prompt
stringlengths 20
5.8k
| chosen_story
stringlengths 226
10k
| rejected_story
stringlengths 227
9.43k
| chosen_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
2022-12-31 14:34:19
| rejected_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
2022-12-31 12:20:41
| chosen_upvotes
int64 14
23.1k
| rejected_upvotes
int64 10
4.26k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] When you die, the karma you accumulated through good deeds (or bad) are the points you get to spend on your new character creation.
|
As I ascend the spiraling stair case, I think of the times when devils and angels sat on my shoulder. I think of the times when a clear mind, was an empty mind (a consequence of needing black and white thinking in a world perceived in color). I think of how there are no absolutes in life, yet when we flip a coin, we rarely want it to land on its edge. I never helped my fellow man, but I never hurt him either. I was a good neighbor. I thought one day that my fate would be whispered to me, or I would stumble upon a pot of gold.
As I approached The Gates of Rebirth, I noticed a giant door with a white zero on top as well as a guard in front.
The man says to me, "you may not pass."
"Everyone can pass, even the evil ones," I replied.
"You are not evil."
"Well, then I am good, and I get to go through anyways."
He placed his arm in front of me, " but you are not good, either, you must stay here, in front of the gate, forever."
Maybe hell was like heaven for bad people, like heaven is like heaven for good people. Maybe purgatory was perfect for people like me. As I stood before the gate, unable to enter, I came to the conclusion that to be good was beautiful, and bad, ugly, but to be nothing, to do nothing, to say nothing, was not to fade away, it was to never exist at all.
The only sin in this life was indecision.
|
"Jesus, why are you going down there again? It's been almost two thousand years since you were down there last time. We all know what happened last time."
"I'm not going for redemption this time, Michael. This time I'm going for vengeance."
"Well at least remove that ridiculous moustache from your avatar."
"Ridiculous! HA! When you think Charlie, do you think ridiculous? NO you don't."
"Calling him Charlie even though he just made his character a few days ago isn't changing anything. Look with your points you should be able to make yourself into anything and get a decent start at this life."
"This is what I want Michael. I don't expect you to understand."
"OK. Fine I may not understand but taking Mary with you in this. Do you think you'll be able to find her?"
"Of course we will find each other."
"At least your names need to be changed, you can't be European and have names like Jesus and Mary. Can I at least reccomended something to the two of you?"
"Yeah. What is it?"
"When you are down there try to forget about this revenge thing and live your lives. Please."
"I'll think about it Michael. Now is there anything else before we get started?"
"No. Nothing else, good luck Jesus."
---------
Any and all comments appreciated.
| 2016-10-08T09:16:55 | 2016-10-08T07:09:46 | 123 | 41 |
[WP]"In about an hour you will have a choice to make," said the spirit. "Regretfully for you, both options lead to your death, but only one choice will be painless." You were determined to find the painless option when he added, "And the other... the other choice will make your death meaningful."
|
"Do I have to die?" I asked the man opposite me.
He was a classically handsome man. A head of perfectly groomed sandy blond hair, sharp, defined features, and a pressed pinstripe suit. He looked more like an old stock broker than an emissary of Death. One eyebrow arched at my question, the only break in his steely facade.
"Mister Hendricks..." He said with little emotion. "We all must go sometime."
"I know that, but why does it have to be now? Why when I'm so close..." I trailed off.
I had finally begun to make something of myself. I had left the sparse street corners and empty bars behind. I had a real gig set aside. The kind with stage lights and expensive equipment. The kind with a crowd of people, all paying and waiting to see me play.
After seven years, I felt like I had finally achieved something. I was a winner. I was hitting my stride.
But the Reaper got to me first.
"If not today, then it would be some other, seemingly random day." The Reaper said professionally. "You could get into a car wreck on March 3rd, choke on a breath mint on July 20th, or slip on a patch of ice and crack your skull on November 27th."
I looked at him, horrified by the cold, clinical way that he spoke.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up to me again. Compassion and a slight amount of shame present on his face. "I apologize. What I had meant to say was this: every say, you open your eyes and take your life in your hands. You hop into a two ton mass of metal, plastic, and burning gasoline, drive at speeds no land animal could match, and meet with friends to drink diluted poison. You make every choice in life with the possibility of death."
"But that doesn't mean I should be afraid all the time," I blurted out defensively, "Life is meant to be lived."
"Of course." The Reaper said with a ghost of a smile. "But life is only worth living because it ends."
I was silent for a while. The Reaper's eyes slowly drew to the unopened beer on my countertop, right next to my car keys. I had reasoned to myself that the one beer wouldn't hurt anyone. That I would be fine.
"That is your first option. You drink that, having eaten nothing all day and with little body fat to help you tolerate any of it, get into your car, and go to the nearest restaurant as a celebration of the big day tomorrow. You've earned it, after all. Partway through the drive, you begin to feel the slight buzz that comes at the start of a drinking session and fail to notice the car speeding through the intersection. You die on impact. It is painless, despite all appearances."
I swallowed hard "You're sure?"
He nodded "Positive. I will make sure of it personally."
Slowly, I began to nod. At least it will be painless. At least I will have that much. It's more than some get. "Okay..."
"Listen to my second choice before you come to a decision." The Reaper interrupted. "The second option is this: you leave both your drink and keys here and go for a walk. You take your guitar with you to the usual street corner. One last hurrah before your new life as a professional begins. You play a few songs, drawing a decent crowd. Some people throw a few coins in, some just watch and listen. Songs are requested. Some happy, some sad. You test the full range of your playing ability. Everyone is smiling, but none smile wider than you do. It is a peaceful night."
His eyes scanned me, seeing if I was prepared to hear what came next. I wasn't, but I needed to know. I nodded for him to continue.
"Finally, a new member joins the crowd and requests a song. *I'll Follow You Into the Dark.* It's morbid, but oddly fitting. You play it well. So well that a young boy turns his attention to you as he passes, causing him to drop the ball he is holding onto the crosswalk. He doesn't see the car coming as he gives chase. Nor do any of the crowd, but you do. You drop your guitar, only for it to catch on your shoulder strap as you shove your way through the growd into the street. At the last second, you manage to shove the boy out of the way. Your guitar explodes onto a shower of splinters and strings, and your vision goes white. For several minutes, you are left on the asphalt, covered in the shards of your once-pristine guitar. The crowd that was listening to you play now gather around, trying to get you help. You pass away in front of them."
I was silent for a long moment, feeling the weight of what the Reaper had said bear down upon me.
"That's it?" I asked. "I finally get a crowd and then die? What kind of ending is that? And I suffer at the end of it?"
The Reaper shook his head "It's not that simple."
"It sure sounds like it is. You fed me all of this shit before about how important it is to die, and both of my choices are awful. Why can't I just stay in tonight and watch TV?"
"We all must go sometime." He repeated.
"Yeah," I said smugly. "All of us but you, eh Death?"
The Reaper stiffened, his pale grey eyes locked on me. "I took my first steps the very second that life began. When it ends, so will I. We *all* must go sometime."
There was a rage at the edge of his voice, but it never rose. Not even a little. It was the quiet, bitter anger that simmered over millennia.
I looked down, defeated. "Why do I have to die like this? Why are these my choices?"
"The first is painless, but lonely." He said softly. "You will die alone, half-drunk, on your way to celebrate a hollow victory. A decision you would have made all on your own."
