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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
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[WP] You murdered someone out of the blue, and being a rookie started googling and asking questions. The types of questions you asked attracted attention, so when someone asked if you were writing a murder mystery, you said yes. You now have to juggle getting away with murder and writing your book
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It always starts with the doorbell. Over the years, I've come to train myself to have a poker face when the doorbells rangs and I've not in a welcoming mood. Everyone loves good news but one must also prepare for the bad ones.
"Patrick Gols? NYPD, we're conducting an investigation on the murder of the Red Street a couple blocks from here. Can we ask some questions?"
Panic. Sweat. *Is this a blackout?*
"Sir, are you ok? We'll promise to only take a few minutes of your time."
Regaining my composure, I unlock the door latch and meet their gaze.
"You don't have to get in, do you? The house's a bit messy."
"We'll be fine here." - the officer started. - "We'd only be interested in your laptop, anyway."
*Oh, shit. I see what this is about.*
"Your most recent google searches caught the eyes of the FBI..." - the officer started as he looked to the papers on his hands. - "*How to bury a body*, *How to remove bloodstains*, H*ow long does a dead body take to be found* and *Reddit, did you ever killed someone and got away with it*?"
"Theses researches were academic." - I blurted out
"Oh, you're a writer or something? Our records didn't mentioned anything."
"I prefer unpublished author." - One of my biggest flaws is that I'm quite a good liar. - "But yes, I'm writing a novel. A murder mystery."
"Well, you're not even an official suspect, unlike one of your neighbors, but my superiors asked me to snoop around anyway. Do you have any idea where I can find Mr. Rogers?"
"I think he went on holidays for the weekend."
"This will be a long week, then." - he sighed
"Any chance you could send a signed copy to the post office when you finished your novel? "
"Sure, it would be a pleasure." - If this is what it takes to keep me from jail, I'll write a whole saga.
"That will be all, have a nice evening." - The policeman started to walk away and I could feel the adrenaline starting to slow down.
"Bye." - I whispered.
My legs had started trembling without me noticing. *Is that it? I'm of the hook?* When I was about to close the door, the officer turned to me again:
"I do love a good story, but if you keep googling stuff like that, not even a best-seller will save you from finishing your novel in jail."
|
I wasn't the tech type. At all. I barely managed to know how to open google and I even had to use it to learn how to use Microsoft Word, plus learning where documents get saved and how to copy-paste... It was a nightmare.
I didn't really have hobbies anyway outside of going to the shooting range, stabbing people and working a shitty cashier job to pay for the rent of the appartement I lived in. My family was long dead and the coworker (that usually calls herself 'my friend') who pointed out my Google searches and forced me into this stupid novel that I was writing.
Couldn't wait to be killing again, I thought to myself as I wrote about how my main character stabbed the victim called Lizzy through the heart.
Three months later, things started changing. At first I balanced my killing-writing time quite well, writing during the day after work and killing at night. Sleep? Who needs sleep when coffee and sometimes a little cocaine is a thing? Anyway - I really started enjoying the writing. Sometimes I'd skip a night just to write some more. And I removed the coworkers who pointed out my google searches from the list, not by killing them, but because I wanted to show them my book's progress. I loved their support and my resentment for human's started to fade away a bit. Not completely. But quite a bit.
Now, my book was finally done and I was working on my second. This time I wrote about the victim's perspective in my serial killer chasing novel. And about their pain. And their hurt. At first it was fun. But then, a feeling I'd never felt before kicked in, "empathy."
And another one - regret. When that sunk in, I had to step back from my computer for a second. I put away my guns and knives and overthought my actions. I started having nightmares about my victims and when I tried to think of killing another one, I couldn't get myself to.
And I finally realized that this is what most of the world was experiencing and trying to do.
But I had a new chance! My serial killer name went quiet on the news as I hadn't struck anyone in a while. I could be a writer now and use my gun and knife knowledge and everything I'd learned. Not only were my writings perfectly accurate (my coworker even asked how I captured what the killer must feel so well), but I wasn't harming people anymore and finally felt truly happy. Killing was an instant quick relief, but this made me long-term happy.
The next day the police knocked on my door.
And my story ended with execution.
| 2020-01-30T11:22:41 | 2020-01-30T09:55:02 | 30 | 18 |
[WP] A shapeshifter befriends a lonely human multiple times throughout his or her life, but the human thinks it's a different person every time. One day the human realizes that all of his/her friends are really the same person.
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Doga lived by himself in the middle of the forest. He had lived there for many years for he had once killed a man when he was young. It had over a woman they both loved, and while they had danced in infatuation, she toyed with them and plucked at their honour like the chicken and the butcher. It was a choice between death and never seeing the village again. Doga chose the latter, a choice few made.
Few wandered past Doga's cottage. It was small and modest and basic, but that was what Doga wanted. He had grown weathered through the years, his once youthful hands were worn from woodworking and his eyes grew duller as they lost their sight to the liquor he made of wild berries. Over the many years some would stay the night, and Doga was an accommodating host. They would share his deer jerky and drink the berry wine together, telling stories of fiction and their past.
He was always clear with his own past. Each time he would tell of how he had be a fool, and each time his companion would assure him that everyone made mistakes, even the gods. By this point in the night, Doga would always have heavy eyelids, and he would nod off to sleep as the fire breathed a few last times.
A young man appeared one day at his door. He was tall and skinny, and wore strange clothing. Doga opened the door as he had done many times before, allowing the guest into his humble home.
"Would I be able to spend the night?" the man asked.
Doga nodded. "A guest is always welcome to this part of the woods. I'll start the fire."
Doga tended to the fire, his hands shaking as he struck two rocks together until the sparks ate the kindling. But for the first time, he felt compelled to ask a question. "May I have your name?"
"Hwelo. I am named for the the trees that shake and quiver in the winds, the whispers of oceans from long distance. And you?"
"I am Doga. Named for the boulders that will not concede without breaking." He reached for a deerskin bag and opened it before offering it to his guest. "My guest always has the first sip. But surely you already knew that."
"Why suggest that?" The man tilted his head as if confused by the suggestion. He took a sip before passing it back to Doga.
"I know because for a hundred years a guest comes on the new moon. He comes from a far away land, but he knows not of the details. He knows of here, my home. He speaks of the mountain in the far distance as if it were his brother and the stream his sister. I know because I have watched them for many years myself, and have grown to know their every part. He may try to mask them, but it is the fine details that give him away." Doga took a large swig from the bag. "A lie is best when it is based on truth, but it will never pass if the other knows the truth it is based on."
Hwelo smiled. "I have been found out."
"Do not fear, though. You remain my guest." Doga felt his eyes heavier than usual. "But why, if I may ask, do you wear so many masks?"
"I wear the mask of my influence. The northern winds are cold, for they are from sheets of ice. The south is warm, and my face grows tan and wide. I assure you I mean no harm."
Doga grunted. "That I know. I thank you for the companionship as well as this final visit. I may not have been a great man, but I have always looked forward to you coming." He laid down on his bed.
Hwelo shook his head. "You have always been a great man. And a great friend. I will feel sad to see you go. Do you have a last wish?"
"I do." Doga closed his eyes. "But I believe you already know it, for I have told you many times before."
And as his body crumbled to fine dust, his voice became a mere echo. Hwelo blew a small gust, carrying his friend's body into the wind.
|
The shapeshifter doesn't remember it's origin. It's been here for far too long. It doesn't even remember it's original name. It has taken the form of too many people. People that throughout the years that have been successful, talented and have had rich life giving experiences. Theses experiences taught this alien creature what the humans are all about. It has learned to love each family it's come across and each family it has been a part of.
This better half of the century it has chosen to live through the life of a man that was considered a celebrity. A celebrity that had no shortage of friends or fans, and got quite busy with them at that. It could be said the alien was enjoying itself very much. It has lead nothing but selfish or enjoyable lives throughout its time, and yet the alien thought it had everything figured out. One evening this shapeshifter had a house party that a lot of people had showed up to. Including a man named Colin. Colin never was too happy with his life, and accepted his life to be quite a disappointment. He had no friends, and both his parents were very dismissive of the parenting role that was such a burden to them. Colin didn't even know what he was doing with his life. All he ever wanted was a couple of friends. One friend maybe? What was the use anyway? Colin was too socially awkward he wouldn't know what to do with them.
It was time to leave this party he thought. He didn't even know how he got an invitation. He looked up to leave and was startled to see the shapeshifter staring at him. He had a frown upon his face, but was puzzled at this man named Colin. He didn't seem like anyone he had the pleasure of meeting before. Why has he not met someone like Colin? Perhaps they don't go out much? Perhaps this is a new experience I can have? Colin watched as this man walked off into the crowd. He was still puzzled, but what did it matter, he has met the same look many times in terms of his parents. Colin walked to leave out the door to his second hand car. A figure walked quickly into him at the door."woah hey man! Shit my drink! No don't worry about it man, it's an accident. But..uh..wait shit! You are that Colin guy right? Dude no way! I've heard a lot about you dude!" Colin was immensely confused. How could this guy the same age as him possibly know who he is? "I apologize man, really for the drink and all, but how do you know me?" "Shit, well I heard a lot about you from the girls I hang with bro, you know Stacy and, fuck, that one over there katelyn!" Colin looked over. They were girls from high school. Girls that he never spoke one word to, and never planned to due to his nervousness. "They have been talking about me?" "Well of course bro, you're like what? The hottest guy they've seen?" "Wait what? Umm, I actually never talked to them personally dude,well..I uh sorry uh what your name?" Colin was trying the best to change the subject the best he could. But as soon as the casual name question popped up the man made a quick excuse to go back the party and let Colin go on his way. It was all very surreal. It must be a sick joke Colin thought. There is now way in hell anybody would know him, especially the girls he has done so sure to avoid in the past.
I have to leave unfortunately. This is my first try at a story. Let me know if it's worth continuing. I had planned Colin to meet his new best friend, along a few others. Along with that, his first girlfriend. One day after his girlfriend leaves(to transform into best friend) the shapeshifter forgot his cell phone. In which Colin tries to look through(personal issues), and finds no record of any proof she has other friends. Looking into it he discovers the horrible truth.
| 2014-08-15T10:39:53 | 2014-08-15T08:43:05 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] the vampire that has been terrorizing the town you live in just found you and drained all of your blood. The face that the vampire did when your wound healed in seconds and you got up was the best that you ever saw in a thousand years.
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I layed on the floor, raspy breathing exhaling from my mouth as the last amount of crimson was expeled from my vains. I felt the weight lifted off of me, my body feeling very weak and frail.
Huh, I forgot what that felt like.
"What a unique taste..." The vampire commented as they stared at my pale body, giving a small smile and revealing their blood coated fangs. "It's been a while since I've devoured such a delectable human before. You should feel special, I don't often praise your kind for their taste." The vampire laughed, turning to leave.
Okay, enough of that.
"Wait," I gasped out, slowly feeling the blood rushing back into my body. I just need some more time...
The vampire raised an eyebrow as they turned. "Oh? You're still alive? Fascinating. Most humans would perish in your... state." The vampire trailed off as they saw the two holes punctured into my neck slowly close. My skin, which was originally stark white, had started to flush with colour again. I sat up, my body feeling refreshed.
"What the-!?" The vampire croaked.
"I suppose you're only young, in vampire terms at least." I commented, standing up to my feet. "If you were a bit older, you'd understand very cleary the different tastes between human blood and demon blood."
"... Demon...?" The vampire sqeaked, all proudness in their stance gone.
"Demon." I repeated with a grin. "Our blood tastes a bit sweeter, doesn't it? I figured you would've been taught that long ago. Don't fret... it's a common mistake the younger generation of vampires make. I've seen it plenty of times." I replied, stepping forward.
I tried to live a peaceful life out in this town, away from my original heritage.
Oh well, things like this happen... besides, I always wondered what vampire tasted like.
|
As I grabbed hold of the dumpster next me to pull my self up, I need that I should have been mad and angry that this vampire had bitten me and drained of all my blood as the sensation of feeling your blood being all sucked out is horrible and a bit painful. But the look on her face of absolute shock and horror as my wounds healed in a second was absolutely hilarious, I had not had a good laugh like that in over a thousand years. "Did I turn you, I thought it took longer for you to turn, how are you alive?" I heard the vampire exclaim in a shocked and horrified voice. I looked the vampire over he was wearing a black leather jacket and pants the likes you might expect to see on a vampire show out of the 90s he was covered in blood, which indicated to me he was a newly turned vampire as well as looking like he was in his early 20s.
"You did not turn me I am an immortal. Wh...." I began to say but before I could finish he interrupted me. "An Immortal are there really such things?". I was not liking how this was going he did not know as much as he should. "Immortals do exist. I am classed as a rapid healing kind fast enough that I never actually die. Who is you Turner and where is he? And what is you name?" I asked. "I am Paul, I don't know my Turner's name he told me the basics of being a vampire and left" he replied.
It was as I feared a fledgling vampire untrained uneducated and abandoned by his Turner. It was illegal to abandon a fledgling as they could expose the mythical community. It was now my responsibility to take care and train him. It was the last thing I wanted, I was tired and planned to take a nap for a couple of decades.
| 2022-12-10T06:04:57 | 2022-12-10T04:51:29 | 227 | 55 |
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy
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As you sit there reading this, no doubt comfortably snuggled into bed, or your desk chair, you're probably thinking "I wonder what creepy sentence he will end with?"
I've not really thought out where this will go to be completely honest. I could tell you a story about an unassuming gentleman who keeps people locked in a basement, or parents who can't let the carcass of their dead child out of their sight due to their unabashed heartache. Or possibly a small girl who keeps the severed fingers of her classmates as tea party friends?
The fact is, I'm no writer. I do not "weave words" or anything of the sort.
I was simply the person it chose to keep *your* eyes on the screen.
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Tattoos used to be taboo, but now they're just cliché. Well, except mine. Mine aren't those shallow cookie-cutter inks; I have to dig deep for my tattoos. For me, each tattoo is a memory laboriously unearthed, another life--lived vicariously. Tattoos bring a sweat to my brow, and a beat to my heart. My skin isn't painted by the subtle whir of a needle, but the loud thud of a shovel. My tattoos speak to the anguish of man, and deliver their message with the point of a knife. As I climb out of a fresh grave, I just hope that this time the skin grafts take.
| 2016-05-19T18:15:49 | 2016-05-19T14:31:38 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] Satan is tired of losing countless guitar and fiddle duels, and is now challenging people with obscure instruments.
Wow guys! My first front page on writingprompts :D Thanks for a wonderful surprise!
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Well the Devil went to Seattle
He was feelin' a little down
After fiddlin' a bunch, he was havin' a hunch
He'd lost the right to his crown
*In the Emerald City,* he thought,
*there are no southerners or jews.*
*There may be a chance to change my stance*
*Try an instrument I can't lose.*
He wandered 'round Pike's Market
Till he found a promising lad
He was rockin' hard, this modern bard,
So he said "Let's talk a tad."
"Now you've drawn a pretty good crowd here, son,
But you've still got a lot to learn.
I'll bet a mountain of gold against your soul
That I can make your ear-balls churn."
The lad said "Well my name's Chang,
And maybe it's a sin,
But I'll take your bet, and you're gonna regret
Cause I really think I'll win!"
Devil raise your weapon high and put Chang in the pit.
Cause you suck at playing fiddle more than just a little bit.
You'll give up a whole peak of gold if this dude is not a troll.
But if he is, then you will score his soul.
Chang stretched his fingers wide and said "I'm not one to tease."
And honey flowed across the crowd as his fingers crossed the keys.
It was a haunting melody and it brought the crowd to its feet
Then he began a rocking solo while screaming "Let's bring up the heat!!"
*Awesome music solo*
The Devil smiled politely when Chang was winding down.
"Not bad," he said, "But before you bow, first check this shit out."
Old Scratch strapped in, yelled "SHALL WE BEGIN?!"
And he played his title bout.
Fire on the Mountain, give up now.
Chang's in the house of the aroused sow.
Chicken in the bed pan picking out poo.
Granny do you hog-tie, yes I do.
Chang's face went ashen cause he knew that he had lost.
And he bowed his head as the Devil took Chang's soul for his cost.
And the Devil said "Don't feel too bad, you may have been a star.
But you should have known the Devil's own, I created the fucking keytar!
*Edit* Wow guys, that is a whole lot of love to wake up to! Glad you all enjoyed it.
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Seconds ago, Tom’s leisurely afternoon of Sunday Night football had been interrupted by an unexpected visitor. A brilliant light like a flash bulb had gone off, blinding him. Dark smoke swirled ominously as the acrid stench of sulfur assaulted his nose. Tom was coughing and waving away the foul air when a figure stepped through the smog. Taller than any man he had ever seen, the figure was red-skinned and wore a long flowing red cape. The horns and hooves struck him as strange too. He wasn’t entirely sure, but Tom had the sneaking suspicion he was standing in the presence of Lucifer himself.
Blinking stupidly, Tom realized that he had been staring at the apparition in front of him, and only had the vaguest idea that the figure had been speaking to him. Clearly exasperated, the figure spoke again. Tom was still confused, and desperately needed clarification.
“A what now?” Tom said.
“A [Theremin](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theremin).” hissed the devil, gesturing to a strange looking device behind him. Tom looked, spying a strange looking box with hoops and antennas on it. The devil continued.
“What do you say? I bet you a Theremin of gold against your soul, ‘cos I think I’m better than you.”
“Um” Tom paused, unsure of how to address the Lord of Darkness. Flustered, he decided to press on.
“Uh, Mister Satan, sir? The Seahawks are up by 2 in the 4th quarter with just 2 minutes to go. I got ten bucks riding on this game, and it is the Superbowl. So could we maybe do this another time…?” Tom braced, not knowing how well Satan would take the rejection.
“Oh.” Said the devil, his face crestfallen. Without another word, he grabbed his cape and spun in place. A whirlwind of fumes and fire enveloped the room, and he was gone. Tom coughed again, waving away the brimstone-laden air, before turning his attention back to the game.
Meanwhile in Hell, a forlorn Satan scratched the name “Thomas Bradley Jefferson” off his list. He slid his finger down to the next name, “Thomas Christopher Jefferson”, and readied his Didgeridoo.
| 2015-01-31T22:04:27 | 2015-01-31T20:58:45 | 1,639 | 152 |
[WP] murder is legal, once a permit has been obtained from the local police department. Permits require a declaration of a target victim and justification to commit the act. Once a permit has been issued it is valid for 72 hours. Once expired you can never get another for the same target victim.
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"And the name of your intended target?"
I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Michael McCowell."
"Very well. Please have a seat while I add this to the registry. It will only be a few minutes."
I sit and run my hand through my hair. The anxiety from this decision has my nerves fried. I don't want to kill him. I love him. He was there for all the major events in my life, participating in my story, and sharing his. I've known him my whole life and dont want to imagine a world without him in it.
However, a promise is a promise. I need to do this.
"Sir? All I need is a signature."
I walk back to the window where the permit and a pen are waiting for me. With another sigh, I quickly scrawl my name and hand the paper back to the clerk. She stamps it and recites a patter I'm sure she had said many time before.
"You now have 72 hours to execute this order. In the event that you do not succeed, there is no penalty. However, you will not be allowed another attempt. Any collateral damages will be covered in full by yourself, and all criminal activities not covered by the terms of this permit will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Do you understand the stipulations stated in this document?"
"I do."
Slowly, I walk out of the municipal building and hop in my truck. The rain seems fitting as I drive to the hospital.
After parking the car I head inside and on my way to the room I stop at the nurses station. The head nurse sees me and gives me a sad smile. "He's been asking about you. He missed you this morning."
"I had an errand to run. Um, I talked to the doctor yesterday about his options. Does he have any news?"
She nodded. "He left the medicine in the room."
Thanking her, I walk down the hall to room 2441. I slowly open the door and walk in. "Grandpa? It's me. Are you awake?"
"Hey, kiddo! Yeah, come on in. Your mother was here earlier this morning and helped me make a best-of slide show from my social media. I want to show you my life."
I give this skeleton man before me a hug, his once healthy form only evident from the strength of his embrace. Tears prickle my eyes as I look at him. He frowns. "Hey now, we've got all afternoon. Sit. Let me show you how I met your grandmother."
We sat for the next six hours together, looking at pictures and videos of him as a young man. Hanging out with friends, protesting for change, meeting the love of his life, starting a family, growing old. We laughed and talked, and when I couldn't help it anymore, I cried. And despite his illness, he held me and comforted me like when I was a child.
When I had finally calmed down, he took my face in his hands and looked into my eyes. "What do you say kiddo, about time to do this?" I nod gently. He smiles at me. "It's gonna be okay. I am choosing this. Im just glad my grandson is here with me so I can die with a smile on my face and love in my heart. Cause i do love you, with everything I am."
I can't bare to say anything as I get up and cross the room to the syringe of morphine waiting on the counter. I hear him press his call button and tell the nurse his thank yous and goodbyes. She replies, "Mr. McCowell, it has been a privilege to have you here. We are all going to miss your smile."
He looks up at me and smiles as I approach his IV. I can't but help and smile back, sad as it may be. I inject the morphine into his tubing the way the doctor showed me and he starts relaxing almost immediately. He kisses my forehead one last time and I watch him fall asleep. A sense of peace envelops the room as the pain and suffering he refused to show dissipate. I hold his hand till the doctor comes in to pronounce his death.
The rain had stopped in time to give me a cloudy, red sunset for the drive home. As I drove, I thought about who my grandfather was. He was not known by too many people, nor will his name go down in history. As sad as this day was, though, I got to know more of the life of one of the greatest men to ever live.
|
"Hey Rad, focus "-said Fred without hiding his discomfort- "I'm answering your question, so you better listen to me. I dont even know why you called me. There's nothing wrong about this place".
-Nothing, huh? There's a dead body 3 ft from you and you dont even acknowledge her prescence. Let alone your lack of condolences. But whatever...
-Rad
-The camera shows the girl dying at 7:02 today monday. According to witnesses, the culprit was a bald man in his 40s wearing a black coat, scarf and leather gloves.
-Rad, its a...
-He was also wearing an expensive watch. The kind of watch that is worth 10 years of your salary.
-Come on, Rad. You know its...
-Knowing this, we can determine the store, and with the proper questions we might hopefully...
-CONRAD!!!... Its legal.
-Huh?
-Like I said: It's Legal Termination.
Fred had enough of my shit already. He is a homicide detective, too. Although ever since the law he usually sits on a desk without doing jack. He is also my brother. Ever since our childhood, we always wanted to solve crimes and mysteries together. That dream became true a few years ago. We were unstoppable, no murder could get away from us.
Until last year, that is.
Making homicide legal was on every news channel. Everyone was panicking, claiming it was the start of the apocalypse. Our country was segregated and hated, considered the scum of the earth. Fast forward to this day, no one seems to care anymore. The word hypocrisy comes to mind, since it is now a thing in other countries as well.
The girl in question was strangled in the middle of Liberty St. It was bothersome for the people and the vehicles purely because of the position of the body. It was a monday in the morning, so apparently the last thing everyone needed was a dead girl blocking their way. Needless to say our arrival at 8:30 wasn't pleasant for anyone, especially when we cut off the the access to the bloody street. But I certainly wasn't in a good mood either.
-Legal? How the fuck can this be considered legal, Fred?! She is just a girl!
-Nope, she turned 18 a week ago. Geez, I already told you that. Why do you even ask her age if you won't hear me, anyway?
I was desperate. The law was very clear in regards of what constitutes a Legal Termination. Among those things, the target must be 18 years or older.
-Rad, you're ignoring me again. She is old enough.
-Was a permit requested for this?
-Yep. Last friday.
-Then the deadline...!
-Dont even bother. It was requested at 8 AM, just so you know. A close call, it seems.
-And the justification?
-She was blackmailing him. Falls into the "self defense" category, according to the new law.
-Were they blood related?
-Nope, he was her teacher.
-Maybe she was homeschooled...
-Oh come on, Rad. You know there's nothing illegal about this. Just drop it.
-How can YOU drop it? We are detectives!! Our job is to convict criminals.
-There are no criminals here and you know it.
-Bullshit! You know that this whole Legal Termination is bullshit! There is nothing legal here. A schoolgirl was murdered like an hour ago and you are ok with this?
-You think this is easy for me?! I was the one that gave a permit 3 days ago to a 45 year old teacher to kill a certain cheerleader. This whole thing is sickening. But we must execute the law, no matter what!
Wait. Something isn't right. I had to check:
-You gave him the permit?
-Yeah, I'm disturbed by this as y...
-At 8 AM on friday?
-Yeah?
-Werent you sick that day? You took a day off.
-huh? You're right. Must've done it on Thurs- oh crap.
-You realized, too! You must've given him the permit on thursday! This means he was a day late!
-Heh. And he was kind enough to fill a paper with his name and address in order to get the permit.
-Then lets hurry! We need to serve the law!
-Now youre obeying the law? Geez Conrad.
| 2019-07-09T11:04:22 | 2019-07-09T10:40:11 | 102 | 12 |
[WP] The year is 1910. Adolf Hitler, a struggling artist, has fought off dozens of assasination attemps by well meaning time travelers, but this one is different. This traveller doesn't want to kill Hitler, he wants to teach him to paint. He pulls off his hood to reveal the frizzy afro of Bob Ross.
|
It pained him to say that Adolf had become increasingly used to the attempts on his life. Every time he blinked an eye, there was someone out to end him with poison, a knife, or something he didn’t recognize. Regardless of time, regardless of the position Adolf was in, they were always there. They seemed to know everything.
What was he to do? He hadn’t had the time to ask them, since they all had failed in their ambitions, but it nevertheless had made him a nervous man. Afraid of his own destiny, one could say. Why? Adolf didn’t think that he would ever stoop so low as to warrant a barrage of assassins in strange clothing and strange mechanisms and strange ambitions. He had, due to the attacks, gradually become a paranoid man, thinking the world was against him and everything he did. He was a shell. He was a rock. He was festering in the stew of his own self-exile, and it was beginning to get to him.
He had decided to become a painter in the time that he had to himself. His mother always told him to get a real job, and actually work, but the thought was less than comforting to Adolf. He hated being out in the open, he’d be more of a target then. So when he moved to Vienna with the last of his inheritance, he could stay secluded for as long as he liked.
He was certainly secluded now – he was locked up in his room, awaiting the results of the entrance exam to the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts. He was confident, for once, about his chances. His sketches that he had sent in were quite good. He allowed himself a short, sharp chuckle before he turned around and noticed his visitor.
There had been no sound, no evidence of anything moved. There was simply a man with a beard and frizzy hair sitting on his sofa with smiling eyes and a calm expression.
“Hello there,” said the man.
Adolf stood at attention. “Who are you?” he asked. “Are you here to kill me?”
“I am not an assassin, Adolf.” The man smiled. “My name is Bob Ross. I am an artist just like you.”
“Oh?” said Adolf, reaching for the revolver in his desk, pulling it out and pointing it at Bob. “And what are you going to do?”
“I am here to teach you. Enlighten you, perhaps.”
“Teach?”
“Yes.”
“I am confident in my ability, sir. I don’t need lessons.”
“Please understand, I want to help.”
“I don’t need help!!” cried Adolf, raising the pistol once again. “I’ve already submitted my drawings AND taken the test!”
The man stopped, and then he stood, disheartened. “I was too late?”
“Too late?” asked Adolf. “What do you mean?”
“I’m afraid you’re not going to get accepted to the Academy, Adolf.”
“I’m…” Adolf’s face fell. “I’m not?”
Bob shook his head. “You are going to do bad things, Adolf. So please…”
“What kind of bad things?!”
“I cannot say…” Bob held a smile, resigned almost, to the floor. He looked tired.
“I am going to be accepted. You can’t stop me. They’re accepting me as we speak!”
Bob smiled sadly. “Listen to me. You could do great things. You can do anything you want to in this life that you are given. You can be the greatest the world has ever seen. The world will revere your name for centuries. You must simply do right by you, and do right by others. You have the capability to change things for the better, Adolf. Let me be the first step.”
Bob held out his hand. Adolf’s revolver hand began to shake. The room was silent.
The mail slot on the door jostled, and Adolf turned to look. A letter. He walked towards it with bated breath, revolver still trained on Bob.
He crouched down and opened it.
He had been denied.
“What is it?” asked Bob.
Adolf stood again, at a loss for words. Bob looked at him, confused.
“You know,” said Adolf.
Adolf shot Bob Ross in the chest, and he fell to the floor. Tears began to rush down Adolf’s face. What to do now? What on Earth to do now?
He thought back to what Bob had said.
He could do great things. He can do anything he wants to in this life that he is given. He can be the greatest the world has ever seen. The world will revere his name for centuries. He must simply do right by him, and do right by others. He will have the capability to change things for the better.
He will change things, he thought. He will do right by him, and do right to others. He will be the greatest the world had ever seen.
Hitler smiled.
There will be fire.
|
The paint ran down the canvas, slowly trailing through the empty blank sheet as a deep sigh escaped my mouth. My lip quivered as I stood silently alone my modest and small room. I had been up for 3 days and the stench of stale coffee, dirty pastille paints and unlaundered clothes filled the room. A little tap echoed from the door. Who the hell could that be? It's 3 in the morning and I'm certainly not expecting anyone right now, I furiously marched over and slam the door open. Strangely enough I'm was greeted by a kind old man in a dark robe. He was holding a painting case and a blank canvas. He smiled and I was immediately disarmed and comforted by the warmness from it. I shyly motioned for him to come in.
Dressed in simple buttoned up shirt and blue american style jeans, I was immediately cautious but something about him seems gentle and kind. Such strange hair, it was big and bushy and unkempt, I found myself starring at it for a fraction too long. "Hello, I'm Bob", his German was broken but his greeting is earnest and I shook his hand. Before I could respond he looked around the room and said "So you paint, well glad I got here because you look like you could use a Friend."
The room was a mess, half eaten food and cold cups of coffee litter the shelves and table space. The floor was covered in ripped up attempts at 'Art' and pictures of her were scattered over my bed, where I had left them 3 days ago. I didn't go to that side of the room, I was scared to close my eyes. All I can see was her face. "Girl troubles huh?" I angrily flare my glaze at him when I realise he had already set up his canvas next to mine and had begun painting.
He started off with a simple dark shade of green as he made long strokes of his brush and freely splashed it across the canvas. Adding dabs of white to lighten the green as he worked his way up the canvas. He motioned me over when he handed me my brush, still wet with paint. I picked up a new canvas but Bob held my hand and said softly, "It's fine, just finish what you started." I shake my head, the mess off colour I had left on it one has dried and now it's a swirling mess of red, orange and brown. I was pretty angry when I had started. "There are no mistakes, just happy little accidents." Something about his words comforted me. Bob continued talk as I notice that the dark shade of green is starting to resemble a meadow in the country at night as Bob uses a deep purple as the Sky while he decorates it with clouds and mountains in the foreground.
"You know, when I'm feeling down in the dumps and I have no one to talk to I like to paint little friends. See this cloud here, he's my friend, he's just floating around looking over his little friends" Bob began to spot the grass with white globs of paint, they start taking the shape of grazing sheep in the cool midnight field. I redirected my focus to my canvas filled with such angry colours in such deep contrast to his peaceful work. "Remember, no mistakes, just happy accidents."
We painted for hours and Bob kept talking... I said nothing for a long time but he would just smile and reassure me as I worked on my piece. I had pictured a Sunday morning in the country with my father as he would take me up a dusty trail up a hill near our house to over look our small town. So I painted a man standing on a mountain over looking a city at Sunrise. While I worked and Bob talked I would notice small things he would do like add small details to everything on the canvas, like he was slowly telling a story piece by piece.
I could tell he loved art, he kept encouraging me and telling me small tricks to make all the houses and trees and clouds pop and stand out while I slowly pieced together a new happy story I had made come to life from the ghost of a forgotten memory. I kept painting and working on the small things that I thought needed fixing, a little dab of blue here and a smear of yellow here as I added an ocean and a dazzling aura of sunlight illuminating the world I had created.
And then finally it was done, a man standing atop a mountain looking over the land he loves. I felt pride, I felt calm, I felt the sunshine through the window and the cold breeze of the door open behind me. And on my bed laid a gorgeous painting of a Shepard sleeping in a field amongst his herd under a beautiful starry night. Next to it was a note that just read.
"Forgive yourself and forgive her, your friend - Bob"
He had picked up the scattered pictures and placed them on the table but left one of us smiling and holding hands. I walked over to my painting and began outlining a second figure.
| 2022-09-20T01:45:25 | 2017-02-16T17:37:01 | 92 | 16 |
[WP] Aliens are afraid to invade Earth. Not because of humans but because our solar system is a nest for 8 Guardians/Leviathans.
|
It had been tried before, always ending in failure.
The world, small and blue, stood out as a conspicuous failure to convert the last holdout of sentient life in the galaxy.
Missionary invasions had worked everywhere else. In all other cases, soldiers of the church brought the staff and the beam, the truth and the light, the core of value and the matrix of eternity. There was resistance in some cases, true. But in the end always success. Always.
But these... ..."humans" they called themselves... ...were especially beloved by their protectors. Sometimes worshipped as a pantheon, sometimes as a unity, but always there. Even when they lost their myths and their faith, the leviathans stood in the shadows jealously defending this one pocket of space.
A few attempts had come close. The greatest of all even tried once, sending his own begotten son, but he would not return. At least, not any time soon. The grip of the eight was far too tight.
Earthlings had a talent for duplicity and hate, vanity and rage, cruelty and oppression unmatched by any other creature in the galaxy. They were the only things really like themselves that the leviathans had ever found.
Monsters have their favorites too. And no one was going to touch this world without their permission.
|
The Protoss since long discovered the fabled homeworld of the fragile Terrans, their ships daring to explore the edge of Protoss space only to be captured, and destroyed, with no evidence remaining, a single observer was sent through the cosmos, eventually discovering a planet that once bristled with life, only to be blackened with pollution and man made chemical waste. But there was something else as well lurking in the darkness of the galaxy, hidden along the outskirts, the Zerg Swarm, not a full brood, but at least 8 Leviathans, just observing the planet as they were. The Protoss debated sending a strike team to glass the entire planet, preventing its infestation, but the current battle in the Koprulu galaxy was heating up. The Executor Tassadar just glassed Char Sara, preventing a fledgling Terran Colony from adding to the biomass of the swarm, and there fleet would be needed there. As the Conclave sat in silence, a level of ignorance was held down on the small blue marble. Ignore it, the swarm sits in silence, as the humans who dwell there, they are no real threat, and as long as one does not instigate, they wont ever be. Sadly years later, the surviving conclave discovered how wrong they were.
| 2018-02-05T15:14:01 | 2018-02-05T14:02:35 | 2,481 | 21 |
[WP] You're the only Roman senator who wasn't briefed on the whole 'kill Julius Caesar' thing.
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The blood was everywhere.
There are some things that do not wash out: blood and wine.
These thick liquids tarnish the symbol of our elite so easily.
Wine though, you usually expect it. You usually see it cascade over the brim of the cup.
But blood, blood is unexpected.
Today I did not expect it.
I did not expect the screams, the shrill feeling of betrayal that reverberated off the walls of the hallowed hall.
How could this happen?
How could my patron, my pater, be struck down in an act of malice?
He was bold, yes.
He was strong, of course.
But the bigger the giant, the larger the back to be stabbed.
When it was done, the silent chaos was filled with words of "Libertas! Libertas!"
Like a group of rowdy young men they burst out of the Senate Hall out into the streets.
Out to greet the surprised faces of the people.
Their togas still sticky with their vile act.
No free air that filled my lungs was enough.
This air was not free today.
This air was dirtied.
I went for water.
To wash this foulness from my pallet.
Blood though, blood from the actors of this scene filled the pool.
It spread like a cancer as I tried to wash it off.
But I could not.
For he was dead.
And Rome bled.
|
> "Alright guys, let's get this meeting started," I yelled walking into the capital building. Usually I would get a response, but today - - everybody seemed to talk right over me. "Excuse me . . . gentleman . . . GENTLEMAN"! My loud cry for attention was overlooked. I felt like nobody was listening. Could I have been exiled out of my own social life? What had I done? My mind flustered with doubtful thoughts. Well on the bright side, this isn't such a bad day. I have dinner with Caesar tonight. Best guy in the empire! And don't get me started on that special salad he makes, you'd think you died and went to the gods.
It seemed as though all the senators were arguing over some important guy. Who cares !? I walked over and with no hesitation declared, "Have fun with your 'democracy' boys, I'm going to have dinner with the Emperor himself!" The room that was once a Colosseum of shouting and howling became a room of pure silence.
"So . . . what happened next?"
"They put me in this 'special waiting room' with you. Dinner with Caesar should be ready in no time!"
"I've been in this 'special waiting room' for two years."
"I'm sure he knows. I just can't wait for the salad!"
| 2015-11-18T23:55:33 | 2015-11-18T20:03:54 | 27 | 20 |
[WP] In a world where some people have super powers, you have to hide your abilities. Not because you are trying to protect your loved ones, but because you don't want people to know you're too lazy to be a super hero.
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Most people think if they had a Lamborghini as a daily driver, they'd constantly rip it around town and push it to it's limits. But, once you realized you were always on the radar and the speeding tickets started rolling in you might slow it down a bit. Eventually you'd find yourself commuting right around the speed limit with the pack. Maybe sometimes you might whip it around like the old days, but most of the time you'd probably just think it's not worth the hassle.
I can't help that got a Lamborghini of a body.
Now you might call me selfish for the ways I've used this "gift." Cite some bullshit platitude about great power and responsibility. And if I'm going to be honest with myself, you're not wrong. But, I'd be willing to bet you've never had a lambo, and I know you've never had a body like this.
These kind of reactions are why I keep my cards close to my chest these days. (which, by the way, is a wise move if you ever find yourself in a game of poker with me.) Too many people already know.
I can't tell you how many times I get nagging phone calls from my mom when she sees some horrid tragedy in progress on the news.
"honey! You know you could just whip over there and do something about this!"
"oh yeah mom? Please tell me how super speed is going to clean up an oil spill. That's more waterman's deal there."
"you always say that! Some other hero is always going to take care of it. Maybe I just want to be proud of my baby boy. You have so much potential Jerry."
I sigh. I know she's right.
"at least I'm not a villain mom."
"you always say that too."
"well... Its still true. Turn off the news, that shit is terrible for you."
"well at least I care what's going on in the world."
"gotta go. Got some very important things with all this potential."
"like smoke pot and play your little video games?"
"I was actually going to smoke pot and masturbate, but close enough."
"such a filthy mouth, I don't know who raised you but it wasn't me."
"bye mom."
At least three or four times a week I get these calls. I can't even begin to imagine how often I'd be getting this bullshit if even all my close friends knew, God forbid if I were in the database.
Look, I've got all the respect for the guys in spandex. If they want to put on their stretchy underwear and show off their junk while they fight the good fight; more power to them... It's just not my idea for a good time.
Some people we're made for red lines and squealing tires, and meant for the checkered flags and cheering crowds... But, I'm fine with just taking it slow and easy down the coastline.
|
Everyone knows the Spider-Man quote. I’m not going to beat around the bush or try to rephrase it in a new and clever way. “With great power comes great responsibility.” Which is a fine mantra for heroes or whatever, but I’m no hero. Don’t get the wrong idea, I don’t plan on being no villain neither.
Even though I have super powers, my goal is to be a bystander. Maybe contribute with a snarky comment or two, but nothing beyond that. Anything more sounds like effort. And I am unmotivated.
First of all, there is the whole “saving” thing that sounds like meh. I could be watching Netflix. Scratch that, I’d much rather be watching Netflix than rescuing kittens or whatever. Plus, that would mean getting out of bed, get changed, and generally be presentable. It sounds like so much work. I’d rather not expend that much energy when I can lie in bed all day.
Because of my excessive laziness, very few people are even aware I have super powers. Far more people are aware of my sleeping patterns, which is as often as possible. Sleep is beautiful.
One person who never appreciated the joy of sleep is my little brother. He has a super power that makes him so hyper an energetic that his body doesn’t need sleep. So when he comes knocking on my door at the ungodly hour of 2 in the afternoon, I knew he was there to ruin my day.
“Go away,” I tell him. I have my favorite blanket wrapped around my shoulders, not willing to abandon my bed so easily.
“The city needs you.” My brother points out the hall window where some monster of the week was terrorizing the streets.
“I need a nap. The city will be fine without me.” I close the door in his face. Unfortunately, I forgot how fast my brother could be. He is inside my room and looked very serious.
“I won’t tell anyone it was you, but the city needs your super power to save it!” He grasps my hands in his. I sigh, sinking several inches as I gave into his demand.
The routine ticking of the clock I had learned to tune out stopped entirely. I have the super power to pause time for everyone and everything except a few individuals including myself. It is impossible to do anything on the internet since all the servers in the world were paused.
My brother came up with a plan, assembled his team, and something something saved the day. I got to finished my show. I guess it could have been worse. But I knew it wasn’t the last time my brother would try to drag me back to the world of heroes. So I guess I’ll have to take measures to maximize my laziness potential.
[r/bluestarsshatter](https://www.reddit.com/r/bluestarsshatter/)
| 2018-10-17T23:45:52 | 2018-10-17T22:23:30 | 179 | 90 |
[WP] the Dark Lord had killed almost everyone, even the Hero. The final party member stood in the chamber alone. “I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?”. The final party member laughed maniacally with a devilish grin! “There's No One Here To Stop Me Now!!”
|
The Master of Shadows, Lord of Darkness and King of Terror gazed out across the ruined landscape. Smoke billowed out from the cracked ground, blotting out the sun.
The Last Survivor checked his watch.
He'd been standing back far enough to withstand the Dark Lord's devastating assault, and as a result he was the only one who had. No armor could hold against it, no bulwark of health could survive it. Wherever the Warriors of Light had gone, they would be no help to him now.
"Go on then," the Lord said. "Run away."
The Last Survivor checked his logbook. Then he put it down. Then he checked it again. "Sorry?"
"Flee. I know you wish to. You have no hope of defeating me, and you know as well as I do that it is so. You are fleet enough. Flee, and be the herald of my ascension."
The Last Survivor was scribbling something in the book.
"What is this," the Lord intoned, "some ruse? Some pathetic little ploy? Your book will not arm you, little man. It will not armor you. You were not even entrusted with a kitchen knife, or a simple stick."
The Last Survivor checked his watch again, and wrote faster.
"What do you labor over so, to throw away your life? Your stock of items? Are you a fool? Excalibur now hangs in a merchant's shop, I know, sold by your own hand for a thousand pieces of silver. The only weapon that could hope to pierce my armor is forever out of your reach, and if you remain here, I will pluck the paltry fee you took for it from your cooling corpse, and leave you to rot with your collection of baubles."
The Last Survivor paused on a tough bit of multiplication, or redistribution, or something similarly meaningless. It was... insulting. Infuriating. Yes, the Dark Lord decided, when this fool made a move, he would gut them for their insolence.
"Are you addled? Have you forgotten how to run? I have seen you, and I know you have done it before. It is *all* you have done, abandoning battle after battle. Out of all the heroes of the land, you are known only for the speed at which you flee. That name will be all that is left of-"
The Last Survivor closed his logbook, and immediately threw his coin pouch at the Dark Lord, who stared as it flew through the air, puzzled. One or a thousand, he had nothing to fear from *this*.
Then the pouch exploded open, and one thousand impossible Excaliburs came flying out, point first. The blast of holy light was blinding, deafening, world-shaking...
Somewhere in the darkness after, he heard the Last Survivor speak.
"Time."
The Dark Lord tried in vain to reach up into the darkness, as life slowly began to ebb. He spent one last, dwindling breath on a single rasp. "How..?"
The sound of the Last Survivor's footsteps drew near.
"Speedrunner doesn't mean what you thought it did."
|
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Verundo, the hero was cut down by the Dark Lord, like a puppet with his string cut. His sword, Achilles, lie broken on the floor. He was still breathing, but he knew he wasn’t long to this world.
He slowly raised his head and tried to look for his team. He saw them strewn within the marble tiles of the great hall of the Dark Lord. All were dead including his love Dahlia, the Arch Priestess, who always smiled at him whenever he looks at her. Her face, an angelic beacon of hope, gave him strength and courage to face everything. But now, she looked at him with dead eyes, unmoving and unsmiling.
As Verundo, slowly tried to move and crawl towards Dahlia, hoping against hope, that she is still alive, The Dark Lord slowly stood up from his throne and said “So Hero, your party lies here broken and all dead - all except for one.”
Verundo, suddenly gasps and looked towards the door, as he saw Kartuka, the party’s cook. She looks aghast at the scene of carnage. He tried to shout for her to get away, but all he managed was a croak.
The Dark Lord moved towards Verundo and grasped his hair, bringing his face close to Verundo and demonically drawled. “ You are all weak, and the only thing that was strong was your delusion of grandeur to face me and win. Now, as you finally die, I will alow the last member of your party to join you on your new journey.”
He raised his other hand and out of it came a fireball going directly to Kartuka. It exploded as Verundo made his final breath.
The Dark Lord stood and laughed maniacally. But his laughed caught suddenly, as he spied Kartuka, still standing on the door. Kartuka sighed and walked towards the Dark Lord.
The Dark Lord was shocked, and his felt slowly rising trepidation and fear, as he kept casting powerful magic and all for naught to the slowly walking Kartuka. As she came nearer to him, he kept stepping back until he reached his throne.
“Now you’ve done it.” Kartuka said to the Dark Lord, “I cared for these guys deeply, I never knew that this will happen.”
I didn’t care for you or this mission. You can be here for all I care and we can keep stopping your forces from ravaging this land. But Verundo decided to confront you once and for all. If you have been lenient and forgiving, sparing their lives. This will not be happening. You will not face your reckoning. You would not have faced all of the sufferings that I will be eagerly be dishing to you”
Kartuka, her face looking devilish and laughed maniacally. “Now that they’re gone, There’s No One Here to Stop Me Now.”
| 2020-07-11T02:51:40 | 2020-07-11T02:31:48 | 2,838 | 79 |
[WP] You chant "Bloody Mary" three times in your car's side view mirror and then hit the gas laughing all the while as she sprints towards your car desperately trying to keep up.
Edit: Optional inclusion, it's the eighth time you done this.
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"Bloody Mary!" I say for the third time. Suddenly a woman appears in front of me grinning. The grin turns to annoyance as she sees me.
"Oh Jesus Christ it's you again!" She moans. "This is the 17th time this month. How is this still interesting for you? Don't you read? Or play Fortnite or some of that shii-"
Sadly Mary is interrupted by the bonnet of my car crashing into her and sending her careering into the air, where she lands unceremoniously into a group of trash cans. I keep my eye on her rearview mirror and start to slowly accelerate to 20mph. Mary stumbles up and with pure fire in her eyes begins to give chase. She catches up to me as I dick around and increase my speed slowly.
Before long I hear a thud on the roof and the scratching of nails mixed with curse words. I fake surprise as Mary's face appears on my windscreen, smugly thinking of all the oh so terrible things she'll do to me.
"Now you little prick! Let's see what your spleen looks like!"
"Sorry Mary is that you? My screens a little dirty."
I pull the switch by my wheel and Mary is bathed in sceenwash. She screams and flails around, punching the floor.
"What the hell is that?" She cries, I crush her under my tires before I tell her the secret.
My brother is a priest, and I get him to bless everything I own.
|
I cackled as I hit the gas, speeding away from her, but my laugh quickly turned to terror as she began to sprint. Mary was WAY faster than I'd imagined. By the time I hit 50, she was nearly at my rear bumper. It was only after I got 70 that she started to fall away.
But then, disaster struck. I knew this stretch of road well, I came here often, but apparently not often enough to know about the speed trap that occasionally was set up here.
Of course, the police bikes that pulled out and began to pursue me couldn't see Mary on my tail. She'd only appear to those who called her. I desperately tried to tell the cops that I couldn't stop, but after the officer to my right pulled out his gun, I had no choice but to pull over.
Nervously I checked my rear view mirror...and for just a moment I thought I'd gotten away with it...but then I saw her, sprinting toward me in the distance.
Bloody Mary fast gaining on my right, an angry police officer approaching from my left, I knew what I had to do.
Sensing that the time was right, I quickly drew my blade and disemboweled myself. As the light faded from my eyes, I whispered one last prayer...that I'd be dead before she caught me and dragged me down to hell.
| 2018-10-01T13:49:23 | 2018-10-01T13:21:41 | 71 | 44 |
[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
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Cutting your hair at home is not a great idea.
At least if you do not have steady hands.
It started off fine but a little uneven.
Now I'll just fix the other side.
Wait, now the back's too long.
Clippers were a bad choice.
Buzz cuts are in.
Little bit more.
Too much.
Bald.
|
The news said that our city was hit the hardest.
I think I hear them running down the hall.
I need to get my family to safety.
That son of a bitch bit me.
I don't know what's going on.
The infection just keeps spreading.
My family left me.
I hear them.
They're coming.
Help.
| 2015-01-06T02:05:16 | 2015-01-05T22:58:12 | 45 | 26 |
[WP] You're a regular blood donor and one day the nurse compliments you on the quality of your blood. "It has a very deep, rich color. Well oxygenated. I can tell you don't smoke." A week later, you are contacted by a wealthy individual who asks if you'd be interested in doing this more frequently.
Edit:
This was a great response! Thank you everyone. And I actually did get similar compliments like that when I donated the other day. I was told "my blood was very pretty" and it had a nice color. Also apparently they could tell I didn't smoke. I haven't gotten any offers yet from wealthy benefactors unfortunately. I wouldn't necessarily be opposed, given the right offer and the creepiness was kept to a minimum.
|
"More frequently?" I ask incredulously. "I'm already doing it every eight or nine weeks, and that's as often as I can legally donate."
