. An explosion roared over the party music. “Sounds like it’s coming from the bank!” Giga-Death yelled. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. Here’s to many more, Mr. Mayor.” He smiled and sped off.
|
The Mayor looked at his city as the sun rose, wondering what today would bring. They were still rebuilding their city after the last big fight. He knew the next fight was coming. He sighed and quickly got ready. It was a tough job, but one he knew had to be done.
The Masked Avenger flew in, landing gracefully in the town square, as cameras clicked all around him. Both the press and the citizens were glad to get a glimpse of the great super hero who had protected them for so long.
Wade looked at them all with mock disgust. He had to keep up appearances of course. But inwardly he smiled. They had something amazing planned today. He turned around to face his mortal enemy.
"You?"
"Me!"
"Why do you always have to show up at the worst possible moment?"
"You say worst possible moment, I say I arrived in just the nick of time. For I am TMA, the protector of the people, the harbinger of justice."
"The harbinger? What does that even mean?"
"It means you're just about done, Wade."
The fight was pretty even as always. TMA had the benefit of superpowers but Wade was a genius. In fact, he was the one who usually choregraphed all their fights. It followed mostly the same pattern.
TMA had almost overpowered Wade. Wade stuck back and then threatened a random citizen. TMA prioritized saving the citizen and Wade got the upper hand.
TMA sat in the force field, furiously struggling to fight out of the force field. He smiled inwardly. It had been a great fight today. They had damaged a downtown building pretty bad. The Mayor would be angry. This was fun.
It was time. Wade started his monologue.
"You thought you could stop me? Do you not understand that I, Wade, have the superior intellect. And brains always win over brawn. Now to decide what I want to do with you. Maybe I will torture you by showing you Adam Sandler movies without stop."
"Hey, not all Sandler movies are bad. 50 first dates was pretty good."
"Silence! He pointed the metallic gun at the superhero. Now this device will allow me to de-power you. And then the city will be mine."
It was at this moment that the mayor rushed in. "Stop! Wade. You can't hurt him."
"Ah, welcome Mayor. Nice of you to join the party."
"What do you want? Why can't you just leave us alone?"
"I will. As soon as you hand the town over to me."
"Fine."
The people fell silent and stared at the Mayor.
Wade smiled. "Fine?"
"Yes. The town is yours. Just let us all go."
"No!" TMA cried out.
"It's fine. It was going to happen eventually." The Mayor walked up to Wade, taking out the keys to City Hall.
"You can't give up." TMA continued to struggle to break free.
Wade smirked. "Well then Mr Mayor, hand them over."
"It's not Mr Mayor anymore. I'm just Smith, now."
As he handed over the keys to Wade, with surprising quickness, he swung his hand, grabbing on to the metallic gun the supervillain held. They struggled, shooting bursts of energy around them. The people dispersed, finally fear catching up to them.
A stray burst caught the forcefield that surrounded TMA and the field broke open. Wade had pried the gun free and was pointing at Mayor Smith.
The two enemies struggled for control. In the commotion the gun went off, striking Mayor Smith in the chest. Both of them stopped, frozen by what had happened.
The Mayor cried out.
"No no no." Both men ran to their brother.
His heartbeat was weak.
"Call an ambulance!" Wade cried out.
But an ambulance was already on the way. The two men stood watching as the Mayor was rushed to the hospital.
"What did we do?"
"I think we went too far. He'll be Ok right? Wade. Tell me he'll be OK."
The two man sat there, slumped as the sun went down."
*******
Smith got up, rubbing his chest. Even if it was a fake shot, the impact was very real. His ribs hurt. At least they wouldn't be doing the Mayor dying angle for the next couple of weeks.
He thought back to the accident. He knew they were his brothers of course. He had always known. But the pranks had gotten more and more elaborate. Till, they had gone too far. The fake Mind Melt ray didn't really melt their brains of course. But it did give them severe anterograde amnesia. They were still stuck reliving the same day again and again.
The producer came up to Smith. "Mayor Smith."
"Hey John."
"How long can we keep this up? This is draining all your funds."
"I don't care. They're my brothers. Rebuild the set. Tomorrow, we do the kidnap angle."
| 2021-12-03T01:13:10 | 2021-03-05T06:19:48 | 1,428 | 170 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
"GREETINGS FELLOW ADVENTURING HUMANS!" Boomed the voice of Danny the Elf sat bolt upright from the sleeping cloth sack she had been in, causing Bob the Barbarian to grunt and curl up under his animal hide sleeping rug again.
"IT IS I, YOUR GOOD FRIEND DAN, I AM UNHARMED AFTER MY ENCOUNTER WITH THE DAEMON!" She continued smiling oddly, her mouth breaking into a wide grin with teeth and her eyebrows actually elevating.
"Dann...." Feldspar the half-elf warlock managed to stop himself from saying Danny, "You told us this before, remember?"
Danny the Elf blinked, everything was always so terribly confusing, having come from a dimension that didn't have time it had to learn about things happening and things that had happened, Makor the Cleric had helped with that, teaching the snow elf about how things happen and can't be changed but things that haven't happened yet can be altered.
"OH YES FRIEND!" Danny laughed as if it was a running joke, Sim the halfling thief/bard laughed a little as well in sympathy or perhaps enjoyment.
"WHERE ARE WE GOING TODAY? WILL THERE BE MORE EXCELLENT FERMENTED YEAST PRODUCTS TO CONSUME?"
Makor nodded slowly, "That's right Dan, more beer at the end of the adventure, now how did we get back the entrance avoiding the dragon, getting the treasure and nobody getting hurt?"
"OF COURSE FRIEND! THIS IS A THING THAT HAPPENED ALREADY AFTER ALL!" Danny confirmed with the group as each of them nodded in agreement pressing in to listen carefully to Danny.