I looked again at my counter for a brief moment before my eyes dropped. "I've been alone before."
"Yes. You have. You spent your whole life chasing crowds, trying to get one step higher on some metaphorical ladder of success. You told yourself you didn't have time for anyone else. That you needed to be successful first."
I looked across the room to my guitar case. "And in my other choice, I get it."
"Yes. You play your songs for them, enjoying the music. The chase doesn't matter to you, nor does the crowd, and the music feels sweeter for it. You die happy, and not alone."
I looked at the Reaper, with the soft smile creasing his perfectly-groomed face.
"Die painlessly but alone, or die in peace." I said, my mind finally made up. "Okay."
|
I sipped my wine. Across
the room, an ashen figure mirrored me.
As I lay my glass back on the table, he broke the charade. The glass held, more floated, in his
hand. We sat in silence, the fireplace
to our side cackling and spitting to fill the silence.
“How much pain?” I asked.
The spirit finally lowered his glass. It gave a soft clink as it touched the
floor to the side of his chair.
“For which option?” The spirit’s appendages folded into his lap
as he spoke.
“Both I suppose.”
“For the prior, there is practically none. It will feel as if you were drifting off to
sleep. As for the latter,” The spirit brought
the wine back to what would have been his mouth again, “Much and more.”
I thought, and drank.
The spirit sat across from me had appeared with little fanfare. As of late, I had been seeing shadows dance
across the edges of my vision. I had
written them off as sleepless hallucinations, until they entered the forefront
of my sight. Still, I persisted in my
denial. I was able to convince myself
that what I was seeing wasn’t there, until tonight.
I was sat in my living room enjoying a glass of wine and the
latest Koontz novel, when the shadow appeared again. I buried my face deeper into the book, not
reading the words, simply escaping the terrifying reality of my own
perception. When I dared to peek above
the edge of the book’s cover, there he was.
Some ephemeral imitation of a human form. He sat, more slumped, in the leathern seat
across from mine.
I had shut my eyes.
It was a vague attempt to vanquish the errors of my own cognizance; it
failed, and the shadow persisted. That
was the moment I realized I must accept these shadows as reality. Insane or not, these silhouettes were here to
stay. I lowered the cover of the novel,
half expecting the shadow to dissipate before my eyes, but it remained.
“May I drink with you?” It asked.
I had been ready to
accept the reality of specters at that moment, so pouring one a glass of wine
did not seem to be too far a leap. The
visage drank in the same way you or I would.
He sat in a polite, almost self-conscious, way. I found these qualities endearing, until he
spoke again.
“In about an hour you will have a choice to make. Regretfully for you, both options lead to
your death, but only one will be painless.”
“Why would I choose to endure the pain?”
“For the good of others,” The spirit said, and sipped.
“If you’ve the power to allow me to decide between what
death I receive, is there no way to allow me to live?” I had meant to sound
self-righteous, almost intimidating, with that.
The belief came crashing as I saw the wine burble and shake in my
trembling hand.
“No. I would tell you
that I am sorry, but I am not. I have been
given a task, and you are the focus.”
“Then why me!?” I had screamed. In doing so, I knocked the intravenous stand. It wobbled on its stand, and settled. The specter’s false eyes followed it. The
visage set its glass down again.
“Because you’ve nothing to live for, and nothing to die for.”
Much to my behest, I felt tears begin to pool at my eyes. I searched, clawed, for something in my
heart. Something to spit at this excuse
for a death knell, but nothing came.
Only then, the tears appeared. I
did not cry in earnest, only allowed the tears to escape.
“Then what do you offer me?” I asked.
It was then that the spirit rose. It crossed the short distance between my
chair and his and laid its hand on my chest.
“You will die in pain, great pain. But you will die with the presence of mind
that others will not suffer because of your sacrifice. Those that cross this mortal veil will not
have such a privilege.”
I clasped the hand. I
expected to feel something tangible in my grip, but felt only my fingers biting
into my palm.
“What is my reward then? A peace of mind as I pass?”
“Yes,” The spirit grabbed my arm in turn. I felt his fingers; they were burning, and like
iron.
“Then why wouldn’t I choose the latter? If I’m to pass as
you say then why not die in peace?”
“All die. Even me, though
so little die with purpose. Would you not spare yourself the same fate?”
“I’d wish myself to pass quietly.” I wrenched the grasp of the spirit from my
arm.
“Even Myra? Would you see the same panic, the same
desperation that grips you?”
I felt myself slack at those words. I had wanted to be irate, to fight, to cling
to my life, but I found myself unable. I
feel that the spirit sensed this; he closed in again.
“I offer you something to die for. There are few who have that privilege,” His
voice was softer, almost cooing. “I will
not deny you the comfort of eternal sleep.
I only ask that you endure the agony beforehand, to suffer on the behalf
of those who must not. I told you, I am
here with a task. You were chosen by my
hand. Please accept it.”
The specters arm formed into a misty imitation of a palm in
front of mine. Against my own will, I
took it in hand.
The tears I had let fall before came in earnest.
It is now that I write my final words. Had I been duped, had I been fooled, I’ll
know I passed for a giving cause. In these
final moments I beseech of you dear reader—remember the name Edward Jr. May the
name and story give comfort to those who brave this mortal coil, to those who
find themselves comforting a fading loved one, and to those who feel the call
of the reaper. My name is Edward, and I’ll
have not died for naught.
| 2021-11-26T21:53:55 | 2021-11-26T20:19:02 | 277 | 22 |
[WP]“Dear Sir Knight, after the recent attacks by the dragons who claim they need to see their princess’ heir, we have come to believe you may have misread our request to slay the dragon.” Having read the letter, you take one surprised look at your wife and her half-dragon child. “Whoops”
|
If it had been an easier task, they would have handled it themselves. But no, it had been a dirty job, so they had called upon me.
They call me Randoh. Once, I had a name. I had a family, once. I can sometimes remember the farm. The peace, sometimes. But then the Greenskins attacked. They came in the night, slaughtered our livestock, took my family and left me for dead. That was their mistake.
The ditch-digger had me half buried before I woke up. He thought I might be some unholy dead thing. Maybe I am dead. Maybe I died that burning night. Maybe, for a time, I became death.
I tracked the Greenskins that attacked my home back to their tribe. My boyhood pursuits had taught me squirrels are much harder to follow. I watched them. I waited. I took my vengeance on the Greenskins one by one in that dark, stinking forest. I buried what was left of my family, my life, and walked away.
They call me Randoh.
I take the dirty jobs no one else is desperate, or stupid enough to take. They call on me when anyone else who might have is dead or pissing themselves on a corner. The fiend of Gizerald, the Lizardking of Tamash, the troll tribe of Backshe... they tried to give me a knighthood for that one.
Fuck 'em I said. Who needs a title when you don't even have a name?
It took them time to find me, but they caught up when I visited town. Covered in Greenskin blood and ichor, I must have looked more beast than man, turning in the ears I had collected on my most recent raid against the hordes. A Dragon, they said. Only a fool, they said. Or a man with a death-wish would face it.
I didn't care about The Dragon Empire, or the unsteady peace, or that war was about to break out. I had been War for years. I took the job.
I travelled to Fort Krox and walked into that smoking castle where the kingdom kept its treasury safe under guard. And I fought.
I found an adversary as keen and focused as i had ever been; a match for my determination and will if ever there was one. The battle raged for days, as gouts of flame, dragon roars, toppling towers attested to. The battle ended one dark night when a metallic shriek and storm of wings announced the dragons retreat.