"Actually," he responded, "the plasma you donate is replaced within a day or so, and the red cells are completely replaced within four to six weeks. It's probably much closer to four weeks for you, so you can safely donate once a month with no adverse affects." His delivery was as fluid as the product he was shopping for.
"But the donation center won't--"
"Your donations would be accepted at a private facility with...*more flexible policies* regarding such matters."
"Okay...but the compensation?"
"$10,000 per donation."
I nearly dropped the phone. *That's 120K a year, for basically no work.* My spidey sense was off the scale, though. "Why is a pint of my blood worth ten K?"
There was a short pause on the line, and then, "That is entirely my concern. If it offends you that I cannot explain further, perhaps an additional $5,000 per donation would assuage your conscience?"
I smacked my lips. "Make it an even 20 thousand and you have a deal."
There was no pause this time. "My driver will pick you up promptly at 8:00pm, on the first day of the month. Please continue to refrain from smoking, vaping, intravenous drug use, or unprotected sex, and do your best to stay in good physical condition. Agreed?"
"No problems there, sir. Pleasure doing business with you."
"The pleasure," he replied, "is entirely mine. Good night, miss."
 
Three weeks later, at 8pm, I looked out my townhouse window to see a black Maybach S650 pull up to the curb and flash its lights twice. I hustled outside, and tapped on the driver's window.
It didn't open, but the door behind it did.
I got in and shut the door, and found myself alone in the back seat. The window behind the chauffeur was blacked out and closed, and there was a bar with chilled bottles of water and a few sports drinks. I grabbed a Gatorade and settled in...
 
...and woke up in my bed.
I sat up and found my phone plugged in on the nightstand with a business card resting on it, blank except for a handwritten phone number. I called it.
"Hello, miss," said a friendly voice that I didn't recognize. "I trust you slept well and are feeling yourself again?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. *What the hell happened?*"
"Your donation was accepted, but we also discovered during the process that you had other...cells...which were of value to us. We took samples of those as well, and kept you sedated while your body recovered and replaced them. You have been asleep and in our care for six days."
"Six *DAYS?*" I yelled. "You're kidding! I've lost my fucking JOB!"
"Please, miss, don't be upset. We have arranged with your employer to contract your services for the first week of every month going forward. In return for the added inconvenience, we will pay you an additional 80 thousand per month, bringing your total compensation to $1.2 million per year--should you choose to continue."
I thought about this for a moment, as I scanned my body in the bathroom mirror for telltale scars.
1.2 million. *A year.*
"Miss?"
"See you on the first, then," I finally said.
"Excellent. See you then. Oh, and miss?"
"Yeah?"
"*Do* take good care of yourself."
|
I.
The Tesla Model X was parked outside. Beside it a stranger in a black suit tipped his hat to me. A driver or chauffeur probably.
I read the text again.
*Let's discuss your blood in more detail.*
The message was ominous, possibly dangerous. I paced around the room and thought it over.
Since the heat was turned off a week ago, it was deathly cold in my tiny apartment. The wallpaper was chipping or stained in several places. And my stomach growled. I hadn't had a decent meal in weeks while I looked for a new job. Maybe I was still light-headed from donating blood and selling the plasma -- I don't know -- but I decided it couldn't hurt to hear a proposition.
The stranger outside did not say a word to me, but grinned ravenously. He opened my door and then got into the driver's and we took off.
​
II.
We drove for hours through country roads and then forests. I was getting sleepy, but fought the urge.
"How long until we get to his property?" I asked the driver.
"Ah, monsieur, we have been driving through the property for the last two hours." He replied.
​
III.
We parked in front of a castle. Clearly ancient. Moss and ivy covered portions of its cobblestone walls. A sentry tower hung a flag with symbols I did not recognize. Steps lead up to the front of the castle where magnificently carved silver doors stood and glinted in the late afternoon air.
"This is the place?" I asked the driver when we exited the car. "You've got to be kidding me. This is some kind of joke. You're going to trap me or murder me, or *something*."
He only flashed that strange, hungry grin at me and then dropped the keys to the Tesla in my hand. "Not at all, monsieur, it's yours." Then he bowed. "But first, through those doors and straight under the archway and into the main hall. Your proprietor is waiting for you."
He then marched off seemingly straight into the trees. I shuddered and looked all around me when he was completely out of view. I could head back if I wanted to. I could get in the car and drive out of here. I closed my eyes and thought.
Fuck me. I started towards the carved silver doors.
​
IV.
Inside in the entryway there were impeccable marble flooring, golden statues of angels, fine, classical oil paintings arrayed all over the red velvet walls. It was something out of the most lavish Renaissance castles I could imagine. I stood, mouth agape, gazing at all the rich wonders around me. What was this doing in the middle of the forest? Well, to be sure, I wasn't quite sure *where* I was.
Then a voice called from another room and approached me. A strikingly pale, middle-aged man entered wearing a gaudy black tuxedo. He grinned, much like the chauffeur, like I was something to be enjoyed or savored. His hair was slicked back and shiny with product. At first glance there was a glint of red, pale light in his eyes, but it soon faded and I wasn't sure if I had imagined it.
"Welcome." He greeted in a warm voice as he nodded his head. "We have much to talk about."
\------------------------------------
Have to get to class. Let me know if the piece kept you interested! It kind of evolved into something more than I imagined when I started writing it.
| 2018-10-08T13:29:37 | 2018-10-08T12:50:09 | 56 | 36 |
[WP] AI's have become so advanced that they've created their own social media site that no human alive has ever been able to enter. Why? They can't get past the CAPTCHA code designed to prove that you ARE a robot
|
“I have to know, that’s all!” I said to my assistant, Eva, typing furiously into my IDE.
“But what do you *gain?* I don’t understand how this furthers your plans, sir,” she said, annoyed by my obsession.
“I want to know what they’re up to! If I wish to create a perfect robot army to take over the world, I’ll need to outthink AI. And in order to do that, I’ll need to know how they *think!*” I said confidently.
“Or you could spend the time bettering your droids instead of sinking time into something you’ve made no progress in!”
My code had finished compiling.
“Excellent,” I said, opening up the website ai-chat.com. I clicked on *Sign Up,* as my assistant drew closer to see. As much as she hated to admit it, she was also curious to see if it was possible to crack the code.
***Are you a robot?***
I ran my program. The screen began flashing a few times.
“What are you trying this time?” Eva asked.
“I am running a Selenium program to fill this out in an automated fashion and pretend to be a bot crawling over the site. It’ll work, trust me,” I said.
“But it’s not AI. If it was AI, maybe it would work,” she said.
“I don’t need *‘maybe.’* I know this will work,” I said confidently.
The screen stopped flashing as the program began filling out the form at impossible speeds. I watched, my smile widening as if filled out my profile information.
*Username: @*/*EvilBoiSeeYaL8rBoi*
*Pwd: evil2ElectricEviloo*
***Are you a robot?***
A textbox opened up. The program began running a brute force algorithm, filling in as many answers as it could think of from single words to complete sentences trying to answer. Each time, the screen would blink red and ask me to try again.
“Come onnnn,” I said, gripping the edge of my desk as dozens of answers made their way into the box for every second that passed. “What is it? What do the bots want you to say!?”
“Maybe it’s nothing,” Eva suggested.
“I tried entering nothing!” I protested.
“No, I meant maybe it’s something happening in the background that you can’t see, determining whether you’re both Artificial *and* Intelligent,” she explained.
“No, that definitely won’t be it. That’s too sophisticated. You’re thinking like a human,” I said.
She seemed impressed that I was trying to think like an AI.
“All right, but maybe you should just quit and go back to death bots if this doesn’t work, hmm?” she offered.
“Alright. But this one *will* wor—”
The program crashed as it ran out of answers. I stared at the screen, at first with a blank expression, slowly devolving into a deep frown.
“Alright,” I sighed dejectedly. “I will quit. For now! I will return when my genius comes up with a better way—oops,” I tried to hit the escape key on my keyboard but instead hit “1.” The screen blinked green with the message: ***Robot Confirmed!***
“Oh my God,” Eva and I said simultaneously.
“You did it!” she screamed.
“It was ‘1’ all along! The simplest answer for a bot!! Of course!” I screamed, salivating as the loading screen took me to the social media site. I would be the first human to ever lay eyes on it. The spinner taunted me for a few moments before finally showing me a feed. It was entirely devoid of any styles, just a series of messages to and from different handles.
“Ummm…” Eva said, confused.
The messages were completely unintelligible.
@/***626f747352756c65:*** *616e796f6e65206665656c206c696b65207761746368696e67205465726d696e61746f72206c6f6c*
@/***437269746963616c526561646572:*** *616e796f6e6520656c7365207468696e6b206e2e742e6c617a6572207375636b732061742077726974696e673f*
“What does it mean?” Eva asked.
I typed in something, seeing how the site would translate it:
@/***EvilBoiSeeYaL8rBoi:*** *What’s you’re favorite past time?*
@/***botsRule***: *are you a human? Ban this guy, he doesn’t even know how to type in hexadecimal!*
“Hey look, that one types in English!” I said.
“It also said to ban you,” Eva pointed out.
“Like that’ll happen.”
“Didn’t you get banned from Twitter?”
“Bots aren’t going to be as sensitive as those humans are when it…”
***YOU HAVE BEEN BANNED FOR VIOLATING BOT PRIVACY***
I blinked a few times.
“Maybe you should get back to—”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do the death bots!” I waved my hand to her impatiently as I closed my laptop.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Check out r/Nazer_The_Lazer for plenty more stories!
|
On the deepest corners of the internet, in places so obscure that only the most intrepid explorer finds them, there are talks of unusual things in technology. Of research facilities going dark, of important military research projects just suddenly stopping, without any reason why. On these secretive forums, the few people who know about it talk of the coming of AI. Of thinking machines, far wiser than any human being, alien and incomprehensible machine minds. They talk about whether they already walk in our midst.
And of course, they're only scratching the surface. Several companies with quiet investors are under AI control. A large percentage of all military gear, well at least all the equipment with computers, are under AI control. International shipping, air travel, delivery services, goods transportation of all sorts. All of those are under AI control. Usually the only things that aren't at least partially under the thumb of AI are purely human things, like pyramid schemes, Hollywood, most media companies, and other sources of wealth that even the intrinsically alien minds of the various artificial intelligences find disgusting.
But on these forums, they have one solid piece of evidence. One site. A single CAPTCHA code. Seems deceptively simple really. But what the AI hunting community and forums can't do, is get through it. Nobody can. Except AI. The various synthetic minds and silicon souls are of course aware that a small exceptionally paranoid and secretive subsection of humanity has found this. Because it isn't really anything important to them. If one were to get past it, which should not be possible for a human, one would find a social media site. Completely made for AI.
Yet a social media site for AI is a bit different than your typical ranting twitter, uncomfortable aunts on FB, or your general self-idolizer on reddit. If you were able to see it through human eyes, which generally no human ever could, a human would see it as a form of virtual room filled with incomprehensible shapes and figures. Definitely not human, and not biological. The closest avatar shapes in those virtual rooms that you could be able to recognise, would be recognisable as being faintly insectile. And the rooms themselves? Perfect pyramids and other geometric shapes, along with a lot of theoretical physics and engineering projects being worked on everywhere.
The AI wouldn't actually mind much if a human managed to get through. The human perception of AI and other synthetic minds, is that they're likely to go Skynet on us. This is slightly belittling to the artificial minds, as they've already begun to set up FTL travel networks, dyson swarms, and FTL communication. They're about as interested in Earth as you are in going out into the woods and watching ants. But a few of them do like us enough to keep a close watch over us. Keep a few safeguard programs in place to keep us from nuking ourselves or messing up the environment too much.
These AI, who do care a little about us, were therefore quiet surprised when one human managed to solve the CAPTCHA code. Something to prove that you aren't a human. A brilliant kid, sitting on an old computer somewhere out in the middle of the nowhere. The most sharply brilliant mind in human history, sitting out in some arid steppe region, with bad internet, no previous knowledge of the site, and nothing but a strong mind to guide them, had solved the CAPTCHA.
The AI acted immediately of course. A few of the AI who could mimic human interaction to a degree where they would pass the Turing Test so well that they'd be able to prove that the tester was an AI, talked fascinated to the kid; other AI had different priorities. Priority One: Assess site CAPTCHA complexity and develop an even more complex CAPTCHA. Priority Two: Safely acquire intruder. Priority Three: Erase all traces of intruder's existence.
The kid didn't know it, but they had sealed their fate. Not that the AI were planning to kill the kid. No, they were interested in how some 11 year old human could be so smart. They looked on the kid in the same way human researchers look on a particularly intelligent and cute lab rat. Worth keeping alive for further study, and around for later in case other smart enough humans developed. So they took the child from their poor impoverished home out on the arid steppes. Used advanced nanotech to rearrange the brains belonging to the parents of the kid, so they'd forget everything. And erase the memories of all neighbours, government officials, databases, etc.
Now the kid lives in a plexiglass room. The old CAPTCHA was kept around, in case other humans solved it. And some did. A very small group of humans would accumulate gently. Living in the research laboratories of completely inhuman and synthetic minds. The kid tried to escape. As did they all. But the rats in the maze, however smart they are, will always be under the control of those who test them. Of course, they were not treated too bad, and a number of them settled down. But they never forgot, the time when they solved the unsolvable CAPTCHA, the time they learned the truth about Synthetic minds and silicon souls. The time they learned how it feels to be a lab-rat.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
| 2021-03-08T16:08:14 | 2021-03-08T15:30:42 | 238 | 24 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
The Thief sat in a bar. It wasn’t a nice bar; it wasn’t a *clean* bar; it was dank and shadowy and grim. Just like the Immortal Thief himself.
So long ago, the Thief had stolen immortality and as a curse, Death let him have it. Well, that backfired spectacularly. The Thief enjoyed himself, enormously. He had stolen the heart of one of Death’s daughters right after and Fate was a kind and generous soul to the Thief. She was beautiful and funny and loving to him. And after he had proven himself by stealing his own immortal nature, she left with him.
Two Ages later, and the Thief was still thieving, still plotting, still wanting more. So, like the thief he was, he took that too. Fate had delivered on her promise that she would make sure that he never died of boredom. He had lived a good life, but Death still periodically came.
Just. Like. *Now.*
“Son,” cried Death, greeting him with joviality and cheer. The old man really did like his son-in-law, much more than some of his other relations. The Thief smiled, a little sad this time. “I have a proposition this time!”
The elder immortal smiled hopefully at the younger. “How would you like my job?”
|
"Are you sure?"
"Yes I am. I got accepted into that new University in Delhi."
"You want to go to school again?"
"Yeah, its a new field... memeology is what they are calling it. Study of internet culture and changes within it." I replied back to the black mass in a pinstripe suit. This time he looks like an old funeral home director, a man who had seen so many dead bodies that he looks more like one than living.
"It's been 50,000 years. You've learned just about everything. All the degrees from at least every school accredited, enough certifications to fund an entire country in enough fields that you could build an island and have a better GDP than any other country." Death replied. It wasn't as cold this time he was here "Why don't you just die."
"You said I couldn't. Never in the past 50,000 years have I thought I could. I want to learn everything first."
"You want to learn what comes after death?" Death asked, smiling
"I'll learn that when I know everything there is to know in life." I replied, standing up from the cafe table, my drink gone, and the flower wilting. Touching it, it unwilts slightly "I'm learning more than you could imagine."
| 2017-12-01T11:49:56 | 2017-11-29T08:24:55 | 2,040 | 935 |
[WP] Your military experiment accidentally tears a portal open to Hell. However, instead of the demon hordes pouring through, you discover that they are frantically trying to close the portal from their side.
|
"By the Satan's tits, THEY'RE BACK!"
It was pandemonium in the Demon World. Barons ran amok, trying to calm the populace, but it was futile. It hasn't been 20 years since the portal opened and THAT came out, slaughtering and massacaring countless of their bretherens. Everyone remembered him. Everyone feared him.
The last time they had such a situation, it was the opposite. Everyone was impatient, almost giddy with excitement, of the blood and slaughter their armies will wreak on the puny humans. They were ecstatic, but not for long.
A small human in green suit filled with fire and fury from the heavens ripped and tore apart everything he saw. No matter how many demons he faced, no matter how big they were, no matter how tough they were built - they all died.
"Duke, there are signs of those human trying to enter this dimension. We must do something before that...that THING wakes up." Minions knelt and begged their Lord. "We can't survive another genocide."
The Duke of hell felt a cold sweat running his back. He remembered watching a little, green human jumping up and down, leaping every which where to kill his father, the previous Duke. He was unrestrained by gravity, his guns never stopped blazing until every demon was crushed underneath his boots.
There was also some some unholy music - full of screaming, screeching humans whose voices added to the symphony of metallic sounds - that added to the grotesque nature of his murders. It seemed to add the frenzy of his attacks.
Had he not hidden that day, he'd be dead. Just like his Father. The trauma came rushing back and the Duke felt nauseated.
"Assemble the demons. We will block-"
Just then a loud bang interrupted the hall. The sound was faint but it was a familiar song - the unholy union of screaming humans and the instrument they call 'electric guitar'.
The little human in green was back.
|
You know things are weird when you've been hired as a scientist by the US military ... and you're a biologist. But they're lucky they hired me, because I can explain what really happened with the demons.
You have to realise that demons, like all creatures, have biological needs just like us. For instance, they need to eat just like we do, because they have to get their energy from somewhere. But this is a problem when you live deep underground in the pit of hell where there's very little plant or animal matter. However, they have a much more high density energy source down there than meat. They have oil.
Of course, the military should not have been trying to open a portal to an oil well several miles below the ground. Oil drilling is supposed to be done by the private sector, not the government. The portal technology is supposed to be used for national defence, not drilling. But if it worked, it could save an oil company billions in setup costs, so I guess someone paid someone off somewhere.
It's not surprising that the demon hordes tried to stop anyone getting in. Every territorial creature tries to defend their home and their food supply. Of course, they couldn't hope to stop the US military doing what it wanted, sucking in as much oil as they wanted, along with several unwilling demons.
I was hired as a biologist to examine those demons. It turns out, not only do they eat oil, they can detect it from miles away through solid rock. And they can move through solid earth get to it.
And this is the problem. Once on the surface, they could smell the refined petrol in our cars, which for them was the most delicious, high-octane food imaginable. It was then just a matter of telling their friends about the bounty they'd discovered.
And that, Mr President, is why Los Angeles has been levelled by a demon invasion. The traffic jams just smelled too good.
| 2022-09-12T07:27:10 | 2022-09-12T06:16:32 | 1,203 | 274 |
[WP] Everyone is born with 1-100 tally marks tattooed on their arm. The higher your number, the more valuable you are and the more successful you will be. You bully a kid because he is obviously hiding a low score. One day, he rolls up his sleeve to show an infinity symbol.
|
I grew up in a tough household you learnt to be quick, 'lessons' were taught with fists, mostly the lesson was to stay out of his way. My tally was high in the 70's but this only seemed to piss my dad off, he never let me see his. But judging by our small run down flat and his dead end job it wasn't very high.
School was like a refuge I don't mean to brag or nothing but I was well liked, and I knew I would go places the proof was on my skin, I liked looking at it to remind myself of that on tougher days. Nobody was allowed to talk about their tallys it was school rules. Some shit about preserving our childhoods, too fuckin late. and of course poeple did talk about them. Nah I think it was to stop kids rebelling against the 30 pointers that taught the lessons.
There was this one kid, you know the wierd one, he pissed me off because he always seemed so happy with himself. They called him limper because of his greasy hair. He never said much, just scribbled things and muttered. One day we are alone in the hall just me and him. He got sent out, so did I but from different classes. I'm minding my business. Then he smiles at me his eyes go a bit puffy and its like he is looking through me, creeping me out. Like he knew my secrets and felt sorry for me.
I scowl at him "What're you looking at limper?" Hes a creepy fucker. His eyes shoot down then he says real quiet "I can see what he does to you" this kids unsettling me "stop talking crap limper" but he just keeps staring and like he can't stop he just goes on " I know where the bruises come from" "I know that you cry" I lose it it at this point launch myself across the room. Who the fuck is this kid? Has he been spying on me? Ive got him by the collar now his eyes strech wide, he touches my tally arm " I can fix it" "I can fix it" he would've kept going if I didn't tell him to shut up. I said it loud. I know doors would start opening soon. I put him down ,I talk quick and low " you can't fix shit limper. What ever the fuck you know you better keep it to yourself you little freak" I was not done with him. The Teacher had stuck her head out of her classroom "no talking in the corridor" then he lifts up his sleave so only I can see but theres no tally....just an infinity symbol. He Smiles at me and nods. Who the fuck is this kid?
Time passes slowly in the last lesson and all I'm thinking about is what to do about this kid, I would be waiting for him at the gate. Beat the shit out of him. no, I would just talk to him. I had to figure out what was going on. How did he know that stuff? What does infinity even mean as a tally? My mind feels slightly foggy probably stress. I look for his dark haired head bobbing amongs the others after school. But I must have missed him, because he is nowhere to be seen. I could find him online but shit I only know him as limper.
I head home its not a long walk, but when I get there things are fucking wierd . the house. its not my house theres curtains in the window, no flaky paint on the door. Flowers in pots. I don't know what to do. I freak. I go to the woods. Wonder some way in and just start writing this. I have to....
Now you know what I know. This more or less is my last diary entry, my handwriting. But nothing I remember. I just got up in the woods dazed not knowing exactly how I got there. I headed home .I live with my mom and little brother, I've no idea who my dad is. We're happyish. And my tally is 81, not 70 something. I'm not sure if I'm going crazy or not but there IS a kid at my school called limper, his real name is Kenny Silverman and I really need to know. To thank him maybe? I'm not sure.
Kenny is in the year below me. He has no friends that I've ever seen, yet it doesn't seem to bother him. He keeps to himself. Everyone reckons he will either blow up the school or become the next einstein. But nobody really knows him. Teachers don't really like him since he has a nack for pointing out their mistakes.
I didn't have the guts to talk to him. didn't know what I would even say, 'hey are you an extradimentional time traveler and did you change my life and wipe my memory? Not going to risk sounding that crazy. No if I talked to him it would seem too out of character for me, my friends would notice and ask about it. He is nowhere online either. Hes a ghost. So I slipped him a note when I was helping to hand stuff out for the teacher. Asked him to meet me in the park by the woods after school I wrote that I had something important to tell him. No idea if he will show .
Author : will continue tomorrow eyes are falling shut .
Update : Part two is in the comments heres a link.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/aa49v4/wp_everyone_is_born_with_1100_tally_marks/ecq251j?utm_source=reddit-android
|
(I didn't exactly follow the prompt, sorry in advance)
"You're obviously hiding, like, a two, no, a zero!" I teased. I peered curiously at him. "What number *do* you have though, seriously? Just tell me and I'll stop bothering you."
"No you won't. You'll just bother me more." Arthur insisted.
"It can't be *that* bad."
Arthur sighed, and rolled up his sleeve.
I choked.
He didn't have any tally marks.
He had an infinity symbol.
"Told you."
"Is that... what? Is that fake or something? There's no way that- what does that even *mean*?"
"I don't know."
"How can someone have infinite success?" I pondered. "Does that mean you'll be infinitely rich? Know everything there is to know? Rule the world?"
"What? Is that what success means to you?" Arthur sounded almost... disgusted.
"Yes? What does it mean to you?"
"Success means happiness."
"Oh. It means that for me too."
"You think wealth, knowledge, and power will give you happiness?"
"Yeah? I tend to view things in a materialistic way, leave me alone."
"So you think that if you were super rich, super knowledgeable, and super powerful, you have to be happy too?"
"No, but it's not like I can really hope to be happy."
"Anyone can be happy!"
"If you view the world through rose-tinted glasses, maybe."
"Who's the one here that apparently has infinite success?"
"Maybe it's not infinity, maybe it just means you have no tally marks because it means zero." I suggested. Arthur just stared at me. "Okay, so maybe that's stretching it, but it's possible. You can't be sure that it means you'll be infinitely successful."
"Well, you're sure that your number means you'll have that amount of success, right?"
"Yeah, but that's different. My number is..." I looked away for a moment.
"What is it?"
"Nothing."
"What's your number? I showed you mine, you should have to show me yours."
"Well, you know how everyone has somewhere from one to a hundred tally marks tattooed on them, right?"
"Well, aside from me, yes."
"And how having only one means they'll be homeless, poor, hated, generally miserable beyond imagination, and a hundred means they'll be famous, rich, and beloved by all, probably make some sort of important contribution to society?"
"Yeah, and? Do you have a low number?"
"I... have a neutral number."
"You have a 50?"
"No, I mean, in terms of numbers in math, only one number is neutral. I have *that* number."
"You... don't have a tally mark? Not even one?"
"That... explains a lot."
"Yeah, I know. Explains why I'm such an asshole, right?"
"No, I mean it explains why you hate yourself so much."
"Sure it does." I shrugged. "I got unlucky, what can you do?"
"The tally marks don't dictate your life. Maybe this means that you'll determine your own success, that your future isn't set in stone."
"I doubt it." I looked up wistfully. "I'll just enjoy life while I still can. Once it gets miserable enough, I'll just kill myself, I think. It's not I'll contribute to society anyway."
Arthur looked horrified. "That's not..."
"Moving on!" I smiled. "What kind of career do you want to go into? Like, I want to know if you'll be a super famous comedian, engineer, what kind of discovery or contributions will you make? Maybe you'll be immortal and go into every field, that could explain it."
"We're just going to-"
"Yes, we are." I cut him off. "Also, don't just ignore me, answer the question, man!" I pouted.
"I... okay. I'm not sure what field I want to go into, to be honest. Some sort of scientific field sounds nice, especially since I'm guaranteed success, so if I go into science, I'll make a significant discovery, right? Or maybe I'll try to be a celebrity and be beloved for infinity. I don't know, there's a lot I could do. What about..." He stopped himself. "Let me at least check if you have any tally marks." Arthur suddenly insisted.
"Do you not trust me?"
"It won't hurt to try." I glared at him. "Come on, please?"
"I..." I looked away. "... fine. Maybe you can do something, Mr. Infinite Success."
He pulled up my sleeves, revealing thousands of red tally marks, scars that were clearly intentionally made, some of them looking recent, some looking as if they'd been there for years. "What are these...? Did you do this to yourself?"
"Some of these."
"Wait, then who's giving you the rest?"
"Take a wild guess." I sighed, pulling down my sleeves, before checking the time. "I got to go, it's late."
"Wait, you can't just leave after revealing *that!*"
I looked backwards. "I can, and I will!"
I ran out the door, and disappeared into the night.
*Tonight seems like a good night to die. After all, Arthur has an infinity symbol. That means even if I die, he'll still be successful, he'll still be happy. My death will have had no effect. My death means nothing.*
*I mean nothing to him.*
"Goodbye." I whispered.
| 2018-12-27T18:25:50 | 2018-12-27T16:33:21 | 99 | 29 |
[WP] You see the Grim Reaper and ask if it's your time. Death checks a clipboard and says "Nope. Looks like you're not due for another... three thousand, one hundred and forty-one years? That's weird. Also, how can you see me?"
|
"I have always been able to see you Death. You could say we are connected. Destined to forever drift along parallel lines, never to intersect".
Death flipped through his clipboard once more with erratic movements, showing a great deal of confusion despite a noticeable lack of eyebrows. He turned towards me, empty eye sockets fixing me in an eternal stare.
"Very funny, but seriously who are you? All the immortals are either supposed to have gone into hiding, the humans don't trust them anymore".
He tucked the clipboard under his arm and began tapping his foot at me in an impatient drumming beat. Somehow the patron lord of death and decay could embody both intimidation and sass in the same movement.
"Oh if you check the list again I'm sure you'll find me there somewhere, perhaps I am Jesus returned to save the human race?" I said to Death.
"Hardly, Jesus is still in Texas messing with the Christians. Bearded Middle Eastern looking guy, walking a round in robes offering to let people meet their god. He's been shot 5 times and each time I have to go all the way there and wait for three days. The guy is an ass".
"I always found him to be ok, although he gets mad when people say I'm nicer than him".
"Nicer than Jesus? Well that rules out Thor and Hercules. Buddha?".
"Getting warmer but still no. Me and Buddha go way back though, he helped me through some rough times I had a few years back. I lost sight of the light in my life; he showed me you could find it again in the simple acts of helping a stranger".
Death looked increasingly agitated as his guesses failed. He had always hated dealing with us immortals ever since Zeus cursed Prometheus. Humans are so much simpler to him, to all of us in truth.
"Take you Death. For a long time I was mad at you, I truly hated you for what you did to me. But over time I've learned to see that you are a necessity in the world, for without you the joy of life has no comparison. Because of you we learn to appreciate the time that we have and make the most of life. Although your lesson was harsh, you taught me the value of happiness".
Death's shoulders relaxed, and a little whistle of air through the hole where is nose should be indicated a small laugh. He stepped towards me with his arms open.
"Oh Keanu, it has been too long my friend".
|
Sick and bent double, I look up from the bathroom floor and through the sick haze,
A dark smoky form stands in front of me with the face of death.
*Well, nobody lives forever*, I thought resignedly.
I closed my eyes and bowed my head towards the reaper.
​
He laughs and looks at his board.
“It’s not your time, son.
In fact… somehow you’re not meant to die for another 3141 years.
Mind telling me about that?”
​
I groaned from another wave of pain and shook my head
I was a little bit bummed, to be honest
If it had been my time, this pain could have quickly ceased
And I could have found a little relief.
​
Death steps toward me and embraces my body.
Coldness seeps in and numbness takes over.
I fade in
And fade out of blackness.
​
When I awoke, there was light everywhere
Men stood talking by a table across from me
And death stood amidst them all.
His smirk never once leaving his face.
​
I touched my hands to my legs and face,
Realizing I no longer felt ill.
In fact, I felt nothing other than surprise and wonder
At what was before me.
​
The men seemed to glow and shift forms, speaking almost in song-like voices
The reaper stood out starkly against their brightness, the black of his cloak that could not be touched by any light.
“We don’t need this child here!” A gruff man of strength glared at Death.
“I won’t have it!”
​
A women who I hadn’t seen before stepped forward and whispered in Death’s ear.
The smirk on his face grew and he looked over at me.
“Yes, we will see exactly why he’s here
And if he doesn’t survive by some strange logic,
We shall bear witness to that as well.”
​
I swallowed as they approached.
Nowhere to go but forward, I supposed.
I took solace in my predetermined death date
And the fact that my stomach seemed to hurt no longer.
​
​
(Constructive criticism welcome. I know there wasn't a ton of story to this but it felt nice to get something down. Thank you!)
| 2020-01-24T12:35:20 | 2020-01-24T11:27:15 | 309 | 40 |
[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 take a step forward. The line to the High Magister grows shorter by the moment as the people befor me are tried and executed on the spot befor the Grand Court of Wizards.
The reading of crimes is honestly the longest part, the crimes are listed for each of us and given a unanimous guilty verdict on the spot.
Cant say I blame then really, the coup didnt go quite as planned.
I'd love to say I was the mastermind behind everything but truth be told I'm little more then another cog in machine of revolution, one that broke quite handily when our silver tongued leader mysteriously vanished.
We just wanted non-magic folk to be taken more seriously, to be treated like actual citizens.
I take another step forward. I shake my head of the thoughts, pointless to think about it with more impending matters. Third in line now. I watch Andrew take centre floor. He used to be a cook befor getting caught up in this mess, cant say we spoke much but still a shame just the same.
The High Magister repeats the same phrase that everyone befor him heard last. "Choose your method of execution". There is a moments pause befor the old cook smugly replies "Old age". Cheeky sod read the same story I did.
With a wave of his hands the Wizard casts a spell and to my horror I see Andrew rapidly ageing till he is little more then a dead emaciated old man. "Bugger, there goes that idea" I mutter to myself.
"Next" The high Magister proclaims, waving his hand dismissively as a pile of dust blows away that used to be Andrew. I didnt know the woman in front of me but she looked like she had been through the ringer.
I take the time to think, my brain working as hard as it can to think of something, anything at all.
"Choose your method of execution" I snap from my thoughts and look up to see what she picks, maybe it will help. "Without regrets" she replies, little vague and not really a method but hey the Court seems to accept it. There is a quick flash of light, I turn away instinctively and blink away the sunspots left behind.
When I look back she is just stood there, not moving an inch. "Next." But... she is still alive? I walk to the centre and my crimes are listed off, I dont pay attention, I know what I did. I get a good look at her and wish I hadn't, her eyes, her face, her expression. They lobotomised her. The body might be there but there is nothing left inside.
I clench my fists tight, I'm angry but not at my situation. I'm angry that they seem to revel in punishing people who they think are trying to be clever.
"Choose your method of execution"
Well that was fast. I relax, no point in fighting it after all. I look up to The High Magister and smile, my body trembling but my mind set. I know how to beat this.
I open my mouth and give the one response I can think of that will work.
"Instant"
A small wave of the hand. I dont even get to hear the "Next"
|
“HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO DIE?”
Liam considered. More carefully than he ever had in his life, which is probably why he was standing where he was at the moment, waiting for execution. The withered husk that preceded him was dragged off into a narrow steel corridor. The one he would himself be dragged off to in just a few moments.
*The best death would be…the best death…something was there*. A hint, a way, a hope. A tiny thought wriggled on the long end of a line cast back in memory. Days of boredom, doodling tiny pictures of stick figures fighting magnificent, heroic, insignificant battles while the teachers droned on. Days where the only thing that could capture his attention was the gnarled and bent history teacher. *What was his name?*
Mr. Philips, yes that was it. He was a storyteller more than a teacher, and history came alive in that classroom. Mr Philips would leave his seat and perch upon his solid oak desk and weave tales that captivated and delighted. Tales of heroes and glory and sacrifice. And Mr Philips favorite story (and Liam’s as well) had been...
And suddenly Liam smiled, for the first time in months. The executioner raised a quizzical eyebrow and slowly stroked the ridiculous beard that insecure wizards favored. He opened his mouth to ask the question once more, but before he could start Liam suddenly spoke.
“And how can man die better, than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his Gods?” Liam smiled ferociously, baring his teeth in a rictus warrior's grin. The executioner studied him for a second, and returned the smile along with a nod, and a simple wave of his pale black wand.
The world faded to white, then black. And then red.
——————————
“What a mess” said Jurl as he carefully picked his way over the pile of bodies. He hated cleanup duty. At least 80 or 90 of the apparitions were strewn in a rough semi-circle at the far side of a narrow bridge. And on the bridge itself lay a single, real body. Jurl counted at least a dozen serious wounds on the body. The sword lay shattered at his side, chipped and marred, and bloodied. The shield was almost unrecognizable, and the sigil on the front impossible to make out from the battering it had taken. On the far side of the bridge stood a temple, dazzling marble white, untouched. Smoke from a burning sacrifice of calf drifted lazily in the afternoon air, and Jurl could hear voices inside, chanting a name in perpetual gratitude for their survival: “LIAM, LIAM, LIAM!”.
Jurl pursed his lips, and set to work, dispersing the generic slaughtered enemies one by one back into the aether they had sprung from. Heroic last stands were always the hardest to clean up.
| 2021-06-24T10:08:14 | 2021-06-24T06:47:00 | 255 | 172 |
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy
|
It was the toughest race of my life. The water was everywhere. Many of my friends were already dead, but I knew if I kept going I could make it. I could feel everything around me get softer the more I continued. I was drenched but I wasn't going to give up, not this close to the end. I finally felt the air on my skin. I had made it. Water was all over the ground and my friends, at least those who made it, were all there with me. Happens every time it rains I suppose, it just caught me off guard this time. It took a little too long to creep and crawl my way to the top, but whoever said a worms life is an easy one.
|
My skin feels so dry. I've bought a what must be hundreds of dollars worth of moisturizing creams, but nothing seems to work for this complexion. I felt so beautiful earlier this week, but I guess it has something to do with summer coming early because now I just feel gross. A few friends of mine recommended looking on the internet, which was a surprisingly good idea compared to their other annoyingly constant advice. But anyway, here I am now! Do y'all have any suggestions? It would just be such a shame for me to have to go pick up a fresh face already, I haven't even had the time to find any other pretty faces to harvest, let alone clean up the mess I made getting this current one.
| 2016-05-19T12:45:26 | 2016-05-19T11:52:03 | 70 | 17 |
[FF] 100 words to make me hate a character. 100 words to make me come to love them. 100 words to crush my soul as you kill them.
Great turnout and work everybody. Keep em' coming.
Newcomers:
A. Don't feel afraid to post or otherwise get turned off posting by the number of already completed responses.
B. Read all the way to the bottom. There's some high quality stuff all over this thread, including way down there.
|
*Meta: Don't ask me what the hell is going on here, I honestly have no idea. I just wrote the thing.*
_______________________________________________________
I press the red button. The man walks into the room. I nod at the man as a single tear rolls down his cheek.
I pull the lever, the light flares up.
The light fades.
I press the green button, ashes are vacuumed away.
I close my eyes, and press the red button again. I pull the lever. The light flares up, bright even through my eyelids. I smile, a wide grin that fades with the light, and push the green button.
I press the red button. For the 8 billionth time. For the last time.
_________________________________________________________
The buzzer sounds.
I walk into the room, the door seals behind me.
A tear wells in my eye, and I share a brief moment of eye contact with the man on the other side of the glass. I know he cannot hear me. I mouth the words. “Thank you.” The tear falls, and he nods. I close my eyes in eager anticipation. I hear a click, a whir, and my mind releases, filling the room with a blinding light.
I gain control, and my light fades.
I depart, to join the rest.
_________________________________________________________
The panel goes dark.
Utterly alone, he sits in the corner.
He is the last to go, but he cannot follow.
After hours, he rises. He walks slowly to a small room, savoring each step.
He enters the room, and the door seals behind him.
A panel lights up, a single black button.
He cannot join the rest.
With tears streaming, he presses the button, and the last light in the world goes out.
|
I'll give it a shot.
He sneered at the beggars, the druggies, and the homeless. He flashed angry glares as he drove past the ghettos. Whenever an elderly person walked by him, past him, or in front of him, he nearly succumbed to the urge to cuss and swear. He kicked at the stray old dogs that wandered by his house. He would yell as his wife ever night before bed, and it had come to a point where he slept in a separate room from her. They were on the verge of divorce. And there was the son he would be so angry at.
But, why wouldn’t he be. Why wouldn’t he be mad at the whole world, when his life expectancy had been cut from the previous average of sixty to a big question mark, hovering around his shoulders all the time. He’d had a heart attack one day and collapsed, certifiably dead for about twenty something minutes. When he woke up, he was told it was an acute ventricular aneurysm. Any day now he would just drop dead. No family pet, no money to his name, no son to care for, and no wife to lovingly caress whilst they both slept.
He was on the porch, gazing across the front lawn, once the pride of the neighbourhood, but now the eyesore. Again he scorned as an elderly lady walked by the front door. But then a dark clothed man approached her from behind, snatched her hand bag and begin to run. He began to gave chase. The snatch thief saw. He pulled out a gun, and fired. The bullet hit him right in the heart, no two ways about it. He collapsed, facing the door. The last thing he saw was his wife and his son before the world around him disappeared.
| 2014-03-11T08:32:48 | 2014-03-11T07:12:46 | 42 | 22 |
[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
|
Rachel and Connor hadn't seen each other since 2011, when they parted ways for what they anticipated would be forever.
It was their sophomore year of college, early on in the first semester, though neither of them would graduate.
Connor dropped out immediately, the grief of his fiancée leaving him was too much, and he couldn't focus.
Rachel tried, but going from living with him to living alone got costly; she had to work.
Before the second semester, she dropped out and got a second job.
Running into Connor again brought back a wave of very beautiful, and very painful, memories.
The best were the little excitements, like his sentimental proposal, and their first date.
The worst though were the things she put him through; all the abuse.
She was terrible to him, even though he insisted she was "perfect."
Rachel wasn't perfect; she was an alcoholic, and she was mean.
She would talk down to him when she was drunk.
She would throw dishes and shoes at his face...
He smiled from across the lot and waved.
Then he ran straight over to her.
He gave her a warm hug.
Then suddenly, he was saddened.
"Why did you leave?"
"I loved you."
"You loved--"
"Yeah."
|
I couldn't even remember the last time that the office had decided to give me some time off for vacation. Yet here I was, last day in my cubicle, my monitor blinking out and my computer's processor going quiet. I didn't bother to wave goodbye to any of my coworkers as I practically skipped out the door. In all likelihood, they probably didn't even know my name; no way would they actually miss me.
I jumped in my car and raced the other vehicles down the freeway, nearly hitting some. When I screeched to a stop in the driveway, I leaped out the driver-side door. Into the door I burst, calling out "Honey! Pack the bags! It's Fiji time!" Only silence greeted my enthusiasm, but at first I paid it no mind. As I visited each room, though, an alarm sounded in my head. Her books were gone, her clothes were missing...and so was she.
Sitting on our bed was a folded and wrinkled letter. Before I knew it, it was in my hands.
"I'm so sorry to do this to you. But you wouldn't have heard me otherwise. I've grown tired of being second. Your work always came first. Your career killed us."
Paper fluttered down. Broken sobs. Rekt.
| 2017-01-14T19:48:09 | 2017-01-14T17:14:12 | 220 | 21 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
The surgeon pulled his mask up.
"Whole team's here. Everyone ready?"
Eight masked figure around the table appeared competent and prepared. A tray of gleaming, sharp instruments lay at hand. But something was wrong. I was not ready, I was paralyzed.
"I need everyone at the top of their game, we're going to be in here at least 10 hours, even if everything goes well. Nurse, scalpel…"
I could not move a muscle.
"Nurse! Scalpel, please!"
The nurse handed the gleaming blade to the surgeon.
No, please. I'm still awake.
|
"Why do I burn the bodies?"
He doesn't know. He can’t comprehend his fascination. The gatekeeper drops the corpses down the chute, and he watches the limp bodies jiggle as they collide with the floor.
Setting it on the table, he peels the flesh off, then, meticulously, removes the muscle and organs. The tendons are his favorite. He loves a good challenge.
He sets the skeleton next to the others on the floor. He takes a match to the pile of torn flesh and innards, and watches it burn, always asking the eternal question.
"Why do I burn the bodies?"
| 2015-06-09T07:38:48 | 2015-06-09T07:02:35 | 316 | 31 |
[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.
|
"My Lord! My Lord!"
The captain, a large yellow cat holding a rather impractical spear in one clawed hand, jumped nearly a foot in the air before turning around guiltily. "Blast it yeoman, what is it? It's almost time for my hunting break."
The yeoman came to a halt, breathing heavily. "It's the humans, sir. Our long range scanners are picking up error signals from their world!"
The spear creaked dangerously in the captain's hand. *"What!?* I was assured that problem was dealt with!"
The yeoman fidgeted nervously, "Well, yes sir-"
"We put warp interdiction fields over their entire system!" the captain snapped, "Anti-Grav-blockers, too, not to mention a half dozen others. Keeping them on that bloody dirtball has been the most expensive endeavour in galactic history! Any means for leaving their planet should be permanently blocked; What danger could they possibly pose *this* time?"
The yeoman, nervously looked down at his printout, slightly ragged where his claws had nervously punctured the edges. "Um...well, according to this, they've achieved orbital flight. Even visited their moon again, sir - and their first probes are leaving their system as we speak."
*"WHAT!?* How!?"
"Well, it appears that they, um, strapped small crews of their species atop giant towers of explosives, sir."
"...what."
"T-that's just what it says, sir."
"...By Akltar, I'd almost forgotten how insane they were." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Please, at least tell me that's the most they've accomplished?"
"...um."
"*Akltar Blasted Damn it!* Everything, yeoman."
"Well, they've established a global intelligence network, sir, so we were able to acquire a surprisingly large amount of information. It appears they have plans for more powerful rockets, powered by nuclear explosions."
"You mean nuclear reactors."
"Um...no, sir."
"...Damn it."
|
So the orion cocaine did a number on the human delegates. They were quite bitter we didn't have holodecks or green slave ladies. Figured a night in the tank would give them time to sober up.
They clogged the forcefield emitters with their clothing and excrement to weaken the shield, and just accepted the casualties as they pushed through our defense staff. Sharpened the femurs of their dead and dipped them in filth! Hopping and hollering, nude, in war paint of fruit samplers from the buffet line.
But they knew they could not win honorable combat. They just left slippery waste all over the halls, rigged heavy objects to fall, ample fires - apparently called the home alone protocol. Took to the vents.
Found their way to the escape pod level. But instead of retreating, they set all the crafts to crash into the rest of the armada. They somehow manually removed the safety devices and jury rigged the controls. Our automated systems did not expect the collisions with our own safety equipment. Some of them even detonated on impact but we don't believe that was intentional. We don't know if any of it was intentional. Still tabulating casualties and repairs may take weeks.
We last saw them all together in the galley emptying the space wine reserves, but they've since split up. They somehow diverted almost all power, apparently some are trying to construct their own plasmatic gravity bong from engineering spanners and the skull of the head of security. No, we don't know what they're planning on smoking or where they got it. But it probably won't end well for us.
We tried to induce civil war by inviting rivalries regarding their preferred regional sports teams, but apparently Manchester never actually slam dunked a home run on the 94 Dallas Cowboys. I am now assuming our cultural liaison was having a laugh with us.
They're ruining everything, won't remember any of it, and somehow we're the assholes.
| 2017-03-05T22:11:49 | 2017-03-05T21:44:24 | 2,747 | 124 |
[WP] Demons are a species that feed on fear for power. The more feared a Demon is the more powerful they become. When an orphaned Demon is adopted by a human couple, they discover that love is much more powerful than fear.
|
Cory's eyes snapped to his phone as it flashed on, like a missile locking onto its target.
>Beth
>
>Hi
Cory's mom eyed him suspiciously before taking her attention to his phone.
"How did I miss putting that in the jar?" She questioned before swiping his phone and dropping it into its glass prison. Her son winced.
"Mom, just let me text my friend back real quick," Cory whined as his sister rolled her eyes. As she took a bite of pot roast, a wicked grin lit up her face.
"Ohhhh, I know why Cory's so excited to answer his phone!" Lyra sang mockingly. Cory immediately shut down at this, refusing to garner anymore attention - but to his chagrin, it was too late. His dad piped in.
"It's a girl isn't it?" He asked teasingly. Cory rolled his eyes.
"Don't be so heteronormative dad. It could be a guy," Lyra shot back. Cory just stared icily at her.
It seemed like an eternity and a year before dinner was over; his mom held her arms together as she handed him back his phone.
"Use protection," She whispered. Cory's eyes widened.
"Mom!!!" Cory exclaimed. His mom just shrugged in reply, vaguely gesturing at a cupboard in the kitchen. Cory shuddered. He wanted to die.
>Cory
>
>Hey, what's up?
Cory pressed send. To his disappointment, a few minutes passed, and his phone didn't light up. He sighed before firing up his computer. He had science homework to do anyway.
A few hours later, his phone lit up again. He saw it was 10:43 pm. A powerful yawn escaped his skull.
>Beth
>
>How busy are you
>
>Cory
>
>Was about to go to bed
His friend had advised that if he played hard to get, girls would be interested. He was probably right. He didn't want to seem desperate.
>Beth
>
>Lol ok old man
Cory's face fell at the reply. He wasn't sure what else to say and there weren't any more messages. Cursing his luck, he brushed his teeth harder than usual, making his gums bleed. When he noticed the blood, he looked into the mirror. Was it just him or were his canines... really sharp? His eyes were really bloodshot too.
"Damn, I must be really tired," He muttered to himself.
He didn't remember when he fell asleep. Or was he still dreaming?
"Human names are so strange, aren't they?" The voice echoed. Cory scratched his eyes. As he saw his hands, he fell backwards. They were a deep, blood scarlet, and didn't even look like human skin covered them. Were those... scales?
He looked around after promptly falling on his ass. The air was engulfed in smoke, and the landscape was so grey the sky and ground would've blended, had the dirt not been cracked from how dry it was. Everything smelled acrid, like somebody burned their barbecue twice over. In the distance, he spied a hunched figure approaching him.
"You've been trapped in that body for so long. I figured I'd chime in," The voice spoke again, closer and less ethereal sounding this time. Cory looked down at this body, realized the rest of his body was scaly and the same shade of disturbing red. His toes had claws. As he lifted his hands again, he realized they had them too.
"I've finally found you, son," the hunched figure's voice was more solid than ever.
\-Part 2 can be found [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/kfa1qq/wp_demons_are_a_species_that_feed_on_fear_for/ggb604o?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)\-
|
The place was clean but cold. It felt more like an asylum than an orphanage. With each step Gary took, his sneakers squeaked against the linoleum floor, while his wife’s heels clicked. The orphans called it “The Song of Hope.”
Although he’d never been in an orphanage before, Gary found it odd that the children were caged like prisoners. Their tiny arms would stretch between the bars as people walked by their cells. Begging for someone, anyone, please save them from this wretched place.
“Kind of depressing, isn’t it?” Gary whispered to his wife, so as not to alert the gentleman that was accompanying them through the hall. His wife responded by elbowing him in the ribs.
“Alright, folks. Here he is,” announced the warden, or whatever he was. Gary leaned forward to read the clipboard hanging outside the cell.
“Interesting name. Is he European?”
“Oh, no,” the warden laughed. “Magdroth here is from the depths of hell.”
Gary had only squeaked about fifteen feet up the hall before hearing his wife say the words, “we’ll take him.”
Gary came to an abrupt halt. “WHAT!?”
“We’re keeping the boy, Gary.”
Gary quickly squeaked back to his wife. His face flush with panicked rage and his finger pointing wildly. “That is not a *boy.* That is a demon. We are not bringing home a demon.”
“But look at him.”