"FIRSTLY, WE LEFT THE ROOM BY THE SOUTH ENTRANCE, SIM DISABLED THE PIT TRAP AFTER FALLING INTO IT AND DYING THE FIRST TIME HE TRIED." Danny started to explain.
Sim frowned a little looking towards the South entrance, he'd died; again, if 'Dan' hadn't told him about the pit trap or the acid or the undercooked chicken or ... he was incredibly glad that 'Dan' had changed so dramatically since that encounter with the demon.
"THE TREASURE IS MOSTLY CURSED AND FELDSPAR CHANGED INTO A SHEEP WHEN HE PICKED UP A STAFF THEN A STATUE AS HE TOUCHED THE CURSED DIAMOND AS LARGE AS HIS FIST AND THEN WAS KILLED AS HE PICKED UP A CROWN." Danny continued as Feldspar took careful notes, the warlock couldn't remember the last time he'd bothered to cast identification or detect item status.
Feldspar liked whatever was living inside Danny, even when the party wasn't using it as a cheap way to complete adventures the Elf was nicer, kinder and fun to listen to, with her soft voice always shouting it was hard not to giggle at her.
"THEN AS WE LEAVE THE REAL MAKOR ATTACKS THE FAKE ONE CURRENTLY TRAVELLING WITH US AND IS EASILY DEFEATED." Danny concluded smiling proudly.
Makor looked around the group as for a moment he was sure that his plan had been ruined, they must know, it was just said aloud.
Sim however was fiddling with his lock picks, clearly fully distracted, Feldspar was already in a meditative trance memorising spells.
Bob smiled widely at Makor and Danny before speaking in his native tongue, "What did she say then? Sounded like bad news for you, Feldspar and Sim..."
Makor nodded with a rush of relief as Bob wondered how many more times he could possibly pass that particular lie your face off check.
|
The tavern was alight with candles and warm fires, the smell of meats and bread wafted through to the rafters of wood and plaster. Ale stained the floor in places and the barkeep had been working on a single mug for a startling amount of time. All and all a lively place to be on this evening.
"Ah and a fine night to you as well gentlemen! Merry blessings!" The rogue said, as the men who joined him for cards departed a few coins heavier then they were at start.
"Is this not grand fellows?" The elf turned to his crew. "Ale in the air! A tavern filled with beautiful women! And my closest friend in the world." He stood then, a leg up on the top of the table, his back leg supporting him from the ground
"Ladies! Gentlemen!" He yelled, "Tonight, join me in toast to this merry band of fighters, lovers and the heroes of this town tonight! We are all thankful," he stopped to smile at his friends, the ale tinting his checks red "but I am thankful, for they are the truest of my friends" and with that he drank. The here-heres rose in strength from the crowd, and he was jostled away by the crowd with promises to be back later.
The dwarf, gnome and orc all sat in silence, looking at their drinks solemnly.
The dwarf sighed, pinching the top of his nose,
The orc had his hand in his head looking off into nothingness,
Finally the gnome chimed in, quietly, but with a resolute tone
"Okay, I'll say it. He's a much better companion then Roderick and we should do everything in our earthly powers not to mess this up."
The orc and dwarf both sighed in unanimous relief
The orc chimed in first with a hushed tone and feeling in his voice "Its like he knew what a whoreson Roderick was!" He said, sitting at attention once again " its like he knew and said to himself 'oh! These chaps look like they could use a new, better companion!' Then took it upon himself, through all the peril, to join us in disguise! All while throwing Roderick into god knows where!" He laughed. "The monster was OUR hero!"
The dwarf was next, wide eyed and hands extended to point out "Roderick" in the crowd. " look at that bloody rogue, he blends right in, they would never know they're holding possibly one of the most dangerous monsters in the land" he lowered his hands, then pointed out, " for all that, doesn't that also make him a better rogue?" They all agreed quietly.
The orc chimed in once more, tentatively, " look Roderick is a whoreson who would and almost did murder us for a small some of coin, twice." They all agreed muttering comments under their breath, " but were the you know...good guys... shouldn't we at least try to save him?"
The others were about to reluctantly agree when "Roderick" appeared before them once again
"My friends! this is as much your victory as mine! More so! Come join us, the mayor seems keen on raising our rewards! I thought it only fitting you be by my... Nay, I be by your sides during this!" He smiled warmly.
They looked at each other, shrugged and smiled
"No that's fine, we can be knaves for a night." The gnome said, stepping up from his seat.
| 2017-09-15T08:25:27 | 2017-09-15T07:03:44 | 90 | 36 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win?
|
The Hitler Games have been a huge hit when it became public in the 24th century. Sure, in the past people did it just for fun. Then came the betting of "Hey, betcha I can kill Hitler better than you." People put hundreds, then thousands of dollars to try and one-up each other on this simple task. The end result was the same all around: Hitler dead, Allies win World War 2.
Some people didn't have the right imagination for this, so they started to have stand-ins for themselves. People who have entire lives dedicated to killing one man over and over. Started calling themselves the Anti-Gestapo out of sheer irony. It was only a matter of time until the Global Television Network played a couple of the more popular videos on their news networks and from there it became cemented in our culture.
Eventually people started to get in each other's way when setting up traps, or bringing down objects at the same time as each other. That's when the first Time Travel War actually happened, during World War 2 of all places. And over Hitler. It's amazing how stupid and greedy people can get. Laws were passed and then the first Hitler Games came to be.
People had to try out for their nation to enter. Then whoever won the Hitler Games won a substantial amount of money, fame for their country, and the most important part, however they killed him became the true history.