They offered me gold, they offered me riches. I refused and left, for I had taken a greater wound than any of them could know. Deep in the darkness of the castle I had faced that dragon. It had used its wits, its magic to draw my words from me, to make me confront my own past. And in the end, it had used beauty to break that terrible hold that Death had upon me. But the sword that had wounded me had not been one-sided.
The Dragon Empire, at the request of the Greenskin tribes, had sent their best against me, a princess of their kind. But she never returned home to her people.
Months later the letter caught up to me, a missive delivered by the King's own Herald. I had looked to my wife with her brilliant fire-red hair nursing our newborn daughter. Her bright eyes, ever challenging, met mine as I read the message aloud, followed by an "Ooops."
"So, what are you going to do... -Sir Knight-?"
I grinned at her choice of title and tore the parchment in half before I returned it to the Herald.
"Please tell the king that there is no Randoh here, nor any Knights or Dragons. We are but humble merchants here at the House of Jimothy."
|
"Sir Longdong this is a serious matter, a "whoops" do not solve the problem. Right now villages and towns along the Drakig Plains is under constant fear of attack. There are no less than 12 towns and villages burned to the ground."
"What can I say, I'm really bad with fancy writing. I can't really differentiate those curvy characters" - Longdong speak as he caress his daughter hair. The girl is sleeping soundly on Longdong lap, her mouth sucking on her little hand, covers in small red scales.
"So what are you intending to do?" The messengers gave the dragon princess a troubled glance. Nobody could have guess the beautiful lady standing there was a dragon, nevertheless one of the most powerful dragons ever walked this land for the last 500 years. He should have see the sign when Longdong carry a naked girl wrapped in his cloak out of the castle after the battle. They all assumed the dragon felled to the bottonless cliff behind the castle, as they were too scared to follow him into the castle. He quickly turned his gaze away, as he felt he was drawn in by her beauty and realize he stared at her just a little bit too much, not knowing whether that was a side effect of the transformation spell or it was simply her breathtaking beauty at work. Now that he think about it, she was really bewitching back then too.
"Me? I'm going to do nothing. I remember that you guy didn't even bother to reward me what was promised for reclaiming the damned fort or castle or whatever that place was. Beside, I don't intend to present myself to my inlaw anytime soon, as my wife is still want to let them freak out for a bit more time."
"But villages are being destroyed! The king will pay you handsomely if you finish the job. I can guarantee that with my life if you wish for it."
"Villages that I told you guys not to build there to begin with? Sorry, not my problem. And I'm sure the Fire Dragon dude, Jyvufi or whatever his name is gave the resident time to run before turning the place into ashes. That bastard dislike the smell of burning flesh after all."
The young knight accompanying the messenger drew his swords and point at the Longdong's wife and child as he speak:
"You leave me no choice Sir Knight, by the authority bestowed upon me by his Highness the King and His Holiness the Pope, I declare you and the dragons are hereby arrest on charge of heresy and treachery against the thr---"
Before he could finish his word, he was sent flying in the air then slam into the tree, snapping it in half.
"Let me be clear here" - Longdong was already standing beside the messenger and his squire, hanging his hand over their shoulders - "I don't really give a fuck about your asshole King or the Pope, so don't think their name have any leverage here. I don't give a damn about you guy pointing sword at me either, I got that a lot in my life already. But the next time any of you dare to point a weapon, or even a god damn finger at my wife or my child, I shall turn the Capital castle into an abandoned castle. I'm letting you leave this place because thank to you I did get to marry the sweetest girl in this world, eventhough you guy tried to request me to kill her, but then again you did treat her quite well during our trip back and she want me to spare you ass of the beating that gonna follow. Consider it my last warning. Oh, one last thing, Tarlia want to know do you want to stay for dinner?".
| 2019-09-01T10:11:07 | 2019-09-01T09:42:26 | 1,579 | 628 |
[WP] Every sentient species in the universe receives a Jesus figure from God. It turns out humanity was the only species to torture and crucify him. You're an ambassador priest informing the Inter-Galactic Holy Church what your species did.
|
We crucified him.
You crucified him?
Crucifixion. We took two wooden posts, nailed them together to make a cross, and we stuck the cross in the ground so it stood up nice and tall. Then we tied his arms and legs to it and left him hanging there for a few days until he was nearly dead, and then we stabbed him in the guts with a spear to finish the job.
To your savior. You call him . . . Jesus?
Jesus.
You hanged him by a post and then stabbed him with a spear?
I wouldn't say we *hanged* him. Hanging is more of a European thing. That's when you put a rope around somebody's neck and toss em out of a tree. Much quicker that way. No, the Romans liked to make a show of it, that's why the crucifixion. Takes longer, there's more suffering. They hadn't gone through the Enlightenment yet.
The Enlightenment . . . Enlightenment . . . I don't have that in my records. This came after Jesus?
Oh, a long time after. It was a new age of science and reason.
So, while you initially rejected the Savior we sent you, eventually your race arrived at this Enlightenment through him?
Well, I wouldn't say that exactly. The Church didn't much care for the Enlightenment at first - the Church of Jesus, I mean - and we put a whole lot of folks on the rack for saying things like the earth isn't the center of the universe.
Do I even want to know what the rack is?
Sure. That's where you tie a person to a plank, kind of like a bed, and you stretch him out until his bones come loose. Sometimes you're looking for a confession and you ask em questions in the meantime.
I see. And it was the Savior's church that did this?
Yessir. All water under the bridge, of course. We don't even hate queers anymore.
Hmmm . . . Getting back to this crucifixion . . . I'm having trouble even forming the question. Let's say, Why did you torture and kill our messenger of peace of love?
Well hindsight's twenty-twenty I suppose. Who was to say he wasn't a kook? A lot of people for a long time liked to blame it on the Jews of course, and some on the Romans. Personally, I think if you didn't want us crucify him you should of set him down somewhere in Nebraska.
They don't crucify in Nebraska?
No sir. I mean, there's always the electric chair, but there's a process for that.
So you tortured and killed our messenger of peace and love because hindsight is twenty-twenty and we didn't set him down in Nebraska. Is that your official statement? That's what you want the record to show?
Sounds fair.
And the church that eventually developed around him - God knows how - this church tortured people for being reasonable because of something called the Enlightenment.
There's no denying history.
And what exactly is this church up to now?
Charitable works, proselytization, weddings and funerals. We pretty much just adapt our values to mirror secular advances and try to guilt folks into the pews.
So you're not crucifying, hanging, racking, or electric-chairing anybody.
Not anymore, no.
Would you say that, in spite of your past, you've become a church of peace and love, as intended by the Savior we sent you?
Well . . .
Oh God.
We do currently have our hands full with this child rape scandal. We're spending a lot of money in court.
Child rape?!
It's because we don't let our priests have sex. They go a little stir crazy and take it out on the kids.
Your priests are raping children.
Some of em, yeah.
How - are there any members left in this church?
Quite a few.
How many?
A coupla billion.
Billion? Did you just say *billion*?
Yeah. Billion.
Fuck it, welcome aboard.
|
The council chambers, despite their vastness and high, vaulted ceilings felt claustrophobic as all eyes fell on me. None of them were human, either. Species of every type had gathered here today, as was custom for welcoming another into their fold. But our membership into their ranks was...unique. They had analyzed our history, and found one glaring detail that made them not so sure of our worthiness.