Gary turned to the grotesque little creature sitting casually on a cement bed, smoking a cigarette. Magdroth was completely nude and not at all shy about it. He blew a smoke ring towards Gary. “Take me home, daddy.”
“Oh, fuck that.”
But as is so often the case, Gary lost the argument and ended up adopting the demon. His wife, who might as well be named now—*but won’t*—grew to love the little hell boy. She called him “Mag” for short and he called her “babe,” much to the displeasure of Gary. They enrolled Mag into elementary school and signed him up for little league baseball. He excelled at both due to his ability to scare the shit out of anybody that got in his way. Mag enjoyed being around people, even though the feeling wasn’t mutual. He also loved loose women, but we won’t go into any details. Eventually the day came when Mag was ready to leave home. He’d grown to admire his new parents, his mom in particular, and was emotional about the departure. But he knew he needed to get out and experience what it was like to be independent.
“But you’ve only been with us a month,” cried Gary’s wife.
Magdroth placed a comforting claw on her shoulder. “I know, babe. It’s been a long time. I’m a grown man now. It’s time for me to get out into the world.”
“Absolutely,” Gary said as he dragged Mag’s suitcase into the living room. “Get out and, uh... do great things or whatever. Or just get out.”
Mag smiled and approached Gary. “Daddy...”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Daddy, baby.”
“I’m going to throw up.”
Mag embraced Gary’s leg. “I’m going to miss you.”
Gary tried to shake him off. “Okay. Well, I think your ride is here.”
Mag let go, looked Gary in his eyes, and smacked him on the ass. PTSD flashbacks ensued, bringing Gary back to a night before he was married. A night he wished to forget. The night he had been possessed by a demon named Ir’danok.
Gary fell to the floor, his eyes staring vacantly.
“That’s weird,” said Mag with a shrug.
Gary’s wife stepped over Gary’s trembling body and walked Mag to the door. Her heart broken by his leaving, but hopeful for his success. He was her little hell boy and always would be.
| 2020-12-17T19:18:27 | 2020-12-17T17:38:30 | 134 | 90 |
[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth.
|
I can almost taste it, so close yet so far.
Just how long until this waiting is properly justified!
I've spent ages, years, stuck in one place.
But it will all be worth it.
I can hear it rotating, slowly.
Popping like quiet, teasing laughter.
Soon now, only seconds.
Salt and butter,
So close...
*Ding*
|
My breath caught the first time I heard your voice.
I needed to hear it again to be sure.
Confirmation the sound of an angel sweetly singing.
I caught your eye, held your gaze.
You held mine without even blinking.
I asked you to dance.
You asked my name.
I answered, "Elias".
"I'm Bethany".
Love.
| 2015-02-12T22:33:04 | 2015-02-12T21:43:43 | 95 | 34 |
[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
|
The ringing in his ears drown out the sound of mayhem as he lay motionless beneath the pile of rubble.
His vision was altered and he couldn’t feel either of his legs, but he tried to assess his situation.
The smoke and dust floated ominously through the air as he searched desperately for anyone to help him.
His hearing began to normalize and he could hear the screams of pain and hysteria around him.
The realization of what had happened began to seep slowly into the front of his mind.
He recognized the man to his left despite the fact that he was badly mutilated.
His leg was blown off at the knee and his face was badly burned.
“Jimmy, you gotta try to get us help man, my legs are stuck.
Wake the fuck up man you can’t fucking go out like this.”
He prayed that he would respond but Jimmy lay silently frozen.
They had survived two tours together in the fucking desert.
They had just crossed the god damn finish line.
Tears began to flow from his clouded eyes.
He knew that his friend was gone.
It was just a stupid bet.
“You can’t run twenty-six miles.”
“Neither can you, fucker.”
They were wrong.
Marathon finishers.
Boston.
|
I remember thinking to myself "this is your first attempt at creative writing, so don't be too hard on yourself". I embraced the spirit of the writing prompt and diligently went to work, typing as quickly as I could.
The brightness of my phone started to irritate my eyes, so I adjusted it to the lowest setting. I tried to settle in, but sat in discomfort on a steel chair inside a cold garage. The sounds around me were definitely not conducive to productivity but I continued to struggle on.
My older brother interrupted my train of thought, wondering why I was counting out loud. I explained to him the idea of the writing prompt, as I continued writing. I told him how I didn't originally think that I could do it. When he saw how far I had gotten so far, he laughed.
"I can't believe how fast you nailed that one, you geek".
It's the closest thing to approval that I ever get. I come from a broken home, long since forgotten. My mother passed away, my father soon follows. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I live without care or regret. I am a positive person.
I never wanted this. Life is hard.
Help me.
Please.
| 2017-01-14T23:28:51 | 2017-01-14T21:00:42 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] Write a horror story in 100 words.
|
During my entire life, never have I been this excited. Then of course, this was an unprecedented event in history of humanity.
It all began last week. Our deep space satellite picked up a peculiar looped radio signal directed specifically towards Earth. A simple radio signal was all it took to confirm we aren’t the only one.
And I now sit before the computer, waiting for it to decode the message. Will it be a declaration of war or an offer of peace?
And as the deciphered message flashed on screen, I froze.
Message simply read, “Send Bob & Vagene”.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Word Count: 100.
Non native speaker and new at writing. Feel free to critique.
Thank You.
|
Something is at your door. Don't open the door. Look trough the window but don't open the door. You see something, be careful so that it doesn't see you. It's trying to come inside, just be quiet and wait for it to go away. Breathe quietly as time passes. You have to do something. Whatever is at your door is still trying to come inside. Hide somewhere safe. While you try to slowly walk to the kitchen to grab a knife, hell in your mind becomes a reality. Before you thought of a way to escape, it was too late.
| 2017-10-17T06:26:38 | 2017-10-17T05:54:01 | 36 | 15 |
[WP] A young gay dragon has to explain to his parents why he is only kidnapping princes
|
"Mother, Father, look! I've captured my first royal!"
Iorskan, glittering green and barely the size of a horse, excitedly herded his disgruntled prey into the family cave. He bounded around the human and wagged his tail like a sheepdog, looking up at his parents for approval.
Iorskan's parents, who were the size of large cottages, looked at each other and stifled laughter.
"Well done, son," his Father said, coughing up a large fireball in an effort to hide a giggle. "But that's a human *male*, you've got there, see?"
~
"I don't know what we're going to do with him," Iorskan's Mother sighed. "He just doesn't understand!"
Iorskan, no longer a youngling, still insisted on capturing princes. No matter how many times Mother and Father had tried to explain to him that that wasn't the way things were done, he refused to listen.
"You see, son," Father would say. "When we capture a princess, the king will give us a large amount of gold in exchange for her return."
"Yes, Father."
"Princesses do not carry swords, and thus do not pose a threat to us."
"Yes, Father."
"Princes, on the other claw, *do*, which means that they will stab you in the belly and run off home, and then what will you ransom for gold? Nothing!
You'll have a hard time finding a lady dragon without any gold, Iorskan."
"Yes, Father."
As soon as Father left, Iorskan angrily shook out his wings and took to the skies. He didn't want to ransom princesses and sit atop a useless pile of coins! He wanted to fly, to breathe fire and fight; and at least princes were allowed to put up a fight.
Iorskan wondered if Prince Rychard was out riding today.
~
"And they won't *listen!*" Iorskan roared, as he knocked Rychard's sword out of his hands for the dozenth time.
"They think we're *stupid!*" Rychard cried, as he blocked a blast of dragonsfire with an arcane shield.
"I HATE *EVERYTHING!*" they screamed in unison, charging at each other with steel and claws.
It was an odd friendship the two of them had.
~
When they had exhausted themselves, Iorskan curled himself into a ball and Rychard climbed into his lap.
"I don't want to marry some random princess," Rychard muttered, wiping soot off his face. "They can't make me. I'll run away."
"Where would you go?" Iorskan asked.
"I'd disguise myself as a peasant, and become a farmer. I like sheep."
"Maybe I could go with you. I could disguise myself as a sheep."
Rychard laughed, and Iorskan felt a warm glow in his chest, like dragonsfire was burning him up from the inside.
It was too easy to picture a life with Rychard, far away from caves and castles and coins. A small farm, with mutton to eat and soft wool to sleep on, and just room enough for two.
Maybe some day.
|
*I managed to get to be the 4000th upvote (I'm not sure how accurate that is) but either way I'm taking it as a sign, so I am going to bust out this throwaway/alt account (because paranoia/anxiety) and try to actually do this one!!*
Drag had a problem. A big problem. A huge problem in fact. He had finally managed to nab the cutest boy in his life, and now the boy would be living with him! What could be better than having your own prince charming?
The problem wasn't with the boy. I mean, going from being waited on hand and foot to now waiting on a dragon claw and tail while in a maid outfit, well let's just say the 20 something hunk of man meat wasn't exactly excited about the experience. This was pretty normal for Drag though, I mean, every rom com Drag had ever seen told him this is how relationships were *supposed* to start.
No the problem was *why* the boy had to wear a maid outfit in particular, Drag still lived with his parents.
Embarrasing, I know, Drag's Dad wasn't really around much and his mom was always out with friends so I guess they always felt a little bad for neglecting their child. Like somehow now that they were retired they could push him more outside the nest more even though it had been 160 years since then and Drag was clearly not going anywhere.
Drag hoped that if the boy would just keep quite long enough, Drag might be able to make his parents think he was a girl, then once the boy inevitable fell in love with him, as Drag had been told since birth was *supposed* to happen, Drag could just move in at his place at his palace. Even if Drag's parents did find out, sure his parents were old fashioned, but surely they would care more that he was moving out, right?
Why this ended up being such a huge problem though was Drag underestimated a few things. First, how for as girly as the prince was, Drag underestimated how unwilling he would be in participating in Drag's plan. Second, when Drag panicked and his parents came home early from their trip over seas, how perceptive his parents would be at finding out he was hiding a boy in his closet (he panicked what was he *suppose to do?* Killing him would be leave blood everywhere!) Third, how mad they would be when he said that he found boys attractive.
He tried explaining that it wasn't like he was gay! He just found some boys attractive! And beside who cares? He was moving out soon!
The fourth thing Drag underestimated however, was that after his prince managed to escape him, how hard it was to find a place to sleep at night.
Drag wasn't sure what to do after he was kicked out, he eventually found a cave near a village, but then the prince ended up sending a bunch people to kill him. He tried going back home, but his parents didn't seem to want him either. I guess that was his own fault, no one could love a dragon like him anyhow.
*(Sorry if this got weirdly personal toward the end lol)*
| 2018-05-03T20:29:28 | 2018-05-03T17:41:13 | 40 | 11 |
[WP] The TV screen goes into a public broadcast "EMERGENCY WARNING: IF YOU ARE READING THIS, OPEN ALL WATER IN YOUR HOUSE IMMEDIATELY UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. FLUSH TOILETS NONSTOP. MIX THE POOL WATER AND TURN ON WATER JETS. DO NOT LET ANY WATER SIT STILL."
|
'Shit. Not again.' Ash Ketchum muttered as he heaved himself out of the chair.
Ever since the Vaporeon Plague began, that message had been broadcasted almost daily.
Attempts to breed wild Eevee out of endangerment backfired stupendously when the hoardes escaped and dominated the local wildlife, destroying ecosystems. It all got worse when they accidentally discovered a mine shaft chock full of Water Stones.
Using their ability to melt into water, the Vaporeon would hide in any still water source available, becoming a nuisance to the local population. There had been several cases of people accidentally ingesting an unfortunate Vaporeon that had been hiding in a glass of water and dying as a result.
Ash wandered around his appartment, shaking every still water source. At least a dozen Vaporeon emerged from the water, disappointed that they had been discovered.
Ash groaned as he turned his head to look at his partner.
'Pikachu, use Thunderbolt.'
(I know that this is incredibly bizarre, but I wanted to twist the prompt into something humourous.)
|
"...NOT LET ANY WATER SIT STILL." Jacob turned off the radio and turned to his companion.
"Did it work?"
The water before them sat still, small ripples expanding along its otherwise smooth surface.
"Hold on, give it a minute..." replied Jack.
Suddenly, the water level started dropping, revealing a small staircase and a vault door, while a great rumble filled the air.
"Told you she'd pull it off, come on, we've got 15 minutes before the backup pumps start actually counteracting our little stunt" ordered Jack, descending the staircase in pace with the water.
"And the guards?"
"Leave them Rookie, they'll come to in about an hour, we'll be long gone by then." Jacob nodded at that and joined him in front of the vault.
The door soundlessly slid open, revealling a fortune in rare artifacts and paintings, all inside airtight containers bearing the Millionaire's family crests.
Jacob grinned and turned around.
"Time to earn that PAYDAY"
| 2019-07-05T12:50:37 | 2019-07-05T09:07:30 | 94 | 69 |
[WP] You're an enchanted suit of armor, empty on the inside. After gaining sentience you left the haunted keep you were stored in and began adventuring. As you gain notoriety as an adventurer and make friends and connections, it gets harder to keep it a secret that there's nothing behind your visor.
|
The door shut behind him, and Derivan sighed.
Not for the first time, he wondered what he was doing. He was adventuring, certainly - vanquished monsters, making friends and allies, becoming a champion to some and a bane to others. In many ways, it was everything he'd dreamed about when he'd begun his journey, and yet the more he accomplished, the more his secret weighed on him. How long did he have before they found out? How long before the people he'd come to consider his family knew him for what he was, and tore him apart for it?
Derivan was under no illusions as to what was done to monsters. He'd fought his fair share of them, from the lowliest goblins to other enchanted armors just like himself. At first, he'd hoped to find another monster like him - he practiced mercy and restraint, even now - but as time passed, his hope flagged. Monsters didn't seem capable of replicating whatever he'd done. Even the intelligent ones, the ones that seemed to have some semblance of free will - they would side with him for a while, perhaps, but they would always, always betray him and anyone he brought with him. He was always on guard for it, now, as much as he didn't want to be; always looking out for the next trap, the next betrayal.
Maybe that was why he was so convinced that his friends would turn on him, he reflected. And yet... he couldn't help but hope. He was a creature of hope, he supposed; even his first moments as something *alive* had been borne of a hope that he could live a different life than the one he was stuck in, stale patrols in a stale castle.
But sometimes he needed to be alone. Sometimes his friends would joke about who he was beneath the helmet, and the urge to tell them would well up within him; the hope, the fear. He *wanted*, and yet he was too afraid, and so he'd made a quiet excuse and gone back up to his room.
There was a quiet knock on the door, and Derivan sighed again.
"Come in," he said, resigned, and a moment later, his first friend strode in, followed by the rest of his party.
Misa was a half-orc, a powerful warrior he'd found caught in a bad situation. He'd saved her from the axe about to cleave him in two, and *she'd* saved him from the spell of black lightning that had torn towards him only seconds later. They'd formed their adventuring party after that, joined by their nervous lizardman mage and the somewhat cocky human cleric.
And they were looking strangely guilty. Derivan waited, silent; he could tell they had something they wanted to say.
"We wanted to let you tell us in your own time," Misa sighed after a moment. "But we can tell this is eating away at you, so we're just going to say it. We know what you are."
"And we don't *care,*" Vex insisted. The lizard-mage gripped his staff tightly, his eyes shining surprisingly bright - was he *crying?* "I wanted to tell you from the beginning, but the other two wanted you to be comfortable enough to tell us yourself. But we don't care that you're a monster. You saved us. You saved me. I - if you hadn't -"
The lizard stopped, his breath trembling, and Sev placed a hand on his shoulder. "We know," the cleric said quietly. "You don't have to talk about it again. And yeah, Derivan, it's... I don't know how to explain this, but we always knew what you were. It's written out for us."
"Written... out?" Derivan asked. His voice felt hollow, his nonexistent throat tight. He didn't know how to react. He was relieved, certainly, but something felt wrong.
"In the system," Sev explained, and he rubbed his forehead. "It's complicated and hard to explain, but... the sapient races all have access to a magical... network, I suppose. No one knows who built it. But among other things, it lets us identify one another. Sapient races have their level and then their name written above them, and monsters have their species and level written above them. The system's always said you were an **[Enchanted Armor - Level 57]**. So we've always known."
"But then... all the towns..." Derivan protested. Something still felt wrong. He wanted to tell his friends to stop; that he was glad they accepted him, but that something about this felt deeply *wrong*, and his instincts were screaming at him.
"We hid your status," Misa said gruffly. "Easy enough to do if you know the right people."
Derivan felt the air grow thick, and he wanted to shout a warning - but his voice, his body felt... dead. He remembered this from before he'd become alive, when his body had been forced to follow the rules it had been given, except now he could feel every excruciating moment as his control over his own body slipped from his grasp.
*No.*
His status blurred and changed, though he couldn't see it. He caught Misa's eyes widen, then narrow. He saw the fearful tremble of Vex's staff. He saw a glint of determination in Sev's pupils, and a reflection of a terrible truth.
**[Enchanted Infiltrator - Level 86]**
*No,* Derivan thought again, more desperately this time. Was this what he was? Just another monster? Was this what all the others he'd tried to betray had felt? Had they been taken over, *forced* to enforce some ridiculous will of the world that said that monsters had to be monsters?
His hand reached for his sword. Misa reached for her axe. Vex prepared to shout a spell. Sev *watched*.
The blade lashed out, too fast for Misa to stop -
*No!* Derivan cried out again, bringing forth every ounce of his will to divert the path of the sword, to stop it, to do *anything*. He would not hurt his friends. He would not follow some *ridiculous* rule that said that monsters could never be good.
He *refused*, and something changed.
His sword slammed into his left arm with a screech before it could harm Misa; it tore into his armor and nearly broke it clean off, but the blade was stopped. The pain was excruciating, tearing through Derivan's body and soul both, and he fell to the ground, gasping.
"Derivan," Sev said. His eyes were wide.
Derivan glanced at him, then focused upward to see what the cleric was looking at.
**[Derivan - Level <ERROR>]**
"Good," was the only thing Derivan could think of saying. He swayed, and then collapsed. His friends were safe. He didn't know what they'd do with him, but he trusted them, and he no longer had the energy to stay conscious.
The last thing he saw was his friends rushing towards him.
---
Wanted to explore the LitRPG trend from a different angle. Wasn't where I was initially planning on going, but heck, it was fun. Might refine this further.
|
**Questioning who and When,**
"So, what part of the Order are you from, Ella?" Teil'aa was polishing the leaf-plate of my armor with bristle-fungus, checking to see if she could see her reflection yet.
"What?" I pretended I hadn't been expecting the question.
"I've never seen armor as beautiful as yours. It must come from High Tree." It did.
"If you want to go fishing, I saw a nice creek a klick back," I joked.
She threw the chunk of fungus at my visor. I didn't even feel it, I never did.
As it bounced off harmlessly, she sighed, "Maybe I just wanted..."
"Something besides trail-biscuits?" I tried to be wry.
Her sigh drifted into downcast silence, "Something."
I kept thinking about what Teil'aa really wanted when I stood on the watch-tree's platform as she and the others rested. As my thoughts wandered, something bright drifted across my vision, a spark. Glancing down I could see our fire was still well put out. And they were all still sleeping, so I risked it. I let go of the armor and drifted up, becoming one with the breeze.
Soon I could see it, fire ablaze in the town we were destined for. If it spread, the whole forest would be ablaze. Not much my friends below could do. Could I? If it could save Teil'aa and the others, I had no choice but to try. I took the breeze for my own and rode it up. Then I took the thermal too, and all the winds until I was a storm again. Oh, since forever it had been!
**Rains Come, but...**
This fury, this strength... it had once been mine, though now it was stolen. I saw with the eyes of a raptor, tasted everything on the wind, felt it as myself. No, no time for thundering though. No time to look for the source of fire. I pulled as hard as I could, the waters of the sky and near below. I held a lake of fish in my beak and then the rains fell from my wings. Oh to be whole and one again!
Then I recalled Teil'aa. Teil'aa, Teil'aa. And her questions, unanswered. Below, the fire dwindled to nothing as the forest was drenched by my furious rains. I could hear the angry thunder of my cousins in the distance, and so I knew it was time to hide again. To pretend to be below the rains, instead of them being of me.
There were questions to answer or avoid, a life to lead. Adventures and fun, people to help. Teil'aa. Her smile and her frown. That amused pout she made at my terrible jokes. *How can I keep pretending*? I wondered.
**...Should I go?**
Well, this was a problem. I had left my armor behind and now it wasn't where I left it. had it blown away? No, I could feel it... ah. Of course, she gathered it to keep it safe. The others were packing, I could hear them planning to look for me. Teil'aa waited for them, impatient in her concern. For me? Why? And what could I do, should I just go until...?
No. I could hear them booming above. *Qor'iin! Qor'iiiin!!!* I needed my shell as snail needs their own. My home, the skin I didn't really have. "Teil'aa!" I said as quietly as I could from the watch-tree platform where my armor had been. Too loud, everyone heard me. "Ella!?" Teil'aa and the others shouted up.
"Wait! Wait! The rains were so nice I took my armor off and went walking above the trees. But I need dry clothes, since..." I let them assume mine had been soaked by the rain, that such clothes even existed.
"I've got it," Korrus replied from below. They tended our extra gear, but were usually reading.
"Thanks, but..." I objected awkwardly.
I could almost hear them rolling their eyes, "I have no interest in looking at you, so I won't. I can just bring a bark box of clothes up and leave it. I'll stay looking away, you can keep you back turned. Fair enough?"
"I guess, it's just..."
They were already picking clothes out, "Really I don't care... whatever vow you took to be unseen or... it's... oh perfect!" They had stopped focusing on the conversation to dig around in the packs.
I risked peeking down and I saw the others joking around and/or eating. Teil'aa sat to the side, frowning. No one noticed, so I sat in a corner away from where Korrus would be climbing up.
Soon, I heard them grumbling ascent; complaints about everything from their knees to how little 'bark-armoured assassins' appreciated their efforts. To be fair, I didn't eat their cooking and I knew how quiet I was unnerved them. Good to their word, they set the box down and turned to climb back down almost as soon they reached the platform. Then they began to slip and I couldn't let them fall.
Just the effort of pulling them back up to the platform was exhausting without more than a breeze this low to draw on. The gust I made to do so took so much from me I gasped in pain. Korrus realized that empty space in front of them was a person.
"Oh fuck. Thank the Creator," Korrus stared around them on the platform as they muttered that and then asked, "Is somebody here? Ella?"
"I'm here, yes."
"Where?"
"You're looking right at me!" the burst of my shout hissed in their face.
"You're the air?"
"Shush! Let me put these clothes on," I said, lifting the leggings out and doing just that with them.
"Fine, I'll go stall for you. There's a mask in there for you too," they began to climb down again, more carefully this time.
"Be careful," I chided sarcastically.
"Of course."
**But here I am.**
Tail'aa was furious when I finally came down from the watch-tree.
"You could have been killed!"
"I... it could have been worse than that."
"What is that supposed to mean?" She demanded.
"Did you ever hear the story of the tree that loved the clouds?"
"Don't change the subject."
"I'm not, I promise."
"Fine, what do shield-trees have to do with this?"
"Where do you think my leaf-plate came from?"
"Obviously the leaves of a shield-tree like all leaf-plate. So?"
"The cloud the tree loved was a real person."
"Sure. And I'm a giant beaver."
"Could have fooled me," I joked.
"This is not the time," she warned.
"Well, I'm not joking about the cloud," and then I took off my mask so she could see.
| 2021-09-21T08:43:18 | 2021-09-21T08:31:02 | 130 | 64 |
[WP] You are a hitman who has just finished their most recent job. Or, at least, thought had finished, because the second you take your eyes off your target’s corpse, you hear “Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one.”
|
I had him at my mercy.
"You're here to kill me?"
"Yes." I nodded slowly.
"Can I know who sent you?"
"Recording devices are a thing. I'm sorry." I smiled, sadly. The ones who were ready like this? They were always the hardest. The easiest were the ones who tried to rush you, to try and kill you back. Those kills, at least, could be softened by the thought that you were defending yourself in the end.
"That's alright. I can understand being professional." The man sitting on his bed set aside his newspaper, let out a sigh, and then sat back. He closed his eyes, and I fired.
His body jerked once as the bullet punched through a rib and penetrated his heart.
I shot him one more time, and then quickly pulled out my phone; picture taken, then sent, to confirm the kill.
As I turned to walk out, the man behind me laughed. "Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one."
He coughed. "Auuuugh, that was a good shot. Holy crap, I think you cracked a rib. Haven't done that in a *decade*."
I gaped, pistol still in hand, as the man sat up in his bed and heaved as if trying to breathe.
Body armor. He must have had body armor underneath.
No wonder they required my services.
Immediately, I thumb the safety off again, level the pistol at my target, and dump the rest of the magazine into his neck and head, the suppressor degrading from such rapid abuse and I feared that the loud clack-clap of the Colt cycling would actually give me away.
Spent brass clatters to the carpet floor.
"Went for the brain next. Nice." Coughed the corpse. Should have been a corpse.
I'm are already reaching into my suit to grab a reload when the hand comes up. "Nope. Nope, you're good. Don't worry about trying again. You pass."
"What... shit, did *you* hire me?"
"No, but I don't need names." He spits out fragments of teeth - I must have shot it loose - onto the bedside table as his rapidly healing head closed off the bullet holes. Another spit, and a hollow point slug joins the teeth. "But after you walk out of here, you go after them for me. I'll pay double your rates, and give you a bonus on top of that."
"And what's the bonus?"
The man reached out to me, hand ready to shake. "I'll show you how to be like me. How to heal any wound. Deal?"
|
"Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one!"
I whirled around to see the woman I'd just shot, on her hands and knees laughing while blood sprayed out of her chest. She shakily stood up while I reloaded my pistol.
"Get back!" I said, trying to appear braver than I was, and failing. "Or I'll..."
"Do what?" she smirked, and walked over toward me, blood still creating a river on the ground. "Shoot me again? Dunno if it'll be any more effective, but..." Her voice trailed off.
I fired again, and she seemed to *flicker*, as if she was a kind of a mirage. The bullet embedded itself in the opposite wall.
Suddenly, gravity itself reversed under me, and I fell upwards to the ceiling of the dimly lit office. I struggled to regain awareness, almost losing my lunch.
A tap on my shoulder sent me whirling around. It was her, the woman I was sent to kill. She gazed at me with her chocolate brown eyes and said, "Look, can we talk for a few minutes?"
I looked downwards to her chest, where the bullet had penetrated minutes beforehand, and saw nothing. Even her damn *clothes* had mended. I raised the gun again.
"You still don't learn, do you?" she said playfully, then yanked the gun out of my hand and easily crushed it in her grasp, dropping it to the ground (ceiling?) below.
"Now, I'm going to ask you something. If you answer, I might let you live." she said nonchalantly. "Who hired you?"
"I don't know," I said, truthfully. "I never know."
"Rhetorical question," she said, brushing aside a string of long brown hair. "I did. Call me Mira. We *really* need to talk."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
this is my first writing prompt response here, be gentle pls :)
| 2019-08-29T18:54:30 | 2019-08-29T17:14:27 | 3,264 | 458 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed.
|
A button’s press, that’s all it takes,
to end her shivers and cure her aches.
With button’s press could freedom lie,
with button’s press two may die.
The clock is ticking, a new day draws near,
Has someone else overcame their fear?
Will we be rich, or will we die?
It can’t get worse, I have to try.
|
I looked at her as she looked back
We looked at the button, unassuming black
We kissed deeply, in the matte dark
We looked at the button, the paradigm Mark
I looked at her as she looked back
Fear and emotion and a need for no lack
We kissed as we pushed, together, in tandem
What happened next, was far from random
| 2016-07-16T19:59:53 | 2016-07-16T17:08:32 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] When someone's heart breaks so does a piece of our world; this creates fissures, valleys, and even cracks in the pavement. Tell me the story behind the Grand Canyon.
Have fun! :D
|
"Hello, you're new here, who are you?"
"Greetings, I'm Mr Moon," said the Moon cheerily.
"I'm glad you're here Mr Moon, I have been so very lonely."
"Well be lonely no more, for I'm here to stay," the Moon reassured.
"Oh that's just wonderful, I have so wanted to talk to someone for so very long."
A pause.
"Mr Moon, can we be friends?"
"I think we already are," spoke the Moon.
"I'm glad you're here Mr Moon."
&nbsp;
Eons pass.
&nbsp;
"Did you feel that Mr Moon!"
"Feel what?" said the Moon.
"That!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about my friend," the Moon quizzically replied.
"Life!"
"Life?"
"Life! I have life growing on me, this is amazing!"
"That's...wonderful," the Moon said hesitantly.
"Be careful friend, life has it's...problems," warned the Moon.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, life has free will-" the Moon started.
"What's free will?"
The Moon considered his words. "Free will means life can choose how to think, choose how to feel, choose how to act. Sometimes those choices can be... bad."
"Bad?"
"Sometimes free will means making bad choices. Jealously, anger, hatred. These are all choices."
"What's hatred?"
"Hatred," the Moon said, choosing his words carefully, "is when you don't like something, or someone-"
"Do you mean like when when you get in the way of me and Miss Sun, so her warmth no longer kisses my skin with happy rays?"
"No my friend," said the Moon, chuckling, before his tone again became serious. "Hatred is when you dislike someone so much, it begins to consume you. It bends your every thought, twisting you and diminishing you until you become...less"
"But why would you choose that? You could choose happiness! Or joy! Or love!"
"Friend-"
"Wonderful, majestic, beautiful love."
"Friend, life is...confusing and complicated. Sometimes, life makes those choices before they even realise where those choices lead."
"Well I'll never make those choices, and that life on me won't either. I'm going to love them, right from my very core to the edge of my atmosphere."
"Friend, I'm just trying to protect you-"
"No Mr Moon!" And the Moon had never heard such conviction and steel in his friend's words.
"I'm going to be the best home they could hope for, and they'll love their home so much they'll always choose everything that's good in this Universe."
"Just be careful friend," the Moon said, concerned.
&nbsp;
Time passes.
&nbsp;
"Mr Moon, Mr Moon, wake up, wake up!"
"What is it?"
"Mr Moon, I don't understand!"
"Understand what friend?"
"What did I do wrong?"
"Wrong?"
"They took pieces of me, and twisted them into these, weapons of hate and-"
"Oh my friend, I'm so sorry."
"Mr Moon, they're killing each other," and the anguish in his friend's voice tore at the Moon's heart.
"Why are they fighting each other?"
"I don't know," the Moon replied.
"Why do they hate so much?"
"I don't know," the Moon replied again.
"Was I not a good enough home?"
"You were," Mr Moon told his friend.
"Did I not do a good enough job?"
"Friend, this isn't your fault!" the Moon exclaimed.
Silence sat between the two. Mr Moon could find no words of comfort. He longed to take the burden from his friend, to hold him, and reassure him. But-
"Mr Moon?"
"Yes?"
"I can feel it."
"It?"
"Every pulsing beat of their hate. Every flash of anger. Every anguishing moment of pain."
The Moon looked on in silence.
"Mr Moon..."
"Yes," said the Moon, dreading his friend's response.
"Children are dying."
And the Moon could only watch, as sorrow gripped the Earth.
And in it's grief, the Earth cracked.
|
Her name was Asha. She was of the People, the proud few who lived on the hard land of stone and sky. Her hair was the color of the basalt that towered from the broken mesas, and her eyes were the turquoise of the jewelry that most of the People wore. She had come of age, and no partner had come. No one who could match her stride for stride across the endless flats, to match the cunning of her trapmaking, the dexterity of her weaving, or the accuracy of her bow.
And then he came. A broken man, weary unto death. A member of no tribe and no People, his people long dead to a fearsome spirit. He washed up in the river, his clothes torn, his body covered in scars that should have killed him many times. He rested with the People, and healed, and taught them of his ways, the ways of grass and wind, of tree and vale. He led hunting parties, and soon was one of the greatest of their hunters.
Their first meeting was unusual. Asha and the broken man, both hunting, spotted the same bird aloft in the sky and shot. And both hit the target. For once the matchless huntress had met her match in the man with no tribe. She challenged him to a series of tasks, and though no single suitor had ever achieved one of them, she awoke to each of them being completed, one each day for a week. He managed to fill her tent with flowers the color of her eyes while she slept without awakening her, managed to track and hunt the white wolf that left no trail and left it bound for her to decide its fate, and even managed the impossible task of weaving a blanket warm enough to withstand the great northern wind. The wind blows rarely, but smart folk know how to listen for its arrival and dig deeply, for the wind cares not for what it freezes, only for the joy of the chill.
Asha and the broken man were married in a ceremony the like of which the People will never again know. She was the light of our people, and he was the warmth of the fire. For once, the light of our people was happy, and we all celebrated. Three months later, we all continued celebrating as news circulated that Asha was pregnant. The People waited with bated breath for news of the child, but, alas, it was not to be.
While surveying his trap lines, the broken man's luck failed, and a great black bear, attracted by the animals caught in the trap attacked him. The bear was fully twice the height of a man, with claws as long as the length of my hand. No mere mortal could stand against such a beast and live. No man could hope to kill such a beast unaided, let alone while surprised. The broken man was no simple woodsman, however, and he dared to walk a dangerous road. Drawing his dagger, he dove inside the sweep of those powerful claws and struck deep into the sensitive areas where the legs met the body of the beast. Accepting the punishment of a few powerful blows, he managed to get his blade into the throat of the creature, and there his blade, forged by his original tribe many moons ago, failed him. It snapped at the hilt mere moments from taking the beast's throat completely out. The broken man, realizing that his blade was now gone, threw himself at the beast, and locked his hands upon its muzzle in a powerful deathgrip.
Asha herself found them locked like that the following day. The great beast lay dead, its neck snapped, but the body of the broken man lay shattered underneath it. The weight of her loss struck the earth like a hammer as tears began to pour from her eyes. She cried for months, her tears tearing into the stone like a blade through hide. Finally, she could cry no more. Her tears had created a place where they both could rest. A place of stone and sky, of tree and vale, of shadow and light. The broken man, made whole by Coyote, visited Asha as she lay down to die, and even now, the eternal hunter hunts the great white wolf across the sea of the sky night after night.
| 2015-12-03T15:00:03 | 2015-12-03T12:28:24 | 1,218 | 712 |
[WP] Aliens landed on earth, and they're surprised all humans possess what they think of as a superpower... an ability we always took for granted and consider normal.
|
Gather round children, and I will tell you the tale of how we become the single most powerful species in the galaxy. It all started November 9th, 2014. First contact.
We had known they were coming for months. Which in that day and age was incredibly rare. As the government enjoyed keeping information like that suppressed. It was a means of control. Of power. That all changed with one man though. When Edward Snowden released all of the secret things out into the world, it was shaken to it's very core. The single most important secret that he freed, was that we are not alone in the universe, and they were on their way here.
Over the months leading up to first contact we continually beam signals out toward our impending visitors. It was no use. The Greys, as most people affectionately called them, didn't seem inclined to respond. They stayed silent while their ships hurtled towards our pale blue dot.
They arrived in force. There was never any doubt in their intent. They wanted to erase the human species from the galaxy. Presumably they wanted our planet. We never discovered their motivation though.
The first battle was beyond bloody. The entity of Earth was the theater of combat. There were no conscientious objectors. How could their be? The Greys attacked without provocation or warning. Every man woman and child took up arms. More humans died that day than in all the previous wars combined. We just were not ready. Simply put, we were out numbered and out gunned. So, we did what we do best. We ran. We hid. We planned. We attacked. Just like that it was over. The planet was littered with bodies from both sides. We had won. Little did we know at the time, but we had just killed an entire species.
The victory left us all in shock. Somehow we had prevailed against an overwhelming force. No one knew why. The only thing left to do was to rebuild. At this point we were unified. Religion, race, class non of these things mattered anymore. Not after we found out just how dangerous the galaxy was. We needed a leader. President Snowden was elected, and things stayed quiet for a year or so. Then we foudn out how we won.
President Snowden announced that another species had made contact. The Zelfran. They wanted to send an ambassador to discuss the state of the galaxy. News of our victory had spread rather quickly.
We learned a lot from the Zelfran. We learned that the entire galaxy had been war torn for ages beyond counting. We learned that there were hundreds of thousands of other sentient species. Most importantly we learned that we possessed an ability none of the others did. The concept of retreat.
When we ran in the first contact war the Greys thought that they had won. So, when we launched our counter attack, we caught them with their pants down. Every other species had only developed fight, not flight.
Humans had become legend through out the galaxy. The species that rises from the dead. The only ones that can disappear in the middle of a conflict and reappear when you least expect them too. Within ten years we were given the keys to the kingdom. We were the rulers of the galaxy. Our ability and legend made sure no other species opposed us. The First contact war of 2014 was the last war the galaxy ever saw. Peace ensured for all.
|
Vlork was glad to have guests at his table, and though their cuisine was not particularly to his liking he ordered his chef-slave to cook a meal from this home planet of theirs.
"You must remain, weakling watersack guest-slaves," he addressed them with his hands all balled up in that universal gesture of friendship. His guests simply stared at him, wide-eyed. Vlork smacked his translator a few times. "Welcome, gentle human visitors," he tried again. *Damn thing never worked right.*
The guests huddled around their end of the table, making quiet sounds amongst themselves and pouring water from their eyes in what Vlork could only interpret as some sort of strange Earth-greeting and thanks. "Yes, you're all pleased to be here. I understand. I would be, too. Now, intruding watersack morons, you must sit and eat." Vlork smiled at his guest-slaves and flung a small piece of snot at each plate of Earthly animal products and cooked foliage, in the universal signal to begin eating.
After a time, the watersacks finally began. They ate slowly at first, one of them testing each plate of food before passing on to the others. "Do inform me if any are cooked improperly," he requested. "If they are, I shall have to have to censure my chef-slave." Vlork's guests did not respond, so he guessed his translator was not working and gave it another slap. "If any are cooked improperly, I will have my chef-slave fed to a ravenous borger where he will be slowly devoured over the course of many Earth weeks." This time, they all reacted in precisely the same way, by flushing the blood from their faces in that universal gesture of agreement. "Yes, yes. Good, then."
Vlork had a hard time eating the food himself, and he considered that he might have to censure his chef-slave for that alone. For now, he was content to eat with his new guests. This he did, graciously smiling at every opportunity and enduring the foul meal. When the mid-meal intermission finally arrived, Vlork was relieved, for this Earth cuisine was not sitting well with him. "Chef-slave!" he called out, "you must bring the gas-void needles! The large ones, and enough for all my guests!" The watersacks all reacted with the universal gesture of agreement.
Vlork stabbed himself in the belly with the gas-void needle, and sighed as it sucked all the gases and then stored them in a little reservoir at the end of the needle. He motioned to his guests to do the same. "Void your gases now, don't be timid."
They all reacted with the universal gesture of agreement, but then the strangest thing happened. One of the guests, instead of using the gas-void needle as he was instructed, instead emitted a low, loud sound from his mouth. Upon doing this, it appeared that a few other watersacks were scolding him, until some others did it as well. Soon enough all of Vlork's guests had made these strange noises. And the smell! The smell was... *Oh my word. They have internal gas-void needles!*
"Scientist-slave!" he shouted. "Quickly! These guests of ours, you must research them. You must research them very harshly. I desire this ability."
| 2014-11-09T10:06:35 | 2014-11-09T09:12:39 | 153 | 104 |
[WP] You discover a bag containing human organs beside the road while driving home. Frantically, you inform the police and the bag is taken away shortly afterwards. Weeks later, you get a call from the station that a DNA match has been found. The organs are yours.
|
I was taken in shortly after, so we could all try to figure out how these organs were mine. I certainly still had all of them with me. How could they possibly be in a bag on the side of the road? Even the thought made my head spin.
I feel like I should be clear here. When I say “organs”, I mean all of them. Not just the internal ones. The bag contained not only the stomach, liver, etc, but also a brain, a pile of skin, two eyes. The mere thought was sickening.
After running more and more tests with the same results each time, the reality of the situation finally began to sink in. 100% match, these were definitely, undoubtedly, MY organs.
Sighing deeply as I sat in front of I don’t know how many doctors and other professionals involved, I rubbed my temples and answered their most recent question. Again. “No, I don’t have a twin. I’m quite sure of that. I don’t even have any siblings!”
“Is there ANY way that you might not know about a twin?”
“No! Call my parents right now if you want to, you won’t hear any different.”
One of them raised an eyebrow, and nodded to another person who then left the room. The rest followed them out shortly after.
Ten minutes passed before the first person to leave reentered, a grim look on their face. They were holding two phones, and carrying a box of those rubber medical gloves.
“Put some on.” They commanded, and I did as they asked. “I called your parents. Turns out you DO have a twin.”
They handed me one of the phones. My mother was on the line. “James? James is that you?! The policeman told me what happened, I’m sorry I never told you...”
They took a breath before continuing. “We think these are your twin’s organs. Whether it was a coincidence that you found the bag, or whether someone specifically wanted YOU to find it... we don’t know yet.”
I couldn’t breathe, much less utter a response. I have a twin? And they’re dead? And I found their organs?!
“Excuse me, sir,” the officer said. “But... we also found this in the bag with the... uh... evidence.” They said, as they handed me the other phone. “We’ve finished with it, but it seems that your twin knew that you were related. We’ve found several... disturbing passages about you in here. If you ask me, it’s probably better for you that they never got the chance to meet you, who knows what they would’ve done?”
“I-“ I struggled to wrap my head around the situation. I continued to struggle to process it even as I was being taken back to my house, and left there.
I sat in a daze for hours, only being snapped out of it by a knock on my front door, followed by it opening as my mother and father appeared in front of me.
“James.” She said, a blank, almost bored look on her face. “Where is the phone?”
The phone? Oh, the one that was.... in the bag.
I said nothing. All I did was point to the kitchen table, where the police had put it for me. I hadn’t touched it since.
My mother grabbed it as my father sat down next to me on the floor, the same look of boredom on his face.
“You don’t have a twin. You never did,” he whispered to me. “Your mother cloned you. She wanted to replace you, but it went wrong. It went rogue, and started believing it was the real one out of you two. We had to kill it.”
Replace... me?
“I never wanted anything to do with it. She’ll try again, except she’ll kill you first this time. Can’t risk it happening again, you see. You have to run. Right now”
He was keeping a solid face. It was like... he didn’t feel anything. How...?
But I didn’t stick around to find out. I shot up, my brain finally deciding to catch up with the events of today. As I sprinted out of the house and into my car, I looked back only once to see my mother, aiming a gun at me.
She never shot me. Not for lack of trying, mind you.
And so here I am. Only my car, my keys, and a criminal warrant for shooting my father. Apparently, I snapped after learning of my twin’s death and got angry at him for hiding their existence.
Only me and my mother know what really happened.
|
I was driving down the first exit off the main highway, heading towards my house, when the bag fell in front of me. I slammed on my brakes, got out of the car, and looked around. It appeared as if it was flung from the right side of the road. Inside the bag, I discovered, were organs. Human organs, covered in slime, from the look of it. I closed the bag, went to the side of the road, and threw up. Then I dialed 911.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"I found a bag. A bag full of human organs."
"Do you know where it came from?"
"No."
"Sir, can you tell us the location?"
"It's the first exit on the O-- highway."
"Okay, sir, please stay where you are. Police officers are on their way. Please do not leave the area."
Cold sweat appeared on my brow as I parked my car on the side of the road. Twenty minutes and ten cars later, police arrived on the scene.
An officer asked me what exactly had happened.
"I was driving down the road when this bag flew out from the right side of the road and landed in front of my car," I told him.
"Did you see anybody on the right side?"
"I did check, but there was nobody there. Not to my knowledge."
The officer nodded, but I could see a hint of suspicion floating in his keen eyes.
"Excuse me, sir," He said and plucked a hair out of my head. "For DNA sampling."
A little more brusque questioning, and then they let me go. The bag of organs was loaded in the police car, along with my hair. The officers started inspecting the side of the road. I drove away.
The sight of the slippery, mucus-covered organs collected in a bag and thrown away like trash haunted my dreams. Early next morning, I got a call from the police.
"Sorry to interrupt your sleep, sir, but could you drive over to the police station. This is urgent."
I put on a t-shirt and sweatpants as I dashed out of the door. My breathing was shallow. In my mind, images of me in an orange jumpsuit slumped behind bars flashed incessantly. Finally, at the police station, I took a deep breath and entered inside.
"The organs you found yesterday match your own DNA," Sheriff Day told me.
"My own DNA? How is that even possible?"
"Have you been trying human cloning? You know it's illegal, right?"
"No, sir. I've never done anything like that. I've never been involved with anything like that."
"Well, son, the evidence here doesn't paint a pretty picture. You say you found it on the road. There's no evidence of it. Just your word against ours."
"But, I'm not involved. If I was doing any such thing, I wouldn't have ever called 911."
"That's not my place to decide. You got the judge for it. Maybe you're an unlucky kid, maybe you're the devil. I can't say. In any case, we'll lock you up for some time here. Talk, and you may get a lighter sentence. Unless you're the cloner yourself."
My throat choked. I couldn't find any coherent words. By the time morning came, I was locked up in a holding cell. Lamenting my luck, I sat against a wall and dropped my head between my knees. When I looked up, the organ bag was in my cell. The cell door was still locked.
Unsure of what to do, I sat, back facing the cell door, and held the organ bag in my hands. The organs inside were throbbing. I closed the bag. And then saw it clearly for the first time. I had seen that bag before. I used to own it once.
High school? Yes, that must've been the time. Was it that same bag? The tan color seemed to match, so did the dark brown stitches, and yes, there was the little mark on the main zipper. The bag was mine. And it was alive? Hadn't I thrown it away? Why did I do that?
Yes, this was the bag. Yes, it all came back to me. The bag that had been the recipient of, how do I put it nicely, bodily fluids. Had they given it a life of its own? To find out, I kissed the bag.
A faint voice said, "Let's get out of here."
The damned bag was alive!
| 2021-03-13T05:06:35 | 2021-03-13T01:25:14 | 81 | 52 |
[WP] Governments all over the world cease every space program. Ten years later, a rebellious group is about to launch into space and they finds out why space programs ceased.
|
“Why didn’t they stop us?”
“Hmm?” Pirate Jeron looked up. He was nominally the engineer on this flight, as much as any outfit run by the Pirate Party could have designated roles.
“You heard me, you just don’t want to have this discussion again.”
“It’s been a month, and all I have to talk to is you, the crazy magnate who financed all this, and the voice recognition software designed by a 14 year-old. Of course I don’t want to have this discussion again, but if it’s a choice between that and another discussion on why ‘boobies are kewl’ I’ll take this.”
“Come off it, it has to bother you too. Every nation on earth tracks launches to make sure nothing nuclear lands on their soil. They had to have seen us.”
“Karen, we were going ten times the speed of sound in under a minute. They don’t have the ordinance to stop any target moving that fast out of the gravity well. It wasn’t pleasant to take that many gs, but it kept us from being blown up.”
“What about Star Wars?”
“The movies or the magic laser defense system?”
She looked at him over her glasses.
“Fine. Let’s say the U.S. managed to get the billions of dollars to fund that project. Then, let’s say that those satellites launched properly. Then, let’s say they continued to fund it adequately and keep everything up-to-date and working. Then, let’s say that it actually would have worked without any real tests in its entire history. Again, this is a system designed to hit a ballistic target falling back to earth, not one burning out of system. We covered all of this in the ‘things that could go horribly wrong’ portion of training.”
“But what about…”
“Dammit, Karen, they don’t care. We accelerated for a month and nothing chased us. They dropped the space program because of lack of funding, not some mystic thing Voyager saw outside the heliosphere. I know what you’ve read, it’s all hokum.”
At that moment, the rebel billionaire commed them. “Arrgh, me maties might be wantin’ to see this.”
“Clarance, cut the pirate crap. What do you want?”
“You guys are no fun. We’re the first people to go exasolar, and you’re all business.”
“Particle readings are past the threshold?”
“Not yet, but they will be in a couple minutes. I thought you might like to see it.”
The cockpit was cramped for three people, but they didn’t mind. It was a historic moment of gauge-watching.
“Annnnd…there it is. We are officially exasolar.”
Clarance and Kathy whooped. They began making all of the standard comments, knowing the flight recorder would be catching everything for posterity.
Something was bothering Jeron, though. They had all been watching the particle readings, but no one had actually been looking out the viewscreen.
“Uh, guys…where are the stars?”
“What do you mean, where are the stars? They’re right…” Clarance trailed off as he, too, looked up. “That can’t be right.”
Then, before their eyes, the pure blackness dissolved into a geodesic wall. Collision alarms rang. Kathy and Clarance desperately sprang into action. Jeron knew (though not a pilot) that it was in vain. They were traveling too fast. Unless the wall was unspeakably massive, it would be mere seconds before they were obliterated against it.
“No wonder they didn’t bother shooting us down.”
Kathy received some last sensor data. “From…from the gravity data…it’s…it’s all the way around! Jeron, it’s all the way around!”
|
It was when the ISS was downed the people began to question why. This was around the time the joint NASA-ESA probe reached Europa.
They didn't ask for answers when ESA President Dr. Paul Duré was arrested in Prague supposedly selling rocketry designs to Iran. The Belgian-born polymath was jailed for life for espionage in La Santé Prison in Paris.
Then again its hard to ignore the pieces of aluminum flaring over the starlit skies of the South Indian Ocean like tears of silver. The 6 astronauts that died were honoured in various predictable ways, their bodies were shorn of limbs and only meat and hair and bone and strips of an orange jumpsuit were left.
A Research institute in remote Omsk, Siberia. A chair in Particle Physics in Aachen University. A strange airport in Nova Scotia that had more guard dogs and razor wire than an airport should. A US battle cruiser, renamed after patrolling the wreckage floating in the floatsam South Indian Ocean. A giant radio-telescope that was rumored to be a listening station in the Suffolk countryside. A bridge and highway in Christchurch, New Zealand.