You see, time loves to stay in a straight line. Always heading in one direction. You can pick your starting point on the line, but your always going forwards. If there is a contradiction between what everyone knows as the past and you changing that, time just ignores that little inconsistency and it becomes a small footnote in time. The Grandfather Paradox was proven wrong by the first time traveler, no doubt. An eccentric man by the name of Viktor Odell wrote theories proving this paradox wrong but was always ignored by his fellow colleagues. So he invented it, went back and killed his grandfather. Came back with a signed photo from his grandmother with him standing next to the body. He was quickly put away, but was released due to the statute of limitations has passed. Viktor patented the time machine and soon everyone was killing and raping in the past. Then came the *second* Time Travel War. Yes, it happens in that order.
So for the past couple of years Germany has won the Hitler Games. Cheating bastards always had the upper hand. But last year, someone from a different nation won: me from Canada. How'd I win? Well, everyone loves the big explosion, the last gasp. I went a different route.
At first I made Hitler strong, made him win a few battles. Give him confidence in his nation's strength and in himself. Think he literally can take on the whole world. Then, I took everything away. Big losses in the war, one after another. But I still kept him alive. If there were other nation's assassins out to get him, I stopped those guys and made him feel the despair of being on top and falling straight to the bottom. Soon, Hitler was left with only one option: Killing himself.
It's very easy to kill one man. It's very hard to convince one man to kill himself.
|
After months of careful planning and pillaging of the German ranks, America's Lt. Aldo Raine and his two brave friends of the infamous bastard company have taken their seats in the theatre. Hitler and all the top-ranking nazi officials will be watching germany's proudest soldier star in the fatherland's greatest propaganda.
Aldo waits in the lobby eyeing out recognizable war criminals. spitting his best Italian speak he can muster. "Errrr... quattro punti." he whispers under his breathe with peeled eyes.
The two disguised Allied soldiers drop their hidden bars of bright pink soap and head for the projector room while the movie starts. A blast is heard by none as they execute one of the last steps of the plan and invade the projection room to set up with the other conspirators.
Below in the lobby, Hans Landa (dubbed The Jew Hunter) has uncovered the Allies plot and kidnaps Lt. Aldo. "I heard you counting, Luitenant." Hans exclaims in an overly loud and serious tone. "You think you're going to impress the judges? Call them, see what they'll say." Hans slides an old rotary phone and waits for the american's reply.
Lt. Aldo sits there for a moment with hands tide behind his back, and eyes the two guards behind. He stares back at the German before him, and spits the most american lugi, soaking the phone as he laughs in his face. "Fuck the Judges, the Hitler game's are corrupt! They trade the freedom of killin' for corporate greed, taint the world with sponsorships and branding, Fuck the system!"
"Excuse my french, but do you not want to win? from the looks of it you're only a measly eleven points behind. Would you not.."
"HAh! I'll be taking another two from you for revealing yourself, Mr. Punkt Hure. i never was too good at math, but i do believe that puts me a respectable NINE points behind! catching up!" Aldo retorts, soaked in his inflated pride.
"I was Going to propose we work together and join forces. You want to stick it to the Judges? This is your golden opportunity."
After a moment of silence and clarity "And we split the prize, fifty fifty? no play?" Aldo asks hesitantly.
"Bingo!" the german shouts, giddy with his winning shady business, having just betrayed his plans.
"Just one more thing you Nazi fuck." Aldo whispers. A chilling mood takes the room. Hans is spooked and confused. Aldo takes a sip of his starbucks coffee, and Hans knows someone's about to die because he reads clickbait titles about David Fincher. "You broke the first rule of Time Travelin' Killin' Hitler Club." The whole theatre explodes into an all consuming fire. Hitler is seen in the rubble, Tyler kneels down and picks up an unexploded bar of soap. "You don't talk about Time Travelin' Killin' Hitler Club."
Cue credits.
| 2016-02-20T10:56:09 | 2016-02-20T08:40:02 | 596 | 23 |
[WP] They killed his hound and stolen his horse. With nothing left, a knight comes out of retirement, a man named John, the Wicked.
|
"I'll fight him," a gruff voice said from the back of the crowd. A murmur arose and the crowd parted and the weathered fellow stepped forward. His hair was long and unkempt, his beard long past when it should have been trimmed and his face bore the scars of a thousand fights.
"Hold your tongue, old man," the bald behemoth in the fighting pit taunted. Before him lay a pair of twins, identical in death as they had been in life, both their heads smashed in and their bodies strewn about haphazardly.
"I'll hold yours," the older man responded. The crowd jeered and the giant of a man chuckled. His preferred weapon was a club; with it he crushed the flimsy wooden shields of his opponents or destroyed the swords they put up to block his momentous swings.
"What were you, other than a fool?" the huge man asked as the two faced off. The crowd closed around them, ebbing and flowing as they stalked each other around the pit.
"A knight loyal to the crown, once," the old knight responded.
"And now?"
"A mercenary. When I win and let you live, you'll enter my service." His opponent considered the offer for a second before laughing.
"Deal. And when you die," he interrupted himself to spit on the ground between them, "I will piss on your body and let the crows eat it."
"Deal," the old knight answered and he stepped back to avoid the swing of the club. He leaped in with uncanny agility, the first swing avoided, and with his sword nicked his huge opponent's arm as the man prepared a second swing. The man growled furiously that the first blood drawn was his own and he swung again. This time the club came faster but again the old knight moved faster and he jumped in behind the back-swing and sliced at the man's unprotected side. The crowd howled as the undisputed champion of the fighting pit suddenly seemed less invincible. "Again?" the old knight said but this time the giant man charged, seeking to tackle the swordsman and crush him with his bare hands. The old man was faster and he knelt to get below the oncoming arms and then the other man's leg was pouring blood and he was down on one knee, his weapon forgotten in the sand. He growled in pain and panted as he tried to catch his breath. "Enough?" the knight said and he held the sword to the man's throat.