I stood on an elevated platform, alone amongst a sea of suspicious and fearful gazes, the ambassador of my entire to the rest of the galaxy. In front of me were a half circle of representatives from the most respected races, who had each garnered special favor from the Almighty himself, for having followed his laws and obeyed his commands. At the center of this council sat a rather large, dragon-like creature who lazily thumbed through some documents, occasionally glancing up at me with a strange look on its face. After a few more moments of this silence, with me anxiously awaiting *any* form of a response, the creature cleared its throat and began to speak.
"So let me get this straight, human. The Creator himself sends his sacred envoy to educate your species about his will and intent, and you execute him? What a barbarous people. I'm having doubts about whether or not your species can...*assimilate* properly within galactic society."
"Respectfully, chairlizard, you have no idea what my people have gone through."
"Ex*cuse* me?"
"While you were so content to merely be cattle and lazily live your lives as slaves to your master, we have had to claw and fight and kill for everything we've accomplished!"
The crowd behind me gasped at the outburst, and began furiously talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. The dragon, I couldn't pronounce the name, called for order and silence was restored, though the tension in the air could've been cut with a knife.
"Your people have chosen the path of barbarism and heresy! This is where your hardships spawned from! If you had but opened your hearts to our Lord's divine truth, your suffering would never have occurred." Murmurs of agreement could be heard throughout the chamber.
"How much of what you've done has been wrought by your own hands? How many of your own thoughts have been your own? Yes, we murdered an innocent man in cold blood, but we have tried our best to atone for past sins."
"Child, you have but to turn to the Creator and beg for forgiveness to be absolved of this most heinous act. And as for trying to *atone* for past sins, well, we have records showing that even though a mighty belief rose up in his name, wars were still waged throughout your world in the name of this belief. Your people are addicted to warfare, human."
"We don't need *his* forgiveness. We need our own. We have nothing to prove to you. This is a formality, really. We are just introducing ourselves to you, not joining you. We have no wish to be a member of the blind herd. We will retain our autonomy, respectfully, and we still wish to have open trade and negotiations with your collective."
"Human, first your species kills His most holy envoy, and *then* you decline an invitation to join our ranks? Have you no decency?"
"I apologize for any inconveniences this may have caused, but trust me. Humans and Gods don't mix well." With that final remark I turned and proceeded down the stairs and out of the council chambers. The high council was left speechless, but the crowd was raucous with hissing and jeering.
Why would we have wanted to join them, anyway? Humans craved knowledge, and were punished for it. We had to suffer for every ounce of it we gained, but gain it we did. Humanity no longer *needed* gods to explain existence for themselves. *We* had become the rulers of all we beheld, for it was through our blood and sweat and determination that we conquered it. Not by begging some deity, real or not, to do it for us.
| 2016-08-18T06:00:42 | 2016-08-18T04:37:42 | 145 | 21 |
[WP] You are the luckiest person on Earth. Everything you make an attempt for works in your favor. However, there two catches: you are absorbing the luck of those around you, and anyone who tries to profit from your luck (even with your help) is met with the worst luck immediately.
Holy crap, front page of the sub!
Great work everyone! The stories you're generating are awesome!
Thanks for all the submissions! Keep them coming!
|
I look to the left and right, everyone frozen waiting for my move. I knew they knew. They had to. Nobody who decided to play against me didn't do the research first. I was good, no I was lucky. You don't live in this game long if you are unlucky.
Holding two cards, looking down a red two face up staring back at me. All or nothing on this. Nobody plays this game for this much money, what am I doing?!
I should just get up now, walk away. They would never let me do that. Too much money on the line. People are always convinced that I cheat, they wanted to make sure I wasn't going to take them for everything. Two cards in my hand.
After being the best for so long you start to look for a challenge, but even in these underground games this just seems too easy. Like they WANT me to win. But who could part with that much money. Millions...ON A CARD GAME?!
One tournament win after another and years later look where I am. In an underground club, playing for millions of dollars with some of the best and most ruthless players of this niche game. But, after a long and grueling game, with everything on the line.
This was it, time to take it all and walk out. I grabbed my green 2 card and placed it down. Holding a wild in my hand I said the one word that made the table shake.
"Uno"
|
... years have passed, I've learned to appreciate my luck, and think I have, too, found the way to love anyone, and for they not to be punished by my curse.
I have experienced the desperation of the bad luck myself. I was born like this. My parents were always there, hardworking to provide me the things that I didn't easily get from the universe; but while growing, evidence of their resentment and disturbance towards each other came floating, as they grew apart and bitter.
As a teen it was great also. Great at all sports, mainly soccer. Played only one season and won the trophy as Player with Most Goals in the Competition, but the team got relegated and lost the sponsors that maintained us in the league.
While growing as a person and forgetting the hatred I had for my wonderful life, I started to pay attention to the kinds of love that I had emitted, but not ever recieved.
There's where I woke.
I was born to live for myself. I now do things that only make me happy. If after a while it gets lonely to earn one ticket prizes to Bali or Paris, I remember that I must love everyone. And here is when it gets tricky.
Love is not something that you send or recieve. Love is not kissing, hugging, helping. Love is understanding. And I now understand that I express my love by not interacting with those I care about.
It is the life that I have the luck to live.
| 2015-10-17T12:59:57 | 2015-10-17T10:39:25 | 80 | 21 |
[WP] You are a demon possesing a teen that has just been adopted by loving parents. You do your best to terrify them. But the more you do, the more they love you and want to parent you.
|
I don't remember when I started wearing this girl like a second skin. I don't remember why I picked her. It might well have been because she was there and she had no one who would have cared, fought for her, or even noticed she had an unwelcome guest.
But possession is a finicky art. It's easy enough for hit-and-runs: get in, hit hard, get out. Spin a few heads, release all the juicy stuff the target keeps repressed, give the middle finger to any exorcists who show up to evict you.
When you're in it for the long haul, as I intended and still intend to be, it gets trickier.
I'd burrowed into the corners of the girl's mind, stretching and smoothing it out to accommodate my presence. I entwined myself with her soul, weaving in and through the composite structure of her psyche. Eventually it made no sense to talk about me and her: without me there was no her.
And I was alone. I was a monster and I gloried in it, knowing the true face of the world. I was taken from the people who'd opened the door to this abomination. It was too late.
And yet...
I was adopted. Even after the disastrous procession of foster homes, the ruthless dissections of precious objects, pets, beliefs. They still wanted to take a chance on me. To heal me and make me whole.
I was more than whole. More complete than they could ever have imagined. I thought it would be easy to twist their love into a weapon and reveal them for the monsters they really were.
But my adoptive parents met spite with patience and firmness, hate with unwavering love. They saw through my attempts to pit them at each other, talked to their friends, went to support groups, and came back renewed, their love for me and each other as strong as it had ever been, still ready and willing to help me towards the light. And something in me reacted to that. I felt it lurch in my chest.
Eventually I grew desperate enough to try other means, to no avail. They wiped blood off walls and gently suggested red paint instead. They critiqued the harmonics of the ominous chanting, laughed off visions that their friends and loved ones were demons plotting against them and chose to trust anyway.
One night I had enough. I waited until they were both in bed, then snuck down to the kitchen and grabbed the largest, sharpest knife I could find. I crept to their bedroom, quietly turned the doorknob, and let myself in.
I stood over them as they slept, my knife poised to plunge into their throats, and something in me *screamed.*
I froze.