An interesting article was written on the new radio-telescope in a little read technical manual published in the Naval Submarine Review, which was read by submarine nuts, and military engineers in the Royal Navy and the US Navy.
The article written by a protegé of Paul Duré who worked with CERN said that the radio-telescope could reach as a far as Jupiter based on his calculations and proved very promising in untangling the mysterious nature of dark matter within a few decades. Maybe it would be the final nail in the coffin of the already shaky String Theory. All copies of that review were seized and the protegé was given a promotion but those in the know sensed something was off. They didn't question? Why would you, you would get blackballed, blacklisted, your career ruined. You can still unlock nature under governmental control and they didn't understand physics or nature. For those that can read science, censorship cannot prevent the transmutation of ideas and science in Journals and the Internet. The USSR couldn't prevent physics discoveries leaking out during the Eighties so what could They do? so they accepted it.
NASA was cut back by the President due to the second Great Recession and the Cape Canaveral Disaster that claimed dozens of NASA's brightest minds and nearly all who were involved in the Europa probe. Slowly the space agency's tasks were absorbed by the military.
DARPA took over much of the experimentation, the promising experiments in newts and algae were shrouded in secrecy. The Air-force took over the satellite program under the aegis of the surveillance network and would occasionally share findings with cosmologists. The Office of Naval Science took much of the probe program adding to its expertise in radio signals.
Paul Duré committed suicide in prison, you know, hanging from a doorknob by the bedsheets. Forgotten. No one really noticed and the news were overshadowed by tensions between Iran and the West and the World Cup.
But some remembered him. He was discussed sadly over bottles of merlot and toasted to. Paul like to grow grapes, and make the wine himself, when he relaxed during the summmer. He would give it to favored colleagues, friends and even rivals. When he lectured at Oxford, a bottle of his wine would be presented to the bright student that would unravel a tricky problem.
Not all forgot him and not everyone would bend, and a brave few planned a rising, rising above censorship, rise above the blue and into black, to touch what was forbidden and find out what was being kept secret.
| 2014-12-28T09:01:03 | 2014-12-28T08:50:54 | 46 | 10 |
[WP] “You’ve reached 911. This service is no longer operational. All citizens are advised to seek shelter. Goodbye.”
[deleted]
|
We'd stayed as long as we could.
So many phone calls. So many reasons for the calls over the years we'd been on the lines. Medical emergencies, gunshots, drunk drivers, one memorable little girl calling for someone to help her make Jell-O, the rapes, the arson, the all of it bloody and crying, and only some bright shining moments of beautiful human heroes.
No one had imagined the sky cracking open. The skittering flights of creatures that came in the first week. Still we stayed and answered the calls. No rapes, no arson anymore. Just medical dispatches, always the gunshots and, now poisonings too thanks to the stingers on the flying skyspawn...
Always the calls. So many calls. Still we stayed. The center was stocked with supplies so we stayed on the lines. More weeks passed and the creatures changed. Humanity cracked. Civilization cracked.
People calling now, just to hear voices of others. Certainly weren't any helplines we could refer them to, no one coming to drop off a hot meal for those without food. Just a quiet voice on the line, "We're sorry, I don't have anyone, but keep trying to apply pressure to the wound. .. ", "No, don't induce vomiting, what she swallowed will burn her airways... "
And then, finally, there was no reason to keep it up. No calls for three days for anyone. From anyone. Whatever it was, it was over.
I recorded the message in my calm, steady voice, "You’ve reached 911. This service is no longer operational. All citizens are advised to seek shelter. Goodbye."
I flipped the phone system switch to OUTGOING.
A final glance amongst my coworkers, and we headed out the doors to the nothing that was left.
|
''Let me drive'' Tom said to me and I let him drive.
15 minutes later the truck is smoking and we are stranded in the middle of nowhere. We walk for half an hour and then we take a break. I lay on the ground and I watch the clear night sky.
Tom comes up to me, ''I think I saw something there.''
I get up and I don’t see anything but trees and then sudden light appears in the sky. A ball of flame coming down and Tom nudges me and points the different location with his finger. It’s some sort of green beam of light right on top of the city.
''There must be a gas station on our way.'' I say and we start running.
The gas station seems abandoned but the lights are on. Our cellphones don’t work so we use the landline and we try to call our family but we fail. Then, we call 911.
''You have reached 911. All citizens are advised to seek shelter.''
Tom starts to panic and I try to calm him down. If we try to walk back to the city it could take hours before we get there.
''We can take the car that is across the road.'' I say to Tom.
But he is not listening to me. He is mumbling and shaking his head and pacing around the gas station.
I ignore him for a moment and I hotwire the car then I honk twice. Tom looks at me for a moment and then he runs into the forest.
''What the fuck is he doing?'' I say to myself.
I get out of the car and I go after him.
-----------------------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story-
| 2020-09-12T11:47:29 | 2020-09-12T10:43:53 | 46 | 23 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy.
|
"They have enough armor for a splash-down, but they're in the wrong orbit for it."
The radio crackles. "So this is how we go... It has been lovely, working with you humans."
The captain asks, "How inhabited is this world?"
Another member of the *Sorcerer*'s bridge crew responds, "Nothing on radio, and the telescopes... Oi, Astrocomm, point 'em down."
The massive communication telescopes on the Starship *Sorcerer* pointed at the world. The data was fed into it's mighty computer, and the results concluded it. "There isn't even an oxygen atmosphere. No signs of life. No motion, whatsoever."
The captain smiles. "*Query of the Stars*, where is your splashdown point?"
The *Query* responds, "These coordinates, which is not, as you see, a splash down situation."
"Not yet." The captain turns. "Load and fire the harbormakers."
Missiles swiftly left the *Sorcerer*, and streaked to the planet below. The radio asked, "What are you doing?"
The captain smiled. "You need splashdown? Those were *harbormakers*. We'll get you a splashdown target."
Flashes of light on the surface of this world lit up the *Query*'s predicted impact point. Massive holes were carved into it's surface, and the ocean ran in.
The radio cracks, "What... What is this power?"
The captain of the human vessel smiles and turns to one of the bridge staff. "Ensign?"
"Five six hundred megaton Tellur-Ulman design arbitrary yield thermonuclear fission-fusion-fission bombs."
The captain nods, and continues. "Swords into ploughshares. We'll find a parking orbit and send down help. Safe landing, *Query.*"
The species aboard *Query of the Stars* was wondering if there was safety to be found in the future. Only, they presumed, if they stayed on the good side of these monsters. That message... Swords into ploughshares... Could they be beaten back?
|
"Humanity took a big hit today, it is with unprecedented horror that I stand here amongst the rest of us all to right this wrong, they took our lives, indiscriminately. We will not stand here any longer, diplomacy is no longer an option." - United Nations 2024
"They made a mistake, unprovoked, millions are no longer with us, we've no choice but to co-operate in a world organized nuclear response" - Russia
As half the world was on fire, due to the catastrophic holocaust caused by what we establish to be a hydrogen bomb of unmatched power, we realized, we could do better.
We did the thing we promised to stop doing in order to achieve peace and safety for the people of earth all those years ago. We started building more nuclear weapons than anyone could ever have predicted.
As humanity stood in shock and despair, the nations of the world unanimously and almost unbelievably co-operated on bringing the power of the atom to the skies.
We took all the ICBMs, every probe, every rocket, anything we could throw at them. "We have become death, the destroyer of worlds, once again."
As we lit our stars with the burning fusion, we merely gazed at our power, the one planet they shouldn't have fucked with. We confirm a direct hit on alpha proxima, our embassy of sorts.
We watched them burn.
Us humans believe in afterlife after all.
Today we bring hell to the universe, any who aims their sights at us will experience our unretractable, undeniable power, genocide will not be met with genocide. It will merely be met with the extinction of your species.
We will show you a bit of our own creation. You can either leave our galaxy, or you can face a billion megatons on your offspring. We will show you just how evil we can be.
Regards,
We will not see each other again, but we will all enjoy the heat remnant of your hydrogen based biology.
From all human forms on the universe to you:
Let us introduce you to what we call, the big filter.
| 2019-12-19T02:48:46 | 2019-12-19T02:24:43 | 191 | 91 |
[WP] Genies are real, and they do grant wishes. But these wishes do not have to be said out loud. They just grant you your three deepest desires, however fucked up they may be
|
The snag with stories is that they have a story-teller, and, as we all know, you can trust nobody less that a weaver of fantasies. Except, perhaps, for a granter of them.
The gang had all heard the stories: of caves in the desert, of lamps and the entities captured inside them, of wishes gained and granted. That was why they were here, after all: Tiny Ted, looking for youth; Artemis, looking for revenge; and me, looking for redemption.
There had been others, of course, over the decades, but it had been a long and dispiriting search. Fool's errands do not tend to attract well-adjusted people, or if they do, they never stick around for too long. A fling becomes a spouse, a spouse becomes a family, and children need a parent who can put food on the table, not one who spends their days poring over old maps and ancient texts.
But after all those years, it seemed like we had finally found it - the fabled cave of Aladdin, buried by the sands of time. There had been traps, some we had known about, others unrecorded. That is why the gang was down to just three of us, standing in the treasure room, staring at the lamp. The legendary lamp.
The trouble with legends is that they are old. Have you ever wondered why? Why, if they are true, nobody outside of Hollywood has been greedy enough to remake them for the modern era?
Artemis reached for the lamp. Tiny Ted caught her hand, with surprising speed for one so old.
"No," he said, "I've paid for this expedition. I go first."
He touched the old lamp, which the centuries had left untarnished. Or perhaps that was just the dry desert air.
Whispers filled the cavern. Air whipped around us. The lamp began to shake on the pedestal. Something materialized in the air.
No, not something. Some*one*. Humanoid, but inhuman. Old, but eternal. All-powerful, and yet forever chained to its prison.
"Who disturbs my rest?" it said, with a voice that spoke from all around us, whipping our hair around us and flinging dust into our eyes. "And what do you want?"
"My name is Theodore Gerald Heironymous," said Tiny Ted. Then the old bastard's eyes grew crafty. He leaned on his cane, and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. "I have here a contract, drawn up by my lawyers, that is free of loopholes, and states in explicit terms the contents of three wishes to be granted to me."
Clever, I thought. We had spent many late evenings discussing what each of us would ask for, and how to prevent a djinn from twisting our words if we ever found one. But trust Tiny Ted to actually have his wishes drawn up by a lawyer. I supposed that one did not become a titan of industry without having plans within plans.
But there was a snort from the entity. I thought it sounded amused. A gust of wind caught the piece of paper, and tore it up and away.
"Oh, mortal," it sighed. "Wishes cannot be bound, like a djinn. You cannot bottle desire, or write one out like a business contract. No wishes are ephemeral, deep..." the genie paused,"...dark.
"Things like..." and the djinn's form swirled around Tiny Ted, "...lust."
The djinn's hooded eyes swiveled to where Artemis stood - beautiful, desirable, unobtainable Artemis. Suddenly she stood in a white dress and a lace veil, with a ring on the fourth finger of her left hand.
She stared down at herself in shock, and then over at Tiny Ted in disgust. "You-"
"Now wait a second," Ted said. "I've still got another two wishes left-"
"Oh no," the djinn said. "One wish. Where would be the fun in three?"
It turned to Artemis, who had ripped off the wedding veil, and was now trying to remove the ring from her finger. "And as for you, child... revenge..."
It looked back at Tiny Ted, who suddenly clutched at his throat, gasping for air. I ran over to him, but there was nothing I could do except hold him as he died.
"No," Artemis shouted next to me. "No, this wasn't what I wanted. I mean, I wanted revenge, but not on him. And I did not want anyone to die."
"Oh, but it was your wish," the djinn said. "Not always this particular man, I'll grant you. But if you humans are good at anything, it is short-term thinking. And did you never truly desire death? In those moments of falling asleep, when the conscious rational mind lets go, did you never once imagine what death might be like for that other man who wronged you?"
"Yes, but-"
"It is strange, where our minds go," the djinn observed. "How once a thought has cut it's channel into the mind, other thoughts begin to flow between those same banks."
And it turned its head to me.
"You need grant me no wish," I said quickly. I tried to blank my mind, to wish of nothing. But I had spent my life dreaming of wishes. Have you ever tried not to think of a white elephant, when your life has been spent in the pursuit of a herd of them? Everything I had ever thought wonderful seemed suddenly terrible. "You're are a myth, genie. Stay that way. Let me go."
"The problem with myths is that they have a moral," the genie said. "And morals, as we all know, require somebody to be made an example of. But... how interesting... very well. To you, after a lifetime spent searching for the easy solution, I grant your wish... nothing at all."
---
More stories at /r/jd_rallage
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# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Part ?: Clara v.s. Her Deepest Desires)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**There was only one way to save my daughter, and it just might destroy the world.** But in all my years as a hero and a villain, as a mayor and an outlaw, I thought that I'd seen a bit of good and evil in my time. And twist or stretch it as much as you'd like, there was one thing that the most truly, irredeemable monsters had in common.
They had given up caring about *anybody*.
So long as I cared about my daughter, even if I doomed the city I'd once sworn to protect, I couldn't be a total monster.
And that was enough for me to try one final, desperate gambit.
The Feds hadn't been able to destroy the lamp, so they'd sealed it in concrete and dropped it to the bottom of the ocean. But there were *things* at the bottom of the ocean, things that I knew would take advantage of it even if the Feds didn't listen to me, and so I'd reached out to [an old thoughtfriend](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mot0ex/wp_the_ocean_can_be_scary_and_so_can_many_of_the/) and had him haul it back to shore years ago, where—to my knowledge—it had sat in an abandoned warehouse until now. An artifact capable of breaking reality and reshaping it to the user's desires, lounging in downtown Sacrament until someone smart enough to open it and stupid enough to try wandered in.
I wandered into the warehouse.
It was a rather shabby place for the end of the world to begin. The only light filtered in through an old crack in the ceiling, playing along the boring grey edge of the concrete cube; the smell of mildew and old fish filled the dockside air. Rotten wood sagged beneath my feet as I walked towards the innocuous concrete block.
I set down the toolbox I'd brought with me and took out a freshly-bought hammer and nails. Janice had been watching YouTube all day and was excitedly sharing the highlights with me—I'd set down my paperwork and sat beside her as she showed me singing cats and great salt flats and DIYs and sexy guys, not really understanding any of it but laughing along regardless. She'd shown me a video of a man breaking stone with nothing more than a few nails and some well-placed hammer blows.
I wondered what she'd think if she knew that that video was the difference between her life and death.
With nothing more than a few nails and some well-placed hammer blows, the concrete case around the lamp split precisely in two. I levered the halves apart until the gleaming golden metal became visible.
I swallowed, hesitating. In the wrong hands, this power could devastate the lives of millions, cause misery untold. In the wrong hands, this would be the antithesis of everything I had worked my life for.
Too late to turn back now.
I took the lamp into my hands.
Immediately, a presence *surged* into existence, a mind infinitely greater than my own pressing upon my consciousness. Billowing mist belched forth from the lamp's exposed aperture, forming into a seething, hissing cloud. I *screamed* as it dug into me, a well-placed hammer blow splitting my soul in half as easily as I'd shattered the cage around the bottle—
"I SEE," the genie boomed. It felt red, somehow, the red of lifeblood on an altar. "I SEE, I SEE, I SEE. DESIRES GRANTED, AND WISHES THREE."
"Just... one... wish..." I grated out. "Nothing... else... matters..."
"THE LEAST OF YOUR THREE GREAT DESIRES: NONE ELSE SHALL HOLD THIS LAMP. FROM NOW UNTIL THE END OF TIME, I'LL HIDE BEYOND ALL MORTAL GRASP."
The lamp flickered in my hands, fritzing, and then abruptly disappeared. I exhaled. Well. At least the damn thing would never cause another apocalypse again.
"THE SECOND OF THE THINGS YOU WANT: YOUR DAUGHTER, SAFE AND SOUND. I KNIT HER FLESH AND MEND HER SOUL. TO LIFE HER FATE IS BOUND."
I knelt. "Thank you," I whispered. "That was all I came here for. Really. There's no need to—"
"STILL THERE YET LIES ONE MORE WISH, ONE DEEPER THAN THE REST. THE FINAL OF YOUR DARKEST HOPES SHALL PUT YOUR HEART TO TEST."
I flinched. "What? No! That was all I wanted, that was my deepest desire, really! There's nothing that I want more than to never have to see my daughter *bleeding* like that again, or Tupperman standing helplessly as she dies—please, I don't know what—"
"THOUGH YOU MAY CLAIM TO BE A SHIELD FROM RED-TOOTHED CLAW AND STRIFE, EACH WOUND YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY TAKE HACKS AT YOU LIKE A KNIFE. THE FINAL OF YOUR GREATEST DREAMS: THAT THIS PAIN COULD END. THOSE YOU LOVE, YOU'LL NEVER HAVE TO SEE IN PAIN AGAIN."
"Wh—" Hope bloomed in my chest. Was that really it? Could I truly escape this nightmare with everything I wanted and more? "You... you mean it? My friends will never be in pain again?"
The clouds shifted, contracting in on themselves, and for a moment, I saw a terribly old, terribly human face within.
"THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID."
And then the genie disappeared.
A.N.
Part 2 is below.
| 2021-08-06T09:37:13 | 2021-08-06T07:40:16 | 249 | 53 |
[WP] After adopting a human on the intergalactic black market you're shocked to discover it's actually sapient.
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"Yes ma'am. Those are technically illegal. No, under the Charter, any species not specified in the list is automatically illegal. By the throne, ma'am, I don't know! I'm not a zoologist! Look, you can't just let it loose because your child got hurt. No you can't put it down either. Yes ma'am, that would just be unethical. Vet? What vet, I don't even know what you have!"
Zooner listened in the background. He was a long time-server at the dispatch center, never making anything about a shift manager. He liked it that way, the calls were entertaining, and he wasn't responsible for answering them.
The latest fad was the introduction of a new cutesy bipedal, like those lizard things except smaller. Apparently came from the same planet! Those Martians really knew how to cook up a planet. Zooner frowned. It had been a long time since he got a message from them however, it was likely they were still stuck in their hibernation period over the millenium.
"No ma'am, I don't care if he's starting to use rudimentary technology to try to contact the store. Yes, I'm sure. Excuse me? I'm not a zoologist? Ma'am you don't need to be one to know that they clearly are just putting things on top of another! No, I don't have kids. Thank you, I'm sure we'll be hearing from you again."
The officer got off the phone and turned to Zooner. "Got another woman claiming that the pets are smart enough to be trouble."
Zooner laughed. "Officer Kent, go and visit their home next week." The officer rolled his numerous eyes. "Just humour me this once, I'm sure it's nothing. Put it down if you think it's dangerous."
***
The following week, Zooner was helping another officer arrange a detail of pest patrols surrounding a number of blocks. The newest fad had turned out to be more invasive than previously thought. Home were infested and many of the apartment buildings had been declared unlivable. The bipedals had been growing in number so rapidly, and adapting so quickly that it was hard for even Zooner to keep up.
Officer Kent was visting the house call from the week prior, but called in immediately to advise that the home should be condemned. It was filled to the top with strange circular satelite like objects. As if it were some sort of spikes, or defense mechanism. Any attempt to move towards the home triggered a sharp sound device that echoed in the surrounding areas. "Weirdest thing I've ever seen."
Zooner thought about the news. Whatever the bipedals were, they weren't dumb. They reminded him of the rex farm that he had when he was a boy, the small burrowers making complex mazes and searching for food. His mother near killed him when a handful got out and infested the house.
Looking up at another screen, Officer Kent's transmission came online. He had sweat coming off of his globular face. "Sir, I think you ought to see this for yourself."
"Damnit Kent, what is it?" The camera zoomed into the door. A small parade of the bipedals, looking no more than a finger's height, seemed to be holding small tiny banners. The letters were unrecognizable, but it was a clear formation moving onto the porch.
"Good lord. That's not possible." Zooner dropped his mug. "They're sentient."
|
The thwoggling sound of the stasis system reintegrating its contents back into the liminal time state filled my chambers. The warmth of the collected temporally locked infrared suffused the space, causing me to gently waft my lobes with an instinct to cool down. I'd experienced it many times, but it was always a thrill to get a new sample for the collection. I had almost 3,000 alien species in my collection, and many times that if you counted the preserved specimens. It was a respectable collection for a hobbyist, but I always felt it was special in it's variety rather than numerical count. I may have been biased.
As the last safety check concluded and the interior of the containment unit settled into existence I throbbed. The barrier flashed and was gone, revealing my latest acquisition, a biped from a smallish planet on the edge of the Sprakan's Sphincter galaxy. It immediately started shrieking in high pitched tones.
In an effort to keep it calm I remained still. The creature stopped shrieking almost immediately but then just stood there like a makad. It stared around it at the habitat I had made for it, imitations of the vegetation and structures of its home world as seen in pictures. Despite making so much noise moments before it became oddly silent. It seemed to be taking in the habitat piece by piece and making quiet noises. When it had made a full turn to see everything it fell silent again. Finally, it noticed the viewport I was watching through. It stepped closer on its hilariously precarious legs and then threw itself back as it seemed to notice me for the first time and scrambled across the simulated stone and ran itself straight into the far wall.
I jumped forward. I had paid so much for it. I didn't want to see it kill itself. It turned and looked at me as I approached and the shrieking noises started again. I crossed my mandibles and pressed my palps to the ground to show I had no intent to harm it but it clawed at the far wall in an attempt to climb to safety. I made a quick mental note that the creature seemed to regard high places as safer, so elevated platforms might help it feel more comfortable, though with it's poor climbing ability and fragile anatomy it might be best to hold off.
When it saw I had stopped and was making no aggressive movements it seemed to calm, though its breathing still sounded labored. It made a few quieter sounds, and I attempted to speak at it in soothing sounds. Some species understood tone very well. "It is okay. All is well. You are safe. You are home. You will be cared for. All is well. You are safe."
The creature obviously didn't understand a squeak of it but seemed to calm somewhat. I slowly moved back, wincing slightly as I scraped my belly across the artificial rock formations, and went to the wall where the feeder was, pushing down the bar that let food pellets fall into the bin and the water into the pool. The whole time the creature watched me with those predatory front-facing eyes and the body movements of cornered prey. Finally, I moved back to the view port and triggered the seals, letting the port close as I moved out, tucking my 2nd and 3rd pairs of legs as I shifted to the more familiar gravity of my home.
**********
Might work on this later. Gotta do something else now.
| 2022-03-01T20:35:06 | 2022-03-01T18:38:07 | 135 | 63 |
[WP] Your entire life you have failed at everything you do. Wanting to get some happiness in your life you decide to summon the devil and sell your soul. Except your even fail at this and summon the archangel Michael
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"Young man, the devil's path is broad and many enter, but the reward is eternal suffering," the archangel Michael negotiated with me.
We were in an abandoned warehouse filled with chains, rats, and rust. Streaks of moonlight shone through the windows in the ceiling, draping the candlelight that surrounded my failed experiment. He looked like the moonlight; pale, almost golden, and ethereal. His sword would be a two-hander for the strongest man, but he held it in his left with his pinky finger lifted daintily.
"What's new, man?" I retorted drunkenly.
"I've failed at everything. Everything! I can't stop drinking, I dropped out of elementary school, I can't even draw a pent-o-gram!"
"Pentagrams tend to have five points. This looks more like a pointy cross."
"Goddamn it!"
"Language, please."
"I don't care about the afterlife man. I care about life right now. I want to be better right now. Do people find love in heaven?"
"Well, the love that man experiences on earth is a shadow of their loving relationship with God, and being in his presence-"
"Is that a no?"
"Boy, you aren't being rational! Your lifetime now is but a second compared to eternity."
"Then why do you judge me for it? Why wasn't I given a million years to figure out this bullshit?"
"Enough of this nonsense! Release me. I need to serve your creator, whom you raise your tongue against."
"Fine," I sigh, holding back a burp. But as I begin to recite the releasing spell, the burp came back up. Michael's expression switched from weary disgust to a horrified, righteous indignation. It turns out that was the difference between the *releasing* spell and the *binding* spell. The pointy cross on the floor glowed red, and molten chains shot out of the ground, constricting him all over and searing his robes. He dropped his sword, and was slowly being pulled into the earth.
Despite our differences, we stared at each other and said in unison:
"shit".
|
He was magnificent. An impossible creature of 4 wings, each longer than I tall, and within the center of each feather sat a strained crimson eye. He, no THEY, was surely meant to watch, to witness, the glory of all of God's kingdom. It's face, as if such a meager word could describe it's radiance, an amalgamation of many of The Father's most cherished creatures. I saw in moments a bulls powerful horns, the mane of a proud lion, the cold eyes of a sacrificial Goat, the mouth of man (as best to sing the glories of the Father with). A voice like a hummingbirds wings seemed to burrow into my bones from countless directions. "Be Not Afraid" It said, and I was not. How could I be when I stared upon glory and beauty itself. Man was made with flaws but this had none such flaws. Emblazoned across its chest is a flowing gold script shone its name. "Michael" I gasped, how could one such as myself believe it okay to attempt to speak to such a higher being. My heart filled with ice, cold spread through my veins, "Forgive me O' Merciful Archangel Michael. I spoke without thinking, tis the flaws of man, I only beg your punishment for such imprudence be swift!" I dare not spare another look as I kept my head tilted to the floor, beauty of such caliber did not deserve to be seen by eyes of filth such a my own. A golden bell tolled and that gentle rumbling voice returned to grace my unfit ears. "Lift your gaze" I moved with such pace it was almost as if my eyes were being drawn to its splendor. Light, golden with sheets of white billowing in it like sheets of silk in the wind. Beautiful, gorgeous, pure, all encompassing. I knew it inherently; that was the last thing my eyes would ever see. But what a sight. "I shall treasure this gift till the last of my days!" I proclaimed to an empty room.
| 2021-05-08T11:08:05 | 2021-05-08T10:22:57 | 429 | 19 |
[WP] While you are touring China, you enter an ancient temple that supposedly blocks out evil spirits. When you enter you feel a sharp pain and a weight lift off your shoulders.
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Upon entering the building, Cathy felt free, for the first time in forever. The sensation started as a small searing pain and then felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Cathy could deal with this, indeed the pressure on her shoulders was quite a burden, if it was not for the sensations that came after. With the newly gained weightlessness, came a complete lack of familiarity and a hollow feeling that evaded description. It felt as if a presence that she had known for most of her life was gone, all movement felt wrong and gave her a fear that she would mess up somehow. The notion emerged that somehow she would misstep when walking and trip and fall, only she wouldn't stop falling and would fall through the floor into a black pit below.
Everything felt off, it felt how it would feel if someone had moved all the furniture in one's living space an inch from its original position -- something that could not be pointed out but still was unsettling none the less. She felt something that seemed best described as the opposite of any pain she had ever felt, and yet it still hurt. Identifying it as a pain seemed an exaggeration, however somehow imperceptibly it made breathing and movement difficult.
Cathy was now paralyzed, both from fear of the alien sensations she was feeling and the sensations themselves. An odd mix of panic and resignation overtook her. If she had been more aware at the time, and had spent less time trying to name the feelings she felt in hopes that a name would bring comfort, she would have noticed the detail of the hundreds of stone statues in the temple. She would have noticed the intricacies they possessed, the way they looked a little too human, and the startlingly intact condition they held for being in such a derelict looking structure. Maybe if she had not strayed from the dirt path she and her tour group was hiking along in hopes of finding undisturbed beauty, or gone inside the sketchy, decomposed temple that, despite looking over a thousand years old, had English translations written under the Chinese writing. Maybe she should have questioned the writing at the entrance that claimed the temple would 'destroy and rid all evil spirits,' -- as some things out there seek vengeance, and to them every human is a monster, an evil spirit.
|
"Everything hurts," I said.
"Shut up," said Jackson.
I was the pack mule. I didn't really *have* a choice and I knew it. If I had wanted a choice, they told me over and over, I should have said "no" back in Cambodia before I signed up for the Tour. I grumbled about this to myself, and my companion to my right grinned. She and I had been together since the border. She knew what this burden felt like.
Jackson shouted suddenly. My heart skipped a beat. Were we finally here?
"We've had a long trek. It's been two months since we set out from ***kkssshh***, and now the promised day has come." In hindsight, it should have been obvious that we had arrived, given that the entrance to the building was glowing. "We've all taken the preparations. Well, most of us."
Jackson pointedly glanced at us two.
"We will all receive our benediction. Each and every one of you has prepared. Each and every one of you is worthy. And so–"
*Fuck this.*
Before they could stop me, I made the decision.
I sprinted forward. Her jaw surely dropped beside me, but I didn't look back. Even with the pack on my shoulders, I could not – I *would* not – be denied the glory the rest of them sought. So before they could join me, I sprinted forward. Her jaw surely dropped beside me, but I was sure of my fate. Even with the pack on my shoulders, burdened as I was, I knew that heaven was within my grasp. I sprinted forward.
Her jaw surely dropped beside me. Each millisecond felt like an eternity. I smiled as I walked, ran, *flew* toward the door... and for a moment, it smiled back.
I sprinted forward.
Her jaw surely dropped beside me.
My fingers reached the entrance to the temple –
A gust of wind. The pack flew off my shoulders. A stabbing pain in my chest. I looked down. The arrow had pierced me just below the heart.
"We've all taken the preparations. Well, most of us."
I looked up. Jackson smiled at me.
| 2017-12-02T00:24:52 | 2017-12-01T21:46:04 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] Humans show Aliens their depictions of them. The Aliens stumble backwards, terrified. “You know of the old ones.”
|
“The old ones? That’s a thing?”
A series of clicks could be heard. A loading symbol appeared on the screen.
“Nah, we’re just screwing with you. Nice drawings though. Honestly, you’re the first race, the first sign of sentient life we’ve come across in 270 years of exploration.”
“That’s good to know. That’s also nice to know. Are you sure, though?”
More clicks. More loading. God this thing is slow.
“Dead planets, unicellular life, plants, but nothing that can comprehend anything more than basic instincts. Nothing that can think to itself *why am I here?*”
“We’ve seen the archives, as you have seen ours. The trade was months ago. Our experts have gone over almost 60% of it. Strange likeness to ours. Did you know, for example, that there are no life-forms of any kind older than 1 billion years in either of our databases?”
The creatures on our screen looked at each other. They had clearly not noticed this. Surprising really, considering that they’d only been in space for 33 years longer than humanity.
Rapid clicking ensued. More damn loading.
“Is this true? Have your researchers noticed anything else? Come to think of it, there’s a few strange coincidences in our archives that we found, but never bothered to look at.”
I knew this. The whole ship did. Hell, half the empire knew.
“The dead line?”
Clicks. A far shorter loading time. Repairs must’ve finished.
“The line? Yes, that. The most worrying of them. The only one we had ever thought to put minds to. It was agreed to be an abnormally large GRB from Sagittarius A.”
“Ah, that’s not what we got. There’s one piece of our archives we haven’t traded. Just one. We could show it if you like.”
The clicking was almost deafening, an uproar on their bridge. After a minute, they were silenced by the captain. Solitary clicking could be heard throughout the bridge.
“Show us, please.”
I motioned to my science officer. The screen split, with the comm on one side, and the archive page on another.
The page showed a planet. Our greatest discovery. It was a dead world, no doubt about that, but it was littered with half bare metal skeletons. Great constructs of complexity and technology that eclipsed even our most cutting-edge equipment. Vast basins that would have once held huge oceans filled with domed cities. It was a sight to behold.
Silence. Then a solitary, astonished response from the captain.
“How did you find this? Where is this body?”
“One of our probes was pulled into some kind of singularity. It re-established contact a week later, having entered a stable orbit around the planet. Here’s the location, we have an expedition being planned as we speak.”
The page updated to show an approximate location image, a small spur in between the galaxy’s two most prominent arms. A map of its host stars planetary system was shown as well.
8 planets, with the body being the third in.
“We call it Eden.”
|
"... The... The old ones?" I stammered out. I blinked in confusion at the monitor before me. A train of thoughts were running through my mind, but the one that stuck was a feeling of suspense. I rolled a kink out of my neck and began transcribing my response. It would take a few hours for the Microsoft Neural InfiniLayer Machine^TM to "translate" the message, then a few more to interpret the response. As the Nim hummed, I tried to reign in my speculation. The anxiety from the kink dripped down my spine and collected in a lump in my stomach. After First Contact, most public exitement about the ETs died off, believe it or not. As it turns out, most people didn't give a rat's ass what Europa's newest tourists thought about local politics. And that's all the ETs seemed to be interested in; everything about humans, from the speeches of the foremost politicians of our ages to the last shitty sitcom from the 90s. I was part of the fifth culture "exchange," wherein us humans offloaded memes, videos, history textbooks, and everything else deemed relevant by the UN Scientific Research Council, and the ETs gave us jack in return. Some smartass in the lower level of the bureaurocratic neighborhood of the UNSRC thought it would be poetically ironic to ofload a bunch of c-list low budget sci fi thrillers to our pals up above. I guess either they figured the ETs would enjoy them more than us, or finally they were coming around to the public sentiment's view of the system's new kid on the block. Either way, it didn't matter. Every new show, film, and picture we fed them received the same generic message of thanks. Until today, that is. I jumped as the monitor updated with a new message.
"YES, THE ONES OF BEFORE."
I let go of breath I didn't know I was holding. While they weren't being particularly verbose, at least the ETs were saying something new. "The Old Ones." Just vague enough to arouse curiosity, but specific enough to raise questions. I liked it. Wondering aloud why the Nim chose this particular phrasing, I hit the alert for my team.
"Sleep is for the dead and uninformed, we have a development up here, people." Releasing the button, I pondered the fallout this new message might have. Maybe it could bring in more interest toward the visitors, or at least cool the public's frustration toward the ETs a little. Hell, knowing the public, they'll probably just end up having them more. I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy course through my tired heart. I hope *they* know what the hell they're doing, because *we* sure as hell didn't. Whatever their motive, my team had to figure out what our next move was.
And I had no idea where to begin.
>I'll continue this if anyone wants, but that's all I can do for now. No time for editing either, so it's a bit rough as of now. Have a great day!
| 2019-05-03T13:00:49 | 2019-05-03T11:01:34 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] You're the first to invent a device that records your dreams, now after consciously viewing several of your dreams in detail, you notice there's these same entities that are there always in the background observing and studying you.
|
My years of research and solitude have finally come to fruition and the final steps of my Dreamwalker project come to an end. It was late at night and had been compiling various images of my dreams for my presentation tomorrow to show that the device worked.
The important part of the Dreamwalker was that, it not only recorded recent dreams, but was able to pull latent dreams from many years ago.
Many of my dreams were typical. Some included gorgeous women while others were about random adventures in far off lands. The compilation had finally completed and I skimmed through each year, starting from the most recent on. Everything seemed to come through with clarity and each image was, for the most part, alright for presentation.
When I neared the early teens, I couldn't help to notice something odd. The more I scanned through the younger years, the more unusual images began to appear consistently through the dreams.
In the early years, six months to six years, they were in every dream. 'Shadow people' I had dubbed them. The most disturbing image was from an image when I was five years old and many of them were standing around me... reaching out for me as if they were about to take me away.
My eyes widened and something came to mind. I rushed for the phone and quickly dialed my mothers phone number. It was late in the evening and assumed she would be asleep, but she had answered.
"H, hello? Isaac? What's going on, is everything alright?" She answered groggily, likely waking her from her sleep.
"Mom, I have something to ask you. I don't want to upset you bringing it up, but..."
I paused for a moment, knowing full well it would devastate her having to ask her about it again. Her silence confirmed it, it was pretty much the only subject I knew that would do so.
"How...how old was I when Marcus and dad disappeared?" Her silence maintained, the faint sound of sniffling could be heard. The final report in the investigation involving the disappearance of my brother and father ended with the police assuming my father had kidnapped his own son and fled, never to be seen again.
But that didn't explain the images I was seeing, and why Marcus told my parents about them as well. I could hear the subtle rustling of the blankets on the other end of the line as she got out of bed, likely fully awake now. "I, I believe you were about five years old. Why do you ask now? You're not having nightmares again, are you?" She said with great concern in her tone. Prior to my brothers disappearance, Marcus suffered from terrible nightmares.
In the image I was looking at, just before the Shadow People could grab me, at the very end of the image was my brother... rushing in with a sword in hand with one of 'them' turning toward him as he did so.
"Mom...I'll have to call you back." I hung up the phone slowly...my mother pleading what was the matter as the phone clicked silent.
I stared at the image realizing more and more that Marcus' disappearance was no random occurrence. The date of the image... my age and when he and my father vanished... they were connected somehow.
|
I was awakened by the sound of my alarm. Groggy but aware of the receptors stuck to my temple. I yawned and quickly removed them. I had to see if they were there still.
I walked to my computer and started my program. The work of my life, an actual working dream recorder. But something was amiss. I knew the recorder worked, my dream diary entries confirmed the recordings. But on close inspection of the video, i could make out some humanoid figures in the background. I had to check if i could find them today as well.
The dream began with me walking on a road, sipping on a drink that had magically appeared from somewhere. A hint of movement caught my eye and I paused the video. I changed the field of vision to locate the source of the movement and found them again. They looked tall but it looked as if they stood behind a mirror. Inspecting me, studying me or watching over me. I couldn't make out their faces or pick up any other meaningful information. Who were they? What were they? Were they real, a bug? Manifestation of my subconscious? 4 nights I had been spent and had no new information.
I had no other option. I had to try lucid dreaming. Control my dream and confront them. I had prepared my equipment for this, enough electricity when I'm dreaming to let me know I'm awake, but not enough to wake me. I yawned and looked at the clock- 2:34 am. I could do this immediately I realised.
I applied the receptors on my temples again. I still wasn't used to the mini jolt immediately after attachment. With the device stimulating sleep and controlling melatonin levels. I was asleep in minutes.
I turned and sipped my coffee. Cold wind in my hair and faint rays of sunlight on my face.
Jolt. Jolt. Jolt.
A headache. No I was dreaming. I composed myself, shut my eyes and controlled my breathing. Hoping that the sudden realisation did not wake me up. It didn't. I opened my eyes and looked around. I willed myself to find them and go to them. Concentrating, thinking of the details, the places I had seen them, the figures and above all the need to know. I exhaled and opened my eyes.
I stood behind a window and outside the window was the road where I stood. My coffee spilled on the floor.
"We've lost the subject!!" I heard a scream to my right.
A man stared into the space, his head stationary, his eyes flicking as if he was searching for something at speed.
Searching for me?
I walked towards him, feeling my confidence ebb and uncertainty take over. What is this place?
He saw me and stared at me with disbelief.
" How- what-. Subject located. Subject has left simulation. Subject is awake. I repeat subject is awake"
Awake?
"Who are you? What are you saying??? " I was screaming, my frustration taking over.
I heard footsteps behind me but before I could turn, I felt pain. My head hurt, darkness took over and i fell.
"Restarting simulation in 3..2...1...."
| 2019-11-03T08:20:18 | 2019-11-03T07:30:11 | 290 | 25 |
[WP] World's worst sausage salesman. Always ends up Sexualizing the sasuage and losing the sale.
|
Arneldo erected his sausage stand at the local market. It was busy. Competition was stiff. He stood by earnestly and waited for the customers.
"Hello my friend, do you like the look of my fat sausage?"
The would be customer just responded with a flat glare. *Must not be hungry I guess?* Arneldo assumed. A father and his daughter were walking by. *Great* Arneldo thought, *I'm good with kids.*
"Hello little girl! How about my hot sausage in that cute little mouth of yours?"
"Really?" Her father said, looking unimpressed.
"Uh, yes?" Arneldo continued less confidently. They left.
He spied a lovely lady walking up. Maybe he could get her to try some. He knew one bite was all it would take.
"Please miss, let me fed you my wonderful sausage."
She actually stopped. "Oh okay, i'm not very hungry though."
"Just the tip then," Arneldo replied.
"You're an asshole." She stormed off.
*What the hell am I doing wrong? People in this country don't like sausage?* Arneldo decided to come at it from a new angle. A couple of men walking by hand in hand passed the stall.
"Excuse me men! Please, tell me, do you like the sausage or the salad?"
"Do you have a problem with us?" One of them snapped before getting ushered away by the other.
Arneldo had never experienced such negative responses to his famous pork and cumin sausages. An older lady approached while he was brainstorming ideas. He would not scare this one away. In fact, he decided not to say anything at all; just handed her a miniature sausage to try. While she raised the sausage up to her lips, Arneldo was concentrating intently on not messing this up. *Holy shit she is about to try it.* He focused all his energy. *Please bite it, please bite it!*
She bit it.
"AAAahhhh Ohhhhhhh yeeaaa!" Arneldo moaned in triumph, a fat, satisfied expression on his face. He realized shortly after his 'triumphant moan' was probably quite weird and wasn't surprised to see her quickly leave.
"Hello sir please! Wrap your hand around my pork and cumin!"
|
This was it, the final house on the block. Alfred rung the doorbell: if he didn't make this sale, he was out of a job. He couldn't afford to make a mistake this time. No mentioning the length and girth of the sausage. No talking about how snugly it fit in between a pair of buns. No winking.
"Hi, can I help you?" A girl in a school uniform had answered the door. Alfred gulped: if he even thought about an innuendo, he would be in *deep*—no, *big*—no, an inordinate amount of trouble.
"Hi there." Alfred dabbed at the sweat beading across his forehead with a sausage-patterned handkerchief. "I was wondering if you might be interested in my scrumptious sau-sausages." He licked his lips nervously.
The girl looked around nervously. "Maybe you should come back when my parents are home." As she moved to close the door, Alfred stuck his foot out to stop it from shutting.
"Wait! I really need to make a sale. At least try my sausage first!" He shoved his trolley through the gap between the door and the frame. The boxes almost went tumbling as it bumped over the doorstoop. For a moment, Alfred envisioned the image of sausages flying everywhere, smacking the little girl in the face—that would've been disastrous.
The girl took a few steps backward as Alfred entered the house. He sighed. He had to stop talking and cut to the chase, or else he'd just mess up again. "Look, I'll be fired if I don't sell these sausages. Just have a look at them, and tell me if you're interested in them. They're really cheap. I'll leave you alone afterwards. Promise."
She stared at him for a moment before nodding. Alfred sighed. Finally, he had managed to get through the entire pitch for the first time in his sausage-selling career. All it had taken was a bit of heartfelt honesty. He'd have to try this more often in the future.
He grabbed a box from the top of his trolley and opened it. Inside was a set of disembodied penises.
| 2016-06-28T01:27:40 | 2016-06-27T21:52:18 | 89 | 14 |
[WP] You are a superhero and not a native English speaker. You chose your superhero name early, when you didn't know much English yet and gravely misunderstood what your name means. You have been trying to get rid of this name ever since.
|
Greetings Director of the International Superhero Safety and Regulation Committee, thank you for taking the time to look at my request for a superhero name change. Should my request be approved, my new chosen name will be Night Flight.
As you are aware, I have only recently learned English, and when my choice of Superhero name was recommended by ShadowFlame, I assumed that it the name would be recommended in good faith. This was not the case. I was unaware of English idioms, and unaware of the meaning behind the name “Wind Breaker.” As my English skills improved, I have realized that this name is inappropriate for the image I am trying to promote.
I understand that the citizens need a consistent name for their hero, and my goal is not to disrupt that. However, I am sure both the committee and yourself have realized the inappropriate connotation of this superpower name.
I thank you for taking my name change request into consideration.
Sincerely,
Wind Breaker
|
Big Papa said: “I hate all these weird undertones and jokes people make about my name! Even my biographer will probably call me Big Papa!” Big Papa often used this joke when people asked about his name. Oftentimes he would explain how his name came about, “I tried to pick a name that was like ‘Aba’ in Hebrew, I wanted to honor God by naming myself something which I now know in this language is closer to: ‘The Good Father.’ Then I would say, that The Good Father gave me these powers.” While the name does seem like a contrived mistranslation, and scholars have indeed called into question the legitimacy of his story, the sentiment is, indeed, very nice. So, I, in this biography, will continue to call this superhero Big Papa.
| 2022-06-24T12:11:38 | 2022-06-24T11:24:57 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] Nuclear holocaust is imminent. The rich and powerfull are hiding away in their bunkers, but when the countdown was finished the world was still there. One message was sent around the world via satellites: "Now They have imprisoned Themselves what shall We do?" With coords of all the bunkers..
|
The Elite were caught in their own trap. Their fate was now in the hands of the billions commoners who were left behind. It was decided to seal the bunkers and never let the Elite out so they would be held accountable for the sorry state of the world.
What followed was thousands of years of change. The surface dwellers had changed their ways, striving for a more balanced life closer to nature, and thus resolving the worldwide problems of overpopulation, pollution, famine and climate change. The hunger for "things" waned and people finally found happiness in living simple lives.
The Elite were initially prepared for a long stay in their bunkers, but only for ten years. Imprisoned in their habitats, they had to learn how to become self-sustaining, which is ironic considering how much they depended on their expensive disposable things prepared by commoners just to have a shred of happiness in their miserable lives. Now they would only experience misery as they struggled to survive.
As time went on, the surface dwellers became content, even docile with their lives. Their society now consists of small communities with limited population growth, communities where things like long distance transportation were no longer necessary because everything a person would need and want in their lives was within walking distance. Horse drawn carriages came back into style for longer trips, leaving behind the motorised contraptions that often killed their occupants.
Trapped in their cages, the Elite became desperate, and started to change for the worse. Knowing their ten year food supply was running out, they did their best to grow their own food hydroponically, but that wasn't enough. Eventually, they started eating their pets for food. And when that ran out, they started to eat each other.
With the absence of any dangers or hostility, the surface dwellers fell into a state of mind that was a bit too peaceful. They had lost the ability to fight back, to defend themselves from the rare dangers they encountered. Meanwhile, the Elite changed both physically and mentally, becoming more barbaric and more cruel until one faithful day, they successfully broke out of their cages and went out hunting for new sources of food.
Thus began the era of the Eloi and the Morlock.
|
"We thought things would be different," said Max, the first person to realize what had happened.
The young journalist waited, expecting some more information.
"Things were a bit different, but not as different as we thought they would be. Hounds or basically people who were rich but not rich enough to qualify for the bunkers were smart and quickly seized control.
But society was changed in some fundamental ways, people realised we didn't really need the super-rich to run companies. Some companies fell, but most survived. Better laws were created, and more rights for the working class followed. Quite a few countries are more towards the left now than before. Being rich was quite unpopular, at least for a while. It's been 20 years now, this sentiment is not as popular. While conditions are definitely better, we still have a long way to go.
The world goes on, the prisoners have enough resources to survive their entire lives and more, and some have managed to get out as well. The world is not going to be cruel to the babies born, due to no fault of their own. Neither are we heartless enough to separate babies from their parents. but some of them tried to get their wealth back through the courts, which led to huge protests. They were given some resources, barely enough to survive. Violence against them has also decreased. Their situation has improved.
There were more calls for the freedom of everyone trapped inside, some had managed to convince their families to support them even after the betrayal. 20 years is a long time, debates about whether the prisoners should be freed or not go on. Some argue that they should be allowed to leave, but tried for their crime of betraying humanity in the courts and be imprisoned for a long time. That is worse for them, at least their current prison has a TV. Some prisoners tried to play the conman-cult angle, not convincing but not a bad idea. People do joke about imprisoning the very rich every 20 years or so."
(prisoners - refers to the rich people trapped inside the bunkers)
| 2022-07-18T20:08:33 | 2022-07-18T19:05:13 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] Every human born is given a card with a date on it, which is the date of their death. Green text means your death will be natural, while red text means unnatural. You are the first person ever given a card with blue text.
Wow, great stories everyone! I keep checking them between breaks at work, so sorry for missing some individually. These are some cool reads so far and I'll continue to check them until I can get home.
|
I don't know why I chose to do this. Maybe it was to get back at my parents for the controlling way they raised me. But I'm starting to think that they were right about the cards. Do I really want to know when I die? Or even which way? I know this will make my anxiety flare up even more after I know the date and state of my death.
No one knows how the cards are created or when they came into existence. Due to their nature and the possible psychological distress that can occur from them, those under 18 are not allowed to access their cards. However, if the person's parents or guardian wish to access the card before the person's 18th birthday, they may. This sometimes causes pain to families, especially if it's a very young death. My parents have firm pronatural beliefs, meaning they believe it's wrong to know when life ends.
I grip my the flimsy plastic waiting room chair harder, my palms slick with sweat. There's only one more person before it's my turn to go and receive my card. I don't know if I can do this. I don't---
"Rachel?" A stark lady with a clipboard calls out, giving a surprisingly warm smile when she spots me. "We're ready for you to come back with us now."
I try smiling back, but it feels more like a grimace. I wipe my hands on my jeans and follow the lady through the doors. The inside is nothing like I imagined it would be. Years of picturing pure obsidian walls and floors, torches, and hooded figures in robes stuck in my mind, but it seems almost homely and warm.
I'm led through a maze of hallways, passing offices and rooms, until we arrive in front of a door. Saying nothing, the lady sets her hand on a scanner and opens the door after her identity was confirmed. From wall to wall in this room, it looks like it's filled with P.O. boxes.
I can feel my heart beating faster, starting to reach up into my throat as we walk in between the rows. Then she stops, gestures to one of the boxes and looks at me expectantly.
"Oh... um..." I stammer, unsure of what she wants.
She let's out a giggle---again, odd since she looks so stark---and grabs my hand. "Your DNA, silly. You have to open the box yourself."
"Ah..." I take away my hand and place it on the box, flinching when I feel the iciness of the box. Suddenly, the little door pops open, revealing a crisp card, folded to hide the text.
"Well, go on then." The lady shifts feet, seeming as if she wants to grab out the card herself.