"Not quite," the crafty pit-fighter responded and he grabbed the sword and wrenched it from the old man's grasp as if it was nothing and tossed it aside. The crowd gasped and parents shielded their children's eyes as the giant man went in for the kill. And then he had a handful of sand in his eyes and his own club crushed against his stomach and he doubled over.
"And now?"
"I yield," the man begged as the sword found his neck again, this time pushing harder. "Who are you?" he cried as the crowd booed and threw sand and demanded a death.
"John," the old knight responded. "John the Wicked."
"John the Coward. Who escaped when his master decided his duty was death," the pit-fighter said in recognition.
"John of the Wicked Legion," John corrected. "I want the best fighting men and I will get my revenge." He helped his newest recruit to his feet. What the legion would lack in numbers, it would make up for in notoriety as words of their accomplishments spread across the kingdoms. They would serve the highest bidder, so long as it wasn't the crown that John himself had once served, and they would bide their time until they had gathered the best men in the land. And then vengeance would be had.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
|
"Avast, Ye!" said the man in a raven black suit of flexible yet sturdy armour as he brought down his fist onto another man's skull.
The man then twitched for a while before finally succumbing to death. As this occurred, another man with a crossbow shot a bolt right at the raven black knight.
"... N-No!" The man with the crossbow yelled.
The bolt he shot simply bounced off of the raven black knight's armour. The armour did not show any sign of damage, displaying the quality of its' make. With this, the knight rushed with impossible speed at the direction of the crossbowman. The crossbowman fell, unable to escape the knight's tight lock on his body. The crossbowman couldn't break free as his arms were rendered useless by the knight's crushing hug. The sound of muffled yet sharp crackling on his arms only made him struggle further. The crossbowman flailed his legs around, trying to kick the knight away.
Seeing this, the knight simply released his hold and stood up. Before his victim could get away, he stomped down his feet at the man's head – crushing it and the thin metal cap attached on it.
The knight then took the crossbow, reload it with a bolt by using an ingenious-looking device, and continued scanning the area to his front. With a smooth and agile movement, he shot a couple of men running in his direction. Luckily for him, the men who had come his way did not wear any significant armour. If they did, he could not have fight them on equal terms as he had no proper weapon on hand.
After a brief skirmish with a group of men hiding behind a barrier – somehow killing them all – he ran out of bolts and took cover. He formulated a way to continue forth, looking for any weapon he could possibly use. Before he could find a suitable weapon, a loud metal clanking could be heard from a distance. The sound grew louder and more menacing as the one making it closed in on him.
"Fee-fi-fo-fum!" the large, imposing man clad in a heavy shining armour shouted from a distance.
The raven black knight stood up and opened his helmet, revealing to his face to his adversary. The knight in the shining armour gasped and took a step back upon this action. He then pointed to the raven black knight.
"Thou art... John?!" the knight in shining armour said in a bewildered manner.
"Aye! John, the Wicked, 'tis my name!" the raven black knight said whilst preparing himself for any incoming attack from his adversary.
The knight in shining armour then brandished his large shield and sword. He then bowed to John, laughing as he did all these things.
"'Tis an honour, then! Yare thineself!" the knight in shining armour said as he charged forth.
However as he tried to swing his heavy sword onto John's shoulder, he missed his aim. Instead of dealing damage, the large knight felt pain in his leg. When he inspected the pain, he was surprised to see that John had lodged an arc-shaped wooden-object at his right thigh. The pain then erupted suddenly as he realised what had actually happened.
Now, handicapped to one working leg, the knight in the shining armour limped across the room. Seeing that his strike worked as he intended, John then tackled his adversary right in his good leg. The knights fell and rolled on opposite direction. Before the large knight in shining armour could get up, he felt a sharp pain through his back. With this, he instantly succumbed to death and John repeatedly stab the large knight all across the gaps in his armour.
John finally got up and wiped the bloodied heavy blade down. He then took a few bolts from some corpses of the men he'd killed earlier. With the sword in one hand and the loaded crossbow on the other, he continued on his merry way – one full of murder and carnage, to be sure.
| 2019-06-18T08:10:51 | 2019-06-18T07:52:03 | 79 | 22 |
[WP] Lost at sea for months, you spot land at last. You quickly realize you must have discovered some of the last uncharted land in the world. You also quickly realize why it is uncharted.
|
I dragged myself off the raft. Two months of cramped difficult sea travel would put kinks in your legs you might never get out. Though I shouldn't complain. I had been lucky after all. My food and water had survived the shipwreck, along with my cartography instruments. No companionship, but you can't have everything. Pulling my raft onto the beach, I squinted at the tiny bit of the land I could see. Running the latitude and longitude of my location through my head, I grinned. This island was going to be my contribution. It was uncharted and in this time of sea travel that was a rarity. But, I needed to be sure.
Carefully, compass in hand, and stretching my legs as I went, I walked up into the interior. It was time to map this place out.
— — — — —
It's been three days. I've nearly got the entire island down on paper, but something odd is happening. I swear, I'm not crazy. But the land keeps changing. The volcano is first on the east of the island, and then shifts to the west. I don't know where the beach I originally arrived on is anymore, but I know it isn't in the north. Of course, that is where it was on my map before it shifted overnight. This island is incredible. The perfect cartographer's nightmare. Nothing stays where it's supposed to be, nothing is certain. But... I like it. There's always something new, there's always something different. And I've got a lot of paper, and ink.
So, on I go, mapping the infinite variations of the island.
— — — — —
**"Is he,** ***enjoying*** **himself? He's not supposed to enjoy this." The demon scratched his head, staring up at the screen. "Is he?" The Boss, the big guy himself had dreamed up this punishment and it was supposed to drive the human round the bend. But the human was humming and humming happily. Looking at the monitor, and then at the paperwork, it would involve to report this, the demon shrugged.**
**"Ah, well. What can you do? Maybe tomorrow, I'll make there be two volcanoes. That ought to shake things up." Turning back to the controllers, he started manipulating the island once again. After all, he had a punishment to mete out.**
|
I’ve lost feeling in my legs two sunrises ago. I’ve lost it in my head for far longer.