*They love me. They refuse to break. I can't break them.*
They deserved to die.
But a hair's breadth away from their throat, my knife stopped again.
My adoptive parents opened their eyes, and they gleamed like embers in the dark.
"Finally decided to reveal yourself, dear?" my adoptive mother said. "It was about time."
"It's okay." My father put a hand on my shoulder. He smiled, and there was nothing of the demon in his voice at all. "*We know.*"
|
Twitch stretched his newfound claws - they were smaller than his old ones, but far, far sharper.
It hadn’t been Twitch’s intention to possess the cat. He’d been aiming for the Rottweiler in the next cage over. But over the past two weeks, he’d grown to love his new body.
For one, it was spry - practically a teenager, in cat years.
For another, it was adorable. He’d be in a human home in no time.
“What about this one?” called a tinny voice. Twitch had listened to the screams of the damned for the past 9,000 years, and still he winced.
A monster of a woman rounded the corner. Her bleached hair was piled up in an enormous tangle of curls and highlights and hairspray. Shoulder pads like pauldrons framed her stick-like neck, and the costume jewelry on her wrists clanged wildly as she gestured toward the lithe black form he wore.
“He’s beautiful,” she said, gripping the wire of the cage. Twitch instinctively swatted at her fingers, but his claws just slid off of her dagger-like acrylic nails.
“I’ll name him Chuckles,” she said, gesturing to someone Twitch couldn’t quite see. “Get the paperwork. We’re going straight from here to my groomers.”
Twitch gave the woman another look - cheetah-print stirrup pants. A belt that could only be decorative. An enormous purse dangling from her massive left pauldron.
She stank of cigarettes and JC Penney perfume.
“You are going to be my best friend,” she said. “I’m Elaine. You can call me Aunt Elaine. And you’re going to be just the most adorable thing. We’re going to get you a lion cut and a new collar, one with lots of spangly little bells, and we’re going to curl up and watch Gossip Girl every weekend.”
Twitch backed slowly toward the rear of the cage, curling a lip. Like recognized like.
“How long have you been here?” he said. “In that shape?”
Elaine - Aunt Elaine - smiled.
“Oh, since 1984 or so,” she said. “I love it here. I blend. You won’t believe how hellish Pittsburgh can be.”
“I was told I’d have the chance to roam, corrupt the innocent, generally spread ill-will-”
“Yeah, no need for that,” she said. “I’ll show you the news later. Our work is done. Has been, for quite some time. Do you know these people made a bomb that could wipe out whole cities - before they even invented the Internet? And boy oh boy - wait till you see what’s on that thing.”
She pushed her skeletal fingers back into the mesh of the cage.
“You do get lonely, though,” she said. “Very few of our own kind around. And you’re in such a cute, compact shape.”
Twitch suddenly felt trapped in his furry skin. Which he very much was.
“C’mon, Chuckles,” she said. “It’s time to go home.”
| 2021-01-19T07:38:43 | 2021-01-19T07:23:00 | 61 | 32 |
[WP] You live in a utopian society. Really. There are no dark hidden plots. In fact, it is your job to stage fake conspiracies to give the eager adventurers some 'evil plot' to thwart in order to keep them from bringing down a wholly benevolent ruler out of a misguided need to be the hero.
|
"So you understand your job?"
"No..." I paused a moment, "I understand the words you just told me, sure, however, I am not sure, WHY you would want to do this?"
"Okay, so, our society is just, well, amazing, right? " I nodded and Madam Presidente continued, "So, One of the things we learned early after we cured cancer, after we figured out that we didn't need to have homeless people, after we didn't need to have hunger, is that people, the majority of people, are really happy. However, there are always a subset of society that needs to believe the worst, in everyone, including me, our government, how we are able to provide for all. All of that. To them, a very vocal, yet small minority, needs to protest *'something' ,* now, that's where you come in."
"Why?"
"To be honest, if we don't do this kind of thing and draw them out, they will kill innocents in the name of something being wrong with our society. So, Every few years, the government has to plant some ideas in the heads of people who we have already figured out from psychological testing in school that will be a problem. If we can give them something to believe in, you know, like the *Ortho 5* or the *Seven Rivers 12*, we can prevent the nuke from being set off in Chicago in 2278."
"There was no nuke set off in Chicago in 2278."
"Exactly! We correctly assessed the threat from Norman Johnson and his *3 Little Bears in Sox* and prevented that." Madam Presidente looked very pleased with herself.
"How?"
"Well, you present a different threat. When those people discover that threat that looks real, they become patriotic and try to defeat the threat, instead of trying to topple a peaceful government. "
"Dormad Gurvey?" I remembered a situation we had when I was a boy. He had a conspiracy theory that the government was feeding dead people to people. He had quite a few followers, then it was discovered his sources were really trying to create new private farms for profit again. Those new farms would use pesticides to keep the weevils off of their new peach crops. However, the pesticides were dangerous to the bee population, and after the great hive collapse of '38, we had shifted everything to nano-bots that could help the bees while hindering the weevils.
"None of that was real. All part of our efforts to keep people happy."
"Someone will find out?" I stammered.
"No, they won't and you will make sure of it. I need to see your written proposal on my desk in 3 weeks. Oh, and I have given this same assignment to people in Districts 18 and 23. The best one will be implemented and well those not chosen..."
"No..."
"Oh yes, peace at any cost."
|
I’d tap my feet as I sort through reports, I have one of the most important jobs in the Terran Confederation, The Minister of Internal Security, I used to be a intelligence agent for the Agency of State Security, under the reign of the dictator Veltarian Nellfar. Now I run one of the 10 Ministries that make up the Confederations Government, aside from the leading political body, the High Senate, a body of 50 senators. Each ministry has their pretty simple goal and operations, the Ministries, of Defense, Agriculture, Transportation, Infrastructure, Industry, Health Care, Research, Public Broadcasting, and Labor, all have their things. Then there is mine, the secret Ministry, the one that the crackpots and self proclaimed hero’s, claim to be the secret police supporting a government controlling everything, as intimidating as we sound, our job is to draw out these “hero’s” and then we fabricate their very own adventure, as much as they claim to be important, they are just a standard day for us.
I’d open up the holo surveillance gear to the “drop ship” our most recent level 4 and threat, is one that said totally not a big box that shakes a bit to simulate flight, and they are my biggest issue, it’s a group of 5 high schoolers, each with a class A hero complex, aka what we call people who believe they are born to save the people around them, and will be in denial and actively persue violence to satisfy this belief, out of all the levels of this complex, this one is the worst.
Yet the actual reason we are focused on this group so much, this their self proclaimed leader, a Level 10 threat, he has a condition called, a Class A Protaganist Complex, this big muscular athlete is a problem, his condition causes him to have no regard for society, social boundaries, these types are violent, and often are sociopaths, this guy in particular nearly raped his “love interest” because he couldn’t accept her rejection, that’s when we fired the sleepy dart and hauled him to site 21.
Now this “team of hero’s” is being briefed by the “rebels” about their first mission, I have my best actors for this assignment, we even used procedure 19, injected them with dyed water and simulated they had super powers each matching their “spirit” if you can’t already tell, these types are easy to fool, yet they are dangerose when not in containment, as even in the brief time frame they are acting in this way, they can do serious damage.