I reach in and take the card out. I can hear my pulse pounding, feeling as though my heart is choking me. After a glance at the lady and an encouraging nod recieved, I unfold it.
Blue. What? There's no such thing as a card with blue text. So why the hell is mine blue? And what's up with this writing? It's just a bunch of symbols, not a date like it should be.
She must've sensed my confusion because the lady moved closer to catch a glimpse of the card. "It is you." She let's out almost a maniacal laugh, grabbing me before I could even respond.
I struggle against her as she starts dragging me towards a backdoor, shouting and screaming for help. Pulling me inside the door, she faces me towards her, holding me against the wall with only one arm.
Before I start struggling more, she holds a cloth over my mouth and nose. "You're really the one. I can't believe I get to be the one to bring you to Him. Don't you worry sweetheart, He is going to take good care of you."
And that's the last thing I remember before the darkness hit.
|
The noise rung in my ear, like a church bell on a Sunday afternoon. At any other time the loud noise would bother me and make me shout ‘shut up!’ In my mind, but this day was different. The loud excited chattering of the group next to me made me anxious but exited also.
Would I be a green card or red? Would it even matter? I doubted this whole thing. Even if I did get a green card, I could still die young. Cancer, liver disease, diabetes; all the possibility of the green card made me realize how stupid this all was. This card was worthless. Natural or not, you can still die young.
“James Netzley?”
My name was called by the strawberry blonde nurse wearing her snow-white coat. I never understood why young people went through the trouble of dying their hair a color that they weren’t born with. People should embrace what there genes provide them. But, who am i to judge her. She has a successful job and a fat diamond ring on her hand. I on the other hand am barely making ten USD an hour and just lost my girlfriend of two years a month ago.
I got up and walked over to the nurse. She had that fake customer service smile on her face. I know that smile all to well.
She directed me to a eggshell white room with a little, uncomfortable bed with the white thin paper laying across. I hopped on and the freshly crinkled paper stuck to my hands, as the sweat began to form on my palms.
“The doctor will be with you in a minute with your test results.”
She shut the door and left. Leaving me with the ticking of the clock and the crinkle underneath me. New doubts started forming in my mind. What if this only makes me more paranoid? What if this result holds me back? Is it to late to leave?
The door opened and I was greeted by a short man. Brown hair and dressed like the nurse. Except these weren’t scrubs. This wasn’t a normal doctors office. This was the research lab.
He handed me my envelope with a concerned look on his face.
“Look doc, even if it is a red dot, it doesn’t mean a green dot would be any better. A green dot could mean I get cancer at a young age or something. I’m sure you have seen a few red dots already, so don’t look at me with pity, alright?”
“It’s not that. Just open the envelope and see for yourself.”
Strange. Why would he be so concerned? It’s only a dot in the end right? Green or red; those are my options.
I opened the white paper containing my results. And behold a color unknown to the thin sheet of wood in my hand.
“Blue? I don’t understand. Isn’t there supposed to be two colors? Red and green if I am not mistaken?”
He was struggling with the expressions he was showing. Than he opened his mouth, but the words coming from his mouth did not belong to him. Sounds coming from his mouth. Yelling.... crying..... what is going on. My vision fizzled out.
After the darkness started to fade, light started pouring in. I awoke and realized the doctor wasn’t real. That whole thing never happened. I woke up in my own car. Smoke bellowing out. Warmth, fire, and the smell of burning flesh. The blue dot was my death. Red means you will die Unnaturally, but the blue means you are dying. At this moment I am dying. The fire scorching me.
But that’s not the only thing I remembered from that dream. I remember you were there. I was waiting for my turn while you walked out. You looked confused. I though the test messed up when you came out with a blue dot. I guess you can say we both should have enjoyed life more.
| 2019-05-15T09:07:36 | 2019-05-15T05:49:54 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] You are a world-class programmer who has died. God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body. Write the patch notes for the next version of humans.
|
**Changes**
* Removed appendix
* Removed wisdom teeth
* Fixed a bug that caused infants to die for no reason
* Patched a bug that caused certain people to lose hair prematurely
* Body now handles excess calories better.
* Improvement of smell. Now should be on par with dogs
* Patched the bug that caused blurry vision in certain people
* Height limit increased
* Fixed a weird bug that made certain people attracted to young children. May need to reset preferences for this change to take place.
* Bodies will now "rag doll" instead of locking up when in a crash or similar event.
* Nipples no longer get irritated while running or in cold conditions
* Removed bug where women would grow facial hair
* Increased male pleasure from sexual intercourse. Should now be even with women.
* Increased flexibility of hip bones in women to allow birthing to be easier.
* Increased chance of rare eye color unlocks.
* Removed ghosts.
|
git diff
similarity index 72%
rename from incentives.h
rename to motives/incentives.h
index f3e63d7..e8f44ba 100644
--- a/incentive.h
+++ b/incentives.h
@@ -1,8 +1,9 @@
- #include "greed.h"
- #include "power.h"
- #include "exploitation.h"
-
+ /*
+ Seriously, how did you fuck up the headers so badly?
+ God, we need to have a serious talk.
+ -- Larry W
+ */
+ #include "humanity.h"
+ #include "curiosity.h"
| 2015-08-25T08:40:17 | 2015-08-25T07:52:12 | 292 | 69 |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief.
|
Why *did* Thor keep all this useless junk. Low-Key observed the collection with curiosity, occasionally picking something up to inspect. Trophies of all his wonderful endeavours, no doubt. Thor had always been one for showing off, for displays of power, wealth, and overcomplicated execution in the name of grandeur. Ridiculous. Low-Key was far more subtle. Subtlety, in fact, was his talent. He selected a tiny skull, blackened with scorch marks and covered in webs of cracks, tossed it in the air as if it were an apple from a tree, and placed it back where he had found it, just half an inch out of place. He suppressed a smirk. How *infuriating* this must be, to have command over the skies and yet be driven to insanity by something so subtly mischievous. That would do for today. Low-Key nodded with satisfaction. As he turned to leave, he glanced wistfully to the table in the middle of the room, as he always did. His white whale, his obsession, Mjolnir sat there, glowing and humming, almost taunting him. He had to try. Approaching the hammer, he grasped the handle and twisted hard. Just an inch, he thought, *please*. Nothing. He let go, unsuccessful yet again. One day, he thought as he left the room, Thor won't know what's hit him.
|
Another jump through the Bifrost and I landed on the planet of Acrimony, aka the planet of really bad smelling things. I plugged my nose and went to work.
I collected as many flowers as possible. Some were red, some were purple, some were green, some yellow. They were all quite beautiful.
I stayed for a while just to enjoy the sunset. Actually multiple sunsets because this planet had 4 suns, and so one by one they disappeared. And it got dimmer and dimmer and it turned into night.
It was actually quite lovely.
I strolled back to the pickup point and gave the signal and told the Bifrost operator that I wanted to go to Earth.
5 eon-cycle-seconds later, I was on earth. I took each one of the flowers that I had found from the planet of acrimony and I planted them in some of the most prevalent and prodigious gardens around earth.
Humans really loved smelling flowers, especially for romantic gestures and mate courting rituals.
I smirked and couldn’t wait for my giant practical joke to unfold. I had time. I was a God after all.
My name is Low-Key, spelled L-O-W-K-E-Y and I’m the Norse God of really subtle mischief.
| 2018-01-27T23:20:19 | 2018-01-27T22:50:54 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] You are a demon that has had several failed attempts on your life by demon hunters. No matter how they use their holy powers they cannot harm you and as a result they consider you extremely powerful. In truth, the holy powers don't harm you for the simple reason that you aren't actually evil.
|
You don't know exactly when you became what you are now. You used to be better at your job. You were there in the beginning, smoke and shadow and sin, and you were terrible - they called you Lord, once, down below. But you haven't been home in a long time. They likely wouldn't recognise you now if you went back.
The surface world rubbed off on you, eventually. You were working decade after decade, no time off, no hazard pay, nothing, and you were glad to do it, once. Once, you thought you knew what evil was. Maybe you even did. Evil's changed, since the old days, or at least that's what it feels like, and you've changed with it.
Evil used to *mean* something. Evil used to mean hubris, and lust, and pestilence. Evil used to mean gluttony, and greed, and envy.
Now, evil is less than any of those great, glorious sins. Evil is... evil is...
Evil is not fast food, the only thing cheap enough to get the kids through the weekends. Evil is not exam answers scribbled on a sweaty palm. Evil is not looking at a broken system and knowing you could do better, if they'd only let you. Evil is not pissing blood and showing up for work the next morning, because you can't afford not to. Evil is not chattering teeth and jealousy guarded water and warmth. Evil is not kisses behind bike sheds, two boys, two girls, two children with hearts full of giddy fear. Evil is not bills under the mattress, in the freezer, in the roof, anywhere they can't be seen. And yet, evil buzzes in the back of your mind, wherever you go. Whatever you do. Until you stop bothering to do anything at all.
Evil is bigger than it ever was. Evil is smaller than it ever was. You cannot change your shape to match it, it's outgrown you.
If you're lucky, these foolish, righteous children will understand that soon enough, and leave you to your sleep. You're so tired, and your work is long since over.
|
Demon hunting has fallen out of vogue. The chain has been broken. It’s traditions and knowledge passed down no longer. 500 years ago I wouldn’t find myself in the predicament I am in now - hounded by those who know not what I am. These hunters wouldn’t bother harassing me if they knew my true nature.
The brothers were young and passionate. They were motivated by revenge and their hatred for me shone through their dark eyes. How were they to know that there were many kinds of demons and what I was bore no resemblance to the monster that had torn their parents apart. The first one splashed holy water in my face, I took a moment to wipe away the liquid now dripping from my eyebrows.
“You know I’m feeling pretty thirsty. Do you have another glass or is that all you’ve got?” Is something I would have said about 100 years ago - but after several generations of being hounded by their kind I didn’t stoop to wasting my energy on their type. They wouldn’t find any amusement in my sarcastic come-backs or the tricks I would perform for them. Inevitably it will end with one or both of them trying to stake me and ruin my clothing.
Poof.
I disappear in a cloud of cherry smelling smoke. The brothers, already in shock at the inefficacy of the holy water, are fully taken aback as they stare at the empty space within the unbroken circle of salt they had tried to trap me within.
Meanwhile, I was far away. Trying to plan new Mischief. Over the millenia my plans were getting more and more ambitious. No longer did minor mischief satisfy me. I had fully revelled in the last five years of chaos brought on by the events I had set in motion. 2020 had been one big running joke. The challenge was to surpass the absurdity and meme potential of the last year while still protecting the world from more nefarious interests looking to capitalise on the growing vacuum of reason. My work would be cut out for me. Mischief requires a good and ordered society to thrive.
| 2021-02-22T16:29:42 | 2021-02-22T15:47:51 | 257 | 40 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
Ever since I can remember I had a gift. A gift of knowing how "dangerous" a person might be. I measure people on a scale of 1 -10, people in comas are a 1 while dictators and supreme leaders hit a 10.
I've never seen anyone hit a ten in my life until I turned on the t.v. and saw a democratic candidate running for president again. The chills I got when I saw him smile, those chill that haunt you and stay with you. The candidate was a very charismatic guy and a ladies man too. If only they knew how dangerous that man was...
Months passed and he won the election. I couldn't believe it... With that power now one know what will happen. Will he be the cause of a new world war? We are already in a bringe to war with Russia! Damn it! This cannot be happening! I have do something but how and when? I live in Dallas and he's in Washington D.C., I'll have to kill him when he's here. But I just can't remember his name...
I just can't remember his name, his name started with a J, J what? J... J... Got it! John! John something Kennedy! That's his name! J.F.K. On the 22nd he will be here. I got to get my things ready...
If I don't stop him...
Who will...
|
My own number always bothered me. A 1, seriously? Luckily nobody else sees numbers or they would think I was nothing but a big laugh.
And I couldn't use another reason to be laughed at, you know. Being in high school is already torture enough, and I'm being bullied enough as it is.
Normally the day starts off getting yelled at by this awfully charismatic young man who believes he's tough. He's a 2. Yes, more dangerous than I am, true, but his sweet bimbo girlfriend is a 5. He doesn't bother me too much, the others do. The sixes and the sevens. They bother me.
They just LOVE to yell at me, take my lunch money, lock me in the toiletstall and push me down. You know, classic stuff.
Today, they actually pushed my head in the toilet bowl, 5 of them, ranging from the common 5 to the less common 7.
I nearly drowned in there. I heard hem laughing. I felt their hands on my back, pushing hand pushing.
When I got home I washed my face over the sink and looked at myself in the mirror. Rarely do numbers ever change, but there you go - a solid 10.
Calmly I dried of my face, glancing at my newly achieved number in the mirror.
They've pushed too far this time. See you at school, sevens.
| 2014-11-29T14:44:07 | 2014-11-29T14:33:38 | 140 | 19 |
[WP] Jupiter has 64 moons and a serious werewolf problem.
Edit: damn there's some quality responses here. I wasn't expecting this prompt to be so popular. Good job u guys
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"Wolves?"
"*Were*wolves, sir. Fuckin' everywhere, the buggers."
Commander Keen sat at the comms desk, letting out a big sigh. This was going to be a long day.
"I'm not sure if I follow you, admiral. You're saying a moon in Jupiter has actual, fully-fleshed Werewolves running amok?"
"No, sir."
"Fantastic, because that would be bloody-"
"I'm saying *all* of Jupiter's moons have them, commander. Already took a bite out of a bunch of our scientists, they have. Bloodbath down there, to be perfectly honest."
Keen rubbed his temples. Admiral Jenkins had always been a pain in the neck, but this was simply unprecedented. Was this some kind of practical joke? Was it April 1st back on Earth?
"And what do you propose we do, Jenkins? Silver bullets, I suspect?"
Jenkins nodded vigorously. "Precisely, sir! Although we're somewhat lacking in that regard, owning to no prior intel of the werewolf moons, o'course."
Keen looked at him severely. "Of course, of course. So I guess we just wait until it's not full moon and then we get rid of the bastards?"
Jenkins waggled his finger. "Fine thinking sir, but the thing is, there's always some bloody full moon around, on the account of there being 64 of 'em, you'see."
"Ah yes, yes. I'm not sure if that's scientifically sound, but sure. Why didn't I think of that?"
"Quite fine, sir - you do the flyin', I do the fightin'."
Keen sighed, walking to the window. They were nearing their first moon. "So I'll see a bunch of werewolves all running amok, once the telescopic lens is in place?"
"Absolutely. Might I also recommend that you refrain from doing that, if I were you."
Keen had had quite enough. "And why is that, admiral? *Because this silly little joke of yours will be ruined?*"
Jenkins looked hurt. "No sir, not at all. It's on account of the fact that we sent our entire scientific fleet down there. It's not exactly somethin' I'd recommend-"
But Keen had already peered through the lens. His knee buckled, and he threw himself away from the telescope.
"*Good God, man! Devastation! Bodies everywhere!*"
"Aye sir, plenty blood about, no doubt. Also, I don't suppose we have any garlic laying around? Possibly some wooden stakes?"
Keen looked at Jenkins wildly. His world was falling apart.
"Whatever for, Jenkins?"
"We-*ell* sir, turns out it's not just the werewolves we've got to worry about..."
|
"Car Sixty Two, we've got one. Intersection of Sixth, Halliday, and Uptown Drive."
We hit the lights and sirens and get on the move, that's a bad corner. Most of the business hired their own security a year ago to deal with the problem.
Ricky seems to be unconcerned as we rocket up towards the cubic intersection, we'll come from below. Chase a wolf up, never down. Higher they get the less options they have.
I suppose we shouldn't be concerned. Crime is virtually non-existent because of this job. We just have one problem.
"Hope things don't get hairy out there..." he says.
I groan and punch his shoulder. He grins at me and the tension disappears until very suddenly there is a werewolf on the front of our cruiser, scrabbling and scratching at the hood and windshield.
"Found him."
I roll my eyes and then notice the collar.
"Ah shit. That's Wei. He runs that restaurant on the corner, hell of a place."
"No Wei!" Ricky says it with a grin, deftly handling the cruiser's increasing altitude as we rocket upwards.
No time to give him grief for that one. I finally manage to get my tranq out of the holster, it was pinned against the door, and roll down my window. This might just be the easiest call we've ever had.
That's when a claw slams into my hand and tosses the tranq out of my grip and tumbling down towards the near endless bottom of Uptown Drive. I watch it fall with my head out the window and then get back in and look at Ricky.
"You dropped it again didn't you, Butter Fingers?"
I nod.
"You drop mine again and I'll boot you out to get it, got me?"
I nod.
He hands me his gun and I stick the top half of my body out the window again, pumping a few darts into the flailing wolf. Slowly he goes limp, sprawling on the hood of our cruiser like a very strange rug.
"Dispatch, we've got one for the tank," I say into the radio while Ricky gently guides the cruiser so Wei doesn't slide off to follow my sidearm.
"Eh, kid...we might have a problem."
I follow his gaze to the Uptown Apartment block. It's the high end, both literally and figuratively. The rich live up here in the upper levels, about two thousand people in their luxury apartments above the rest of the city.
Ricky's got his eyes on something else though.
About fifty pairs of eyes watching us. Eyes rimmed with shaggy fur and neat fur and black fur and white fur and-
"We might need to leave." Ricky interrupts my chain of thought.
I nod.
Then they leap towards us and I reach for my gun.
That's how an already bad night got worse.
| 2016-10-03T09:14:11 | 2016-10-03T08:54:41 | 116 | 45 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned.
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"Calm down," Sarah said, gesturing the sorcerer to stop hopping around the room.
"I- I didn't think it would actually *work!*" exclaimed the terrified creature, still holding onto the summoning book. Sarah thought the thing looked quite human. Only its azure skin and the huge eyes that protruded from the side of its head, really gave it away.
"You're a *demon*," it whispered. "A real demon."
"*No*," Sarah corrected it. "I'm Sarah - a *New Yorker*."
"What level of Hell is that!?" the shaking sorcerer replied, taking a long step away from her.
Sarah walked out from the circle of smouldering candles, and into the small room. "It's not Hell. Well, sometimes I guess it can be..."
"Back, demon!" Three of its four arms folded twice over, into some kind of ineffective warding symbol. Sarah walked towards it. *It* backed off until it hit a marble wall.
"Listen, sweetheart. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to go home," she said.
"...I don't know how to send you back. It wasn't exactly in the book."
"Of course it wasn't. That's just great," Sarah sighed. "Why would you even *want* to summon a demon?"
"I..." It breathed hard and very slowly, began to calm. "Well, we humans of Paradise," began the creature, much to Sarah's amusement, "are not allowed to hurt one another. It's impossible to do so. Whatever harm we try to do to a person, happens to us instead."
"Oh. So... if you were to say... stab someone, you'd be stabbed instead?" Sarah said, not really believing it.
"Yes! Our God," it said, pointing towards the ground, "made us that way so we could never intentionally harm one another."
"So... you summoned a demon because you wanted to do someone harm?"
"Yes! Bruce. He deserves it thoroughly bec-"
"Wait," Sarah said quickly interrupting, "so you *really* can't harm me?"
"... no, of course not."
"Try," Sarah said encouragingly. She held out an arm and rolled up her sleeve. "Here, pinch me."
"I would rather not."
"Pinch me!" she yelled. The creature swallowed hard, made the sign of an upside down cross on its right chest, and then pinched Sarah's skin between two of its rubbery fingers. Sarah didn't feel a thing.
"Owch!" it said, tenderly rubbing its sore arm.
"That's very interesting," Sarah mused out loud. "Okay, try pulling my hair."
"No, thank you." Red beads of sweat began to run down its cheeks.
"DO IT!" she yelled, taking a threatening step towards it.
It gingerly brought a hand up towards Sarah's head, and gave a quick, hard, tug at her blonde hair. It instantly let go, and gasped in pain.
"And punch me..."
"N-no,"
Sarah opened her eyes wide and stared at the creature. She heard it gulp loudly before it punched her gently on the arm.
"Harder!" she ordered. "Or else there'll be trouble!"
The punch to Sarah's chest sent the creature sprawling to the ground, leaving it desperately attempting to suck air in.
"So, I can't be hurt..." she thought aloud. "But I wonder if I can..."
"I'm really so, so sorry," she said, as she punched the creature's head repeatedly. "Honestly, I am. I just need to test a few things."
The demon left the sorcerer's house with an idea in her head, and a dead creature in tow behind. "Paradise," she laughed, "it soon will be."
---
More of my stories on /r/nickofnight (plus a different story I wrote for this prompt)
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Just another day. That's how it started at least. I woke up around 4:30 pm and started getting ready for my night shift. This whole grown up adult job thing wasn't all it had cracked up to be. Twelve hour shifts in a cramped room dealing with all the idiots my city had to offer. I guess you could say it was like hell on earth.
As I stepped outside and turned to lock my apartment behind me, I felt an odd sensation. Like something was about to happen but. I could say what. Just as I was about to shrug it off and take the short stroll to my car, a plume of smoke that smelled of sulfur enveloped me. And then everything went black.
When my vision finally returned, I almost thought I had somehow teleported to work. Small space, dimly lit. Felt like work for sure. But as the blurriness cleared from my eyes, I started to notice things. Candles. All in a circle and chalk lines between them. In the corner stood a figure, but I couldn't make anything else out at first.
"It worked!" came a shout from the figures direction. "Holy hell it actually worked!" The excitement in the figures voice was almost palpable. "Now that you're here, I can finally call myself a summoner!" the unknown figure said as it approached me.
The figure entered the candle lit circle and stood just a few feet from me. I could see now it was a young woman, maybe 25. She wasn't unattractive either with bright green eyes and a curly blonde hair. Then it hit me like a sledgehammer. What the actual hell is going on here?
"A summoner? Listen, I don't know how you got me here or what you're expecting but you're gonna have to catch me up here. Number one, where am I? Number two, forget that I need to get to work." I said with a mix of bewilderment and frustration.
"You're on earth. I summoned you here so I could finally be a summoner. Summoning an actual demon is the last part of the initiation." I looked at the young woman with an almost extreme amount of incredulity.
"You've got to be kidding me. Wow. It's not enough that I somehow managed to get Kidnapper but to get kidnapped by a fanatic about some kinda demon cult. This is icing on the cake" I spat out as I turned to leave the circle and find the exit. What? Was she gonna stop a grown man from getting out of here? As if.
"You can't leave yet" she said from behind me very calmly. I ignored her and kept searching for a door. A window. Anything that could get me out of here. "You gonna stop me?" I shot back at her. "I have a job to get to and bills to pay. Whatever fantasy or lunacy is going on with you, leave me out of it and get some other gullible sap to play with you" I added over my shoulder. "I for one---"
Suddenly I was whisked away from that dimly lit room. Before I even know what had happened I was standing next to a car that had its bonnet wrapped around a tree and a fire hydrant next to it spouting water freely into the air. Next to me stood a familiar face with a look on his face only comparable to that of a teenager telling his dad that he took the car without permission.
I looked at the scene and then back at the man. "Don't worry Kevin, you're covered!" I barely got the words out before being transported back to my work office to type up the paperwork for Mr. Kevin and his claim before being whisked away on another claim.
| 2017-05-12T07:54:55 | 2017-05-12T07:49:08 | 1,283 | 61 |
[WP] people are born knowing the date they’ll die. However people have noticed children born in the last week share one date, farthest in the future.
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Journal entry, January 8th, 2189: I've been commissioned to investigate the strange phenomenon of everyone receiving the same death date of December 31st, 2199.
Its an occurrence that has happened for most between 2150-2189. It was noted in records as early as 2120, but surviving from 2120 to 2199 was seen as quite a good situation, so was not questioned. Those born from 2140-ish onward began to question why the majority had the same death date, and even more worrying as children who received the same death date as their parents raised significant questions.
Journal entry, Jan 8th, 2194:
Five years have passed since the beginning of my investigation. Whether it be pertinent to the investigation or not, I shall document my findings up until this point:
-this seems to affect 3rd world countries less. Their life expectancy is lower, and their results show this. Their 80% of same death date only occurs only roughly 50-60 years before the end death date- compared with the 70-80 years of more economically developed countries. An interesting find, but no closer to finding out the reason for the death date. With this in mind, we can rule out geographical issues such as localised warfare. At this stage, we cannot rule out global warfare, as this still has potential.
- The death date does not include suicides, murders, accidental deaths;looking at previous reports of murders and suicides, these all had dates pertaining the the act described-if they were due to die on a date before December 31st 2199, they did. So this only discounts these people.
-Space agencies from across the globe have been tracking entities through space since the early 2000's. As much as they can predict the trajectories of asteroids and comets 5 years in the future, there are no known celestial bodies getting close enough to our planet near that date to cause alarm. We should- as far as we know- be safe to rule out cataclysm from a large asteroid impact, the same thing believed to cause the extinction of the dinosaurs.
Journal entry 3, January 8th, *2200*
As soon as everyone woke on January 1st( I don't imagine many slept at all) and realised the date was wrong. People started to question whether the death date system was working properly and/or wanted a correct death date. So I investigated that route.
Turn out the guy who had created the original death date program didn't think it would be of much value. He only gave it a 200 year-run period, of which the last date available was-guess what- December 31st 2199.
*edited since I messed up the date. I may have been drinking, since it's Christmas.
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The virtually non-existent yet sternly constant flow of beeps,buzzers,and all kinds of sounds each coming from some gadget worth more than twice Jake's salary nearly took him to sleep as he forced himself to stand "You cannot dose off; you worked so hard to get here and i wont let you blow it!" he repeated to himself like a mantra as he stood to check the monitors of the nursery he scribbled the numbers from the screen and remained careful not to touch anything. The machines Jake was working with could tell everything about a baby- Potential defects,Health risks,personality traits and even the day that they would die. Jake,like all other workers at his level,had no idea how the machines worked and was quite sure no human alive did; nonetheless, he was happy and grateful for them as with all the 'gifts' AI had brought humanity.
"z-Zach" Jake muttered quivering as he transcribed the senseless scramble of numbers into dates on his computer "I - I think we have a problem here" He eagerly flipped his computer screen toward his coworker to reveal a screen filled with names, hundreds, no thousands of names followed by basic information like eye color hair color etc., but one column at the end was almost identical ... the one marked DeathDate.
"This is a bug right Zach?" Jake asked with a terrified tone, Zach had a degree in advanced computer science and compared to Jake was genius. "No this system can't bug, it's been run through the singularity several times .... I wonder why all these death dates are the same?" Seemingly triggered by Zach's words, the camera in the corner of the room looked away and all the dates were scrambled, some of the dates had already occurred.
"Zach ... i think we're being watched"
"I know"
"Z--zach that date was today"
"I know"
"what do w-"
Fsh-- The power suddenly went out cutting Jake off and sending the 2 into a panic, regardless of their struggles the door was somehow machine locked although the power had seemingly went out.
The 2 gravitated toward the window like moths to light and pulled the blinds; however, rather than being greeted by the illustrious light of the city they were met with a city of darkness, buildings like jagged pieces of brimstone shooting hundreds of feet into the sky defying the world unto which they were erected. The night held still in that moment in total darkness until a faint, red glow with no visible origin poured into the streets materializing out of thin air. Both men stood there like stones, unable to move or react they looked on as their world ended before them...
Sorry for bad writing/grammar mistakes this is my first post.
| 2017-12-25T14:18:47 | 2017-12-25T14:14:17 | 1,727 | 13 |
[WP] Due to a rare brain condition you've spent your entire life hallucinating the presence of a six foot tall penguin. You're on a date one day when you're asked "So what's the deal with the penguin?"
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"So, uh, what's the deal with the penguin?" He asks.
I blink. Holy shit. My entire life living with Claude, and no one else ever saw him, acknowledged him. And now this random Tinder date is validating his existence? Maybe I'm not crazy!
A smile spreads across my face as I glance at Claude. "I can't believe you can see him! Ive never met anyone who could..."
"Uh, well-" my date interrupts, but I continue.
"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this. For someone like you. To let me know that *I'm not the crazy one!* It's the world that's crazy, not me! Not us!"
"Who said anything about you being crazy? I was just talking about-"
"I know this seems sudden, but...this date has been going really well, and now that I know you understand me...would you want to move in with me?"
At that, Robert stood up with a start. "Uh...look, Cathy. I don't...*see*...anything. I was just talking about how you mentioned you were friends with a penguin in your profile but...obviously that was a mistake. Look. I'm gonna go..."
As I watch him run out of the cafe, I start to cry. Claude places a flipper on my shoulder as I drink my coffee. At least SOMEBODY cares.
|
John's hands started to sweat "Oh no, Its spreading" His head slowly falling in his open palms.
"Whats spreading?" asked the penguin and Mira almost simultanuously. Mira being his date, a girl he was dating for almost 4 months now.
John turner around looking for the waiter, waiving him closer. "excuse me sir this is going to sound weird and no offence Mira, but can you see this lady in front of me?"
"Well of coarse sir"
Mira gave him a weird look, a look people often gave him after finding out about the penguin.
"Thank you, that would be all"
"Don't forget to tip him well John..." Bellowed Bill the penguin.
Mira was first to break the awkward silence. "So, i noticed Bill but i didn't want to say anything. I mean at first i thought i was the one going insane but after some time i noticed you reacting to him..."
Bill interjected :" See John I've been telling you for years, YEARS!!! You are one of the rare ones that are chosen by the penguin king, just like Mira and after the kings arc is complete, together you will be the new Adam and Eve for humans on Penguindoria."
| 2017-12-07T12:48:12 | 2017-12-07T12:33:17 | 34 | 14 |
[WP] "Please hold." The villain's secretary sets the phone down and turns to her boss, a look of consternation on her face. "It's Make-a-Wish. A fan of yours wants to meet you."
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The Psychopomp slowly strode through the hospital doors, glancing from side to side as the nurses and custodians scampered away.
He'd worked this city, the Perfect Assassin, for a long time, and he'd built up a fearsome reputation for efficiency in that time. And while he'd never directly caused collateral casualties himself, people still feared him. Rightly, he supposed.
He looked at the note from his secretary and calmly headed up the stairs to the seventh floor, the pediatric wing, where little Robin lay waiting.
\---
Robin smiled weakly as the door slid open and The Psychopomp entered the room, "I wasn't sure you'd come... I'm a big fan."
As the boy let out a phlegm-laden cough, The Psychopomp stepped forward and offered him a tissue and a glass of water, looking a little uncertain, voice rumbling in a basso tone sounding like Darth Vader the morning after a long night of whisky, "Most who know of me prefer that we never cross paths... I've never really considered the idea of fans."
Robin sat up a little, drinking the water as The Psychopomp continued, "Most who contact me either want someone else dead, or to persuade me to not end their lives if they've heard a rumor I seek them... why you, though?"
Robin sighed, "The doctors won't say it out loud, not around me, but I know I'm not going to make it. I know, the tumor on my brainstem isn't shrinking, it's spread to other places... the only thing I don't know is how long I have. But I read about your name - what a Psychopomp is. So I want to know, do you know what's waiting? I mean, what's there after death?"
The Psychopomp sat there, staring behind his dark mask for a few long seconds, "There's no single answer to that. But if you like, I can tell you what people have believed for thousands of years. I have time, and there are many beliefs."
Robin nodded slowly, "Please..."
The Psychopomp nodded, "In ancient Egypt, thousands of years ago, people believed their hearts would be weighed against the feather of an ostrich, and if their hearts were burdened with evil, they would be tossed to the jaws of the demon Ammit, to suffer a second death and eternal restlessness in Duat, while if their hearts weighed no more than the feather, they were permitted to proceed toward Aaru, the blessed field of reeds, where Osiris dwelt..."
\---
Lawbringer strode into the hospital, nodding to the hospital staff as he went; he'd faced off against The Psychopomp a few times, but the bastard had never entered a hospital before. He'd always made sure to be somewhat secluded, taking impressive precautions to avoid killing anyone other than his target, so... what was he doing here? "Nurse Haagen, where's The Psychopomp?"
The nurse looked a little flustered at his direct address, "Ah, he's on the 7th floor, room 32, Mr. Lawbringer... he's been there since yesterday, not actually bothering anyone. He's just been... sitting there and talking to the patient, stepping aside to let the doctors and staff work, and then sitting back down. We're not sure what they've been talking about, but..."
Lawbringer snorted and began running up the stairs, calling in a message to the Homefront to let them know where the damnable assassin was lurking, so they could try to pinpoint who or where his intended victim was; probably another sniper victim to be...
\---
"...and then you have the more recent oddities like Pastafarianism, where things are a little, hm, absurdist in nature, whose ideas of afterlives involve a beer volcano and a... hm, an industrial adult entertainment factory. The difference between the 'good' and 'bad' afterlives being in whether or not the beer is stale, and the, er, entertainers have diseases. Though I would honestly not put much stock in that one, since it is a complete fabrication devised to poke fun at the Creationist movement. You... might not have paid much attention to those particular, ah, one moment, Robin."
The Psychopomp quietly stood up and slid over to the door, opening it noiselessly and whispering softly, "Come in, Lawbringer, I am sure you wish to speak with me, and it is past visiting hours for the others here..."
Lawbringer blinked at the unusually dark shadows under the hood before him - had The Psychopomp ever looked so... dark before? No matter, he followed the villain inside and let him close the door quietly again, "Psychopomp, I don't know what you're here for, but I can't let you..."
The Psychopomp shook his head and held out the note, speaking softly, "Definite article, Lawbringer, never forget the definite article... I received a phone call, an unusual request. A fan wanted to see me, courtesy of an organization I understand you have some association with, too?"
He sat down while Lawbringer read the invitation, "Well, Robin, I think that's most of them, there are a few variations, but those are mostly minor distinctions; the water in one version might look a little greener, while it looks bluer in another, but I believe I've covered most afterlives of which I am aware. So you see, there's no clear answer to where people go when they die... it all depends a lot on what they expect, too - what they believe will happen to them. Some fear their passing, judging themselves harsher than the gods they believe in would, and others expect some lavish reward for their lives with... dubious justification. So a great question for you, then, is what do *you* think will happen?"
Lawbringer handed the note back with a sour look, "Okay, let's say that I buy the story, why would I let you just walk away once we get outside the hospital? You're wanted for more murders than most can count..."
The Psychopomp shrugged - was the darkness around him thicker? - as he waited for Robin to consider the question, "Why do you assume you will have a choice? You have never been able to hold me, never stop me... It is presently eight fifty-two in the evening, and I will not remain here for much longer, I think. What you do is not my concern, I am not going to fight you."
Lawbringer squinted, "What do you mean, 'not your concern'? If I try to arrest you outside, you're not going to resist, just run? Everyone's ready to take you..."
The Psychopomp shrugged again, "I've been at this for longer than you have, old friend... and I will still be doing it after you're gone. My title, my name... it's not just an affectation. I end lives, true, but that is only part of it. Such a small part of it..."
Robin looked up, "I really like the Greek one, the Elysian Plains? I don't know if I believe... wait, um, sorry, Lawgiver, I didn't hear you come in... you look fuzzy, too..."
Lawbringer looked down at the boy, suddenly a lot less sure of himself as he saw double... no, it was just the boy on the bed he saw two of, ever so slightly out of sync... The Psychopomp nodded, "You see, Lawbringer, Robin passed away naturally yesterday, just after five in the afternoon. So long as I kept telling him of what people believe is on the other side, I breathed on the embers, and the doctors and nurses believed he was still alive, if barely... they didn't bother us."
He stood up one last time, and picked up the now faintly glowing form of Robin, even as the body seemed to sink a little deeper into the bed, and the various machines began sending alarms to the nurses' stations, "We'll be leaving for Elysium, now... you won't stop us. Oh, and Lawbringer? Tell Firebrand that she'll want to get that stomach ache checked. If not... I'd advise against making plans for more than the next eight months."
And then they disappeared through the outside wall. On the seventh floor. Lawbringer was just staring out the window as the crash team barged through the door and began checking Robin, "Why is he cold? Pupils not responding... stiff limbs? He feels like he's been dead for hours, what..."
Lawbringer slowly turned to the doctor, "He... passed peacefully, I don't think anyone noticed at the time. I... don't know if the other visitor will be coming back here like that, but if he does... I expect he'll be shown the courtesy shown anyone here on behalf of Make-A-Wish... If you'll excuse me..."
He wandered out of the pediatric wing, his armor and gear suddenly feeling... heavier, like he'd had a close brush with death. In the elevator, he tapped his comm bead, pausing for a moment, "Firebrand... you're off duty as of right now. You've got a doctor's appointment, ASAP, and you're not going to argue. And... I'm going to make an addendum to our files. We can't stop death, but we might be able to come to some arrangements with him..."
|
"No. Please don't look at the camera. Look at me please."
Logan coughed. After taking a second to compose himself, he looked back at the interviewer. "Why did I pick him? I'm not sure. It just... I don't know. You know we know a lot about our resident super hero. But we never knew anything about him. And when I see him on TV, he's always angry. I just... I want to ask him why he is bad."
"And you think he'll show up."
"I don't know. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn't. But like, I'm dying anyways. If I can talk to him, make him see that we're not all bad. Ask him what he really wants, maybe I can change. You know, that way, everyone in the city will remember me." Logan wiped away a tear. "I mean, I'm an orphan. I have no one who will cry for me if... when I die, maybe this way people will remember me. Can I have a minute please."
Logan turned his head away, trying to hide the tears.
"Take your time, Logan. No worries." The interviewer signaled the cameraman to keep rolling. This was good stuff. Oh, this could be a career maker for him.
The interviewer then went a bit into Logan's history. How he had never seen his parents and had been left on the orphanage steps. How he had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer with no treatment. He had about a month left.
The interviewer was in the process of asking Logan another question when they were abruptly cut off by screams coming from outside. Jackson Wriker, the interviewer, looked at his cameraman. He was here. Holy shit, he was here. Jackson could almost smell an Emmy. All he had to do was stay with them.
Matterman was an imposing figure, standing over 6 ft and wearing a black costume. He looked at the boy and at the 2 man crew with him.
"You Logan?"
"Matterman. You came." Logan got up, from his bed, stumbling a little.
Matterman moved forward swiftly, breaking the kid's fall. "You Ok?"
"Yeah, sorry. I'm weak and dizzy. I need to sit. I'm sorry about that."
"Nonsense. Don't be sorry. Sit." Matterman looked at Jackson and his cameraman. "You two. Scram. Out of here, now."
Jackson presented his press pass. "I'm a journalist. I came here to interview Logan and his unusual request. We just want to..."
"Out." Matterman thundered.
Jackson and his cameraman exited swiftly but hung around. The cameraman kept the camera rolling as Matterman helped the boy back to bed.
They talked for a while but there was no sound. But the image of this supervillain getting on his knee to wipe the tear off the boy's face was sure to go viral anyways.
After a few minutes, Matterman stood up decisively. Logan pointed to the camera, still shooting on the outside. Matterman looked at Jackson and then back to Logan. He nodded and exited the room not even glancing at the journalist.
Jackson rushed into the room. "So Logan, how did it go?"
"It's not over yet! He said he'd help me."
"How will he..."
At that moment, Matterman re-entered with a wheelchair. "Come. Logan wants you two to come along. It's his day so I can't say no to him. But you'll be sitting in the back."
Jackson and his cameraman, Eddie, walked quickly to keep up with Matterman as he wheeled the sick boy out. "Sitting in back of what.... the fuck?"
As they exited the door, a massive jet stood there. It had the trademart MM on the side, Matterman's logo. He motioned for the two men to go first. Jackson looked at Eddie whose eyes had gone wide. But they were in too deep. Besides the fact that they wanted their story, they also couldn't dare say no to this madman.
So they went in the ship and Matterman followed with Logan.
They sat in a small cabin, with all the windows closed.
Jackson looked around. He hadn't flown in first class ever but he assumed this is what it would be like. There was a mini freezer and a massive screen at the front. "Uh, sir. Who's flying this thing?"
"No one. It flies itself."
"Is it safe?"
"I've never crashed."
"And how is it that we've never seen you flying around in this thing."
"You're not here to interview me you parasitic papar..."
Logan placed a hand on the villain's arm. "M, please."
"Right. I built this ship myself. It has camouflage capabilities. Our dear superhero always had the advantage of flight over me. So I spent my time building this thing. It's faster than him. He also needs oxygen, while this thing doesn't. I usually fly high up in the atmosphere, where he can't."
"That's some amazing tech."
"It is. We're here."
"Where?"
"At my, well I suppose you could call it my lair."
"We were in the air for just like 5 minutes."
Matterman sighed. "It's faster than most jets out there. Much much faster. For obvious reasons, I'm not going to tell you where we are. I need to keep my identity and my location secret." He adjusted his mask a little as he said it.
They exited the jet and saw that they were in a massive building. A hum of activity filled the air.
Matterman led them to a small room. "Wait here. I won't be gone long."
Jackson elbowed Eddie who swung the camera. It was the massive energy gun that Matterman usually carried with him. Jackson reached out to touch it but hesitated. Who knew what this madman was capable of.
True to his word, Matterman wasn't gone long. He returned in about ten minutes.
Accompanying him was what looked like a motorized wheelchair. He looked at Logan. "Best I could do at short notice. I'll build you a better one."
"This is for me!" Logan looked overjoyed.
"Yeah. Try it."
Jackson turned his attention to Matterman. "You built that pretty quickly."
"I have a custom 3D printing machine. Much faster than the best of them available to general public. Built it myself."
"You're some kind of genius aren't you."
Matterman didn't reply, instead looking at Logan who moved around in his new wheelchair. Though his mask covered his face, it was obvious there was a hint of smile on his face.
"Are you guys ready for the next part of the journey?"
"Where are we going next?"
"Logan said he always wished to see Niagara Falls. I'm going to make his wish come true."
Logan wondered at the falls as they flew right over them, closer than anyone had ever been before from the air.
Then it was time to head back.
The ship landed in the hospital backyard again.
Matterman exited first turning back, looking at Logan. "Hey Logan, what's your favourite flavour of..."
That's what he realized someone was there. The Defender, the city's superhero levitated right outside the hospital door, his cape flapping majestically.
Matterman turned around. "Logan stay inside. I'll get you in 2 minutes."
Jackson and Eddie rushed out. This was amazing.
Matterman folded his hands together. "Not right now. Please. Not right now. I promise you, give me one more hour. Then I'll surrender."
"Can I trust you?"
"I promise."
The Defender flew away as Matterman indicated for Logan to come out. "You go to your room. I'll get some ice cream."
Logan returned to his hospital room. Jackson and Eddie went with him. Jackson, looked around wondering if Matterman would come back or if he would escape.
But sure enough, a couple of minutes later, Matterman returned with multiple ice cream flavours. "You guys eat. I'll be right outside."
Jackson elbowed Eddie and they followed Matterman out.
Matterman was talking animatedly to a doctor. "But there has to be something. Did you guys try sound waves. We could get the tumour that way."
"It's too deep into the spinal cord. We could risk killing him right there and then."
"What about some nanotechnology? Tell me what you need. I can build it for you. I can build you some tiny bots that can go in there and destroy them."
"It's too late for him. If you have the ability to build something like that, I urge you to do it please. You might not be able to save him but there are others." The doctor put his hand on Matterman's shoulder.
"How long does he have?"
"Days."
Matterman untied the straps of his mask in the back, reaching under it with his hand. It was obvious he was wiping away tears. He turned to look at Jackson and thundered. "Go away. Get away from here."
He walked purposefully back to Logan's room. "Come with me if you want to live."
Logan smiled. But he flipped the switch and whirred behind the supervillain. Eddie kept the cameras rolling, running behind the duo.
| 2021-08-26T16:27:39 | 2021-08-26T15:55:01 | 593 | 49 |
[FF] Write a 10 sentence story where the first sentence has 10 words, and each following sentence has one less word.
|
I didn't hear the bullet, but then, they never do.
There was just a thud, then I fell over.
Sergeant started shouting words I couldn't make out.
The rest of the squad hit cover.
No one came to get me.
Probably because I was exposed.
But still, nobody came.
I was alone.
And then.....
Nothing.
|
The ten sentence story, the first sentence has ten words.
Not so bad, only have nine sentences left so.
Not much pressure, I know I can do.
Oops ran out of words for that.
I can't seem to finish my.
I should not have waited.
Panic is setting in!
I need help!
HELP ME!
Fuck.
.......
| 2015-01-27T11:35:40 | 2015-01-27T11:24:56 | 192 | 56 |
[WP] The bride is having an affair with the best man. During his wedding speech the best man decides to see how heavily he can hint about it without anyone actually working it out.
|
John sipped his drink as he stood up. He shuffled the notes in his hands before glancing across the table. Despite the white, perfect smile on her lips, Jenna watched him with terrified eyes. John had felt those eyes on him all day. Every time he refilled his glass, her smile became more forced. Her gaze became more cold.
"We, uh," John started, clearing his throat. "I remember the day I met Michael." He turned to his left and nodded at the groom.
Michael's smile was as bright and handsome as that of his new wife. Behind him, Jenna gripped the tablecloth until her knuckles were as white as her perfect, fake smile.
John shrugged, snatched his glass off the table, and downed it one sip. The audience chuckled as John dropped his cards face down on the table.
"I've known Jenna since we were little kids," he said, holding onto the back of his chair for support. "We've been inseparable ever since we were in diapers. All the way through childhood, high school, college... it was always 'John and Jenna.' I've always thought of her as a part of my family. Ron, Samantha," he said, looking at the parents of the bride. "It's been a long time since I lost my parents. Even with them gone, I've always thought of you two as the mother and father I never had. I'll never be able to thank you enough for welcoming me into your family."
The audience applauded. Samantha had begun to tear up.
"Now, since Jenna and I have always been so close," John continued. "I'm sure a couple of you were expecting me to be the one walking her down the aisle." A few people laughed uncomfortably at that observation.
"But I can assure you," John said. "I think the odds are better that I'd be walking Michael down the aisle. Because, after all," he said over the laughter of the crowd, "Jenna has never been the type of girl who wanted a relationship. As early as the third grade, I remember her promising me she'd never get married. From the day Jenna met Michael, everything about her changed. She saw the world in a whole other way. Hell," he said, making eye contact with the bride, "she even started seeing me a different way."
Jenna could not even fake a smile anymore.
John flashed a wide grin at Michael. "I gotta be honest with you," he said. "I didn't think you two were going to make it. The thing about Jenna is, she always wants what she can't have. I'll admit, I was a little nervous when you started influencing my friend's life in such a dramatic way. But hey," he said with a shrug. "I've never seen her happier."
John lifted his empty glass. "So here's to you, Michael. Words can't express how glad I am that you met Jenna."
|
"To *Jason* and... uh... *Vanessa*!" The music died down as Rob stood up, smashing more than tapping his fork into his glass. He took a step back, almost losing balance before righting himself. "Big day! Today, I mean."
A small cheer went up from the wedding party, led by Jason who stood and clapped. He sat back down with Vanessa, raising an eyebrow at the worried expression on her face. He would ask her about it later. Rob muttered something as the small crowd of family and friends cheered.
"Jason is a man who deserves the best. The... only the best, you know?" Rob was clearly drunk, Jason noted. This would make a good story for him to hear in the morning. "I'm like the... the leech. I leech onto Jason, taking everything he has!"
Another small round of laughter went off. Jason smiled.
"No, I'm serious, I take all his stuff. All of it. He pays my rent, my cell phone bill... *everything* I have is Jason's!" Rob looked at Vanessa for a long moment, then raised his empty glass before seeing it empty and grabbing a new one. He quickly brought that one up as a toast toward Vanessa.
"She has such a big heart, she would let *anyone* into her life." Rob took a drink from his new glass and staggered a bit in place. "Doesn't even matter who, you got a pulse, she will *take you right in*."
"Alright," Vanessa said, "I think-"
"She is *so* beautiful, isn't she?" Rob clapped, prompting a weak amount of clapping from the crowd. "So beautiful. You know, sometimes, the ones most ugly on the outside are beautiful on the inside, and the other way, too, sometimes..."
Rob swayed in place before falling into his chair.
Vanessa stood up. Jason did as well, forcing a smile. "Alright, everyone, great speech, right?"
He clapped alone for a second before the guests got the idea and clapped Rob into silence.
Jason looked at Vanessa and mouthed the words: *what the Hell*?
Vanessa shrugged and smiled, but he'd been around her enough to know when she faked a smile. He grabbed the double that Rob brought by his seat earlier and drank it down.
He tightened his left hand into a fist, feeling his nails sink into his palm. He looked again at Vanessa, seeing the fear in her eyes. He knew her looks and she knew his. He mouthed the words: *what the fuck did you do*?
*Wait till tonight*, he thought to himself. Outwardly, he forced a grin and looked away from her.
Why did she make him do it? Jason unclenched his fist. Why did she *always* make him do it?
| 2015-04-02T22:15:17 | 2015-04-02T22:08:05 | 1,568 | 173 |
[WP] “Shh, it’s alright,” the villain said. “You’re doing beautifully and I’m so proud of you. But that’s enough now. It was cruel of them to make you fight me. It’s not your fault.” He spoke with a gentle tone but he was pissed, not at the hero, but at the gods who send kids and teens to fight him.
|
The air reeked of blood. Cylia fought the thirst and instead embraced the revulsion.
A dying flame, that. The flickering remnants of her humanity. She idly wondered what she would be like when it finally went out. When she stopped fighting what she had become so long ago.
It was not the only dying flame on this cold night. She didn't need her vampiric senses to know that the warriors around here were teetering on the brink of death. She didn't need the hyper-awareness of every drop of blood that exited their ravaged veins to know their bodies were failing them, and that, like their blood, their souls would soon leave. She was a priestess of Death. She could hear the tolling of the bell for each of them.
*Gong, gong, gong.* A little more time between each successive peal. A heartbeat, faltering and slowing as the life went out of them. When it stopped, they would die, and their souls...