The makeshift boat, a long piece of wood that splintered relatively nicely off the ship, eroded with the best efforts of god’s acts. Little by little, sliver by sliver, the wood shaved itself down to a size where my arms could barely hold on. My head was above water, and there was but one thought.
“Don’t let go.”
I wasn’t certain if my legs were moving, stuck paddling in the same positio—the frantic, posthumous wiggling of a dead cockroach. It was so, so tempting to close my eyes. To shut everything down. To let nature take its course, and to stop resisting, and to simply consign myself to the unknown depths of the ocean.
But that one thought rang loud and true. And so bone-white fingers gripped on, eyes desperately blinking sleeplessness—to little avail.
Over the horizon, the sun broke through once more, yawning and casual. It was just another day for it, a dot on eternity. This was another day before the end of my life. Yet, with the sunshine, a littler glimmer of hope shone on the horizon. A landmass peeked out within the flaring light.
Suddenly, there wasn’t just one thought any more.
“Go.”
I swam, a target materializing out of thin air. Through burning muscles and gritted teeth, I poured every bit of energy into fulfilling one mission. The promise of land, a place where I could finally *stop* moving, was enticing enough to move like hell. Pain filled my lungs, and spread to every cell, a cancer that refused to let go.
I touched land, and relief, instead of saltwater, escaped my lungs.
There was nothing. Not a single sound, but the gentle lapping of waves onto sand, instead of harshly onto water. Peace, at last.
I flopped down on the beach, and laughed. Despite a throat so parched and sore that every little chuckle hurt it like cutting into a thousand sores, I couldn’t help it! Salvation came at a strange time and place, but finally, I could just lie down here.
My legs found enough strength to crawl into shade. There was one sign that greeted my eyes.
“This place is not a place of honor... no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here... nothing valued is here.”
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2022-07-09T10:44:00 | 2022-07-09T10:26:43 | 35 | 26 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
The nameless waif walked forward onto the sand of the court floor, the shackles that bound her hand and foot dragging on the bloodied floor.
She tilted her head to look up at the arbiters seated so high above her, her ragged black hair falling back from her face to reveal the gaunt lines of her face - but no fear. Not even resignation. There was no emotion there at all.
“How do you want to die?” Asked the First Arbiter. They no longer bothered stating the names and crimes of their prisoners - they had all been rounded up in one of the rebel villages and put to death for the crime of being there.
“Unshackled,” she rasped, holding her wrists up to her captors. “I don’t care about the method of my death, but let me die unshackled.”
“So be it,” boomed the arbiters in unison. The chains fell away as the execution walked onto the sand.
The girl smiled widely and spread her arms, as if welcoming the sun. She seemed so much larger than the tiny hunched over waif she had appeared previously.
It was no illusion.
The teeth behind her smile grew sharper and more pointed. Her nails grew longer and hardened into talons.
The executioner stopped in his tracks and gawped in shock as the arbiters who had finally noticed her transformation attempted to end her - but it was no use. The magic had no effect anymore.
“My thanks,” she said sibilantly as giant wings sprouted from her back, “for freeing me.”
And then blood fell on the sand once more.
|
I'm waiting to die, everyone here is. I have seen a lot of people trying to fool the court, the last one requesting to die of old age, but all of them fail. At this point everyone has lost their hopes, there is no way of avoiding dead.
It's my turn and I go in front of that horrible people, happy witnesses of the magical demise that awaits me. A voice, one that seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, ask me how this magic room shall kill me. The voice says that the room will do exactly what I tell it with the only condition of choosing some way to die.
There is a countdown of one and a half minutes and I just don't know what to do, it seems to be impossible to avoid it. Well, I think, if I must die, I want to see them suffering.
"I request to die slowly while they die from what they would choose in my situation."
Those faces, full of horror while the voice ask them and the doors are shut is the only thing I needed to rest in peace. They try to avoid it, but it's inevitable. I died fast, they all tried to continue living and failed, but at least I could see part of those "high people" that made this happen diying. It's not the best, but it's the best anecdote I have from when I lived. Now, I only must see the concequences of my actions as part of the room punishment, but I'll watch and enjoy every second of it.
| 2021-06-24T05:07:39 | 2021-06-24T04:31:51 | 152 | 17 |
[WP] One day everyone notices the words "Human Update 1.1 progress 1%" in the corner of their eye.
|
It started off with slight changes. Freckles started disappearing little by little, scars faded, teeth...even goddamn teeth started to straighten themselves out. But as the number climbed from 1%, to 10%, to 25% and 50%, that's when people started to become alarmed.
10%, all non-essential body hair became nonexistent. Back hair, arm hair, facial, and leg just started disappearing; seemingly receding back into our skin. I didn't mind losing the back-hair.
25%, hair and eye color started to change into singular colors. It didn't matter if you had hair that was as black as night, or as red as fire. It just became...white, and then fell out over time. Eyes went along the same way...just black and soulless. *They* didn't fall out luckily.
50%, skin....your fucking skin. African, Latino, Asian, and even White people started noticing patches of skin that would just...change. It would start off as little as the size of a dime, and it was obviously more noticeable on some more than others. Then they would grow, and eventually it started to look like everyone was stricken with a disease. Patches of bleach white covering bodies like walking chess boards until their entire body was just one bleach white silhouette.
And as that damned number hovers at 69%, I can only imagine what is coming next. I miss those talks I used to have with my wife though, about having kids some day. It's weird you know, I don't even notice it anymore. Not having a toilet anymore finally gave us the room to expand the bedroom.
|
Sometimes we ask for it. There's something in us as human beings that pushes us, ever closer to edges, cliffs. We like to be our own saviors; to resolve the very problems we create.