I’d lean back as the “battle” begins, with my actors and hero’s fighting robots and other actors, with rifles filled with blanks, that detonate hidden blood packs, the hero’s with their “powers” smash through the “enemy” and win the day.
I’d then switch to the next room over, sound proofed walls of course, and watch the exact same simulation be run with another group again.
| 2021-09-08T08:25:25 | 2021-09-08T08:24:33 | 34 | 22 |
[WP] The most depressing back story that you can come up with in a few paragraphs
|
It started out simple enough, as it always does. A little nip here, a little nip there; just to keep the edge off, you know? I don’t need it, I can quit whenever I want.
So my wife, she was this gorgeous creature. Seriously, I still have the ring. I don’t wear it anymore since it just doesn’t seem right with her husband and all, but I still got it. But anyway, she was this gorgeous creature, and I loved her; still do in fact. I would do anything for her, but I wouldn’t stop with the nips. She asked me too, begged me too, told me she loved me and would see me through this, but I refused. I told her I can quit whenever I want.
Eventually my son, my Jimmy, started asking me to stop with the nips. Telling me that I was scaring him and mommy. I tried to tell him that he didn’t understand, that I didn’t need the nips, they were just to take the edge off. He begged me and I shoved him out of the way. My wife begged me to stop and I screamed at her to shut up, I can quit whenever I want.
The judge put a restraining order on me, said the black eyes and bruises on my wife and son were enough evidence for him to completely revoke my visitation rights. He also ordered me to go to a rehab center, but I told him I didn’t need that, I can quit whenever I want.
Well here I am, ten years later, mister, living under a bridge. I just need a nip, a little drink every now and again, just to keep the edge off. I’ll be honest, that’s why I need some change mister. Because it turns out I can’t quit whenever I want.
|
I remember the last time I saw my mother. I was 11 years old. I was sitting in the passenger seat of her '94 Paseo. "I HATE YOU MOM!" I yelled as tears welled up in my eyes. "It's all your fault he is dead!" I was referring to my dog, Buster, who was in a cooler in the trunk.
Buster was squished to death by the automatic garage door. He had tried to rush in as I shut it after coming home from dad's parole hearing the night before (he was denied). The garage door should have stopped but my mom had clipped off the sensor pulling into the garage one night. She never replaced it.
We were on our way to bury Buster at secluded pasture in the country. A place where we often went for picnics. Buster had loved to run around in the tall grass there.
BZZZ...BZZZZ...Came a sound from my moms purse. She reached in her purse and grabbed her cell phone. She swiped a few gestures on the screen, then said, "It's your sister. She is waiting for us at the gate near the road." Mom then looked down from the road to text back a reply.
By the time I noticed my sister in the road it was too late.
Doctors say my sister died instantly from the impact. My mom died of an heart attack brought on my shock. I only had minor scratched and bruises, I was still rushed to the hospital to be safe. It was there after some blood work they found I had AIDS. And Ebola. Also my dad committed suicide in his prison cell. And their was a gas explosion at my school the next day that killed all my friends and classmates. I guess I was lucky I was out sick with Ebola. I guess.
| 2014-11-20T02:47:07 | 2014-11-20T01:46:34 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Make me cry in four sentences or less.
Go.
|
I lay curled on the old mat I've slept on since I was just a pup, waiting for Boy. I've lived a long and happy life, the happiest parts all spent growing up with Boy. I wish he were near me now, I'm so tired and he's been gone for so long...but I'll wait for him one last time. A dog always waits for his Boy.
EDIT: Thanks for the feedback, every one! I have to admit, I've never felt so guilty for successfully following the prompt. Sorry about the onions, guys!
|
I still remember how the sun hit her silver hair and how her eyes shone brighter than anything in the room. I still remember how the air smelled like lilacs and strawberries, so contrasted from the sterile air outside. I still remember how she looked at me and asked, "Who are you?" I still remember telling her, "I'm the person you make so very happy," for the last time.
| 2014-11-20T21:44:15 | 2014-11-20T18:46:32 | 150 | 112 |
[WP] Make me sympathize with the executioner.
I will try and answer to every response with my personal rating and (if necessary) constructive criticism.
|
The death penalty? I abhor it.
So why is it me that pulls the lever?
Simple: I'm the only one with the stomach for it.
I never follow their case, I never second-guess the decision.
By the time they get to me, their case is long past revision.
The least I can, I do; I look them in the eye as the light fades.
But no one else meets my gaze. They say I am unnerving.
Why? Because I "kill" the deserving.
But I understand
When I eat alone,
It's just one of those days.
And so I soldier on.
Because I trust
Because I have faith.
Because the system works
Because it is just.
I have faith because I have to,
I *know* that these men and women have done
What they say they didn't do.
They must be guilty,
Because if they are not,
Then I am guilty too.
|
I looked down at the accused, the convicted, the damned. Zachary Woods. His crime was heinous. Murdered his own sister and attempted to kill his parents before his father stopped him.
Even now you could see the madness burning in his eyes. He fights his restraints, spits curses against God. I raise the axe and bring it down on his neck.
It's a clean cut. I can't watch the head fall in the basket. Tears pour through my eyes as life pours from his body. His life was such a waste.
"Fine work, Mrs. Woods."
I can't respond. I remove my mask and walk away.
Every mother has a saying. I brought you into this world and I can take you back out. No mother should ever have to make good on it.
I say a prayer that his unborn sibling leads a better life.
| 2015-04-05T12:26:49 | 2015-04-05T11:01:50 | 15 | 11 |
[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 rain ran in rivulets along the window, a barrage of droplets chasing each other downwards in fits and starts. Baxter smiled and turned his head, eager to show the old man, but he was asleep by the fire.
There wasn't really much surprise there, of course; the old man didn't do anything *but* sleep these days. His bark was soft and weak, barely capable of calling the humans in from the next room. The proud black hairs that surrounded his muzzle had dulled to an anaemic grey long ago. When he walked, his back leg dragged behind him; the humans pretended not to notice. Even if he *had* been interested, reaching the window would have been almost impossible.
Baxter pawed the glass, wondering how the rain would feel on his fur. Cool, no doubt -- cool and refreshing, even with the winter's chill. *That would get the old man excited for sure,* Baxter thought. *No time for sleeping when there are puddles to enjoy.*
After one last look outside, he pulled himself away. The puppy crossed over to the old man. With a spin, he lowered himself down.
*In the summer*, Baxter thought happily. *We'll play in the summer. There's plenty of time.*
His eyes drooped.
They slept.
Together.
_____
If you liked this story, you can find more over at /r/Portarossa.
|
"I can't believe that this is going to be our last few moments together... I can't see myself without you."
He held her hands as he spoke to her for what would be the last time in his life.
"Jason, you know how much it bothers me when you say things with such a sense of... finality."
Emma Karson was a spiritual woman who has never really believed in things coming to an end.
"I knew what I was getting myself into when we got married, but I'm not ready."
"Well, maybe one day you will be ready and accept the truth of our paths."
Jason was neither spiritual or religious, and believing in Emma's convictions were near impossible.
"Commander Karson, three minutes until launch countdown initiates; please return to the shuttle."
The speakers repeated the message once more, and Jason began to cry.
"Emma, I've never loved anyone as much as I've loved you-"
"Jason, I know that this isn't the end," interrupted Emma.
"I will see you again, in this life, or-"
"Commander Karson, two minutes until launch countdown initiates..."
The two embraced each other in tears.
"Remember Jason, our love is eternal."
They share a final kiss.