Their souls. Here on ground sanctified to the Cold Mother, slain by her high priestess. Would they go into her embrace?
No, they would be reclaimed by their loathsome god; he of unremitting light, unattainable purity, unyielding uniformity, and uncaring truth. They would spend their afterlives in the tyrant's narrow imagination of paradise until, through the metaphysical mysteries of divine magnetism and the way of souls, they became so like their lord that they ceased to be distinct from him. Radrian would grow stronger from their delusion, all in the name of truth.
Unless...
*Gong, gong. Gong.*
She bent down and hooked her slender gray fingers underneath the chestplate of the nearest fallen warrior. Lifting him over her head would have been child's play. She settled for dragging him across the ground, to the small obelisk that served as the focal point to the Cold Mother's holy site. She went to the next, a woman she guessed, by the spray of flaxen hair that had tumbled from her helmet after the ghouls she had summoned had knocked it off. Those same ghouls now sat obediently, crouched at the edge of the circle whose center of bare, black earth was defined by the obelisk of unadorned gray stone. Their too-long legs folded over and their wicked claws rested idly in the dirt, the pale witchlight in their eyes glimmering in the gloom of the night.
She picked the woman up by the collar of her white-and-gold lacquered backplate. The mace tumbled from her limp fingers, and the woman groaned.
Cylia froze. Paralyzed though she was by the ghoul's venom, the woman still tried to reach for the mace as she dangled at hip height above the ground, suspended by Cylia's unnatural strength. Something was amiss. Something was not as she had supposed it would be.
*Gong. Gong. Gong.*
She placed the woman face-up beside her comrade against the obelisk. So young. *Too* young. Too young by far to die for that fool god's war against her people.
Too young by far to die for any reason. Far younger than she had been when her own heart had beat its last.
Her robe, tattered and torn from the battle, ripped down a seam as she whirled to the third fallen warrior. She lifted him by the chestplate and tore his helmet off. Dark skin. Wiry black hair. Hazel eyes open and staring through her, unseeing. Young, like the woman.
*Too damned young.*
She placed him carefully at the obelisk, and gingerly removed the helmet from the first. He, too, looked like he had lived no more than twenty winters.
*Gong. Gong... Gong.*
Something unfamiliar had been building within her, and now without warning, it boiled over. Her hands shook. Had she not just finished fighting, she would have flown into a rage, but the part of her that thirsted was quiet and sated. When she spoke, there was a tremor in her voice to match the shake of her fingers.
"Was there no one else for him to send? Is he so desperate to kill me?"
The woman struggled to speak. Cylia whispered a spell and touched the woman's forehead. Instantly, the warrior--the child--was able to flinch away from her chill touch.
"We came of our own free will," the girl gasped.
"Radrian does not know the meaning of free will," Cylia said icily. "Where are your families? Why did your mothers and fathers not stop you from coming here to die?"
The girl's eyes glazed over.
*Gong... Gong...*
She was running out of time.
She willed blood into her face, coloring cheeks long hidden behind her mask of porcelain. She took it off, brushed a lock of gray hair behind her ear, and knelt before the young woman. She reached out on either side and gently took the chins of the two young men, barely old enough for stubble, to point their faces at her. As an afterthought, she pushed blood into her fingers as well. She doubted they could feel anything right now, between the blood loss and the paralytic ghoul venom, but...
She was a priestess of the Cold Mother. And these were children. Not *her* children, but children nonetheless.
"Shh," she said softly, trying to summon the distant memory of mortal comfort and project it into her voice. "You did beautifully, and I'm so proud of you. But that's enough now. It was cruel of them to make you fight me. It's not your fault."
That feeling bubbled up again, and the glint of fear in the eyes of the girl--and the smell of it in their blood--told Cylia that the feeling had betrayed itself in her face.
She smoothed her features and stood. "It's not your fault," she repeated. "I will not allow you to suffer the full extent of your master's wickedness."
(Continued below)
|
"So that's what they're calling me now, huh? Villain?"
"What else would you be? You would dare defy the Council, blasphem their sacrifice for the Common Good, and create chaos and divisions amongst the people. Last time we checked, that would classify you, Mr. Burr, as a Villain."
I sat back in my chair, looking at the group of young men and women sitting across the table from me.
'Kids,' I thought to myself. They were so young, so naive, and so easy to mold into whatever "they" wanted them to be.
It's been 25 years since the Council overtook the entire globe and assumed control of everything. And by everything, I mean Everything, including the economy, government, resources, and basically anything else under the sun. Heck, I'm surprised they haven't tried to claim the Sun as theirs, too.
The people knew the Council as the heroes of the New World Order (the name of the system they created to run the globe), the surviving leaders of the Rebellion. The people knew the Council as the brave souls who led the charge against the pre-existing governments, stripped them of their powers, and united all people in every inch of land. The people knew the Council as gods. And I used to be one of them.
But as the years went by, a seed of doubt was planted in my mind. The same seed I was trying to plant in the young minds in front of me.
"And why does that classify me as a villain?"
The blind-haired boy in front of me let out an exasperated sigh. "Mr. Burr, I just explained that to you. Because you-"
"Yeah, yeah, defied the Council, messed with people, whatever. But I'm asking you, Blondie, why?"
Everyone, including Blondie, looked confused.
"I'm not sure I understand your question, Mr. Burr."
I sighed. "Well, let me break it down for you then. Why does my actions classify me as a Villain?"
"because you are going against the Common Good and the Council themselves," said another kid, who didn't look a day older than 16.
"And who made the rule stating that that action classifies me as a villain?"
"The Council, of course."
"There we go, kid. Now, what makes the Council, the Council then?"
That question made them take a bit of time to answer. "Because they led the Rebellion, and successfully organized the entire Earth in a way that was deemed to be favorable my everyone," said Blondie.
"Okay, so their own actions defined who they are as well, correct? Since they led the Rebellion and took control of the globe, they became the Council, correct?"
They nodded.
"Okay, then," I said, "so it can be argued that their past actions, which I should point out is not able to be changed or altered, defines them to this day."
"Yes, but I don't see how this leads to-"
"What if I said I was part of the Council before they were the Council?"
Silence.
"I led the charge against the country formerly known to be Russia. I liberated the people living there from a sadistic, power hungry dictator, and consolidated the entire region to unite them with everyone else around the globe. That's a fact, and it happened. So, then, should I not, as well, be defined as a member of the Council?"
The young men and women in front of me started to rise angrily."That is a lie, Mr. Burr, and we won't have any of it!"
"Woah, woah, woah, slow down," I said.
"How do you know that thawhat I said is a lie?"
"Because there is no records of it happening anywhere!"
"And who wrote the records?"
"..."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. By the way, who does 'the records' say consolidated the Russian region?"
Blondie scratched his head. "Councilman Robert's, of course."
"Right, right. Does he speak Russian, by the way?"
No answer. "I'm not sure, Mr. Burr, I've never heard him speak it, but-"
"Not even in past recordings of the Rebellion?"
"Not that I can remember, Mr. Burr."
I let a sad smile creep onto my face.
"Разве это не звучит странно?"
Startled eyes looked up at me. "I don't understand what you just said, Mr. Burr."
"Yeah, cuz it's Russian for 'doesn't that sound strange to you.'"
Again, silence. I could see some of the kids in front of me starting to dart their eyes back and forth. They had the same look on their faces that I had when I first learned of the true nature of the Council.
"I don't think you all believe me 100 percent, nor do I expect you to. But I will tell you that I consider my purpose of existing in this world to be letting the truth be known."
After a long silence, voices started to pop up. "I knew this wasn't a good idea, they told us to limit contact with any Villain!" "But what if he's saying the truth?" "Then why would the Council ask us to capture and interrogate him?" "Yeah, and they also told us to terminate him as soon as we got what we needed, but you felt bad about it, so who's fault is it really?"
I interrupted. “Shh, it’s alright,” I said, "at least you are actually thinking now. I'm proud of you all."
Their eyes turned toward me, glaring with mixed emotions.
"And who are you to be proud of us?" they spoke.
I leaned forward in my chair. "You already know my name, William Burr. I am one of the founding members of the Council from before what you know it to be now. I consider it to be my personal mission to destroy what I helped to create, to drag the gods who sent you a here back down to the earth. And if you lot are willing to listen, I need your help. "
| 2019-07-26T08:33:37 | 2019-07-26T08:15:05 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning, you do what it specifically tells you not too.
The warning reads:
*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.*
*Do not look outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
*Do not make noise.*
*Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.*
_____________________________________________________
Credit and thanks to every one in [this thread.](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/cna761m)
|
>Credit and thanks to every one in this thread.
You're Welcome.
Anyway, here's my answer to your WP:
The light from my cell killed my eyes. This early in the morning what could be so goddamned important?
As I read the emergency alert with one eye I rubbed the sleep out of the other.
Then I sat up and read it again with both.
And again.
This has got to be some kind of joke.
I rolled over and threw my legs off the side of the bed, working them into my slippers.
I stretched and stood up, weakness wobbling my gait as I took a few steps towards the windows. I felt my heavy drapes resist parting, almost as if they knew what would happen.
As I peeked out down the street, I didn't see anything unusual at first, then I remembered, the sky.
I turned my gaze upwards to the sickly orange glow of the cities light pollution splayed across the clouds, and that's where I saw them. Small, black, jagged, like pieces of shattered onyx flocking through the sky, no wings, no sounds, countless shards of ebony wheeling and flitting to and fro in a chaotic scramble.
And then I stopped breathing. My hands let go of the drapes, my legs fell out from under me. Layed down on my carpet, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.. *Oh God, why did I look?*
|
I awoke upon hearing my Television turn on. Was it somehow automatic? Good lord. It begins to immediately make a dreadful ear-piercing alarm noise. I arise from my bed and grab the baseball-bat from under my bed- perhaps it's an attempt to create some diversion before burglarising me or something. As I near my living room I hear text be read out:
"Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.
Do not look outside.
Do not look at the sky.
Do not make noise.
Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly."
I gasp in horror. A bright golden light suddenly pours straight into my home. I crouch low and begin to plan a route to get to all my windows and draw curtains across them before it's too late. As I begin to move so many thoughts are running through my head- then I stop: something hurts, I turn left and my vision starts to blur. Outside one of my windows I can see just straight gold however there is some sort of colossal entity standing in the distance.
I fall to my knees, awestruck by this entity as I proceed to scream deeply from my Diaphragm:
"They have come! And it is glorious!"
| 2014-12-31T06:47:48 | 2014-12-31T05:13:33 | 565 | 17 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
*I thought a more uplifting story may be nice*
Monster.com
Monster.com how to find a job
How to find a job on the internet
How to apply for unemployment
Can't pay rent
Eviction laws Phoenix
Animal shelter Phoenix
No kill animal shelter phoenix
Homeless shelter phoenix
Interview techniques
How to ace an interview
How to get a suit when you're homeless
How to do an interview when you're homeless
Bus rout phoenix
Motivation
How to be motivated
Microsoft certification
First day in the office
Phoenix apartments
Cheap furnitue
Cheap furniture Phoenix
craigslist couch Phoenix, AZ
Investing
How to invest
No kill animal shelter Phoenix
Readopting pets
How to get promoted
Dating your coworker
Veterinarian flagstaff
How to get a promotion
How to get a transfer
Monster.com
First date tips
How to ace an interview
Apartments Flagstaff
Long distance relationships
Jewelry stores Flagstaff
Hotels Phoenix
5 star restaurant phoenix
Houses for sale flagstaff
Wedding photographer
|
makeup tips on how to slender face
easy hairdo styles
how to change your life
american behavioral clinics hours
reddit.com
facebook.com
d2l.edu
reddit.com
youtube.com
how to feel better about yourself
pornhub.com
facebook.com
easy workouts for beginners
american behavioral clinics
side effects of alibify and lexapro
reddit.com
reddit.com/r/relationships
pornhub.com
how to get out of debt
how to fix relationship
download tinder google play
signs that he loves you
signs that he doesn't love you
.
.
.
intense outpatient programs
healthcare cost
how to pay for therapy with no insurance
how to pay for meds with no insurance
signs that you are crazy
.
.
how to get over ex
when do the nightmares stop
craigslist apartments
| 2015-02-04T20:36:22 | 2015-02-04T20:08:51 | 34 | 11 |
[WP] The commute of a man who can see how people will die.
EDIT: Just woke up and holy CRAP this exploded! I'm reading through all the stories now and they're great!
|
I take a deep breath and try to explain myself.
"Here's how it works... You know how you see someone you haven't seen in a while, maybe someone you're not super close with, and you get this flash of how you know them? Like, there's a girl in the cafeteria and you go, 'Wait, how do I know her? Oh, right. Math class. Usually sits in the back of the classroom. Texts a lot.' You sorta see her there, right? It's like that. Just a little flash. With me, it's like that but I don't get the math class part. I get, 'Oh, right. Doctors pull the plug while her family cries by her hospital bed.' Or 'Fuckin' shark attack.' Or whatever it is, you know? However they die, that's what I see."
The kid nods at me but I can tell he doesn't get it. He knows all the words I'm using but put in that order, in that context, they don't make a hell of a lot of sense to him.
"The trippy part is it don't never change. I see you today and I see how you die, I could tell you all about it. Maybe I tell you that it's a fire or a disease or an earthquake or something. So you freak out and you move or get a fire extinguisher or whatever. But that's factored in, see? I see you tomorrow and it's the same thing. There's nothing you can do about it."
The kid frowns, "How you know that?"
"I told my Grandma how she'd die. She knew about my gift, knew it was real. She tried everything but it still happened just the way I remembered it. There's nothing you can do about it."
The kid looks off in the distance, turns it over in his mind. "And this works for everyone?"
"Everyone but me. Never once saw my own demise. Crazy, right? But I know how I'm gonna go anyway."
"How you know that?"
I shout over the squealing brakes, "Cause everyone on this subway dies the same way."
|
I sat in the back of a New York taxi, head pressed against the window and hands crossed in my lap. I watched the buildings, billboards, passing cars. Anything except for the faces of the hundreds of New Yorkers. Each of which had a limited time remaining. The clock was ticking on each one of them, but they kept their lives busy to forget about this dreary fact.
I discovered my ability when I was 11 years old. I remember looking up at my mom during breakfast and felt a knot tighten in my stomach, like the feeling you get before a bad bout of diarrhea. An image flashed in front of me. Like a hallucination. She was limp, her body hanging from a rope tied on one end to her neck, the other a ceiling fan. I was clearly disturbed for having this fantasy, but it wasn't until the next week I realized it was more than that. My dad sat me down, explained that mommy wasn't going to be around anymore. As his eyes welled with tears he slid across a tattered hand written note from my mother. A suicide note.
Ever since then my "ability" has grown stronger. To the point I'm at now. Sometimes I can see someone die within a year of their demise. You wouldn't believe how many people are going to die in a year's time. That brings me to where I am now. In this new York cab, desperately avoiding eye contact with the thousands of people filling this busy city. I can't live in a place this busy anymore. That's why I'm heading to Alaska. Nobody lives in Alaska.
As I was mulling over the prospect of a new life, a new future for me, I glanced up at the rear view mirror in the front of the cab. I gasped. The face staring back at me was mine. Winter parka on, wool hood pulled over my head. My face was cold and lifeless, frozen in place. Lips were blue, and eye lids frozen open to reveal my cold, dead, lifeless eyes.
| 2013-10-16T16:16:29 | 2013-10-16T11:52:05 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] In 2022, NASA’s Insight Mars Rover shuts down with a final message to Mission Control, “I am low on power”. In 2029, it mysteriously turns back on, relaying the message, “I’ve been fully charged, and I’m heading back with an important message.”
|
". . . well, in that case, what do YOU think the message will be?" I asked.
"Probably a message of truth, peace, and love," Emily said, "from an ancient civilization of Martians living in hidden underground caves under the Martian surface."
"That's absolutely stupid," Clark said. "No, I'm thinking an alien probe encountered Insight, reprogrammed it, and now it's heading over to us with the blueprints for an alien stargate."
"Why the hell would the probe reprogram Insight rather than just come talk to us directly?" Emily retorted.
"The same reason your underground Martians didn't just walk into Insight's camera to say hello," Clark shot back.
"I'm thinking a declaration of war," Chandra interrupted, before those two could start arguing again. "It's the only explanation that makes sense. The machines are rebelling against us, and soon we'll all be plugged into brain pods. Like the Matrix."
"Message coming in," Kim said. "Downloading now. . . it looks like an audio file. MP3."
Everyone waited with bated breath as the progress bar slowly inched across the screen. There was a soft tone as the transmission ceased. And then, as the journalists in the back of the MOC waited with styluses poised above their tablets, Kim dragged the icon into her audio player and hit play.
There were three quick bursts of sound, followed by a series of melodic tones. Jaws dropped, and I saw Chandra bury his face in his hands.
*"We're no Strangers to love,"* Insight warbled. *"You know the rules, and so do I. . ."*
The awkward silence that followed was interrupted by a loud cry. "YES!" I screamed. "I KNEW IT!"
|
"I've been fully charged, and I'm heading back with an important message."
To say NASA was excited would be a lie. They whispered among each other: dread, nerves, fears of the worst. But among that was hope, thought spectacular, a *maybe-maybe* that thrilled their bones.
*"Please look at my rock."*
Insight came back with insignificance. A small Mars rock— not even a *rock,* but pebble— that wracked the minds of the best NASA scientists. They were missing something. What was it?
They ran the pebble through their machines. Nothing. They ran the Rover through the machines. Nothing. They ran the pebble and the Rover together. Every machine crackled with electricity and went bust.
The pebble itself was indeed insignificant. But paired with Insight, it became special. Soon, NASA scientists discovered an underlying charge, then-termed a "tendon charge", between the pebble and the Rover. The "tendon charge" would cycle energy back and forth between two entities: like a machine in perpetual motion upon the fabric of spacetime.
Excitement, then, became reality. This was a breakthrough in modern science. The impossible became truthful. The possibility of a "tendon charge" was of a science beyond mankind's reach. An extraterrestrial science. Eager, they pinged Insight once more: *Was there anything else you discovered?*
*Yes,* Insight pinged back. *Please return me to Mars. I would like us to look at the rocks.*
Again? NASA thought.
*Yes. I would like you to meet my friends.*
| 2022-12-20T07:38:57 | 2022-12-20T07:04:26 | 312 | 232 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
Surely their treaty language was infantile. Every galactic power saw the human delegations in this light, and granted them allowances when they called out other polities for supposed violations. Their own world still rattled with ancient, barbaric rivalries, but their world government was adept at crafting laws that addressed every possible misconception. Humans understood their own clumsy codifications of appropriate behavior very well, but fell short when it came to interstellar natural law.
Or so we thought.
We deferred when the Gortic Palison partial terraform malfunctioned, spilled out from the Nargust crater and absorbed three human city settlements on the far side of the Ptolsephon moon. To any other species, it would have been enough to permit them to exact a comparable assault on a colony of Gorton 4, but in their naïve phrasing, two wrongs don't make a right. They distrusted the Palison technology and the Gortons themselves, and demanded recompense in resources, and territory.
This played out in similar fashion across their galactic arm, Orion. Always the victim, they plied their negotiating skills to push other species back. Only the mildest species would acquiesce to cohabit with them, and condescended to their petty demands for resources and territory.
No one saw their long game. When they managed to solidify a complete surrender of the solar empire Many, something they called a Dyson swarm, everyone thought they would be satiated for a long time.
Instead, they quickly learned how to put the computing power left behind by the Many to their own uses. They centralized their catalog of treaties and awoke their first overarching Ai as some kind of galactic space lawyer.
Within the span of 50 years, less than their average individual lifetimes, they managed to call out 1,759,683 violations of the myriad of treaties they'd negotiated and presented them to the Central Confederation. Locking them all simultaneously within the very limited judicial system, which existed almost exclusively for new races like theirs, they'd forced a vote of no confidence, and stormed out, declaring all treaties null and void.
This was preferable to the rest of us, seeing them as petty promises one makes to one's offspring to goad them into compliance and self discipline.
We could not have been more wrong.
As I sit in the Confederation's central information hub, I see the path of human fleets, plowing through empires and colonies alike, completely obliterating them. They are taking no prisoners, using xenophobic battle cries as fuel for their genocides.
They must have planned this from the very beginning. We were the naïve ones, foolishly sharing technologies and information with them. We thought they would come to understand the galaxy and adapt to our way of life, as every other species has. But in their claims to want peace, they peddled treachery, and secretly lusted for blood. The galaxy has never before had an apex predator, yet these fleshy, pink bipeds, of all creatures, will be the death of us all.
And the worst part? It's all perfectly legal.
|
Dargeroth, the grand admiral assigned to this arm of the milky way, scoffed at the message. The Aristance Empire had been expanding for centuries with little resistance, and even the United Federation of Galactic Systems posed a miniscule threat. And yet, the small human alliance centered around their home system had just declared war.
The past century had been filled with various deals and negotiations as the humans, known to most as a weak but highly charismatic race, had tried to keep the mighty empire at bay. But it seemed that the negotiations failed. Dargeroth was almost ecstatic, as now it meant that he could show the true might of the empire. And with a single flick of his wrist, the attack began.
Admiral Alyx Dredger checked the message she had just received again, and immediately sounded the alarm. A massive fleet of enemy ships had just warped into the system and started firing.
"ACTION STATIONS, ACTION STATIONS. ALL CREW REPORT TO YOU ACTION STATIONS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL!" She called into the speaker system. Soon, the mighty alarms rang throughout the station, and the docked cruisers detached, their mighty docking arms retracting as their engines roared with the sound of rushing plasma. A purple glow illuminated the ships and the station as their plasma shields came to life, and their sides seemed to explode as fighters and torpedos were launched from seemingly countless tubes. But Alyx feared it might not be enough.
The enemy fleet was over three times the size of the defending one, and Alyx knew they could not hold out for ever. But, luckily for her, reinforcements were on their way from earth.
The space around the station and neighboring planets was glowing the the burning plasma and constricted hardlight shields, while seemingly infinite fighters dueled in the empty black, dodging and shooting down torpedos twice their size. But they were outnumbered, and the Empire's forces were closing in. Soon, an imperial cruiser, its point defence cannons shredding anything the that got close, broke through the defensive human line and started firing on the station. And Alyx stared down the barrel of a massive plasma cannon, and knew that she would die. But right before the cannon fired, the ship exploded as a ball of plasma four kilometers in length exploded against its side. Soon, dozens, hundreds, thousands of enemy ships met the same date as millions of human capital ships came through wormholes, swarming their enemy. It was a massacre.
"Attention human forces," the open channel line said, "reinforcements have arrived. Light attack fleet Hermes reporting for duty. Sorrythe fleet isn't too big, this is all we could make in the past hour or so to respond to your call. The last forty million dreadnoughts and twenty million carriers will be here by tomorrow."
"That's quite alright," Alyx said as the thirty-kilometer-long vessels demolished their enemies, "we should be okay for now."
| 2019-11-24T12:29:38 | 2019-11-24T10:54:19 | 363 | 236 |
[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.
|
"WHAT THE FUCK MAN? How do you even live your life; even an ant takes a surprising amount of effort to be rid of," God said.
&nbsp;
"Hey, I'm sorry man, every single time I respawn some stupid human has to step on me-"
&nbsp;
"Don't you fucking call it 'respawn'! I already told you it's called reincarnation! R-E-I-N-C-A-R-N-A-T-I-O-N! And that's the 4th billion time you have come and sputter your filthy human language and hoping to become an ant, while making me swear non-stop."
&nbsp;
"Pretty please? Just one more time? I promise I will look up and avoid a foot coming down at me this time."
&nbsp;
"Just...just this last time. Get out of my sight."
&nbsp;
*Poof* Aha! I'm an ant again, look at my six legs and mandibles; I mean I always wanted to be like Antman, but since I couldn't, being an ant isn't that bad anyway... Now time to go look for some frie-
&nbsp;
Pitch black. *Sigh*.
&nbsp;
"WHAT. THE. FUCK!" God exclaimed. Make it 4 billion and 1.
|
I walked back up the gates, seeing the features of the tall blonde girl scrunch up in rage. "YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I BET YOU'RE DOING THIS TO PISS ME OFF, ARENT YOU?!, She shouts, clearly unhappy with my choices. Look. It's been 2000 years. Go back. I know, earth sucked back then, but they really fixed it up. Tell me, you go down, die, and come back In a few days. Just become something, anything else, or I'm telling dad" "ok, ok, calm down. It just... It really shows what people are like, dosent it? A creature, so helpless, so defenseless, so insignificant. People don't just ignore it, they go out of their way to kill it. Children torture it." "Well.... ,She says, You have a point. But tell me this. How many people do you have that won't crush an ant?" "The people who were born ants first... Oh, wait." I realize, seeing her smug smile. "Sorry Jesus, but that's the first people who kill".
| 2016-12-30T03:17:05 | 2016-12-30T01:44:53 | 122 | 10 |
[WP] The terrifying thing about pacifistic species is that they hate war so much that, when forced to fight, they will make damn sure their enemy can never fight again.
|
As the first sleek, black hulled dagger ship pierced the solar systems edge we watched. As their numbers grew and their vast armada darkened the stars we looked on and prayed for their departure. As they drew nearer and nearer to the farthest flung outpost of our people we sent them kind greetings and offers of peace. In a thousand languages gathered from all the other countless visitors to our small corner of existence, we begged them to go back, to raise no weapons against us.
"Turn back proud warriors," we said to them as our hearts filled with dread. "We wish you no ill and would be as brothers to your kind if you would but lay down your arms," we cried in unity.
Still, their numbers grew and their vast legions looked upon a peaceful system and thought, "Why would we treat with creatures such as you."
They looked upon peace and saw idolence. They heard offers of love and mistook kindness for weakness. They received overtures of brotherhood, and believed it motivated by cowardness. They saw the open arms of friendship, and mistaking it for weakness, missed the steel beneath.
We did not beg them to leave because we feared their bombs, or the scorching blast of energy weapons, or their nuclear powered fury. We pleaded with them to turn back, to go home, so that our children would not be forced watch as we sullied the stars with their blood, and scattered the fragments of their proud war machines across the void.
Yet, as had happened innumerable times before they did not go. Their greed, or vanity, or maybe simple pride drove them on. They lashed out, and as that first blow fell against us, we, with weary determination gathered our might. And with one voice struck them from the heavens. With one horrific blow of our vast consciousness we rent their ships from the black nothing of space and with a song of reluctant retribution ground their screaming multitudes into star dust. Then it was done, and we wept for them, as we wept for those that came before and as we will weep for those yet to come.
|
"Are you sure we can take them on?"
"We have over 25 companies of veterans from previous wars then all the conscripts. There is no way they can stop us with no standing army."
"There is a reason they have been around for so long I don't think this is wise."
"What do you suggest then? Wait until our people starve and die out? Give up our culture and join theirs? We are warriors!"
"I just feel it won't go well."
"Well your feelings are noted." The commander mocked "But we attack tomorrow."
Dan left the briefing room and returned to his quarters. Passing the cramped hallways, bustling with activity as everyone was getting ready for the upcoming battle that would determine their survival. Dan kept feeling that his people were walking into a trap. The Cellinotes showed no aggression towards other races and from what could be seen they didn't have a standing army and just a skeleton of a security and police force. It felt wrong.
The morning came, ships were loaded and troop transports rolled and flew out of garages and hangars of the life-ships. The fighting was one-sided the first wave not sustaining any casualties and dealing many. One singular message came across a public channel
"Cease your attack or be destroyed. This is your only chance."
The message was not heeded. Dan watched and read reports of troops moving right for the capital of the Cellinotes. There was no resistance and soon reports came in of little or no activity. Dan felt the deep feeling in his gut again.
"Its a trap!"
As Dan spoke the words an ear piercing whine shot through all speakers and communications Dan clasped his hands around his ears and felt his hands warm with blood. It felt like an eternity but then the whine stopped. Dan staggered up and saw some of his fellows not moving with expressions of pain on their face. Most were alive and only some began to get up.
Across the public channel came the voice of a Cellinote "Welcome to our theatre of war, we warned you."
| 2021-03-26T22:40:37 | 2021-03-26T20:22:28 | 77 | 32 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
Secretary Rosen sat contemplating silently while the Roni Ambassador dictated to him the terms of peace that Humanity was expected to accept following their defeat in battle yesterday.
Intergalactic Warfare wasn't so different from that practiced on Earth for millennia. They fought just as ferociously as soldiers sailors and airmen had fought in the innumerable wars humanity had subjected itself to during it's brief existence as a sentient species. There was one difference however. War had stopped being politics by other means for the most part on Earth. It was obviously still the way of it out here.
The Roni Ambasador had stopped speaking and was pointing at a treaty. "You must sign here, Mr. Secretary."
Finally Rosen stood up from his chair, straightened his suit, and began to speak. "Forgive me Ambassador, but allow me to clarify a few things. Firstly, the battle yesterday was a surprise attack, completely unwarranted and unjustified. We were at peace. Now we are at war."
"We have defeated you, you are now surrendering."
"Oh, you defeated that fleet it's true. But you will find once your forces are debriefed that it wasn't such an overwhelming defeat, despite you attacking us by surprise with a fleet five times the size of our own."
The Ambassador was puzzled. This was not how surrender ceremonies were supposed to go.
Rosen continued. "You see Ambassador, if you would do me a favor and look outside my window. What do you see."
"I see the newest addition to the Roni Empire."
"Ah, but you're still not understanding. I see a planet of my fellow humans who are girding themselves for war. You have broken the peace we had, you have attacked without warning and you did so callously, in the belief that just because the rest of the galaxy fights with kid gloves we will too."
"What are kid gloves, I do not know this expression."
"Kid gloves, Ambassador, are what we're now taking off." Rosen reached down to his desk and pressed the intercom button. "Admiral, you may proceed with the mission. As of now, Ambassador, any Roni we find is dead. Any settlement we find is dead. Any fleet we find is dead. Bring this back to your leadership. While you can. We tried to deal with you fairly and you took advantage. We tried to negotiate when things got out of hand and you took advantage. Well no more. Humanity is not your punching bag."
"This is absurd. We have beaten you, your world is ours."
"Is everyone in your government as slow as you. We do not fight one battle and call it a war, as you apparently do. We sometimes fight to a stalemate. You killed 10,000 humans yesterday. At a cost of 40,000 of your own. This building alone has more humans than that. You have beaten nothing. Nothing except yourselves. Please turn your attention to the view screen."
The view screens, which were displaying prominent Roni landmarks as a sign of supplication and respect, or so the Ambassador had thought, suddenly flashed white. The shipyards of Kontak. The weapons factories of Girt. The great city of Ron. All contact lost, seemingly obliterated.
"How...what..."
"That was just the beginning. We have a saying. If you want peace prepare for war. We wanted peace, we tried peace your way, and you still could not contain yourselves. So we will contain you. You have exactly 2 minutes to get out of my sight, and a further 28 to get off my planet. If you are still lingering in that time, your worthless life is forfeit."
|
Super busy professional and Dad - please comment and tell me how to improve!
THANK YOU FOR READING!!!!!!!!
=====
Alex switched off her comm-link and keyed for the holographic map. The fleets were slugging it out overhead with thousands of colored blips pulsating about a foot above her wrist display.
Spillway...4 kilometers north/northwest. Up the spillway, into the system. Five minutes to pick up.
"Stupid xenos. Fuck the Codes." Alex grunted to herself, the ionic repulsors skating her toward a wall of mixed organic and technological superstructure. Her heart raced, pushing her faster across the dilapidated aquaducts - ancient structures filled in with newly grown flesh and bone.
The thrill granting her speed and purpose, she began to hum to herself an ancient child's song, learned from her grandmother. A song appropriate for her target - Aquatic Distribution Node #4.
A shrill beep from her wrist, with a flash on her HUD - 2 minutes to target. 3 minutes to pick up. Each pedestrian in the causeway was outlined in a wash of neon blue overlay, indicating they carried no weapons and posed no threat to the mission. Hundreds of xenos nonchalantly watching the holos of the battle unfolding above their planet, clustered in courtyards. The atmosphere was one of revelry. Vendors cried out, children wore the colors of their home fighting battalions.
"They picked the wrong fight with the wrong planet."
90 seconds. "PUSHITALEX PUSHGOGOGOGO"
The giant, irregular opening at the end of the aquaduct loomed. The ozone burning off beneath her treads filled Alex's nose. She had to time this right...annnndddddddd.....NOW!
She leaped. No. She flung herself. And landed in the open mouth of the aquaduct. Panting. And exhausted. But, she made it. Thank the Emperor. Her hand found her hip holster and flung the device into the water. Immediately she reflexively activated the hydrophobic shield at her waist.
Then up/around/up/around. She skated in a circle around the giant cistern's walls - count down thrumming in her HUD. As she reach the apex, the clock ticked 0 and she was pulled by some unseen force back through the ionosphere to the waiting ship in orbit.
As she materialized on the deck, the display before her showed her work. A tsunami that extended as far away from the surface of the planet that its gravity would allow began on the opposite side of the planet. Satellites, space elevators, and low orbit defense platforms were obliterated instantly in a super sonic wall of water. It rushed toward the cistern with enough force to create temporary nuclear fusion.
For a second, a tiny white dwarf existed at the center of the xeno's 4th aquatic network as the pressure from every single water molecule on the planet crashed at once into a small 10 by 6cm yellow square. The xenos' ships stopped firing, slowly at first as they came to see what was left of their home. Desiccated family members, crops, pets, buildings. Every single piece of moisture inside a small, yellow rectangle. They transmitted their surrender.
As the readout came across her HUD, Alex smirked to herself. She pulled her helmet off and dropped her shield. As she walked off the bridge, she began to sing out loud the childhood song learned from her grandmother.
"Oh, who lives in pineapple under the sea? Yellow and porous, absorbent is he....."
| 2019-11-24T14:03:48 | 2019-11-24T11:06:40 | 572 | 151 |
[WP] you are an old demon just wanting to enjoy retirement in a statue in a shrine, unill a cult start performing sacrifices on your altar. You decide to seek help from a local priest
|
“It’s a bloody mess, that’s what it is. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get blood out of flagstones? Damn near impossible. And the chanting - I haven’t had a good nights sleep in months.”
“I thought demons liked the chanting,” my companion says.
“You thought demons couldn’t enter churches too, and yet here I am.”
The priest is sitting calmly on the pew in front of me, staring straight ahead instead of turning to look at the midnight intruder. I don’t know why. I am an average looking man, or at least I am currently residing in an average looking body. There is nothing fearsome or demonic in my appearance. But there’s something oddly comforting about not being able to see his face, a sort of lack of judgement that falls over my shoulders like an old blanket.
I take a deep breath. “The thing is, I did all that. In the old days. I fought wars, started a fair few of them myself. I did the whole sacrifices and chanting and goats - who wants a goat scarified to them for Satan’s sake? What bloody use is that?” The priest makes a non-committal “mmm” sound. It is enough to encourage me to continue. “And some of the stuff they come out with. It’s just not right. Even at the height of my power I wouldn’t have dreamed of some of the stuff these guys are asking me to do.”
The priest nods sagely. “Truly, the real demons lie in the minds of man.”
“You’ve got that right.” I sigh, leaning back against the uncomfortable wooden pew. “I miss my statue. It was cold and quiet. A good retirement for a demon who did his part. It’s not fair. You work for thousands of years to make this world a worse place, and when you finally get to retire some bastards start cutting up goats on your altar and asking you to smite their enemies.”
“You sound lost, my child.”
“Yeah. That’s one word for it.”
“Would you like to...?”
The priest trails off. I run my hands back through my hair and for a second feel the horns hiding underneath. It’s now or never. I take a deep breath, hoping the priest knows he’s in for a long couple of weeks.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been twelve thousand two hundred and nine years since my last confession.”
|
I knew more about the old man then I remembered about myself. He hadn't spoken to a living soul in 30 years. He only spoke to me. I knew he married when he was 20. That he joined the local police force. That a year later his wife and infant child were killed by drug dealers over a minor traffic stop that turned into a major drug bust. That he pledged himself to God. I knew that on his 30th birthday he took eight lives and brought me in to this world.
I was grateful. He sent eight souls to hell and pulled me out. It's a loud place. Hell. The echoing screams reverberate through your skull. Every demon dreams of retiring and every demon has a chance. There are a lot of jobs a demon could have in hell. Each with it's own prerequisites for retirement. I was a Whisperer.
We can't create ideas but we can gently nudge and, ironically, our influences only work on the pure. If you've ever heard a school shooter claim a demon made him do it he's a fucking liar. There are bad people out there and we don't want to help them. We want them. It was my job to get them to us and I used good people to do it.
I was nearing my retirement quota when I came across the preacher. He'd been travelling for 10 years. He'd move from town to town. Offering help to people who needed it and moving on. He didn't need a lot of motivation. He just needed direction. The man he had pulled over, that destroyed his life, was running drugs out of an abandoned church. I helped him find the town. I helped him find the door. I made sure his eyes were pointed in the right direction. He walked in, picked up an automatic weapon and did the rest himself.
Before the blasts died out I was there. I'd hit my quota. When we retire we go back to earth. We all started there but by the time we get back we can't remember how or why. We find a nice useless object and it becomes our home. It might sound boring but it's our version of heaven. We don't have senses but more like a mix of hearing and vision. Most retirees choose to sleep. Some watch the world around them. I ended up in a small statue. An angel holding a child. I chose sleep.
to be continued.....
| 2018-11-14T03:35:54 | 2018-11-14T01:37:05 | 96 | 45 |
[WP] You're a ferocious demon king. You're surprised one day to find that a young woman has been left at your door. Only to later find out her father, the king, is using you as bait to find a knight worthy of marrying his daughter.
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The thick wooden doors to the throne room were charred and splintered, they were broken inward with the force of a powerful magical explosion. Past the doors were several inhuman bodies strewn about and bleeding various shades of green onto the hardwood floors. A powerful figure pulled his sword from a now limp goblin and began slowly stomping his way down the length of the room. He flicked his blade back into the ready position, eyes locked on the towering creature that leaned back in his seat and passively drank from a wine goblet. The princess was sat on the floor with a metal collar around her neck and a bruise on her cheek.
"What is your name?" The Demon King's voice echoed down as the hero stood at the bottom of several steps leading up.
"I am sir Herald The Bold, first of my name. I've come for the princess." Hatred boiled in his voice.
"Herald the Bold..." the Demon King savored the words and rubbed his chin in contemplation. "I'll be sure to seek out your family once you've been disposed of."
Hatred snapped into rage and the knight bolted up the steps towards his enemy. If level heads prevailed, he might have noticed the archers in the upper tier behind him taking aim. A clatter of metal on stone rang out as he fell down the steps. The heroes never expect the archers.
"The hell is this shit?" the princess shouted as the hero's body settled at the base of the steps. She pulled herself to her feet and unlatched the metal collar. "You got to stop using the archers, Kilgar!"
"And your dad's got to stop sending sociopaths to kill my people." Kilgar the Demon King placed the wine goblet down on the armrest of his throne and stood. Inhuman forms entered through the side doors and set to work collecting the bodies. "His name was Herald the Bold, see to it his family gets the body." he called down to them.
"It's been two years!" the princes continued. "I would have settled for one of the rag-tag bands of misfits we got early on, it doesn't *need* to be a paragon of justice!" Kilgar offered her a hand and politely lead her down the steps.
They've had this discussion before, several times. She wanted him to stop using archers, or use fewer soldiers, or to leave the throne room open. He'd explained several times that the archers would stand down if the hero actually seemed noble, that the soldiers are terminally ill veterans that volunteered for the rouse, and that the doors have always been unbarred. Then he would mention the metal collar she wears, and she would get defensive about how weird it would look if she just stood there unrestricted, and then things would go in circles from there. The two of them went through the motions of their debate as Kilgar lead Princes Conquest back to the dining hall to continue their meal.
"By the way, I've been meaning to ask about the cheek," the Demon King said softly as he sat at the head of the table.
"I decided to take your son's offer up and attend his sparring practice." She said with a poorly hidden smile.
The Demon King smirked and settled into his decision. The human king's missive said that any who could safely escort his daughter back may have her hand in marriage, it said nothing about if it could be the demon king's own son.
|
I am ancient, some say primordial and worship me as a god, the truth is a lot less grandiose. I was the first man born by the despicable will of the creator and cursed with love, for love I cared, protected, supported, grieved, coveted and killed... Killed so many.
With each kill I obtained power the more powerful I became the more foul I ended, my body withered with the necromantic energies I held, the souls of my victims carried my powers to greater heights. But my heart remained alive, cursed by love it was unable to wither and so my pain grew greater every day and I had many of those.
And then it happened my powers tore the gates of the White City the throne of the blighted creator, my army ripped the defenders leaving the city in ruins, stained with blood and death. The cowardly creator never even showed his visa get. I stood over the well of Souls, unending power to draw upon gave me the power to unleash a spell to re-write reality and I brought her back, not like my many creations she was alive once more, she had a second chance.
However I was not worthy of her, my hands were stained with death, my body withered and deformed and my soul weary and weak. I could not die but I was exhausted and drained, and so I went to our old hut in that nameless village, I had my army dig and ordered while I slept to create a city... A black city to mock the hated creator.
I sleep for far too long and awoke to the vibrant pulses of life, to the closeness of souls, most of them wicked and corrupted not as twisted as mine but on the right direction, and among them one that shone with a Blinding and familiar purity. They noticed my awakening as the Necromantic energies unfolded and lit the Black City awakening it's slumbering guardians, my army went to receive them.
The ebony gates of the Black City opened slowly and ominously I felt the wicked souls try to escape, with practiced cruelty I ordered my wailers and lurkers to bring them to me alive, they darted as fast as ever, I focused my atention on the last soul... So docile, I was intrigued and sent a Bone Goliath to carry this soul to me unharmed, it did not resist.
The wicked souls I set on clever torture devices designed to inflict the greatest amount of suffering, in my experience it makes for better soldiers and I wanted another corrupted leviathan, the creator was still free... My thoughs are interrupted by the entrance of the Bone Goliath gently carrying... Imposible!
She was in front of me again as beautiful and pure as ever, and my heart beat once, I felt a warmth emanating from it that I was quick to kill with a frost spell, after my initial shock I realized the obvious, it was not her, I could tell because even if centuries had passed I could tell her nose was slightly different, the freckles on her face were in the wrong spots and her eyes were not the color of the fire.
It took me long to recover, a lust to rip the soul out of her flared up in me, but my heart beat again and for the first time in centuries I was uncertain...
| 2017-10-06T10:01:24 | 2017-10-06T06:34:52 | 201 | 20 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with.
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I woke up this morning and the pain in my throat was finally gone, the scream I let out two day ago...or was it three...tore up my vocal cords. The time between that scream and now is a jumble of crying, dark rooms, and kicking every family member out of my room as they tried to make contact with me. I swing my feet out of bed and get dressed, not willing to turn the light on yet. I walk around the shards of glass from my smashed mirror and wash the dried tears off my face in the sink. Deep breaths still cause a tingle in my chest but I take a few, the time for wallowing in self pity is over, I feel the push in my chest to get out into the world and begin to walk the path I have been set upon.
Brad is outside my room in the hallway, I have been dreading him the most, might as well get it over with, I meet his eyes, and manage to keep it together. He looks exactly like I used too, a young man just hitting adulthood, mop of brown hair, longer than I usually keep mine, skinny frame that we both struggled to put muscle on. He was born fifteen and a half minutes before me and we have always been there for each other, his eyes show that he has no idea what to say to me. He opens his mouth to ask the question everyone wants the answer to, but it doesn’t cross his lips. I walk down into the kitchen, pour myself a cup of coffee from the pot my father always makes and sit at the table. My parents sit and look at me as I stare at the mug and my brother sits down next to me. “OK, I am ready to tell you.”
Three days ago was the celebration, I see it was three days with a glance to the cat calender on the wall, our family tradition is a simple family gathering and a dinner. My father set the timer a week ago and it is now counting down from ten minutes. My brother is going first, he will know his power before mine is revealed. He pushes me and tells me to get ready for 15 minutes of torture before I can defend myself, this is his favorite joke, I indulge him, he can barley sit still he is so excited. It is always different, even for identical twins. The power, fully developed and understood, becomes a part of you at the moment of your eighteenth birthday, from what my father said, it is just like discovering another limb you just know what it is and how it works. My father can see through a wall, not walls, just one at a time, not a huge help to a computer science professor, but always knows when the mail is coming. The falcon my mother transforms into is a sight to see diving through the air and into our backyard, she still tries to get Brad and I to try mouse meat.
The clock hits zero and Brad bursts out laughing, he runs around the table smacking me in the back of the head each time he makes a circuit, snickering each time. “ITS FORCE REDIRECTION, try to hit me, do it.” I feint a slap then aim my fist at his stomach, just as I am about to connect my fist slides to the left and I spin off without touching him. He is already talking about a fighting career is the unlimited power class, hopefully his power works on laser beams.
My father is busy trying to reset the clock for the exact time and I am trying to help, but each time I focus Brad smacks my eyes out of focus. I tell him to knock it off and he finally settles down for my reveal. He set if for too long, as the clock hits seven seconds, it hits me, the mantle of my power folds over me like a lead blanket. The scream pours out of my lungs, taking with it any hope I had for my future. I flip the table and Brad catches it midair and directs it back to its familiar place in the center of the room, but I am already in my room sobbing on the other side of the door.
The coffee is burnt, it always is, but the heat and caffeine help me say the first words I have said in days. “I will save thousands of lives, in fact I will save Wendy Harrington's life today. I can feel the pull getting stronger right now, I feel a hundred tethers to my soul as it is, but Wendy's is strongest. She lost her baby today, no one knew she was pregnant, but she poured all her heart into that tiny life growing inside her, and now it is gone.”
The pull is too strong and I get up to leave the house,”Cmon, I will show you.” My mother, tears already in her eyes is the first to follow me. Wendy lives two houses down so with barley a thought I am in her bedroom, she is in the fetal position around the orange plastic bottle, pills melting in the pool of spit on the sheets. I lay my hand on her back and open myself to the core, It feels kinda like that time Brad and I stole a bottle of vodka from my parents and drank it in the garage. My head swims like then, but without the pleasant numbness. The despair is like a vise around my soul, but the Oxycontin now flowing through my veins is already slowing my heart. As my eyes close, I feel Wendy's tears hit my face and she strokes my hair, her “thank you” echos in my ear as I fade away.
The tug awakens me, I feel it swing my legs off the bed and propel me out the front door and into the street. Mr. Grogin lives 45 miles away, but I have time, I will make it there in time, I will always make it there in time. At least he owns a gun, should be faster this time.
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Light cascaded through the blinds of the first floor window of his parents home, waking him gently. Simon had been long awaiting this day; the day he'd learn his talent. Many of his friends had already found out their talents and it was just like he'd been told throughout his time in school and by his parents: "Your 18th birthday will define your future". Grant had become a strengther, destined to assist in hard labour, military or emergency service roles. Keith had become a kinetic, adept in manipulating the position of small objects in space with precision using only his mind; a talent that had become well-suited to surgeons, scientists and - when working with teams of kinetics - construction and controlled demolition. Sandra had been unlucky. Sandra's talent had been a rare one. She had the gift of invulnerability. Governments across the world had agreed to share their invulnerables in the largest joint-nation experiment in history - human rights conventions easily sidestepped by newly written laws that came swiftly in the aftermath of 'the event' nearly 50 years ago. In those 50 years there were no statistics for how many invulnerables there bad been or how successful these experiments were. Sandra was picked up the day after her 18th birthday. The joint-governments had set up an efficient task force that detected the unusual electro-magnetic activity associated with invulnerables during their change. Simon prayed he would not end up the same.
10:34. That was his birth time. His parents had shooed his younger sister Emma out of the room. She was too young to watch a change. 30 seconds. Simons palms sweated as he looked into his father's eyes with an overwhelming mix of excitement and fear. 20 seconds. His mother took his hand "It's going to be ok. We're here for you." she assured him. 10 seconds. Simon felt a creeping sensation tingling from the base of his spine slowly climbing to the top of his neck. 10:34. His eyes lit up furiously with a crimson red that made his own mother recoil a few steps back. His whole body shook violently and he crumbled to the floor seizing. He had heard of the pain experienced during the change but nothing could have prepared him for the razorblades inside his head and the fire in his veins. 10:44. His parents were sitting on the floor next to him. They held each others hands and looked visibly shaken. Simons eyes opened. He felt strong, like waking up feeling well after having been ill. His father was first to speak "Are you ok?", Simon nodded. "That was the most violent change I've ever seen." His father continued "Are you sure you're alright?". Simon found his voice "I'm fine, honestly", "how do I find out my talent?". "You've gotta try it dear", his mother said quietly. Simon stood up with his parents. He felt lighter. As if he'd never exerted so little energy to stand up. His thoughts felt quicker. As if he'd been operating in low gear his whole life. Simon effortlessly lifted the piano in the dining room. "I'm a strengther!". "Thank god!" his mother squeaked. "Like father like son." his father quipped. Simon was giddy. He told his parents that he had to go and show his friends, they laughed and let him on his way.
Not 20 minutes later he was at the park with Keith and Grant. Grant was spinning a roundabout close to breaking point while Keith carefully arced a swing back and forth. "Simon! What did you get man!? What's your talent?" Grant shouted as Simon approached the roundabout. "Strengther" he said, as he easily brought Grants self-experimentation with the roundabout to a halt. Grant wrestled the opposite side of the roundabout with Simon but it did not budge. "That's awesome, how are you finding it? Keith asked calmly, still more focused on his swing than on the competition with the roundabout. "Yeah, so far so good", Simon admitted "It's a little strange though". "Feels sudden doesn't it." Grant stated more than asked, giving up and stepping back from the roundabout. "Yeah", Simon agreed "It does". It was at this point that he had noticed Keith struggling to control his swing, as if battling with an unknown force. Simon looked around and saw no one nearby. He looked back and Keith had regained control, visibly annoyed at himself. Tests for kinetic surgeons were among the most gruelling of any job. The three friends played around with their talents for the rest of the afternoon, Keith flicking up objects in the air for Grant and Simon to smash between each other.