Another Monday morning. But today we all noticed it: progress. Progress is a funny thing. We need it. But we fight it. One percent. And counting. I had an inkling that the chip wasn't just another medical advancement. It wasn't just going to help doctors save me from a heart attack or debit my bank account as I purchased the burger that would cause it. We all got one. The chip became our wallets, our identity, our lives. But now it seemed like it was something else entirely: an invasion.
"Well what the hell happens when it's complete!?" My girlfriend shrieked. She was always nervous but now she couldn't hide it. Two percent.
"I don't know."
Riding to work, my car took a wrong turn. I hate these things. Let me put my hands on the wheel. I want control.
When I arrived, the blinking meter reached ten percent. But I was not at work. My car had taken me to the hospital; a huge grey building that always seemed to me more like a prison than a care center.
Vision: black, then blurry, then blinding white. I think I am dead. A voice of someone I don't know and from somewhere that seems like inside my own head says calmly,
"Welcome. Now is eternal. Enjoy living on The Substrate."
| 2015-03-04T18:22:46 | 2015-03-04T17:04:42 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] Get me hooked in 150 words
anything is fair game
|
“I didn't even know we owned a gun.”
Sarah's twenty-five dollar mascara made a mess of her cheeks. The great black streaks pulled her already tortured features into halloweenish proportions. Like a pumpkin left too long on the doorstep – or, in this case, a kitchen.
“You don't know a lot of things.”
Tim's eyes were dry. They were also green, and pointed at her. Behind him, a fabulous glass case of fine china sat practically groaning under the weight of it's chic decadence. The small table between himself and Sarah creaked too. Less in protest of it's gun-shaped centerpiece and more to break the long silences as the man and the woman reloaded their vocabulary.
“I know about Daniel.”
“I know about Susan.”
“I know you've never touched a gun in your life.”
“You don't know a lot of things.”
|
In the Red Corner stands a man who knows where he came from. He knows the single mother that raised him is watching at home. He knows she’s proud but she really wishes he never found the heavy bag she owned. He knows this is the biggest moment of his life. In the Blue Corner is the champ. Everyone knows he’s the son of a boxing legend. Everyone thinks he’s privileged. But only he knows how hard he had to work, how he had to deal with his emotionally abusive father, how he was never allowed to be anything but great. The one thing that no one but the two in the ring knows is that these two are brothers and this is the second time they’ve been in the same place, the first being the weigh-ins. The thing no one knows, one of them isn’t leaving the ring alive.
| 2014-12-09T17:38:29 | 2014-12-09T16:35:11 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.”
|
I just sat there with my jaw sagging, because my Latin lesson usually did not include a visitation by the Morning Star etc. I must have mispronounced.
Lucifer tilted his aristocratic nose upward somewhat as he glanced around my lodgings. I couldn't blame him. As a student I hardly lived a luxurious life.
"Forgive me," he muttered, whipping a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and holding it delicately to his nose. I caught a faint odor of brimstone. "Forgive me," he continued, "But do you, erm--reside in these odious surroundings?"
I was mildly offended, Son of the Morning or not. Sure, it was an attic apartment and a studio at that, but "odious" was hardly necessary. "Pardon *me*," I replied loftily. "The life of a scholar in this world has other rewards than the material."
"Oh, an ascetic, are we?" Lucifer mocked. He sauntered in a slow circle around my apartment--which didn't take long--taking in my shabby draperies, patched quilts, worn carpet and fake fireplace. "I had no idea it was still the fashion."
I bridled. "I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate the sublimities of study. If you wouldn't mind, the hour is late, and I must--"
Lucifer threw back his slicked-back head and laughed heartily. "The sublimities of studies!" he hooted. "The joys of late nights by lamplight, perhaps, gritty-eyed over some fusty manuscript? The joys of a cold bath? Of loneliness and celibacy? The joys of the cursed intellect, you cite to me? My self, boy, don't you realize you have so little *time?*"
"What?" I was surprised enough to bark.
"Time! Time, my boy! My narcissistic Father can hardly wait to gather you back into His bosom, there to praise Him mindlessly forever. Your time here is short. Don't you want to *live*?"
I eyed the dark angel doubtfully. "What do you mean, 'live?'"
"The delights of the flesh, my boy! The sublimity of sin! Have you no spirit at all? Is dry Latin all you want out of Life?"
"Well..." I hesitated. I wanted to tell him that yes, I was content with my lot. That study was enough. But my mind's eye wandered to the village I had left behind in order to pursue my studies. The village, and a certain dark-eyed milkmaid who had sighed at my departure, and suddenly I was not so sure.
"See?" Lucifer said with a hearty laugh. "Man cannot live by bread alone! You have yearnings, my boy, you have needs! Don't waste time with these indecipherable idioms, son, go forth and SIN!"
I agonized. On the one hand, there was the straight and narrow spread before me, lessons and Latin and lovelessness. On the other there was a lush and licentious garden of lies...
My mind rebelled. "Begone!" I cried. "Begone! Aroint thee, Satanas!" I blindly thrashed against the vision of him there, so smooth and deceptive in his fine clothes. "I'll have none of thee!"
Lucifer chuckled richly. "As you wish," he smiled. He bowed once, sarcastically, and disappeared.
My attic room was empty. The bare walls and threadbare carpets mocked me with their silence. Tears burned in my eyes.
Silently, I turned back to my work. A single tear spotted the parchment, but I wiped it away.
|
It had been a long day. I was working a temp job for a contracting company, and after an exhausting day I stopped for a quick drink at the local brewery. I was half way through my beer when he sat down.
“Long day?” The words floated on his voice, which was almost musical.
I however, was in no mood for music. I had just had a car ride so full of decompression that the radio had stayed off.