"How do you know?"
Jason was terrified.
Emma smiles.
"Faith."
| 2017-01-14T18:21:32 | 2017-01-14T13:45:07 | 159 | 64 |
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them.
|
Mom was singing Christmas carols again. The martini in her hand glowing like the contents of a broken glow stick. The dog was barking too. When I went to go look I could see children running around the classroom, having too much fun to notice the SS Titanic sinking into the giant kiddie pool outside. The sound of bagpipes commemorated the 100th anniversary of the sinking while trapeze artists flew through the air. I tried to catch one of their hands, but I was falling...
falling...
falling...
..out of my bed and onto the floor.
| 2022-09-15T12:44:53 | 2015-01-12T10:42:43 | 1,493 | 10 |
[WP] After you die you are presented with a decision tree which showcases every possible trajectory your life could have taken depending on which decisions you made at each fork. You spend eternity analysing this tree until one day you find a path that does not end in death.
|
You smile up at your husband feeling his warm tears drop onto your face along with the cold rain. You can see the red and blue lights flashing and he's yelling something at you, clutching desperately at your side, trying to staunch the flow of blood from two bullet holes. Your hearing went what feels like a couple of minutes ago, now your feeling is barely there, and as your vision begins to fade too, you whisper to him.
You never planned on getting shot this morning when you woke up. It was a shiny Seattle day and you got yourself ready for work at the coffee shop. you grabbed your keys, you got your coffee cup, you got your phone and stuffed it in your bag, what could you have possibly missed?
You look at the tree map infront of you. It was the pepper spray. You had missed the pepper spray. If you had remembered to shove it in your pocket like you do every morning you would have been able to get away from the muggers that evening. According to the tree map of your entire life, you could have also taken the morning shift or further back by a few months, you could have taken the job for retail at that one clothes store. Unlucky for you, you chose none of those options. Lucky for you, the other mugger was a bad shot and you got a couple extra minutes with your husband.
Thinking about this you notice something strange about one particular path on the tree. It holds all of the good choices you could have made and eventually ends with "Become a God" after that the line has blank spaces to be filled in and goes on forever up off of the actual map and into the sky. You study the map a little while longer memorizing it and capturing it in your picture perfect memory. You smile and think to yourself about those last few words you whispered to your husband. Turning around, you walk to the light and take a step in.
"See you on the flip side" you whisper to him in your last moments.
|
every moment was leading into this one. a synchronous event both inside and outside of space and time. laplace's demon.
the being did not understand what it was looking at, not at first anyway.
it looked like a boring excel document to it, and it never had much use for excel in life, except for maybe using it once in college to complete an assignment. Vague remembrances of a life long past. The formatting of the document was in such a way that each equation lead to one outcome. They seemed to be charted, by various factors. Happiness, wealth, empathy, altruism, sadness, depression, grief, and pain
The being pours over the information it's being flooded with, it can't understand why this information is being loaded into it's pathways. It certainly thought there wasn't much use for the information being loaded. It knows it is a conscious agent, but it wasn't supposed to have agency outside of the awareness field.
eventually, the being tripped into a field of information that seemed to be an aberration from the rest of the outcomes in the tree. All the other outcomes had seemed to lead to one ending vector, death. however, one tree, sat alone. titled "ascension". unfortunately, this tree seemed to be top loaded with, grief, sadness, resentment, bitterness, and anger. Only to be tamed by time into a singular solitary moment of unitary binding with the system at whole.
because, you see this conscious being, this ethereal thing. is just the informational matrix of another dimensional reality. one can not fear, what one knows as certain. Ignorance is bliss they say, so it will choose to forget. The being thought for a relative eternity, there is no immortality possible if there is birth. Birth implies death. death therefore must be a birth. As this being realized this, it was sucked into a body.
immortality is the experience felt by the present moment.
| 2020-07-03T11:06:20 | 2020-07-03T10:46:52 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] Pick your favourite fantasy universe. Write about what it looks like centuries later, after entering the modern age.
|
Everyone says that this is the best time to live. We have heat, cities, peace, infrastructure, mass transportation, water, easy lives. You ride to work, write out copy after copy, go home to a meal and a warm bed. Honestly, I'm always sweating.
People barely believe in the past anymore. Wizards and dragons and elves and leprechauns for Gandalf's sake. Even just saying "for Gandalf's sake," makes some people snicker like you're a true believer. That they know the real history of Middle Earth, one that doesn't involve deus ex machina eagles and magical rings. Entire university history and social science departments are dedicated to undermining the old tales. And then the linguistic departments argue back, discussing language and grammar use and syntax and loan words we might possibly have gotten from eagles. It's a mess.
Excavating the Old Places doesn't help. Excavators actually found Bilbo's goblins! They surveyed and dug and had geologists come in. "Rocks!" They proclaimed! "Nothing but rocks."
To which the counterargument was, "of course, they're rocks. That's what happens to goblins exposed to the sun. They turn to rocks."
To which the biologists tossed in, "That's the daftest thing we've ever heard. Organisms don't turn to rocks."
"But what about fossils?" And so it went on.
Even with that academic fighting, people are still claiming Hobbit ancestry even though they're the same size as humans with just some slightly harrier feet. Truth be told, I've seen Hobbit men with less hairy feet than my own. They hold contests, you see. Something to do with cultural pride and Remembrance Days. I look at the feet during the pageants (not in a fetish way, just more curiosity), compare them to my own, and I don't see much difference.
I'm not complaining nor am I romanticizing the past. But I'm bored and feel soft. I just don't fit. Physically at least.
I'm 6ft 5, red as the sun, scare all of my coworkers, and always running into things, breaking them. I once broke a doily. Picked up a teacup, accidently shoved a finger through a tatted hole and ripped it bigger. Of course, I paid for it, took it home, and put it on my table. My personal pendant dedicated rampant destruction. I'm still not sure if I did it on purpose.
As a scrivener, I copy papers and contracts all day. But I have these fingers, you see. They're massive. To the point where I had to have pens specially designed for me with tiny nibs on them.
As I sit here, writing out the Coolador-Minuvue contract for marriage and divorce subclauses, all I want to do is break some heads.
Not in a serial murderer kind of way, but I want to feel what my ancestors felt. That running for miles then getting into a fight or an argument or something. My legs ache from inaction, and it's hard for me to sit in so much heat. I've thought about joining the military, but they've moved on from men like me. I stand out, a head above everyone else, and that is not a good quality to have when people are shooting at you. Not that there's any shooting right now, but it's still a valid problem.
So I sit here, wait for teatime to arrive, and dream. Reading the stories again, feeling that gut ache for travel and discomfort and pain.
|
The Imladris was a sight to behold even among the many beautiful yachts floating out in the bay off Pelargir. As his speedboat pulled up next to her, Beren furrowed his brow. Lord Castamir was playing this game to win. He was winning a lot of allies with his charm and even more with this money. Beren wondered if he could resist him, let alone try and stop him. The history of Gondor and the rest of Middle-Earth was on his side but that counted for less and less against the wealth of the Lord of Umbar.
As Beren climbed onto the main deck, two beautiful ebony-skinned Southron girls clad only in gold bikinis greeted him. They led him through the sea of high-profile guests Castamir invited aboard. There were many happy dwarfs everywhere, each surrounded by gold, women and beer. A group of long-haired men of Rohan challenged each other to drinking games by the bar. The exquisite music was played by Elven pipers, a rare sight indeed! Indeed, Castamir's guests came from all corners of Middle-Earth, all of whom seemed to have taken up with him.