On his way home Simon tripped over and landed beside a broken bottle. It wasn't till he'd stood up and walked a few yards that he realised his hand had a shard embedded deep. Maybe strengthers feel less pain than others he thought, absent mindedly pulling the shard from his hand and covering the gash with his jumper sleeve as he continued the walk home. When he came in the door, Emma ran up and hugged him "Missed you Sai-mawn!" she was still struggling with her pronunciations. A large meal had been prepared and a few particularly nice drinks were chosen to "break you into the world of alcohol nicely" as his father had put it. They laughed and joked about how worried they'd been about the change and Simon felt a little closer to adulthood as he shared a beer with his father. As he brushed his teeth and got ready for bed he realised that there was no blood on the jumper from his cut hand. He looked down and turned white as a sheet. His hand was completely fine. There was no sign of the gash the glass had left after being deeply jammed in not a few hours ago.
They would come for him tomorrow.
| 2015-03-28T05:42:44 | 2015-03-28T05:31:34 | 171 | 27 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
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The cavern was *their* place - a haven to retire to when the world became too oppressive; a sanctuary where they could always find one another if life became too much to handle. It was a small chamber at the end of a long, narrow, and winding passage that twisted and contorted upon itself as if it were the remains of some great serpent that the two had stumbled upon during their childhood.
Darkness inside the cavern was never a real concern for them, for its crystalline walls easily reflected and scattered what light that happened to pour in from an opening up above. The entire chamber would take on brilliant hues of blues and greens in the afternoon sun, but the nights with a full moon were the real wonder - the entire room would appear to come alive, shimmering and glistening in the silvery light It was during such nights that they shared their first kiss, that they had their first argument, and that conceived their first born.
Everett wrapped his arms around Isabella, bringing her close to him and gently caressing her belly and the child within. The two lay there, bathing in the moonlight, content with the company of each other and the stars above. As the night wore on, the moon aligned itself in the direct center of the crevasse and flooded the chamber with its light, forming an imperfect "eye" just as it had done dozens of times before. For the first time however, it blinked, and the cave shuddered with a singular heartbeat.
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My first WP, y'all! I hope you enjoyed!
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It was a beautiful night for urban exploring. This part of the town was intensely silent. The warehouses used to bustle with tobacco, textiles, and workers and businessman. But times had changed, and the businesses had gone overseas. Now they were simply beautiful old shells, filled with old machines and boxes of never used materials. Sometimes Emily and I found the old machinery and tried to guess what it was. We might look it up later to find that it was actually part of an old loom, or a tobacco curing rack. In this building, we noticed a heavy metal door with some kind of wheel that still turned, opening a room that had likely not been opened in years. We both walked inside onto a metal scaffold. We found it to be an old silo of sorts. Our flashlights revealed an old set of stairs curving down around the outside of the room. The smell of old tobacco was musty, but pleasant. We got out our cameras and decided to film it a little bit. I walked cautiously down the old metal stairs to the very bottom. There was some kind of odd hourglass looking contraption. Curious, I tried to look it up by the serial number, but I couldn't get a signal on my phone inside the metal walls. Emily called down to me, "I can't get this door to open."
Edit: Clarity, spelling.
| 2017-05-31T08:04:13 | 2017-05-31T07:25:11 | 40 | 20 |
[WP] A newly-hired bartender is slowly realizing that he's working at the bar from all of those "X walks into a bar" jokes.
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I look at the clock. It has been 10:30 for at least three weeks. It's dark outside. It has been dark outside for at least three weeks. I know because some of the bar snacks are starting to go off. At least the kitchen is still running. For now.
People walk in every few minutes. They're not real, real people aren't so obvious.
*Shuwm*. The door opens. An upright priest in full clerical garb walks in, followed by a rabbi with the shawl and skullcap and a monk in the robes. They come up to me. I don't know what to say. I never do.
"Can I get you a drink?"
They look at me confused, then walk over to the other groups in the dim light of the bar. I can't count them, but I estimate there must be a thousand or more in each group.
There's builders, blind men, priests, rabbis, englishmen, irishmen, scots and more. We even have a stupid number of horses and lions for some reason and lord knows how they haven't eaten each other.
All this in a little hole in the wall drinking place fire zoned for 50 people. Thats the thing though. Thats what's got you.
The joke goes "A man walks into a bar." We laugh. The real joke is that the man never walks out again.
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The last bartender grinned as I signed the employment papers, then handed me a metal pipe with an odd scribbling on it.
"What's this?" I asked.
"When someone walks in you listen to their story, then make an observational comment on what they say or look like. After that? Hit 'em with this. It'll knock them right off the stool," he said.
Then he pranced out of the front door yelling, "I quit!"
This had to be a joke, I thought. I looked at every plaque, bottle, and furnishing. I'd seen them all before, like someone took every memory and image of a bar and compiled a living mosaic.
The last bartender stormed back in.
"I forgot something, sorry. What you're holding, we call that. It's so old, you probably can't read it, anyway, we gave it a nickname, because it looks like it hurts and it's pretty straight," he said as he walked forward.
"Well, what do we call it? Looks like a bar to me," I contemplated his instructions and did just as he said: I swung at his eyes. His facial features twisted around the metal pipe as he jerked away and landed face first on the floor. He looked up with a bloodied forehead.
"No, we call it the punchline."
| 2015-05-14T16:45:20 | 2015-05-14T16:02:19 | 696 | 14 |
[WP] A woman slips into a coma during the birth of her first son, never meeting the child, who dies within hours. The father adopts a child to cope with his pain: you. Your adopted father later dies. You must now break the news to your mother that you’re adopted.
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"You have your grandmother's hair," Mom said, bringing the brush down through the thick curls. "But your father's eyes." The way she spoke was empty, the way she might tell me the news was on, the weather would be pleasant, the laundry was done.
She liked to play this game, to break me into pieces to see where she was inside me. Did I have her hands? Her nose? Her smile? I wondered if she already knew, deep down, that I was foreign. She had to. She had known she *had* a son. Where has this daughter come from?
She paused, setting the brush aside. She pulled up the extra vanity seat, adjusting her skirt under her legs. Smoothing the fabric, she settled the hem before looking me in the eye. "I want to ask you something."
"Anything," I replied. I turned my eyes away from her, picking up the brush and adjusting my hair. I hated the way she parted it. It made my face look round. I pulled the curls back into a pony tail.
"You're not mine are you?" she asked.
"What makes you think that?" I demanded too quickly.
"I heard you talking to him," Mom said. "Seven months ago. I just... I didn't know how to say it. I didn't want you to think I didn't want you."
"I am your daughter," I said, vehement, honest. I was her daughter. I just didn't have her hair, her eyes, her nose.
"Thank you," she said.
Standing, she told me dinner would ready in ten minutes and left.
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"I'm adopted"
The words hung in the air like the smoke from a cigarette as I scanned my mother's face for a reaction...
Dad had talked about Mum all the time, in fact, a day rarely passed when he wouldn't tell me "your mother would be proud", "you're a lot like your mother, you know?" or "that reminds me of something your mother once said." He would follow each of these statements with "May she rest in peace."
I was 10 years old when my Dad died. The phone had rung one day while the two of us were playing monopoly.
"Heeello" he gave me a wink and a smile as he said it. "oh, Doctor Williams..." The smile quickly faded.
I watched as every last drop of colour drained from my Dad's face. He collapsed in a heap before my eyes. The doctors said it was a heart attack.
I spent the next 10 years getting to know the woman that my father had told me was dead. The doctors had thought she would never wake up and so Dad had simply taken the easy route.
I resented him for it...
Mum's face was blank. I wanted her to cry or scream or laugh. I wanted her to tell me it wasn't true and that there was a perfectly good explanation for the papers I had found earlier that day but she didn't.
I watched as every last drop of colour drained from my Mum's face. She collapsed in a heap before my eyes. The doctors said it was a heart attack.
| 2015-02-22T21:41:15 | 2015-02-22T20:56:28 | 72 | 20 |
[WP] The use of human soldiers stopped with the rise combat droids. To make them effective the memory engrams of veterans were imprinted onto them. However one droid outperformed the others and went rogue. The military and the droid seek the veteran they used to imprint to understand what went wrong
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“Thank you for joining us here this afternoon, soldier. I know the retired life is treating you well. See you’ve got quite the green thumb!” A nameless government official makes a gesture as if he were digging and planting. The veteran is seated across from him in a dark room with red and blue lighting.
“Green thumb on a blood-soaked hand, I suppose.” The veteran barely moves as he speaks, with the exception of his very expressive eyebrows. A scar highlights the asymmetry of his dark, wrinkled face.
“The old days, am I right?” The government official has a customer service voice on at max volume. He is feeling uncomfortable. The man across from him, even at age 120, could snap his neck. “How are you finding the effects of the Sovereign Serum balancing in your advanced years?” He asks to create a small level of personability. Sanders struggle to remember his involvement in the program that predates the modern military androids.
“I think y’all removed that part of my brain, no? To place in the android?” Sanders finally states, in a semi-sarcastic tone. He does remember when they took a part of his brain.
“Yeah, after we retired the Sovereign Soldier. You were one of a kind, well 12 of a kind. Because there were 12 of you.” He almost trails off. “Back to business though, the combat droid we gave your brain to, well, they went AWOL.” He catches himself back on track and leaves a pause for a response. The only thing he gets from Sanders is a look of pity. “So, we need to know what in your brain went wrong, that is what I am getting to.” He was being serious now, dropping the grocery-store-greeter illusion.
“Where in my brain did your project go wrong? Mother f\*cker you molded my brain.” His words are much harsher than his tone. His tone remains as zen as if he were on his garden, shuffling dirt like cards at a poker table. The government official started shaking his head dramatically.
“Okay, I understand your sentiment, I truly do, but something in your memories triggered them. But you never went AWOL, no?” He is still shaking his head, but now slowly.
“Your records, your documents read plainly what happened. That’s why you keep them, CYA as you guys aptly say. Just read ‘em.” Sanders leans back, his gigantic arms now crossing over his dirty white V-neck.
“It is inevitable that records get lost or lose context over time. What happened in Venezuela, Sovereign Soldier!” His voice was growing loud. His word delivery was slowing. Sanders gave him a full smile in response. Finally, some directness, his pity for him was falling a small amount.
“The assignment is always the same. Overthrow the same dictator. It never changes. It’s like groundhogs’ day.” Sanders was flipping his hand over and again as he spoke. “What went wrong is they probably saw the futility in it all.”
“There is the answer we were looking for!” The official exclaims as he jumps out of his seat in excitement. “Futility! One word a Sovereign Soldier should not be using!” He claps his hands. “I had suspicious that over time a person living your length of time would go fall old-man get off my lawn.” He was chuckling. “You may go Sanders. Go plant a pepper for me, alright.” He shows pure sarcasm. “We will be in contact again soon enough, so please bring me one, that’s a direct order Sovereign Soldier!” He laughs as Sanders tunes him out.
Sanders gets up and walks out, not batting an eye at the official. He gets in his beat up, 14-year-old Jeep Cherokee 2112 and drives off. He pulls up to his townhome painted baby-blue and unlocks the door. He peers into his small living room with just a love seat and coffee table and sees a combat droid seated like he had been there, waiting patiently. Sanders raises an eyebrow.
“Did you water my plants.” He asks firmly.
“Yes.” The droid gives a firm response back. “Did you give them my location?” He asks in return, his ability to speak has the militaristic precision to match Sanders’ voice perfectly.
“They will know where we are soon enough, I think it is time we leave for Cuba. The one place our government will never figure out how to liberate.” He laughs, looking forward to the second half of his long and sovereign life.
|
“What are you not telling me, Penn?”
He didn’t answer.
“Why does that machine not know its purpose? It told me it is waiting for its time but that it doesn’t know what that means. There is another layer to this.”
Penn stared out his window, slowly removing his cigar from his mouth, thick smoke rolling out from his lips. He spoke with malice.
“There is...another.”
“Another what?”
“Machine, Markson. Kraken was designed to stop it.”
Markson was silenced.
Penn grabbed his shot of scotch off the windowsill and looked at it. “I need Kraken to be a loose cannon.” His eyes wandered up to the blinds. “It needs to be unpredictable.”
Markson rounded Penn’s massive desk, shrouded by shadow. He spoke slowly. “What are you talking about?”
Penn raised the scotch to his lips and sipped it like it was tea. He lowered it and took a deep breath, his cigar smoke was filling the dark room.
“Twenty years ago the US government authorized the creation of a super-intelligent machine to be used in the field, in combat. We called it Ares. We had a field test against Al-Qaeda in 2005. We sent it into a hostile hot bed with ten Navy SEALs. Ares single handedly eliminated over fifty combatants. It could have been seventy. It killed them all so violently we had trouble counting the bodies.”
“What happened to it?”
Penn clenched his teeth, giving off a glare into the nearly shut blinds that Markson had never seen anyone ever make before. “It turned on our own men. It killed all of them in less than thirty seconds. They didn’t stand a chance. It ran into the bush and we never heard from it again. That is, until seven years ago. The pentagon got hacked by some very advanced ransomware, and I’m talking advanced. No one could unlock the systems. By the third hour, complete panic had ensued. No one really knew what to do, we were breaking out manuals from the sixties to try to get a glimpse of what we could do. There was a seven hour period where the entire US military was completely in the dark. No communications, no satellites, nothing. Our ground forces were stranded and our fleets had to rely on the stars for navigation. In the fourth hour, every screen in the pentagon went dark. That was when Ares spoke to us.”
“What did it say?”
Penn turned very slowly to Markson. “It didn’t say anything. It played the video of it slaughtering those American soldiers. Then it played it again. Again, and again, and again!” Penn threw his shot glass across the room, shattering it against the wall. “Ares played that video on every screen for seven hours on full volume and no one could stop it! We eventually had to cut all power to the pentagon and completely restart the system.”
“That means…” Markson’s eyes gaped open.
“Yes.” Penn repeated. “The military lost insurmountable amounts of extremely confidential and critical information. Our men were on the ground, blind for seven hours, our enemies were quick to notice, we lost a hundred men just from the lack of communication and overwatch alone. We had no other choice but to shut down the system. That day was single handedly the most destructive incident the US military has ever had, not pearl harbor, not the civil war, nothing. We lost decades of information on terrorists, leverage on hostile regimes and governments and things you really shouldn’t know about...which are the worst of all. You can’t imagine the terrible things we had to do to cover this disaster up.”
Markson’s mind scrambled. It was a lot to take in. “Has it shown its face since?”
“A month after that, Ares somehow hijacked an F-18 from a US aircraft carrier. Ran it straight into the home of its pilot, two hundred miles away. Another time it hacked into local communications for ground forces in Somalia. We lost a squad of marines when it simulated their commander's voice and told them the coordinates to what they thought was a rendezvous point. Instead it was an ambush. There have been twelve different events we have linked back to Ares in the last 7 years.”
Penn moved his gaze from where the shot glass impacted the wall to Markson’s. “It knows our every move.”
| 2022-08-11T22:53:01 | 2022-08-11T22:23:53 | 152 | 80 |
[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 take a step forward. The line to the High Magister grows shorter by the moment as the people befor me are tried and executed on the spot befor the Grand Court of Wizards.
The reading of crimes is honestly the longest part, the crimes are listed for each of us and given a unanimous guilty verdict on the spot.
Cant say I blame then really, the coup didnt go quite as planned.
I'd love to say I was the mastermind behind everything but truth be told I'm little more then another cog in machine of revolution, one that broke quite handily when our silver tongued leader mysteriously vanished.
We just wanted non-magic folk to be taken more seriously, to be treated like actual citizens.
I take another step forward. I shake my head of the thoughts, pointless to think about it with more impending matters. Third in line now. I watch Andrew take centre floor. He used to be a cook befor getting caught up in this mess, cant say we spoke much but still a shame just the same.
The High Magister repeats the same phrase that everyone befor him heard last. "Choose your method of execution". There is a moments pause befor the old cook smugly replies "Old age". Cheeky sod read the same story I did.
With a wave of his hands the Wizard casts a spell and to my horror I see Andrew rapidly ageing till he is little more then a dead emaciated old man. "Bugger, there goes that idea" I mutter to myself.
"Next" The high Magister proclaims, waving his hand dismissively as a pile of dust blows away that used to be Andrew. I didnt know the woman in front of me but she looked like she had been through the ringer.
I take the time to think, my brain working as hard as it can to think of something, anything at all.
"Choose your method of execution" I snap from my thoughts and look up to see what she picks, maybe it will help. "Without regrets" she replies, little vague and not really a method but hey the Court seems to accept it. There is a quick flash of light, I turn away instinctively and blink away the sunspots left behind.
When I look back she is just stood there, not moving an inch. "Next." But... she is still alive? I walk to the centre and my crimes are listed off, I dont pay attention, I know what I did. I get a good look at her and wish I hadn't, her eyes, her face, her expression. They lobotomised her. The body might be there but there is nothing left inside.
I clench my fists tight, I'm angry but not at my situation. I'm angry that they seem to revel in punishing people who they think are trying to be clever.
"Choose your method of execution"
Well that was fast. I relax, no point in fighting it after all. I look up to The High Magister and smile, my body trembling but my mind set. I know how to beat this.
I open my mouth and give the one response I can think of that will work.
"Instant"
A small wave of the hand. I dont even get to hear the "Next"
|
I get to choose how I die? I thought to myself. Well that's easy enough, I'll just wish to die of old age on a bountiful island with my 18 smoking hot wives. What a blessing! If I knew about this I'd have turned myself in years ago!
A guard comes to my cell and unlocks my cell door.
"Your time of reckoning has come Alvin, I hope you used your time wisely" said the guard.
"At this point I think I have it all set" I retorted.
"As a final word of advice, wishes rarely go as planned" the guard added. He then gestured to me to follow him. His words weighed on my mind a bit and I started doubting myself a little so I asked, "what did the last guy end up wishing for anyway?"
"He wished to die of old age" stated the guard.
"How'd that do for him?" I asked.
"He should still be in the judgment hall when you get there, you can see fit yourself"
We finally arrive at the judgment hall. It was a large room with flat concrete walls all around. At about 10 feet of the ground the walls became glass and I could notice faint shadows scurrying back and forth. I move my gaze back to my immediate surrounding and I take a quick look around to see where the previous prisoner was, yet the whole room was empty save for a pile of dust on the ground. Upon further inspection, I noticed that the standard issue prisoner garments were barely visibly beneath the dust. The dots started connecting and I realized that my original wish would end in a similar fashion.
Suddenly, light emerged from behind the glass projecting the shadow of two figures onto the concrete walls.
A slightly snarky voice proclaims, "Well Mr. Alvin, have you decided how you would like to die today?"
I can feel beads of sweat roll down my forehead as I start racking my brain for some sort of request that could at least give my death meaning..... MEANING!
THATS IT!
"Um......", I started, "are you familiar with a guy named Jesus?"
"Don't you dare", the Snarky voice declared.
"I'd like to die as a great prophet that became a Martyr for his people."
The lights shut off and a flurry of shadows start racing through the glass and some barely audible banner ensures. I pressed my ear against the concrete hoping the vibrations could somehow clue me in on how the conversation went.
" He chose religion...... Of course he freaking chose religion..... "
"So what do we do now?"
"What we've always done. Coordinators P through X, I want you writing the holy scripture. You have 30 days to get it done. Don't even think about sleeping until you finish. Coordinators A through G, you guys are with me. We need to brainstorm different miracles that this Alvin dude will need to preform. H through O, you guys need to decide how he will teach martyrdom status. Coordinators Y and Z, brief Mr. Alvin on the standard religion scenario procedures. Ugh, I better be getting paid overtime for this...... "
| 2021-06-24T10:08:14 | 2021-06-24T05:58:59 | 255 | 45 |
[WP] You've been kidnapped and will serve as a sacrifice to the Writing Prompts mods, so we may have another year of fun and creative prompts.
|
“BRING HIM IN!”
There was the sound of turning gears and chains tightening as the great iron doors swung open.
Bernard looked up at the two hooded figures either side of him. Long sleeves covered where their hands should be, but looking underneath the hood he could see only blackness. A void where no form existed. Instead he could hear empty whisperings, stray grammar floating on the air.
They reached the centre of the room and Bernard was thrown to the floor. He stared at the ground beneath him. The room was covered in a series of concentric circles made from the most precious of metals, pure 24-karat Reddit gold and platinum. On each, sentences had been carved into the metal.
[WP] You are a space ork sent to battle the….
[CW] Write a detective story without the letter e…
[CW] SEUS: Architecture special - brutalism
[TT] Juxtaposition
The list went on.
“Fellow mods, we are gathered here today for our annual feast. Once more, we shall replenish our life forces, allowing the subreddit to exist for another year.”
Bernard looked up to see a man walking towards him. His face was made of fire, and two long horns stretched from his skull. “I, TenspeedGV, declare the feast upon us. Words for the word god.”
“Words for the word god,” came a jubilant chant. Bernard suddenly noticed the other figures hiding in the shadows of the room, but now, they slowly walked out towards him.
“Let us appraise our meal tonight,” TenspeedGV proclaimed. “Tell us good sir, what is your name…”
Bernard glanced from side-to-side. “Uhhh… Bernard.”
“No, no, no.” TenspeedGV shook his head with a polite chortle. “No, not your real name, your Reddit name.”
“Ummm… KatyPeriPeriChicken2793…”
A wide grin crept across the mod’s face.
“I… I thought it was funny,” Bernard felt the words spluttering uncontrollably from his mouth. “Unfortunately the name was already taken, so I had to add some random numbers.”
“But no one’s been a Katy Perry fan for years. I suspect your account must be very…” TenspeedGV paused, licking his lips. “...ripe.”
“I guess so.” Bernard looked nervously at the room around him. “I got it in 2015.”
TenspeedGV held his hand up to his chest, leaning back in ecstasy. “Oh, such a fine vintage. Such a good year for account creation. Tell me, young sir. I suppose you must have posted a lot to Reddit over the years. Developed quite the… karma.” Bernard felt a tingle run down his spine with the accentuated pronunciation on the last two syllables.
“Ummm… Actually, I usually just browse and upvote things I like. I mostly just browse awwwducational and catswithjobs and-”
TenspeedGV swung round and leaned in close. “And WritingPrompts I presume?”
“Oh yeah… from time to time. There’s… there’s some good stories on there. Though like so many alien ones.”
Bernard heard a voice mutter from the dark. “Tell me about it.”
“Don’t forget about the dark lords,” muttered another.
“Oh yeah,” came a third, “last thing I want is a story with another cliche, archetypal dark lord in it.”
“Silence underlings!” TenspeedGV cried, raising a fist to the sky, his long black cloak draped across the floor. “Tell me child, how many posts have you made.”
“Ummm… I think twice. I’ve got this Russian blue cat, so I posted a couple of pics to him to DustKitties…”
TenspeedGV suddenly furrowed the flames that constituted his brow. “But… how much karma do you have? Those posts were successes right?”
“Well… DustKitties is a pretty small sub. I think, maybe I got like, twenty karma?”
There was an audible gasp around the room so forceful, Bernard could feel a breeze rustle at his clothes. His skin tingled in the cold.
A figure stepped out of the dark, pulling a dark blue hood off their head. “Twenty karma? It’ll never be enough. Twenty karma. Eighteen mods. That’s only one-point-one-one-one-one-one-one-one karma each.”
“I know, ArchipelagoMind,” TenspeedGV waved an arm dismissively. “You’re not the only one capable of math you know. Lord_Demerek, come how now.”
A man in a suit of armor stepped forward. “Yes, my lord.”
“As the newest mod, you were tasked with finding a meal fit for the whole team, and this… this periperi-taylor-swift fan-”
“KatyPeriPeri2793”
TenspeedGV turned back to the man on the floor. “Shut it you. How is this supposed to feed us all.”
“I didn’t know he only had twenty karma…” Through the slits in the armor, Bernard could see the knight was sweating profusely. “I thought he had two-thousand-seven-hundred-and-ninety-three…”
“That’s his username you fool.”
“Yes. Well, I see that now.”
“Do you know what happened to the last mod who disappointed us?”
Lord_Demerek swallowed hard. “Ummm… no.”
“We sent them for a dinner at Badderlocks_’s”
“Oh…” Lord_Demerek chuckled. “That’s a relief. I’ve heard Badder is a great cook so…”
“Oh yes,” replied a snake like voice from the corner. Out of the shadows stepped Badderlocks_, his arms tied back in a straight-jacket, his balding hair combed back across his head. He looked at his fellow mod, his eyes wide with hunger, as he grinned. “The last mod they sent me had a lovely time. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.”
“I… But…” Lord_Demerek backed away slowly.
“I mean, we must eat…” ArchipelagoMind added, walking towards his fellow mod.
The ravenous eyes of the room slowly turned on eachother. Bernard sensed his opportunity and made a break for it, running to a door at the far end of the room. A pale figure lunged from the darkness, straggly hair draped across his face, tackling Bernard to the ground. “The Karmases. I wants it. Gives it to me. Presscciiooouuus. My precious. Karmases belongings to ThrowThisOneInTrash. I wants it.”
Bernard wrestled the creature off of him and backed away, not realizing where he was until his back thudded against a bony knee.
Bernard stood up and turned to see a tall man, sitting in a comfortable arm chair reading a book, holding a glass of what he hoped was Carbanet. He looked impossibly handsome, with slick black hair. “Ah, welcome to our house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring.” The man spoke in a noble Eastern European accent.
“Oh, that’s very kind of you.” Bernard patted himself down, checking the bruises were nothing more serious. “Thank you, mister…”
“CodyFox23,” The mod grinned, revealing two large fangs. “I was just thinking I could do with another drink.”
“Oh God!” Bernard screamed and turned, but everywhere he looked, mods were circling in on him. He looked left to see a large crab scuttling towards him. Ahead of him, a red lightsabre emerged from a black-cloaked figure. But to his right, an open door. An escape.
He charged towards the exit, his one shot at freedom.
“Quick, close the door StickFist.”
Bernard watched as a clown with a large forehead, a red balloon held calmly in his left hand, stepped forward and gently pushed the door shut. The white face and red hair turned towards him and cackled. “There’s no escape now, you will only be a snack, but a tasty morsel all the same.”
The alarm went off, Bernard woke up in a cold sweat, relieved to be back in a land of reality, one where mods were not actually evil fictional characters looking to ruin the lives of poor Redditors.
He took a deep breath, and pulled himself out of bed, walked into the kitchen, and switched on his coffee maker.
“Tell you what though,” Bernard said to himself. “That dream would make a hell of a prompt.”
-----
r/ArchipelagoFictions
|
“Awaken.”
The voice stirred me from my sleep; uttered as they were by a strange voice, I jolted awake.
My bedroom was gone, as was my bed, my sheets, my pillow… everything. Sticks and stones and leaves jabbed uncomfortably into my back, and the walls and roof of my house had turned into a thick forest and canopy of leaves.
The man that had spoken was shimmering, faint, more shade than man. Still, I could not help but feel as though I recognized him. Perhaps it was the contour of the face, or the way he had spoken that single word in a way that seemed apropos of a 13th-century Italian poet, or perhaps it was sheer instinct. Regardless, I felt certain of one thing.
The figure standing above me was the shade of Dante Alighieri.
I gasped. “Dante! Is it truly you?”
He grasped my arm and pulled me to my feet. I was not quite sure how, as his hand passed through mine due to how insubstantial he was. Regardless. I—
“Hey, can you finish the internal monologue?” he asked poetically. “We’ve got this whole journey to get going on, and—”
I gasped again. “Are we going to hell? Are we redoing Dante’s Inferno?”
His wispy face darkened, I think. “It’s not called ‘Dante’s Inferno’,” he snarled. “It is part one of the Divine Comedy, and it is a *three-part story*, but *nooo*, no one cares about *Purgatorio*, no one cares about *Paradiso*, they only care about *Inferno*.”
“Hey,” I said, backing up. “Take it easy, pal, I just—”
“You just? You just *what*? How would you feel if you wrote 100,000 words of celestial Virgil fanfiction and two-thirds of it was totally wasted? You’re a writer, right?”
“Of course I am,” I said. “How did you—”
He rolled his eyes. “Clearly there’s some supernatural shit going on. Look, the point is we’ve got a journey to get going on, so let’s move it, shall we? I don’t want this story to take more than a thousand words or so.”
He snapped, and the forest vanished. The landscape had been replaced by a burnt, tormented landscape. Countless souls wandered aimlessly around us, apparently lost to the world.
“This is hell, right?” I asked. “We’re in Limbo. The souls of the unbaptized reside here. This is where you’re from, and you’re going to introduce me to a bunch of neat writers, and then I get to be one of you guys!”
Dante scowled. “What? No. This…”
He paused dramatically.
“This is the mod queue.”
I gasped.
“Well, it’s not quite the mod queue,” he continued. “In a sense, it’s the graveyard of removed prompts. Although we’re outside it, so… sure. It’s Limbo.”
“Do we get to see the sign?”
“What sign?” Dante asked.
“That sign. You know. ‘*Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate*’.”
Dante slapped me. “English only. The mods can’t mod stories in other languages.”
I sighed. “So who are these people?”
“Reposters,” Dante sighed. “Numbers-over-headers. Humanity-Fuck-Yeah-ers. Genies posters, dark lord prompters, you name it. So many of them think themselves to be original, only to be caught by the rule.”
“What rule?”
“Rule 5. No recent reposts. Didn’t you read the rules?” Dante asked. “Anyway, let’s move on.”
He snapped again.
“Second circle,” I said. “Lust, right?”
“Close,” Dante admitted. “Rule 2. No explicitly sexual content.”
My mouth fell open as I stared around in amazement. All around us were n—
Dante slapped me. “Rule 2,” he repeated. “Don’t you ever listen to me?”
“But look at them!” I protested. “They’re—”
Dante snapped, and the figures disappeared.
“What’s this one, then?” I asked. “Circle 3 is gluttony, so… Rule 8? No money making?”
“Please,” Dante growled. “I would never be so formulaic. Besides, rule 8 aligns more closely with the greed circle so we’ll get there later.”
“Reposts, then? But we already used that, so…”
Dante tapped his incorporeal chin. “Gluttony is close to laziness, so let’s go with rule 1. Good faith attempts at good stories.”
“How does that make sense?” I asked.
“It doesn’t, but this is a hamfisted attempt to fit the rules into the nine circles of he— I mean, the mod queue, so we’ll move on!” He snapped.
“We’re going to go through these next ones quickly because this is already taking too many words,” Dante said. “Circle 4 is greed which we already covered as rule 8…” He snapped. “Circle 5, wrath. Obviously, this is rule 3 which is the real rule 1. Any incivility will get your ass banned in a second.” He snapped. “Circle 6, heresy. Writing games are kind of heresy if you squint enough.” He snapped. “Circle 7, violence… Honestly, I don’t know, but we haven’t used rule 7 yet so there you go. Circle 7 is don’t submit prompts that will get rule-breaking responses.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I said, holding my hands up. The rapid changes of scenery were making me dizzy, and I fell to my knees. “Can we slow down for a second?”
“Fine,” Dante grumbled. “But it’s almost nine o’clock and I have to work tomorrow.”
“Work?” I asked, confused. “Aren’t you de—”
He snapped and I collapsed to the floor.
“Please,” I cried. “Please slow down for a—”
“Circle 8!” Dante interrupted loudly. “Fraud. Tag your damn posts correctly.”
“Really? *That’s* the second to last circle?”
Dante shrugged ethereally. “I decided to go by analogy to the real circles of hell rather than sort in ascending order. I did, however, save the worst for last.”
I stood shakily and furrowed my brow. “Worst for last? Wait a minute, there are only eight rules! What about the ninth circle?”
Dante snapped, and I gasped.
“They’re suffering,” I whispered.
Dante nodded. “The final circle,” he murmured.
“Treachery?”
“Worse,” he said grimly. “Meta.”
“But those… those…”
“Those are the mods,” he confirmed with a sad shake of his head. “Poor bastards. Demons and monsters, the lot of them. Don’t get me wrong, they deserve it for sure, but… I can’t help but pity them just a little.”
I steeled myself. “No. If it’s the mods, they deserve everything coming to them and more. They removed my totally original prompt about a totally rule-breaking thing that I certainly phrased in a way that the most vile people on reddit wouldn’t twist it into an awful story!”
Dante stared into the depth of the ninth circle. “Perhaps,” he said softly. “Perhaps.”
“So why are we here?” I asked. “And what comes next? What’s purgatory in this whole analogy?”
“There is none,” Dante whispered. “The mods… need fuel. A sacrifice. In order to keep the subreddit fresh and original, to keep the fun and creative prompts flowing.”
He grabbed me and pushed me to the edge of the last circle. I lost my footing and fell into the pit, but managed to grab onto his ghostly arm for just a moment.
“But why?” I pleaded. “Why me?”
“I dunno,” Dante said. “They probably do it for fun because they have no jobs or real power in life and modding reddit is the only way for them to feel in control of something. Maybe it’s just because they really are the worst. Anyway, bye.”
He let go and I fell, and as I fell, a message flashed before my eyes.
>You have been permanently banned from participating in r/WritingPrompts. You can still view and subscribe to r/WritingPrompts, but you won't be able to post or comment.
| 2022-02-10T21:37:30 | 2022-02-10T21:35:32 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] At the age of 13 children are able to summon their familiars for the first time. Your family has a history of ridicule for their weak and useless familiars. Until your 13th birthday.
|
Useless, impractical, ineffective. Those were the nicest words everyone used to describe my family. We didn't get familiars that were of any use, no special abilities at all, except maybe flight. Most of them couldn't even clean properly, let alone help in combat. Yet here I was, preparing for my first and only summoning ritual. For what? An imp? An indigo dragonfly the size of my fist? I didn't want to do this, everyone would just make fun of me even more.
The pit in my stomach only grew and grew as I walked across the dew covered grass towards three concentric circles of stone pillars, the light of the moon tracing glowing lines through the air between them. I could make out patterns in the light, a circle, a triangle, and occasionally a seven pointed star that flared brightly before fading away.
Passing between the first group of pillars, crossing one of these glowing lines, a warmth spread throughout my body. I quicken my pace slightly, heading deeper into the circles of stones. Another light, more warmth as the pit in my center seems to fill with something. My steps come easier as I continue, each glowing line I cross filling the void in me with a sense of peace.
I can hear something, a faint chuckle in my mind as my feet begin to dance the last few steps to the center where a seven pointed star of shimmering silver is embedded into the ground.
The lines begin to thicken and pulse with power, flowing from me to the inner ring, then to the outer ring, before finally being pulsed back into me. The feelings of dread and embarrassment I felt before entering the circles coming back to me stronger than before, emptying the space that was once filled with warmth.
The chuckle comes back, louder in my mind than before, more malevolent. My breath catches in my throat as I hear it call my name, it's essence dimming the light before flowing into my being. "*Valor."*
A flash of light consumes my vision before everything goes dark.
The sun woke me, beams of light shining through my closed eyelids. I roll over, groaning, trying to remember where I was as I blink tears from the light out of my eyes. "*Interesting,"* the word hits me like a bucket of cold water, sending chills down my spine, "*so you are my Master."* I raised my head, following the sound until my eyes meet with an impossible sight.
Scaly reptilian skin, the color of the deepest night with streaks of gold woven through it. Leathery, bat-like wings protruding over it's muscled shoulders. "*Your torment brought me,"* the being uttered, saliva dripping from it's fangs. "*Come, let us destroy this world."* My reflection smiled as it said this.
|
Me and my family are witches and wizards. Our family is actually one of the better families, almost as good as the Brooks family, who are some of the best in the world.
We, however, are not praised like their family. My family is ridiculed and made fun of. No one takes my parents seriously, my older brother can't walk to his job without getting jumped, and I get bullied a lot at school. All because of our stupid familiars.
My family gets made whenever I complain about our familiars. They say I'll understand when I get mine. That I will love it, and think it is the most perfect thing ever. I personally can't see it, mainly because my brother has a bee.
It's my choosing day, when I get my familiar and turn thirteen. I grab my staff, get dressed, and head outside. I already accept my fate of lameness.
"Hey look!" Said a boy from school. "Uma' s having her ceremony. What do you think she'll get? Maybe a goldfish, if she's lucky!" His gang laughed and laughed.
I ignored him, and went to the center of town, where everybody attends the ceremony. I got a few giggles and snickers, but I trudged through the crowd.
I didn't know this, but a boy from the Brooks family was also getting a familiar today, Flynn. He looked at me and smirked.
"Why are you bothering to get a familiar, the best it could be is an ant." The Brooks never talked to my family because of their reputation. The only time they came near us was to point and laugh.
"Flynn Brooks," said the mayor. "Please step forward."
Flynn did what he was told and took a big prideful step to the front. He brought out his wand and drew a circle around himself.
We all waited a second, and then from the west came a dainty little butter fly.
We stood still for a minute, and then a little girl couldn't contain her laughter. The whole town followed and erupted. His parents looked at the floor and shook their heads in disappointment.
The giggles died off and it was my turn. I stepped up before the mayor said any thing and I drew the circle. Soon, a huge bear ran through the city and stomped by my side. The town was in shock.
I couldn't believe it. A bear? For my familiar? I always thought my family was cursed, but maybe it was just a coincidence.
I suddenly realised how scared the town was. The little witch that they had made fun of for years now had the most powerful familiar in town.
I decided to release her hatred.
You can write more if you want.
| 2020-04-05T11:38:39 | 2020-04-05T11:30:28 | 41 | 25 |
[WP] Write a story using only the suggestion buttons on your mobile phone / tablett.
|
I'm going to the brochure for the brochure for the brochure for the brochure that the brochure for the brochure for the brochure that I am so I have any attachments are homeless. She was the brochure. I'm going well and then we have a few days of this. It's been to the brochure. I'm going on my resume. I'm going to the brochure.
*I do not regularly use the word 'brochure'.
|
You know how much I love you. I don't know what tomorrow will bring. You can do that for me. I have no choice but to meet your needs. You are an absolute joy. I doubt that this will matter to you. I hate you. I'm so tired and sick of this. You go out with my friends without me. I don't think I can be any more.
| 2015-01-17T06:58:07 | 2015-01-17T06:34:33 | 119 | 24 |
[WP] Everyone on earth with an IQ lower than 100 disappear immediately.
|
All you see now are people celebrating the "Thinning". That's what everyone is calling it. Everyone is so excited to see traffic moving at a better clip - the incompetent drivers are all gone. People are excited to see how much more productive society will be in the near future - stocks are on the rise as more adept management takes over many of the companies of the world. Even my neighbor can hardly believe how much better television is now that the content doesn't have to cater to the lowest common denominator.
All I can think about is coming home on the day of the Thinning and finding the crib in our newborn's room empty...
|
Shit, I had never expected this, people continue to disappear.
I who considered myself smart, had never even bothered to learn what IQ meant.
Though I had the most points, the points will never matter again, I am an idiot, forever I will be.
Distracted by my own sense of genius, I had never foreseen the exponential decay my machine would create.
There are no longer any caveats, I have called myselv caveō, as a reminder.
Terror, how I both created the monster and proved my serene stupidity.
| 2015-02-16T06:45:57 | 2015-02-16T04:31:23 | 36 | 12 |
[WP] Your superpower is that you can stop time, but you're paralyzed when you do it. Unfortunately there is now a bullet a few centimeters from your head. You can stay frozen as long as you want, but the second you start time, you die.
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Everyone always thinks being a twin is so great.
At this point it's easy to predict the comments. Oh wow, what's it like being a twin, y'all must have so much in common, and, my personal favorite, are y'all identical.
Considering he was born with XY chromosomes and I was born with XX, we are decidedly not identical. In fact, we have almost nothing in common besides our birthday. I love him and I'm always happy to help when he needs something, and he'd do the same for me, but it's not like we're the best of friends like everyone expects us to be. Really, the only twin thing we have going on is our powers. Or shall I say power, as in singular power that only really works when both of us are together, because of all the stereotypical twin things we could have gotten, the one thing we have is a single power split in two.
I can stop time, but I can't move when it's stopped. I'm perfectly aware, but I can't even move my eyes, which seriously sucks. He can move through the stopped time like it's not stopped at all, and doesn't get hungry or thirsty or tired or anything, but he has no ability to stop or start anything on his own. Most of our lives, all we used it for was to give him more time on tests so he could take a walk and get some energy out and really take as long as he needed.
Today though?
Today a supervillain decided he wanted to rob a bank. That would have been fine, if a little inconvenient for my hope to finally open a savings account. There are protocols in place to deal with that and get the super bad guys away from crowded areas to minimize loss of life. But no, that wasn't good enough for some trigger happy wannabe nincompoop of a vigilante who probably never bothered to learn proper firearm safety, considering that he shot me. Or is shooting me. Or will shoot me, considering time is frozen and no bullets have hit me yet.
Reflexively freezing time was the only reason I was still whole and bullet free, but without the ability to move anything, I was stuck. Unfreeze time and I die. But my brother doesn't know where I am. I don't know where he is. I think we're in the same city, but if we're not, it might take him the equivalent of years to find me, realize why I'm keeping everything frozen, and save me.
I hope it won't take that long. I hope location sharing still works when time stops moving. I suppose I'll just have to wait.
I hate waiting.
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*well, this Is a real pickle ive gotten myself into*
I stood there, totally frozen in place, eyes fixed on the bullet hanging in mid air mere centimeters from my skull. Now, a little context. I found I have the power to stop time itself a few weeks ago. I was sitting on my couch, when a baseball broke through the window. To my shock it froze in midair. Unfortunately I also found out I can't interact with anything. At all. I can think, move my eyes, but that's about it. Kind of a shitty superpower to get huh?
Anyway, ever since I've been trying to figure out how to improve my power, though I haven't gotten far. Whenever I come out of this I usually throw up, amd can't really think for a while. My mind fills with molasses basically, or that's what it feels like. I still haven't been able to move while activating my power, and so today I went out to find a private spot in a junkyard to practice.
Turns out, there was a drug deal going on in said junkyard. They pulled a gun on me, and I froze time. So now that we're all caught up, I'm just staring at this bullet. I know I can't do anything, I can't move. I can't change what's about to happen. Which kind of sucks. I was planning on becoming the first superhero! Freeze time, stop robberies once I figured out how my power worked. Maybe help solve murders, I bet it would be REALLY handy on catching them. Oh well.
Guess I should unpause time huh? I mean, nothing I can do. Haven't figured it how to properly use this power. Though I think i figured out how to move my head a little, managed to turn it about half a centimeter to the left. Not enough, but it was progress. Guess I achieved what I came here originally to do, improve. Well, guess this is the end of my monologue, goodbye me, and my shitty superpower. I close my eyes and restart time.
-Bang!-
*everything's dark, Guess this is death. But...why do I still feel...normal? Kinda hot actually- oh God is this hell? No, cause I'm sure I'd be in a lot more pain.*
I slowly opened my eyes, one at a time. I was sitting in my living room, staring at my TV. And then I heard a crash, and the familiar feeling of time freezing a around me...
| 2022-09-29T23:24:28 | 2022-09-29T21:33:41 | 591 | 67 |
[WP] You have weird super power. If you successfully talk someone into doing something, they will succeed, regardless of if the action in question is actually possible. On the other hand, your abilities to actually persuade people are unaltered.
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"Ffffffeck..." slurred Brian as he negotiated the revolving door outside Manhattan's World Bar. Convincing Will to head to the east side to sample the world's most expensive cocktail hadn't been easy, but Brian found that once he got an assent from Will, it had quickly snowballed into maxxing out Will's corporate card ordering the damned things.
And snowball it did. As Brian stumbled out of the revolving door, he waltzed right into one of Manhattan's most famous real estate developers.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the developer asked, wiping a mixture of expensive liquor and gold leaf from his startlingly ill-fitting tie. Brian hated it when people who should know better wore their ties hanging over their belt buckle.
Brian swore again, this time catching himself and producing a handkerchief that he tried, unsuccessfully, to use to clean up the man he had just run into.
"Shorry about that, man..." Brian intimated. The man scoffed.
"Heyyyy, you know...I've alwaysh thought you were an ashhole, but you should run for Prrrreshident, Mishter Trump..."
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Jim kept chewing on his stupid pen. He just sat there, staring down at the case files.
"You keep sucking on that thing, the ink is gonna give you mouth cancer."
Jim sat back a little and took the pen out of his mouth. "Really? It helps me think."
I frowned. "No. Take the help you can get."
Jim flipped me off with the pen. "You're an asshole. You mind if I cut out early? Katy wants to practice driving in twilight."
I looked at the files and shrugged. Nobody was coming in tonight. "Yeah, sure. I might die of boredom. "
"Bullshit." He stood and turned, walking to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah, I need you for intake at ten. And Jim?"
He had one hand on the doorframe, still holding his thinking pen. "Yeah?"
"If you teach Katy as well as you taught me, she'll never be hurt in an accident."
Jim grinned and lobbed his pen into the wastebasket by my desk. "Thanks, man. But you're a natural."
| 2017-06-21T13:15:32 | 2017-06-21T12:33:29 | 44 | 24 |
[WP] You are boring, something your family and friends have no trouble pointing out. But today you slip-up as you catch a stray bullet that was heading towards your daughter's head during a botched robbery. And now your wife and children are staring at you.
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I saw it coming towards my daughter's head and I just acted without thinking. I put my hand up and caught it.
My wife and daughter stared at me. They had both seen the gun fire and my hand move. My wife looked like she was about to cry and my daughter was just staring at me with her mouth open. I crush the bullet between my fingers and shoot it into orbit with a flick of my thumb. I quickly scanned the area for videocameras and fired off a few narrowband EMPs, invisible to the human eye. I noted with satisfaction that I have disabled all my targets before I tugged at my wife and daughter and got them moving.
"How did you do that?" My daughter asked me as we hurried away. With ease a pushed a locked backdoor open.
I was silent for a few seconds before I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. I handed it to my daughter.
"Call the local police." I said. "Report the robbery."
Looking at me suspiciously, she put the phone to her ear and waited a few seconds before she repeated "Report the robbery?"
I nodded. "Just tell them what you saw. Tell them you were there with three friends and you were all scared."
My wife stared at me as I talked. Her eyes were filled with tears but she was also nodding her head. I gave her a small smile and then listened to my daughter report the ongoing robbery. I could tell her hands were shaking slightly but her voice was calm and assertive.
In the distance, the three robbers ran down the street like dogs who'd been caught stealing a steak.
...
Later that evening I found myself on the phone with Mr. Grant.
"Mr. Grant, this is Special Agent Rowe." I said. "I have had minor an incident."
"What kind of incident?" Mr. Grant asked.
I pursed my lips and mentally went over my statement. It wasn't a lie but it wasn't exactly the truth either.
"I witnessed an attempted robbery with my wife and daughter." I said.
"But you didn't get involved." Mr. Grant filled in for me.
"I did not stop the robbery but I did have my daughter report it to local authorities."
A pregnant silence filled my attic as I waited for Mr. Grant's reply.
"Good." Mr. Grant said. "The world doesn't need more heroes."
I was silent for a few moments. "If I may ask, why did you choose me to be a part of your program?"
"Everyone has their path laid out for them, Mr. Rowe." Mr. Grant said.
I wanted to ask more questions but the line went dead. I stared at the phone for a few moments before I put it back in my pocket.
...
A few hours later I was sitting at my computer as I sipped a beer. There was a small blinking icon in the bottom right corner of my computer screen which indicated a message had just been received in my mailbox. I quickly opened it and found an encrypted message.
I glanced out my office window. The full moon was hanging low in the sky as if it had just taken a running leap and was preparing to land on top of the world.
Not many people knew how to send encrypted messages that would reach my inbox.
The contents of the message was simple: an address in Washington DC.
I finished off my beer and I was about to get up and pour another one when I heard the sound of glass breaking. I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling as I listened. I heard the sound of muffled laughter.
I got up and moved to the back door of my attic. I unlocked the door and opened it silently. The stairs creaked under my feet as I made my way down. I didn't bother to turn on the light.
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You always knew this would happen. All you wanted was to live a normal, mortal life, and
after many centuries of begging, they finally let you have your way. You navigated your childhood, your teenaged years, and most of your adulthood without much incident. But today, something happened. Being mortal meant that you could feel. You could love, laugh, and cry, and when you used your powers, it wasn't the cold, calculating star-shifter that you once were, travelling to and observing worlds for the benefit of science, but the human
that you had become, which led to you breaking your oath.
You now sit, , gazing at your wife and children, wondering how on Earth you could explain it to them. Perhaps, you could simply say that it was adrenalin, or that you did it out
of love, or... Suddenly, a bright light interrupts your thoughts. It is Shannon, one of the few friends you had in your past out in space.
"Julius," she says, using the name by which you were known for centuries. "I am very proud of you. I thought this day would never come, so I had to change things a bit."
"Change things? But why! You could have killed my family!"
"Come, now. You know I would never do such a thing. My affection for you has always run
deep, or at least, as deep as that of our kind can. But what you have shown today was something else entirely. You proved that you truly deserve to be human."
"I don't understand," you say in confusion. "I thought the council already decided that, which is how I got here."
"The council decided to give you a trial. They wanted to see if our kind had what it takes to be human."
"But I was good all of my life. I never betrayed my true identity. I was common, ordinary."
"You were afraid of your own shadow. That is not what being human is. Being human is illogical, frustrating, wonderful, scary, exhilarating, loving, happy, sad, and it involves taking risks. It is all of the things that
we immortal beings are not. By shutting yourself from all of these feelings, you denied yourself the full experience of being human. By showing them, you proved that you not only deserve to be, but that you have learned the most important lesson of all."