“Yeah” I said flatly, trying not to encourage conversation
“You from around here?” Again, the tone of his voice was almost a purr, soothing and calming. I sighed deeply, knowing I didn’t have much fight in me left.
“No, from the west coast. Northern Cali. You?”
He gave a slight giggle and looked genuinely delighted that I had asked, but the laugh was not like the words, and a shiver ran cold down my spine.
“Oh, I’m not from around here either” he swirled his drink but never drank from it, and seemed genuinely delighted to be talking and continued “I’m from both heaven and hell if you can imagine that”
“Ah” I replied, more interested in an exit strategy now then this mans life story.
“Was born in heaven, rebelled, got kicked out” he said quickly.
“That’s too bad” I mumbled as I reached for my wallet.
“Not really” he purred again “but you understand that don’t you?”
I unwillingly held my breath. No one knew about my descent. This stranger had just hinted at a dark stain in my memories and I did not take kind to that sort of thing. I felt anger rise up inside me. Felt it take over the fear of being found out.
“So why’d you do it then?” I asked it as more of a demand for information than a genuine question.
“I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation from others. The names Lucifer by the way.”
“Yeah” I let out a sharp exhalation through my nose “I got that”
“Why’d YOU do it?” He returned.
The glint in his eyes from the neon signage behind the bar looked sinister. I decided not to answer and instead retorted “if you happen to be in the area looking for a soul to steal, I’d recommend you avoid trying to get it by way of fiddle” I put the money for my drink down next to my half empty glass, and began to walk out.
Lucifer followed me out to my work truck repeating that same small giggle.
“Ah, very clever” I could feel his stare as I unlocked my car “but you see that story isn’t real”
I opened my truck door with the full intention to leave him standing there. But I paused, “None of it is”.
“And isn’t that the answer, hm? You rebelled because your faith in the falseness of it all matched your fathers faith in the goodness of it?” He waited for an answer we both knew I wasn’t about to give. So he continued “we’re not so different now, are we?”
I spit at the ground as my answer. Disgusted at where the conversation had led.
He didn’t look upset at this, as I had guessed he would. I closed my car door, and through the windshield I saw a look of pure unadulterated knowing in his smile.
I fought the chills as I drove away, and turned on the radio.
I needed to get the hell out of Georgia.
| 2020-12-13T09:23:43 | 2020-12-13T09:15:43 | 109 | 13 |
[WP] All your friends have superpowers while you don't, They all pity you but you love being normal, They don't seem to be getting the message.
|
"Come on, we can try it again", shouted Jack while he held my car on his left hand and a beer on the right.
"No, man, I've told you, I'm not interested", I replied, mildly annoyed and unsatisfied with the whole not-being-able-to-get-into-my-car situation.
"Dude, you've got to try again, it makes no sense that you can't do it - try it and, whatever happens, I'll give you your car back".
I agreed with amidst sighs and complaints, "You realise I'm never coming to visit again, right?". I gathered all my energy as I squatted down. Inhale, Exhale, Inhale, Exhale, Inhale and... jump! 15 inches or so was the height this time.
"Not bad! Can I have my car back, please?"
"Oh, come on! This makes no sense at all! I mean, we all got something! Jane can go through things, Matt can teach himself anything in no time, even Robbie got that weird looking arm... thing. This is really unfair, man"
"Dude, I've told you, I don't care. It's been a year already and, well, I've got to admit that I was a bit pissed at first, but you know what? What really is unfair is that you can't come back to how you were."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you know, back to being... normal"
"I'm not buying this, you're in denial. This is the best that could happen to anyone, I can lift anything, man!", he said as he finally let my car down on the ground.
"Ok, you can lift stuff... what have you been using that superpower for?", I asked, as I reached for the door and sat on the driver's seat.
"Uh... well, superhero stuff, you know! Like, saving people and all that"
"And that's what you wanted to do with your life? Become a superhero?"
"Well, no, but this is what I've got now. I have to use it somehow. People know I can do this kind of stuff, it would be selfish not to use it for good"
"Ok, that's exactly my point! Your life is no longer yours, there's higher expectations, you have to serve, you must give your power, your life, to the community, all because of this freak accident. You have a power beyond your incredible strength, you have the power to help others, to save others and to protect them, you could inflict great pain but you've chosen not too. But that's as far as your choices go, if you'd choose not to use your power for good, then you're selfish, you'd be shunned and booed wherever you go, you'd have to explain why you chose not to act the hero part when that's all that was expected from you. I don't want that kind of life. Anonymity, nobody expects anything from me. I'm free to do whatever I want, and that is my superpower".
|
"I just wish there was something we could do for you." Said Ultra-girl for the hundredth time. "A lab explosion, some weird space goo, a super suit, something."
"Look I keep telling you, I don't want one. I'm not just saying that, I don't know why you won't believe me." replied Janet, also for the hundredth time.
"But-"
"Stop." Janet cut her off. "Ok, let me see if I can put this in context for you. What time did you go to bed last night? Oh, you didn't? I passed out watching Conan and slept until 11:30. When was the last time you got to go on a real date? Never? I have 3 this week, all with hot guys. I'm literally on Tinder swiping right on underwear models right now. See?" She wasn't lying, in fact her ability to quickly and superficially tear through the human meat market of dating apps was very nearly a super power in itself. Ultra-girl wavered slightly, but still looked unconvinced. Janet stared back incredulously. "I know you think you're helping but I just don't want the crushing responsibility and stress you have to deal with. I got a huge settlement from the incident when Sergeant Canada tried to invade New York and my leg got crushed, and, AND you guys protect me and fly me anywhere I want to go."
"I guess... but." Ultra-Girl protested.
"NO! No more. Tonight we defeat the evil forces of Dr. Sobriety! For glory!" She yelled forcing another shot into Ultra-Girls hands. At that point the music got too loud for any further arguments and the rest of their group were already on the dance floor: Night-Knight with his enchanted suit of armor, Smash 'n' Grab who had a massive stone hand and a sticky/stretchy one and the leader of their little group Athena II the cyborg demi-goddess.
The rest of the night went fine. Janet's friends had to run out a couple times to deal with assorted bullshit petty crimes but she didn't mind. Nobody made the best friend of Boston's own super team pay for her drinks. By the time they stumbled their way back to Ultra-Girls apartment it was almost 3AM. Everyone passed out on various couches or patches of floor. Ultra-Girl's head rested on Janet's chest as they cuddled up together in her bed.
As she looked across the room at the outline of her friends in the moonlight Janet smiled. She loved watching them sleep so peacefully. She cradled Ultra-Girls head in her left hand as her right hand slowly slid down her back. She gently brushed her fingertips across the hilt of the bejeweled dagger at her waist. It was the source of her power and also her weakness. It would be so easy to end her right here. Janet smiled to herself as she closed her eyes. 'Soon,' she thought, 'but not tonight' and drifted off to sleep.
| 2016-05-03T07:14:15 | 2016-05-03T07:11:31 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
I always thought I would die from being stabbed in the back by a dirty, dull knife. Some sort of poetic justice, if you will, at least regarding the stabbing. My knives were always sharp.
When they brought me to court, they told me that it was magic--out of the realms of a simpleton rogue like me. They waved a wand at me and told me that I couldn't lie, even if I wanted to. So when they asked why I did what I did, the answer was simple and truthful:
"Because it paid well."
Though a little half-hearted, it was with no less candour. Gold was necessary for survival, but it's a little strange how the most important thing in my life wasn't necessary. In demand, but not needed.
I was sentenced to death. I had no letters to send, no people to speak to. That suited me just fine. This was already more dignity than I was used to.
I thought the end of all that would be a noose. A vial of poison. The swing of an axe.
"Sybil Harper," the burly man in a black hood pointed to the woman in front of me, who stepped forward with impunity. "How would you like to die?"
"Of old age," she said.
The executioner brought out a wand, comically undersized in his large, meaty hands. But he was learned, magic-touched--and with an incantation and a bright streak of purple, I saw the half-elf's hair go from black to grey to white, her ears drooping, her height diminishing, and her confident poise hunchbacking.
With that, old Sybil Harper hobbled one, two steps, before collapsing onto the floor. When they turned her around, there was a toothless smile on her face.
"Ged Ruell," the headsman said now, and I gulped, my mind turned around in an instant. "How would you like to die?"
"Doing what I love," I said.
The wand came out, once more, and this time, a fiery red beam unleashed itself upon me. I struggled with its power, forcing my eyes entirely close, but eventually, calm washed upon me like familiar ocean waves lapping at my feet.
I opened my eyes, vision lit again, slightly obscured at the sides with black, and with the sight of my dead body on the floor. It was dragged away swiftly, without honour or respect.
I could not hear my own thoughts. Now, it felt like I was drowning, my thoughts swirling into a perpetual maelstrom, unable to keep my head above water, oppresive dark cloud and shrieking thunder blackening every sense.
"Elliot Cobbett," the words came out, not entirely of my own volition. I watched my hands point to another man in the line. "How would you like to die?"
"Quickly," he replied.
The hand dropped once more. Instead of a thin wand, the hand encircled a familiar, leather-wrapped handle. And in a stormburst, the clouds cleared, and one thought rang true.
"With pleasure," I said.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
"I would like to die of old age"
I froze, as those words resonated in my head, the realization that his nape would be the last I see of him quickly sinked in.
"*Why...?*" I murmured. Why would he do that? He's not that gullible as to think the Supreme Court of Wizardry would let him get away with that, he's the mastermind behind it all, for Merlin's beard! He's the one who found out about the breach in the treaty, the muggle camps in Stirling, he convinced us, led us, believed in us... We were so close to rid the world of that noxious titan of a minister, just that one droplet would have been enough...
&#x200B;
"Then, without further ado, for crimes against the Ministry, organising an uprising and for the theft of the sacred first titan Olaf's blood, we hereby sentence you to death, by old age, as requested." the judge's voice exploded through the hall.
His hair started losing its distinct red colour, exposing more and more patches of his scalp. Some weird black marks could be seen behind his curls.
I can barely contain my tears, I would've given everything for this man, as I'm sure he would've done for me also. He called me by his name, and yet this pitiful sight of him is all that's left...
&#x200B;
Some commotion could be heard in the otherwise silent chamber of the jury, as a minute man hurried through the crowd, causing turmoil. His wacky moustache really didn't fit the vexed expression painting his face, neither did his voice tone, as it echoed through the room, trying to sound solemn.
"Know that we will find Olaf's blood! Your existence will be notorious through the whole continent as nothing more than pointless, so wipe that smirk off your face!"
"*He's... smirking?"* Of course he'd be smirking... even facing death under the spiteful noses of these disdainful aristocrats his spirit wouldn't break. I look back at him, as I struggle to accept my own fate myself, and right there, right in front of me is the answer. Tattooed on the back of his head is an encrypted message, calibrated exactly to work on my lenses!
I'm once more shook, as his body begins falling apart, I can't stop my tears, nor my gratitude, he really did give me everything in the end. The dust settles, and I make up my mind, looking up.
"The choice is yours." finally the judge's sight lands upon me, scrutinizing me, digging deep into my soul. I concede him little time however, as my leader's last words paint a clear picture in my mind, I spout my answer loud and clear.
"I wish to stab myself with the dagger resting on my desk at home!"
&#x200B;
"So be it."
&#x200B;
*A droplet of Olaf's blood is enough to rid a titan of their life, and grant a human a second one. He was half human.*
| 2021-06-24T09:55:49 | 2021-06-24T09:19:00 | 803 | 12 |
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