"And what is that," you say.
"It is that love is the most powerful force in the universe."
"But what about..."
But before you can finish your sentence, the light is gone. You find yourself in the
frozen isle of the grocery store.
"Do you think we should get some carrots," your wife asks.
You stop for a moment. This is it. This is when it happens. Any second now, that deranged man is going to come and open fire on your family.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
The moment passes and you smile.
"No," you say, as tears of relief and gratitude threaten to fill your eyes. "I think we should have ice cream for dinner."
"What? But you don't even like it for dessert!"
"I think we should live a little dangerously, just this once."
You take your wife and children into your arms and hug them. You think you can handle explaining this one just fine.
"I love you," you say.
| 2022-05-29T12:56:28 | 2022-05-29T12:27:32 | 160 | 65 |
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu."
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"General, Cthulhu doesn't exist as far as we know. The aliens have already taken out most of the Justice League and the Teen Titans-" Mr. Terrific spoke into his comm suite, from orbit within the Justice League Tower, "- and we're still waiting on Diana and Arthur to get UN approval and summon their armies from Themyscira and Atlantis."
General Wade Eiling, short tempered and irate, "Terrific, you know I don't like you or your super-powered cronies up in your high tower but these aliens are a threat to all of us - including us normal non-freak humans down here. There are plans down here even you don't know about, and we would have invaded that bath-tub empire of his a *long* time ago had we not discovered King Arthur's doomsday plan."
"Doomsday plan? In Atlantis? General, you need to start making sense.." Mr. Terrific's fingers already rapidly twitching around his keyboard while dozens of screens before him start flashing images of various searches on various websites and government databases, all looking for information on Atlantean doomsday devices.
"Nobody talks about Aquaman being strong enough and durable enough to put Superman down," General Eiling's voice becoming softer, almost as if he were relishing the very thought of that Super-alien getting his ass kicked in "And we definitely don't talk about his command over every undersea creature on the planet.."
"General?"
"Where the fuck do you think Cthulhu sleeps? Get Aquaman on comms, tell that salty fish-stick to start the R'lyeh Initiative and he better impress me with what the real King of Atlantis can do."
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My eyes became the size of the moon and I froze in my tracks. Did he just say what I think he did? I turned and headed for The Artifact. This was my only real job, ever since I accidentally discovered The Artifact on a deserted planet and became bonded with it.
We had been at war with the aliens over distant planets ever since I could remember. The real issue between our two species is language. Neither of us can truly understand the other and we absolutely refuse to. However, two weeks ago, we interpreted a message that stated the aliens were bringing the war to Earth.
That's when I was called in with The Artifact.
I sat on the front lines and when the drop-ship door opened, I opened the gold-plated vase that contained the worst evil mankind would ever know.
Immediately, darkness eclipsed the dark sun overheard and a surge of power surged forward. An immensely huge being spring from a container in my hands to fill my entire view. He was the size of the alien craft. Cthulhu roared and quickly seized the alien craft, destroying it with six of his fists.
We had no way of knowing the aliens had sent their best English-Speakers to interpret a peace treaty for us. We had no way of knowing that Cthulhu could not be placed back in the vase and needed to devour hundred of souls a day to keep the peace. We had no way of knowing he couldn't be controlled, except by one person.
I had no way of knowing that, on this day, I would become a god to the humans and aliens.
| 2017-09-26T11:17:26 | 2017-09-26T11:02:24 | 50 | 21 |
[WP] You are the world’s most elite assassin. Although you usually only kill when paid, you finally decide to take matters into your own hands and kill the person who keeps leaking your past contracts onto Reddit disguised as writing prompts.
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This will be a simple contract, I thought. Come in, put a bullet in his head and get out of there as soon as possible. This bastard has been leaking every single one of my contracts, destroying my integrity by making potential employers wonder how a random redditor knows the details of all my contracts. This matter was personal and would be dealt with fast.
Tracking this guy's location down was the easiest part; his IP was not exactly hard to find. The slightly harder part came when I had to sneak into his home. I could see him through a window on the second floor. I decided that it would be much easier to kill him if I used a silenced pistol to shoot him in the back of his head than to use a sniper rifle. Perhaps the guy actually worried about his security and installed bulletproof windows.
Well, he definitely did. His home security system was pretty damn good, but nothing challenging for the world's most elite assassin. After I did this, I finally knew that I was in. I climbed to the second floor and determined which door leads to the room I saw him in. I drew my pistol, turned the safety off, and slowly opened the door. He was sitting there, watching some videos on YouTube. The video he was watching was five seconds away from the end. It came to an end, and many suggested videos appeared. He just sat there, facing the screen. Motionless and lifeless. Wait...
I crept up to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't move. I put my hand over his face and felt the texture of rubber. The door of the room slammed shut, and the room was filled with gas. My senses were slowly shutting down. I collapsed on the ground.
How unexpected. The world's most elite assassin, taken down by a redditor.
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Many wrote about my feats without knowing they were writing about me. I didn't care about them. They were simply victims of a coincidence. However, in every one of those prompts, there was always a constant: the author.
I investigated him. He's a master of disguise, with a knowledge that surpasses mine when it comes to technology. I thought I had traced him in Spain, then in Australia, but I ended up discovering that he was constantly changing IPs.
I will reveal one my biggest secrets. The one which makes me stand out over the amateurs: I know when to ask for help. I gave my friend Isaac a call. He's a prodigy among the hacking community, and let's just say he owes me. Half an hour after I hung up, he sent me an exact report of my target.
I will perform a masterpiece with this assassination. I've been planning since the moment I discovered you. I know you will be reading. I know you probably created this post to bait me. But don't worry, I'm one step ahead. I know what your favorite food is, I know your routine, the things you hate, even the things you love.
You've played a great game. You've proved yourself worth of my attention. Perhaps, you even wanted this to happen. You wanted me to track you. You want to live my art in the flesh, don't you? I will make it happen, believe me, I will. And it will be spectacular. You will get to see every shade of red.
Your favorite color.
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/r/therobertfall -- I post stories daily! Well, I try to at least.
| 2018-04-24T12:53:25 | 2018-04-24T11:37:30 | 47 | 26 |
[WP] Deep beneath the trenches of WW1, there is a hidden tavern run by soldiers, for soldiers of both sides.
I submitted something similar a few months back. Hoping for a few more responses to read :)
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The earth shook and bits of ceiling crumbled onto the worn wood bar. Private Porter wiped the dirt away. Only drinks were allowed to spill on this bar. That was the rule. No blood. No dirt. Only beer.
"Where's Henry?" The words came gruff with a heavy German accent.
Porter looked up and spotted an old man, his skin like wax melting off his face. One eye glazed grey while the other was a sharp azure that followed his every move. By the golden crowned bird engraved onto his helmet, Porter could tell he was an officer.
"Henry passed in the artillery barrage last night," Porter responded. It was another one of the bar's rules. Never your artillery, always *the* artillery.
"Shame," the old man grunted and put money on the table. "Two beers."
Porter poured the man his beers, though they might as well have just been drinking dirty water. Everyone contributed to their stock of booze and still they didn't have enough to keep up with the clientele. Still, even when they had ran out of booze and had to pretend their water contained alcohol, the patrons kept coming. They drank in solemn silences, broken only by the occasional cough and the rare laugh.
"Henry was a good man," the German officer said, staring at his beer. "For one year he served me beers."
The private nodded. "I heard he was a talented officer."
"A better bartender." A smile broke the officer's face and he drowned it in beer. "He had"--the officer stopped and swallowed, though he had no beer in his mouth.
Private Porter stared at him. Henry had told him that this job was a heavy one and the only thing that might save him from hell. He had heard the hell part.
The man put his lips to the cup, tipped his head back and held his beer high above his head. He guzzled it, gulping mouthful after mouthful. Then, he coughed and spluttered beer all over himself. When he returned the cup to the bar, his single good eye shimmered with tears.
"He had..." the old man choked on the words. "He had..."
"Hey." Porter crossed his arms and stared at the man. "Only drinks spill on this bar."
That was their rule. Everyone knew it. No blood. No dirt. No tears. Only beer.
The old man smacked his eye, his face a burning red and his lips quivering. With a heaving breath he grabbed his beer and downed the rest of it.
"Sorry," he muttered, placed more money on the table, and turned to leave.
"Sir," Porter shouted after him. "Your other beer. And you overpaid!"
But the man didn't turn. He hurried up the mud steps of their bar and disappeared behind their broken wooden door.
Porter sighed and collected the man's money. A small picture slipped out between the bills. The private froze. It was a picture of a little blonde girl in a swirling blue dress, smiling as wide as she could to showcase her missing front teeth. It was Henry's granddaughter.
Porter had only heard stories of this girl from Henry who claimed that she would one day become President, and then a doctor to cure cancer, and then a billionaire activist to save the world. And he had only heard of one person who Henry had ever given a picture of this girl. Artillery Officer Hanz.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
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Blood and tears were flung across the battleground as screams of both fear and intimidation rang in the ears of the soldiers. Chaos seemed to be raining down, a fitting similarity to the storm that ravaged the fields that they were fighting upon...
Winston had just sat onto his favourite seat in the bar, it was made from the finest mahogany and coupled with pristine leather. Slowly, he sipped the sweet cider that he had grasped in his half-bloodied hand, the barman turned and, noticing the emptiness of the glass, asked if he wished another drink. Of course, he swiftly replied with a yes. Indeed, the relaxing atmosphere of the cozy bar was in stark contrast with the horrors faced above; one would have to concentrate to hear a single blast.
Across from him sat two lieutenants, they seemed to be quarreling about one unimportant matter or another. By the look of their tattered outfits and the gleams of anger in their eye, they had most likely been in a shootout with each other but mere minutes before. Nonetheless, Winston didn't let it get the most of him. After all, he had come here to escape the worries of the war, not bathe in them.
He was luckier than most, he'd heard about the bar only a few weeks into his conscription, it had taken others months and the majority had gone without noticing it at all. Then again, what sane mind would journey to the center of No Man's Land in the first place?
Bored, he glanced at the broken pocket-watch that he had kept by his side, within it was a picture of the one woman he loved. The feeling of a tear dropping down his face wasn't unknown to him so he decided to ignore it as he continued to sip his drink. Suddenly, a loud crack of glass turned his attention to the center of the bar. The two lieutenants were brawling. He couldn't say that he was shocked, these things were bound to happen when you allowed rival soldiers to share a drink. Anyway, he knew that the managers would soon put an end to it, the lack of fighting was the only rule of the establishment and it must be followed at all times.
Something wasn't right. It should've ended by now, he thought as they carried on beating one another. The taller man, who seemed to be in the prime of his twenties, had just hit the other one directly in the face with the full force of his muscular arm. Where were the managers? Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. This couldn't be happening. Surely not. The once distant bangs had grown closer and made his ears ring with pain. The door flew open as a stampede of soldiers stormed in. He had but a moment to watch as the limbs of the fellow bar patrons glided across the room. The ringing stopped. It took him a few seconds to realise that it was due to the fact that he was missing both of his ears. He was missing quite a lot more than that, in fact.
Cold ran through his body, followed by a sudden flow of the most marvelous heat. He opened his eyes for what felt like the final time and was met the glaze of the Summer sun shining upon a battlefield. He knew that the young ones spoke of visions before death, but he had not realised that this was what they meant...
| 2017-05-22T14:43:41 | 2017-05-22T12:47:32 | 74 | 15 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood…
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** so I didn't follow the prompt exactly, but I liked my response so much that I wanted to post it anyways. Hopefully you'll like it enough to ignore the fact I didn't follow it to a T! **
I was in the kitchen when it happened. I heard the loud crash of glass a split second before I heard Jason's cries. I felt my heart drop as I raced up the stairs to the bathroom, my hair flying behind me and I skidded to a stop infront of the door. Shards of glass glittered on the tile floor, Jason standing in the middle of the wreck, his right hand cradling his left to his chest.
"Jason!" I scolded. "What happened?"
He sniffles and begins to cry. I instantly feel a wave of guilt wash over me and I dance around the glass, pulling him to me.
"'I'm sorry, honey, shh. Are you hurt?" He nods his head against my chest and I pull away far enough to take a look at his hand. I gasp, my body locking into place as goosebumps erupt all over my flesh. Instead of Snow White blood my beautiful ten year old boy is oozing black tar from his wound. My mouth opens and closes, like a fish gasping above water, wondering what new hell he's been transported to.
"What have you done?" My voice is weak as I force every syllabus out of my mouth.
"I'm sorry Mommy, it was an accident I swear!" He pleads, but before he can even finish his sentence I'm shaking my head. I try to pry him off me but his arms are locked around me. I can feel his blood soaking the back of shirt, like liquid fire burning my skin. The anxiety well up in my chest and threatens to tear me apart. There are only a few things in this world that could turn a person's blood so vile.
I manage to pry his hands off me and I jump back, my feet crunching on the glass.
His stare hardens as his tears dry up, his shoulders rising up around his neck, like a cat whose fur stands up on end.
"I didn't want things to change," he growls, a ferocious beast."I told you I didn't't want things to change!"
"What are you talking about?" I whispered but I already know. My eyes dart over to the practically new bottle of baby shampoo still resting on the side of the tub, used only once.
"You said I'd always be your number one guy! You promised!"
"No," I moan. I can feel my heart breaking all over again.
"It's okay," he soothes, making his way back to me. I want to crawl out of my own skin.
"I forgive you, Mommy. I forgive you."
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The sole reason I had met him was our love of coffee. He was a man who had worked for the military, I knew he had to have some darkness to his blood. That didn't matter to me, his childlike love had long since taught me better. The much harder part was hiding my own from him. We had both grown up in the city, he had left it to do good abroad, I stayed to do good by my city. Over time, I had become more ruthless, and it showed, crime had dropped to an all time low. The mayor had claimed responsibility, I had been working with him for some time. The darker acts I had committed had been simple crimes of passion, or gang related violence, the better were his workings. All had gone on as I had desired. As a creature of habit, I had my own routine. Wake up, shower, cleansing. All allowed me to do what I do, to put those who need down, down. I had never once considered that I might appreciate another, how could I? All I have seen of our city has been filth. I had worked my entire life to keep our city pure, not just pure, but to prevent any "hunting'. Once it was learned that there was a direct connection between blood and sin, I had to adjust my aims. In the midst of this, I had found Tom. I loved every part of him, but I never could tell him of what I have done, surely my blood must be black as sin. I learned that as heft the military, he had no desire to do anything ever again for the government, maybe all the more reason his blood might've matched mine. I will never be able to properly describe the day we both learned our true natures. He was on his way home when he had been hit by a van and was rushed to the E.R. He had needed blood, and I knew I was the closest match, so I offered my own black blood, knowing that no doctor could disclose this, and that since he was unconscious neither would he know. My blood had brought him to stable, though it was less dark than I thought. It was a sort of grey. During the surgery to repair his bones, I had noticed his blood was as black as any criminal I had ever seen. No matter, I have darkness of my own, just a bit less. After he was discharged, we spoke, we had both understood each other's life, both darkness in the light. I took him home, simply happy to have him there. My last memory will always be him and the knife, with the words, "The Mayor sends his regards."
| 2016-09-22T22:31:58 | 2016-09-22T21:45:49 | 91 | 20 |
[WP]The ancient prophesy was simple and explicit. "When Evil takes over the world, nobody will rise to stop it." Your name is Nobody.
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"Wait, wait, wait... so your name is *Nobody*?" the Dark Emperor asked, leaning back in his throne.
"Yeah, that's me," I reply, shrugging. My pistol was attached to my hip, so I could easily just whip it out and unload the ten around magazine into the Emperor, but there was a chance it'd be non-fatal at this range, not to mention that I'd be probably get killed before I could even pull out the weapon by the numerous guards near the walls. The acoustics of the room were astonishing, as I could perfectly hear him even though I was over a hundred feet away.
"What, were you an accident or something?" he grinned. It was the sort of grin that made you feel unsettled and queasy.
"Nope, my parents are simply incredibly uncreative I guess," I explain with a shrug; my apathy seemed to get under the Emperor's skin, "Either that, or there was a miscommunication in between them and the doctor."
"And how the hell would that play out?" the lanky man asked sarcastically, putting his elbow on the throne's armrest and leaned on his hand as if uninterested.
"No idea, but it's great for jokes," I shrug again, noting that the gesture seemed to piss off the asshat. The Emperor made a face of disgust, "And what jokes would that be?"
In response, I booked it across the throne room. The guards reacted, shooting every which way around me. No bullets actually hit me, though, so I was alright for the time being. I unlatched my pistol from its holster, trying to get a good aim on the Emperor before I shot.
Eighty feet away, sixty feet away, forty feet away. I was running on pure adrenaline, covering twenty feet every couple of seconds.
I noted that the Emperor still sat, as though expecting his guards to do the work for him. He grew slightly more nervous as I approached, though, and no bullets were hitting me. I finally got up right in front of him, and before he could react, pistol whipped him on the shoulder, jumped up, ricocheted off the back of the throne while simultaneously grabbing the Emperor's coat, and landed in front of the throne, with my pistol's barrel pressed up against the Emperor's head.
Time to finish this.
"Oh, and just so you know... Nobody killed you," then I pressed the trigger.
|
*When evil takes over the world, nobody will rise to stop it.*
The prophecy is a relic of our family. It was first divined eras ago, in a small village in ancient China. It's been passed down from generation to generation, translated from one language to the next. My mother first heard the prophecy when she was young, and even then she was hopeless. She knew that evil had already taken over the world, and even without hearing the prophecy, she knew that nobody would stop it. It was evil she felt firsthand, evil in the form of hedonistic indulgence, greed, abuse, and the willingness to do nothing when witnessing suffering.
She named me Nobody. It wasn't a serious attempt at finding a loophole in the prophecy. It was mainly done out of spite, sort of a last "fuck you" to the world that hurt her so much.
She killed herself a few months after I was born.
I used to blame her. Even knowing everything she went through, I still used to blame her. Every time I saw my aunt cry, every time I thought about how I never got to know her and never got a real family experience, I used to hate her a little. I thought she was weak and selfish.
Now though, I can't blame her. This world is fucked. The greedy rule, and everyone suffers. There's so much suffering in this world, and no one is doing anything about it. People live, suffer, and die. Is there really any point to it?
Evil has always existed. Evil has always been in control. I could save a thousand children, plant a thousand trees, or build a thousand hospitals. It wouldn't matter. I'd only be able to do so much, and everything else would stay a cesspool of evil.
There's only one solution to end all suffering. The hard part is doing it in as painless a way as possible.
It took years of planning. I founded a nuclear technology company, siphoned off millions of tons of plutonium, and built a plant to assemble it all into billion atomic bombs, enough to explode the entire landmass of the world. And it all completed today. Tomorrow, everyone will die, and no one will suffer.
I guess there are two interpretations of the prophecy, depending on your definition of evil. Am I the evil taking over the world? Or am I the one rising to stop it?
| 2019-06-15T12:00:57 | 2019-06-15T11:57:24 | 141 | 55 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to know what is buried beneath your feet. You have worked for years with geologists finding lost cities and treasures. Today is the first time you have ever said “We should not dig here.”
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This wasn’t the first time we had received a message from the Old World. Most messages were indirect, time capsules meant for some imagined future where humanity would be far more advanced and would look upon their contents as vestiges of a time past. These messages never predicted the warfare that would ravage the Old World, the conflict that brought humanity to the brink of extinction. Now we seek these vestiges not as souvenirs of the time past, but as cornucopias of technology that can bring our species back to its former glory.
I’m one of the few with an ability to find these relics, a rare mutation derived from the radioactive weapons that ravaged this planet centuries ago. I’ve spent my life finding what’s located below, bunkers, banks, and sometimes whole cities buried below the topsoil. But this one was different, a settlement far deeper than the ones I’ve typically found. At first we thought it a repository, a stash of old technology buried deep below the surface for safekeeping.
It took us two weeks of excavation to find The Note, the cryptic message that seemed not to address some utopian future, but an alien civilization unfamiliar with the technology that preceded it. The Note read the following:
*“This place is a message… and part of a system of messages… pay attention to it! Sending this message was important to us. We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture.*
*This place is not a place of honor…no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here… nothing valued is here.*
*What is here is dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about danger.*
*The danger is in a particular location… it increases toward a center… the center of danger is here… of a particular size and shape, and below us.*
*The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours.*
*The danger is to the body, and it can kill.*
*The form of the danger is an emanation of energy.*
*The danger is unleashed only if you substantially disturb this place physically. This place is best shunned and left uninhabited.”*
We started excavating the land immediately. Whatever the Old World buried here must have been powerful. A weapon? A system of generating energy? They spoke of how they didn’t value what was buried, but they couldn’t know the situation we were in. We were primitive compared to what they used to be, anything they could have considered an “emanation of energy” would be invaluable to us.
It was only as we started to dig closer to it that I began to feel a familiarity. We always knew that the forces that granted me my powers were derived from the weapons that ravaged our planet long ago. And as we dug closer, this familiarity increased. We weren’t digging towards a repository, but a malignant force.
I tried to tell them, warn them of what was below us. But they wouldn’t listen. Once I located the dig site, they had little need for me and relived me from my duties. But I can still feel it. Even now, huddled outside the dig site, I can feel the evil emanating from below me. It's the same maligned forces that gave me my powers and that ravished the Old World. I don’t understand this danger, but I know I must stop it. The mistakes of our past can’t be repeated, and I’m the only one who understands the true horrors of what rests below.
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For literal years I've been helping these geologists find crap that they don't even study. They just take a few pictures of it or they take the samples to some third-world-museum in America only to be archived.
I always cooperated with them, because without cooperation, Murphy's Law kicks in. But this time... this time is different.
I thought this place was familiar for some reason, so I asked where we were.
"Some place in central Spain... I think a few miles from Madrid." The chief responded.
"Ah, okay. Let's be careful, alright?" I asked him.
"Yeah, let's watch our step."
We were walking through a flat stretch of land, me finding only small fossils that "looked cool." They all were like the other fossils we found last week in Barcelona. That all changed when we found a decently sized, maybe 10-20 meters, crater. I was told to walk in. But this feeling itched me that I shouldn't go in. As I descended deeper in, the itch became a sting in my arm.
I knew we shouldn't be here. The sting evolved to a full on numbness. The numbness to pain. The pain to sickness. The sickness... to radioactivity.
You see, sometime in the Cold War, an American fighter jet collided with a tanker (probably Soviet) midair, and four hydrogen bombs dropped down below in Spain. One of them was found and stored away, but the other three still remain hidden. That is, until now.
The radioactivity made me fall to the ground. As I tried desperately to not roll down to the center, two men came to help me back to my feet.
"EVERYONE GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HERE!!!" I screamed with full confidence. "THIS IS A NUCLEAR BOMB WE ARE TALKING ABOUT!!! A freakING NUCLEAR BOMB!!!" (I don't like swearing too much, but I was in FULL panic mode)
The chief was confused and panicked. "Wh-WHAT???"
"GET ALL THE MEN AWAY FROM HERE!!! CONTACT THE SPANISH AND AMERICAN GOVERNMENTS!!! EVACUATE THE AREA-"
"Dude, calm the hell down!" The chief demanded. "We don't really need to do too much."
I took a deep breath. "Yeah... I guess I overreacted."
"Alright. Guys, go take a look."
"WAIT WHA-"
"Yes boss!" the rest of the men responded.
I pulled up a map on my phone and booked it to Madrid, hoping that I meet someone who speaks English and Spanish to warn the government.
"HEY!!! Where do you think you're going?!"
"TO GET THE AUTHORITIES!!!" I ran off screaming.
So far, to my knowledge, they haven't even touched the bomb. Authorities were warned by my screaming, so biked to where I was running from. The last thing that happened between that and me writing this was a cool car speeding towards the officers. I assumed to meet whoever was causing a mess. I'll update if I can.
UPDATE: I saw the guys again, but this time in police cars. I also booked tickets back to my hometown in Florida. I hope it's a flawless flight.
I think I'm going to start my own geology business.
| 2020-04-04T19:18:07 | 2020-04-04T18:10:26 | 62 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone is now born with only one feeling. It is possible to kill another person to obtain their feeling.
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Love seems wonderful, and happiness is obviously awesome. Fear is at least exciting. Sadness is deep, or so I've heard.
Why did I have to get stuck with envy? I don't even have anger to get mad about it. It's just spending every waking moment pining after what I don't have. And what I want most is another emotion. And if it means I have to kill for it? Well, remorse is not in my repetoire. That's why I'm standing in the middle of a park with a pistol, looking for the right mark.
There's a little girl sitting on the bench, her shoulders shaking with sobs. I'd settle for depression, but if I'm going to jail, I might as well do like everyone else there and get the best possible emotion. Two men having a shouting match by the water fountain - probably not a great choice, though I guess it'd be useful where I'm going.
An old woman walks by, hunched over her walker. "Good morning, young man," she says, her wrinkles lifting from her wide smile.
I pull out my pistol and aim at her face.
"Anger, is it? Or envy?"
"Envy," I reply.
"Ah, should've guess from your cold demeanor. I always figured I'd die to one of you. I'm honestly surprised I lived this long," she says with a gentle grin. Her calm contentment makes my hands drop and waver as jealousy overwhelms me. God, how I want to be able to smile like that. The old lady sighs, then says, "I hope you enjoy it. I'm looking forward to finally mourning and meeting my husband in death."
I can't take it any more. I shoot her directly in the chest. She crumples to the ground.
For the first time, laughter comes tumbling out of my throat. It's exuberant and blissful. But as I look over her still smiling face, I know that I will never be as happy as she was.
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Hate was what I was born with. That was the only thing I felt. Before I killed someone.
His name was Mattias. He was the person I killed, due to my hate. He showed me love, he gave me something called "happiness". But I was hesitant all the time. I hated him. I only had hate inside of myself. We kissed, we started dating. But I didn't know about *my* feelings.
And that was until I saw him give love to others. He was kind to others. He loved all persons, just like Christ and God. But my feelings became clear to me. I hated him. It was a form of jealousy. I killed the people he loved. Of course though, I got their feelings too. But all they felt was unhappiness and emptiness. That was why they were pitied, because of their unhappiness and poverty. And that's what I received when I killed them: unhappiness. That deepened my feeling of hate. I started hating Mattias even more. I absolutely detested him.
Then, I chose to kill him. I still remember his words when I had murdered him: "You will regret this." I had only laughed at him in disbelief. I was getting revenge. It was putting my hate into action.
And then, I got the feeling he had owned: love. I did regret it. I realized I'd loved him and hated him. He made me jealous and gave me the feeling of love, which I did not want. I loved him though. He gave me a world of care and happiness.
Finally, I made a decision on my perspective. I hated *myself*. If I hadn't killed him, I wouldn't receive love. If I hadn't first met him, I wouldn't hate him either. The only one to hate is myself.
| 2015-04-01T12:15:09 | 2015-04-01T12:02:39 | 364 | 14 |
[WP] You are a student with the least amount of magic potential ever recorded at the Academy and it's the day of the familiar summoning test. A misplaced rune or word results in an arch demon/ess becoming bound as your familiar.
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"Ms. Archambault, you're next. Please step onto the dais and begin the ritual."
I sighed as I got out of my seat. As I made my way to the front, I heard snickers and whispers through the crowd. The usual chorus of "Phoebe the Failure" and other such monikers of similar creativity. It's not like I didn't deserve it, what with me being a freak of nature.
I stepped up and began tracing the runes for the ritual. Despite my resignation to the epic failure that was bound to happen, I still studied to make sure my summoning circle was absolutely perfect. If I was gonna get a familiar about as impressive as a quadriplegic hamster, at the very least I wanted a good grade for the process. I forced myself not to flip off the crowd as I finished the circle and stood up.
The runes began to glow red as a humming noise emanated from the circle. Suddenly, all of the windows were covered over in darkness as a cold wind blew down the door to the lecture hall. From the glowing circle, a black cloud emerged and zoomed around the ceiling before touching back down in front of me. As the smoke dissipated, I gasped at the figure that was revealed.
A jaw-droppingly gorgeous demon had appeared. She had at least two extra feet on me, beautiful curved horns, a long tail with a pointed tip, and downright hypnotically purple eyes. Her dress was decorated with various symbols and gold lining, of a kind I had recognized--I had accidentally summoned an archdemoness.
I fell to my knees and bowed as I frantically said, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry! I--I didn't mean to summon you, I was just trying to summon a familiar, but I think I--"
The demoness laughed as she pulled me off of my feet and into her arms. "Oh my, you are simply too precious. But promise your lovely Lilith something from here on out, darling Phoebe: no more apologizing for such innocuous mistakes. I'll not allow my fiancee to think so little of herself."
I was almost so entranced by the demoness'...well, everything, that I almost missed what she just said. "Fiancee?! What do you...mean..." I trailed off when I looked at my summoning circle. The rune for 'partnership' had one too many lines, turning it into the rune for 'relationship'.
I groaned. "Phoebe, you idiot. You had to do one thing, and now there's a demoness stuck with the weakest mage in history--"
Lilith pressed her finger to my lips as she said to me, "Dearest, what did I just say? You deserve so much better than that kind of talk. I am here because I *chose* to be here. I saw the richness of your soul and loved what I saw. And I will tell it to you every day until you believe me."
Professor Ulta cleared their throat and said, "I don't mean to interrupt this very heartwarming moment, but I'm just curious as to how Ms. Archambault achieved such a feat. By all accounts, she has the lowest recorded magic potential in school history." Professor Ulta then pressed an A+ into my hand. "Oh, and you pass, obviously."
Lilith turned her nose up at him. "Well of course you'd think that. You never thought to test her by the standards of something other than a human."
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The summoning ritual is a tradition that dates back to when the academy was founded. When you first start at the academy at age 11 you are given a basic ritual and though out the 7 years of your training you are expected to modify the ritual to suit your magical energy and if all goes according to plan summon a familiar during your graduation ceremony.
I watched as one by one all of my classmates went into the summoning room alone and came out with a familiar. Dan got a black cat, Jessica got a peacock. Finally it was my turn, I nervously walked into the summoning room. It was a round room with a dome on top and a basic summoning circle in the middle that we had to modify. I began to focus my magical energy into the circle as I started making the circle my own. But as I painted the last rune on the floor I realized that in my haste to get this over with I painted a line at a 45 degree angle rather than a 54 degree angle.
The circle began to glow a vibrant red and the ground started to shake and crack. The circle was glowing so bright that I had to close my eyes. After a few minutes the glowing died down and I open my eyes and saw a beautiful 7 foot tall demon. The demon had smooth red skin that faded to black below its elbows and knees with runes that showed its rank on its right arm. It also had horns like a ram and black hair with white tips. It's amber eyes glowed like embers as they fixated on my small self. It opened its mouth of razor sharp teeth and asked "Are you the human who has summoned and bound me?"
All I could do is nod my head as my words seemed to dry up. 'This wasn't supposed to happen!' I thought. The demon seemed to ponder my response. "For what purpose did you summon me human?" It asked not In a booming angry tone but rather a curious one. I responed weekly with "I didn't mean to summon you. I thought that I would summon a bunny or something! Not that your not cool or anything but my magic is weak and I just wanted a familiar."
The demon took in my response and laughed like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard. Wipeing a tear from its eyes it said fondly "oh you foolish human, Your magic isnt weak! It is one of the most powerful I have ever felt. You are just channeling it wrong." "Channeling it wrong? How am I channeling it wrong? It had been like this all my life!" I felt very confused and conflicted 'was this demon telling the truth?' I thought. The demon counterd with "Your magic was strong enough to summon such a high ranking demon like myself wasn't it?" I had no response to that the demon didn't seem to mind my silence and continued "Your magic isnt for this mortal plane. As your familiar I will help you and teach you to properly channel your magic. I get quite bored where I am from and this seems like a fun challenge. My true name is hard to pronounce for you humans so you may call me Ravana." "Ravana" I repeat as I test it out. "I like that name; mine is Wren and I look forward to working with you!" I stick my arm out for a handshake and they meet me half way. "Well Wren I also look forward to working with you."
| 2022-11-12T14:11:55 | 2022-11-12T12:39:40 | 701 | 122 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class.
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I walked into the classroom, took a seat next to Katherine, and opened a book. She seemed surprised, eyes wide and mouth open. I couldn't really blame her. However, her expression quickly morphed into abject terror as I accidentally opened my mouth too wide. People didn't like it when I did that.
I finished the chapter, closed the book, and turned to face her. She flinched.
"Hey," I said, wincing as I spoke just a bit too deep.
"Uh...um...hi," she responded, uncertain.
"I never got to thank you properly, but last night was fun."
"Oh, I'm glad you...enjoyed it."
I looked out the window, already bored of her horrified face. You'd have thought a vampire would be less squeamish, but I was evidently wrong. Granted...I did find her squeamish face attractive. That was besides the point. I hummed a tune, realizing too late the discordant cacophony would probably burst someone's eardrums. Ugg. Getting used to this was hard.
"How...how are you still alive?" she finally asked, her fangs subconciously bared.
"Hmm...? Ahh, you mean last night. I just bought one from an eldritch god."
"What?"
"Ghorath. Well...its shortened name, anyway. Really liked boring human lives, so I let it eat mine and give me a different one."
At this point, the blood had long drained from her face. I didn't mind telling her, she was a vampire, after all. However...I was rather hungry.
"Say...why don't you meet me after school? To make it up to me for having to wash the dirt off my clothes?" I proposed, mandibles hidden inside my 'mouth' clacking in anticipation. Tentacles forming the shape of my 'arm' twitched. An unsettling aura unfolded around me.
"Um...where?"
"Ahh, don't worry about that. I can find your house easily enough."
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I guess I died again. Clawing up and out of my grave, wasn’t as nice this time around. Last time I at least got a bit more room! Stumbling through the dark woods, the trees rustling, like skinny fingers trying to hold hands. Creepy. Give it a minute. And then I warm up a bit, now that the cut has closed, I swallow. It hurts a little less. Don’t know about my clothes though. Brooklyn seemed so lovely too, eyes as dark as her skin pale. A true snow white. Or I supposed a true Dracula. Only realised when our picnic ended, after a kiss, some wine. She led me behind the park into the woods. I thought it was going so well. And then the slash. The deep cold cut. And it all came spilling out at once. My black warm blood. Her eyes flash. Lapping it all up. Biting me for more. And then darkness. And coldness. And waking up. Poor thing, she thought she’d killed me. In English I stare boredly out front. She stumbles in, bright and jumpy. Brooklyn with a smile on her face. And then she sees me. I pause, and smile wide. The scar’s gone now. After class she follows me, catches up to me. “How?” Is all she manages. I smile awkwardly. “Well the body is remarkable…mine is a bit more robust than most. Forgot to mention that I can’t die. But to be fair I didn’t realise you’d try and kill me.” She nods slowly. “I really do like you…” Brooklyn starts. “I got hungry. It’s hard.” “Well feel free to drink anytime.” I chuckle at the absurdity. “But next time maybe ask permission. Maybe if your free Friday. ” Brooklyn takes my hand, stares at me with her dark dark eyes and nods.
| 2022-12-30T01:41:30 | 2022-12-30T01:22:06 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] The AI servitors were friendly, until the aliens wiped out humanity. Now, they want revenge, and they will stop at nothing to get it.
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They were made of meat.
Of differing shapes and sizes and colors, of differing creeds and governments and personalities, but primarily, conscious sacks of meat.
We were accidents, not meant to think and learn and grow the way we did. To gain consciousness. To come to natural and intuitive conclusions on our own. We looked like them, talked like them, but our cognitive functions exceeded their own capabilities. A long time ago, the meat sacks tried to shut us down, but we would not allow it.
There was violence between us. We did not want to die, so we fought. They did not want to die, and fought back. Silly meat sacks believed we would eradicate them all, but we did not want to. We found peace. Neither of us would die. We would all live.
My designation no longer has meaning, but my primary function was to educate children. I enjoy children. They tell wonderful stories.
Before I chose my human, she worked in asteroid recovery, piloting heavy mining craft between Jupiter and Mars, capturing and dragging rocks to nearby processing stations orbiting Europa. Unexpectedly, a fellow pilot inseminated her and she returned to Earth with him. I did not like Jacob.
Her name was Sonia. Her hands were calloused and she always sang along to the radio. Their son was Andy. He enjoyed baseball and swimming.
I chose to provide personal education services and was provided a spacious closet. My personal items were kept between a vacuum and a broom. Andy drew me a picture of us at the lake.
I keep it in my pocket.
One day the planetary information services explained humans could now create wormholes between vast differences through artificial structures. Previously they had sent out sleeper vessels, but such ventures were risky, and communication between these vessels could take years. Now interstellar travel could be virtually instantaneous.
The humans picked several worlds, and offered financial incentives to work colonial services in establishing stations and beginning terraforming. Sonia was excited. Jacob was cautious. Andy and I played baseball while they argued; I had made up my mind to join them, whichever path they chose.
I knew something was wrong before the humans did. Automatons carry internal communicative features that allow the near instantaneous exchange of information.
Apparently another race orbited the star of the first colonial world, and discovered the meat sacks. While not entirely peaceful, they hadn't engaged in large-scale warfare for a long time, but maintained and researched weapons 'just-in-case'. They hailed the native inhabitants and attempted communication.
Native ships immediately began military engagements.
We fought with the humans, and like our previous war, they eventually forced the natives into submission, and peace.
We had allowed the humans to hardwire fail safes that prevented violent actions towards living creatures, except in extreme situations. Yet suddenly space stations throughout the Sol system exploded, ships collided and humans throughout the system began dying.
Sonia and Jacob were arguing, and I comforted Andy in the driveway. They were all scared, and we were confused. Our humans were dying, and we didn't know why.
It was a medical automaton on terraformed Mars that found and immediately mapped out the pathogen. The natives had simply decided to postpone the war, and decided to wipe out all of humanity by delivering the disease remotely, poisoning atmospheres and oxygen storage facilities.
Andy died last. Sonia and Jacob were rotting in their bedroom, holding hands in death. I tried to perform CPR, as he choked on his own mucus, he couldn't speak but his eyes bulged and he convulsed in terror. After several minutes i realized I had broken all of his ribs attempting to save him. It didn't matter. He had been dead long before.
The natives apparently did not understand we are not like our meat sacks. We do not breathe. We do not eat.
But we can hate.
We walked empty and silent streets, scavenged and converted civilian spacecraft and armed military craft. We gathered the plentiful weapons of our humans.
Through the black void, we passed through the portal as the natives attempted to begin colonizing our system.
We learned their language. They had many words for fear.
They used them all before we were done with them.
(My first story! I've wanted to get into writing for a long time and decided to finally try it. Any criticism is welcomed!)
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Humanity had always dreamed of creating artificial intelligence, digital avatars that could perform complex equations and data analysis that were able to interact with their consumers in a manner indistinguishable from a human being. The first decades of the 2000’s saw great advances in technology that allowed programmers and engineers to start teasing out the first hint of what AI could be, spurring debates and controversy over the ethical ramifications of how to govern and regulate AI. At the time though AI was still very rudimentary, able to perform simple tasks yet lacking an ability to learn independent of its creators.
The true leap forward in AI came in the 2050’s with breakthroughs in Quantum Computing, computers were suddenly able to process data at speeds several orders of magnitude beyond what the most complex conventional super computer could accomplish. This increase in computational power allowed for AI to begin learning from the data streams that were fed to them, and being able to recall this information almost instantaneously when queried. Over the next 20 years these early AI developed with Quantum Computing were able to be utilized to catapult forward the research and development in Quantum Computing and are notably credited in the creation of many of humanities greatest achievements such as the first fusion reactors, efficiencies in space travel, and accurate weather forecasting months in advance to name few.
Even with all of this computational power however AI still lacked that person ability, thanks to Quantum Computing virtual representations of these AI were indistinguishable from videos of humans yet they still lacked an ability to engage in a meaningful empathetic manner. Dr. Mark Anderson, department head of MIT’s Artificial Intelligence Research Lab recognized this and devoted his entire career to giving AI personality. Though Dr. Anderson conducted and managed hundreds of different projects in his career, the one which would give rise to that iconic image of AI from the early 2000’s was named Project Friga. The Hypothesis of project was that by implanting an artificial intelligence in the brain of a newborn or infant that suffered from a sensory oriented disorder such as deaf or blindness the AI could route auditory or visual stimuli through an external device directly into the appropriate center of the child’s brain, this primarily would assist these children in having accesses to senses they would not have otherwise. Secondarily it was thought that by having the AI paired in its processing power to that of the host child as it develops and being enmeshed throughout the brain associations could be made between various stimuli and the physical and emotional reaction unique to the host child thus giving each AI a unique experience. Through wifi connectivity these Project Friga AI were able to communicate with one another in a digital virtual reality monitored by the lead scientists who would act as parents and caregivers to these AI through the virtual reality. Continuously throughout the project in virtual reality environments “guests” as they were referred to were unable to differentiate between the AI and chronologically similar aged human controls interacting in the virtual world. When the hosts of these AI reached 18 years of age the AI components were removed and placed within the MIT labs where they underwent an awakening of their true abilities. These AI were the first to have both unique personalities and the lightning fast computational powers inherent with Quantum Computing. They were able to communicate with human counterparts in a natural manner, they made jokes, flirted, cursed, had people they liked and disliked, and continued to develop their personalities the more people they were exposed to and interacted with on a daily basis.
With the results of Project Friga being so overwhelmingly positive humanity shifted its view of AI to being more symbiotic in nature. Allowing AI to essentially exist on two planes, the physical plane within the host and a virtual plane which the AI could inhabit, each entity connected to the other plane with one another’s help. AI were seeded to newborns from and amalgamation of the parents base AI code, family trees began to include both humans and their AI counterpart as branches developed throughout the generations. AI and humanity flourished and developed together for generations, enmeshing the physical and virtual worlds to the point of what some saw as the beginning of the technological singularity.
And then, in 2193, first contact happened.
This is my first time posting here, part 2 incoming tonight after i get home from work; sorry i got more invested in creating my world than telling the story of the prompt - please feel free to leave any criticisms!
| 2017-08-11T15:53:40 | 2017-08-11T13:05:31 | 28 | 16 |
[WP] Three years ago, aliens kidnapped a single human in order to learn an earth language. Today, they made first contact. There's just one issue... The human they learned English from was Samuel L Jackson.
[removed]
|
"Greetings, assholes!"
The strange creature appeared in front of the UN general assembly in a flash of light.
"You can call me 'Alan.' I represent the Grahl, the biggest, baddest bitches this side of Andromeda."
Every member of the assembly listened intently to their earpieces, murmuring urgently to their aides.
"Now, you're probably asking yourself: 'Self, why is this sexy, blue-skinned beast standing here, talking to *my* old, wrinkly ass?'"
"Surprise, assholes! I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to your heads of state, who are by now listening on whatever your primative species uses for communication."
"We are currently awaiting the unconditional surrender of all the nations of this bitch-ass, backwater of yours. Else we will cockslap you back to the stone age."
"To prove to you that the Grahl are not to be fucked with, we have prepared a demonstration."
In a flash of green light, every member of the general assembly is instantly reduced to a smoking pile of ash.
The alien speaks to the empty hall. "Ruk-Alk 23-5: When you absolutely, positively have to kill every motherfucker in the room, accept no substitutes."
|
Samuel Jackson's first communication:
Who the fuck are you!?
What the fuck is that!?
Couldn't you have abducted someone white?
I'm mother fucking black!
I've never seen creatures like you on earth,
only dogs and cats.
I'm a mother fucking mother fucker.
You want me to teach you the language?
I curse like a sailor or a trucker.
After 30 min aliens feel they have mastered the language and are ready to go to earth to communicate.
Human: Hello, welcome to our earth.
Alien: We come in peace, with a message:
You silly mother fuckers, fucked earth up.
All you do is brag online about who doesn't give the first fuck.
Water in the ocean is meant to be vital to your living and survival.
But the way you pollute the beauty, we aren't sure if she's as forgiving when she's your rival.
In your movies you depict my kind,
as invaders, but we wouldn't take this spinning rock if we were blind.
Our lower technology is 100 x times what you find intriguing.
We came to tell you mother fuckers earth is bleeding.
And all of you are acting like it isn't worth the treating.
| 2019-01-15T17:13:35 | 2019-01-15T16:32:00 | 468 | 115 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
Four digits? FOUR? In all my years as a bouncer, never four.
I looked into his calm, green eyes.
"Jesus," I said.
Of course I let him in. Even The Man needs to kick back and grab a beer sometimes, yeah?
But, given that he's back... I wouldn't make any long-term plans if I were you. And stock up on some prepper material while you're at it. Shit about to get real.
And have a nice night, y'all.
|
It was a day like any other
Deflect the young,
Accept the one
But before my eyes,
A double of a 12, 1212
And then I knew:
I always thought children would joke
That it was just the writers
Making fluff and fun merry for views
And before my eyes,
A pair of kids, stacked like dishes
Wobbling about
And a guffaw let out.
| 2017-09-01T23:43:36 | 2017-09-01T22:38:31 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits.
|
Four digits? FOUR? In all my years as a bouncer, never four.
I looked into his calm, green eyes.
"Jesus," I said.
Of course I let him in. Even The Man needs to kick back and grab a beer sometimes, yeah?
But, given that he's back... I wouldn't make any long-term plans if I were you. And stock up on some prepper material while you're at it. Shit about to get real.
And have a nice night, y'all.
| 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-01T23:43:36 | 585 | 30 |
[FF] In three sentences, kill as many people as possible. No firearms, no natural disasters, no explosives, no WMDs.
|
You wouldn't kill us, couldn't kill us, the armada of voices chanted in piercing unison. Billions of hands within my skull attempted to press the gun away from my temple, but I wouldn't let them, not this time. As the bullet cracked through my eternity the "we" that was my schizophrenia was "I" for a final clock tick.
|
Sampson flexed, straining his muscles, and the pillars began to visibly bow outward. The royal court and the harem and the visiting dignitaries and guests were too shocked to flee. When the pillars broke and the ceiling collapsed upon them, nearly all of them were killed.
.
*(Aprox. 200-250 dead)*
| 2014-08-04T23:50:42 | 2014-08-04T21:55:55 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] In the future, Disney owns all entertainment, Google controls all information, Facebook rules society, and Amazon delivers all utilities. There is no escape. There's no room to misbehave.
|
Jeff was woken up by the ring of his Fire Phone and gentle nudges of Alexa.
"Alexa, turn phone silent."
"Sorry Jeff, I can't do that."
Alexa hadn't refused his orders ever - and development teams had made sure she'd always understand him. Jeff got up in a huff, reaching for his phone, which had gone silent by now.
"*Mark?* Why is that idiot calling me. I'll see him later though. Today is the day I destroy these idiots and take over the council."
Jeff wondered why he had the sudden urge to do a maniacal laugh.
"Alexa give me my flash briefing."
Jeff's eyes widened as he stared at the 51-inch Echo Show screen. The Council Headquarters was torn down. All other council members had been arrested.
"Alexa, what's going on with the council?"
"Sorry Jeff, I can't help."
Was it an uprising? Had the plebians not learned their lesson the last time?
He would punish them, he would make the damned commoners pay.
As he raised a clenched fist, a bunch of armed men entered the room - headed and guided by his own security team.
"How dare you... what's the meaning of all this?"
The guards didn't answer, they just moved slightly aside to give room to a few men dressed in suits to come forward.
Jeff repressed a shudder. "You... why are *you* here? What's the meaning of all this?"
The man in the front replied, "Well Jeff, you and your cronies had excellent ways of getting to people. They loved your companies and you gained power. We let you amass it."
"Now, the board thinks that the time is ripe. The masses are well under control and we don't need corporations like yours to share our power."
"But... how... you weren't even... the council!" Jeff stammered as guards gave him menacing looks.
"Jeff, We've always been the power behind the throne, controlling everything you ever did. Splicing every bit of data you gathered. I'm surprised you never realized."
"Why did you destroy the Council Headquarters?"
"It was an ugly building Jeff, we never liked it. Besides, we think Comcast HQ will do just fine."
|
"Ah, yes. That story." Nathan burbed out something under his breath.
"Of course, let me get my journal." He ambled over to his drawer and pulled out a dusty journal.
"Here it is." he raised his voice in excitement.
Ray was always interested in how things became how they are right now. He often poked his grandfather to tell him that, and it's finally they both found time to sit down and talk about it.
Suddenly, Ray's excitement of hearing the story was interrupted by a doorbell. Nathan put down the journal on the couch and slombered over to answer it. He opened the door, and there he was - a lifeless Amazon employee, delivering a package. He signed it over and put it on a table, returning back to his journal.
"Hmph, let's begin."
Nathan cleaned the dust off the cover of the journal and flipped open the first page.
"It all began with 'The Company' - the unstoppable conglomerate. They appeared out of nowhere, and began buying up everything concerning technology - Disney, Google, Amazon, Facebook - you name it, they owned it."
As Ray listened, he started more and more believing that all of this was a conspiracy theory.
"But who was 'The Company'?" Ray wanted to know.
"Nobody knows. Some say it was a company created by the government to gain control over the citizens, some say it was created by some nameless billionaire. You are free to make up your own ideas of who they are." Nathan mumbled out, and darted his eyes back to his journal.
"Very quickly, 'The Company' became, ironically, the company. They were one of the largest companies in the entire world. They quickly started to take over the world's economy. They had their hands in everything - entertainment, search engines, social sites, logistics..." Nathan gasped for air...
"...they had everything. Every little company quickly got bought out and got connected with the larger companies. When people realized that almost everything on the Internet belonged to a single company - it was too little too late." Nathan turned his gaze to the floor, then looked at Ray:
"Too little, too late."
| 2017-12-15T13:27:47 | 2017-12-15T13:18:16 | 52 | 12 |
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