The Southron girls led him to the top deck, where Castamir stood talking to a couple of ornately-clad Easterling gentlemen. He was dressed in a sleek suit, accessorized with expensive jewelry. When he saw Beren, he excused himself from their company and walked over.
"Lord Steward, what an honor it is to have you abroad my ship!" he exclaimed. "I hope you find the festivities to your liking."
Beren reciprocated with the necessary formalities but got to the point quickly.
"This is all wonderful, but I am sorry to say there is some pressing business that I need to discuss with you immediately. I have had some disturbing news relayed to me from trustworthy sources and I would be sorry to believe half of it."
"Oh, and what would that concern?"
"You, unfortunately. Are you or are you not currently planning to lobby for the opening of the Gorgoroth Plains for oil drilling operations?" This was a matter of courtesy, Beren knew this had been Castamir's plan for months.
Castamir smiled. "Perhaps. Would you feel strongly against such a proposal?"
"Feel against it? It's Mordor, Castamir! The place has been quarantined for three thousand years and that is not going to change just because some oil tycoon wants to make some spare change!"
Castamir laughed. It was a cold, hard laugh. "You think this is about money? This is about power, my dear Steward. I am already the richest man in Middle-Earth. I have the Parliament of Gondor in my pocket. What's to stop me from dismantling a few millenia long laws so the history books don't ever forget my name?"
Beren was incensed. "The King has the power to veto anything you get passed through Parliament"
"The King will bow down to the wishes of his people and his most trusted advisers. Which brings us to the reason you're here Beren. Everyone knows the King trusts you above all others. I need you to change his mind."
"Nothing will change my mind, Castamir! Nothing!"
Castamir laughed coldly again. "You just don't know how persuasive I can be, my dear Steward."
They had walked over to a quiet part of the yacht. The two Southron girls had followed them there, only now they carried daggers instead of drinks...
| 2014-02-10T12:31:44 | 2014-02-10T12:24:10 | 43 | 21 |
[WP] Normally you would have got your superpower at age ten. Yours awakens at age 20 as the most powerful ability ever recorded.
|
Everyone got their fancy powers when they turned 10. Everyone except for me!
At first I was angry: angry at my parents, at my friends, at god and the whole world. Then came disappointment, followed by acceptance. “You’re still special” my mom said. I just wanted her to shut up, the irony behind these words were terrifying: a world where you are special when you are not special.
Anyways, life continues and so does mine. Yesterday was my birthday and there is not much else to complain. I have a lovely family, a bunch of cool friends that will definitely participate in a hell of a birthday party tomorrow and a beautiful and caring girlfriend, which I could not be happier with.
As I skim through the pages of the newspaper a name gained my attention: Chris Haywood. It is an obituary notice.
CHRIS HAYWOOD
*04/21/2021 †09/02/2041
IN LOVING MEMORY, YOUR FAMILY
Chris Haywood was one of the people who bullied me for being “special in not being special”. Not that I care for him, but nobody deserves to die at age 20. A few Facebook-messages later I know that he was hit by a car. Drunk driver.
----
**The Next Day**
The phone rings. As I look on the display, there are only 3 words that everyone either loves or hates to see on a phone display: Mom.
“This is Sam.” I say. I was expecting the high pitched voice of my mother but a much deeper voice, my dad’s, answered. “Hey Sam, this is your dad talking. Listen, your mother and I are in hospital right now. She has some kind of chorditis, so she isn’t able to talk. It seems to be nothing serious… just wanted to let you know. I’ll call again if we know more.” […]
---
**Later That Day**
As I need to get a few things for my birthday party I’m heading out to the store to grab the missing stuff. I’m standing in line at the checkout and as the lady scans my stuff she seems to be looking right through me. “Is that your stuff, sir?” she asks the guy behind me. As he shakes his head she looks back at where I am standing and her eyes are narrowed in suspicion. With a low-voiced “Haha, very funny…” she tells me what I have to pay and I move back home.
---
**Later That Evening**
I’m lying in bed thinking about what happened the last two days. In a world with superpowers there is obviously weird stuff happening, but the thing is, it normally doesn’t happen to me.
Shoving thoughts back and forth, an idea begins to form…
10 years ago, I didn’t get powers. My mother told me I was special nonetheless. I wished she’d just shut up.
People where picking on me, Chris Haywood for example. I may have wished that a fucking car hit him right in the face. Well, I was very strong worded, even at 10.
And as I tried to remember what other stuff happened at this time, I thought about that really, really embarrassing situation, that no one not involved will never ever get to know about. I just wished to be fucking invisible.
What if…… what if I had the power to make my wishes come true. What if it only took 10 years for it to take effect…
My excitement transforms into pure horror as I begin remembering things I may have wished to become true in the last decade.
|
"This is Command, report in GF-204. I repeat. Report in. Over"
*Hissing*
"This is Command report in GF-204, I r-"
*Oh god! Its broke containment! The subject has escaped! You need to do something! Nuke this place before he gets out of here, his powers are stronger than we ever thought they could be... and hes angry.*
"Slow down there, What is your current situation GF-204?"
*Uh... Hold on, counting.... We only have 5 members of the squad left, the other 22 are most likely KiA, we need an immediate extraction. We should have killed this boy when his powers didn't manifest at 10! Now look, you lot at command best figure a solution before it ends up being your asses he kills!*
"... GF-204. Extraction is not an option. Please stay calm, we are trying to figure out a solution. Please maintain positio-"
*OH SHIT! Its here! Take positions, don't look it in the e-*
"GF-204, this is command. Come in."
*Hissing*
"GF-204, please report your situation"
The radio operator, a class 3 persuader, turned around in her seat and took in the carnage of what was currently the Combat Information Centre onboard the USS *George H.W. Bush*. Everyone was frantically running about, the officers were in an argument in the centre of the CIC about something and dozens of operators like herself were in equally desperate conversations with all variants of contacts.
The operator leaned back in her seat, feeling it hiss and rock back a bit as she leaned into it, who would have thought that this would happen when his powers manifested. She sat and just listened to the conversations bubbling around her.
"Negative command! We are stuck, its chewing us up over here, half the wing is down and some of us are barely limping along, there is no way we can perform another attack"
"Sir, We have lost contact with SSGN-727, all attempts of contact are failing"
"A tactical retreat has been called for, get all assets away from that thing!"
"Squadron 54, Do not engage the subject, I repeat do not engage! A full retreat is in effect, retreat back to the tactical assembly area at coordinates 44.108, -69.177."
"Preliminary reports are saying hes a Class 0 telekinetic, in fact hes so off the charts in terms of power that if we were to keep going with it... he'd be a Class -4!"
"Repeat that *Nimitz*, all of your missile frigates just fired off their Tomahawks?"
"Multiple fast approaching contacts detected on wide band radar! Counting 5-10-15... 27 incoming! Close in Weapon systems engaging."
"1 down, 2 down! 3... 5"
"*Fitzgerald* Has taken a hit!
She closed her eyes, they were all probably going to die here. It seemed that the subject had taken a liking to destroying all of the worlds military assets. They were a hundred miles away from the facility where the subject was being housed, and yet it had somehow managed to force most of the vessels in the 3rd fleet, who were only a few dozen miles away from the subject, to fire their missiles. They were being killed by their own weapons.
She thought about her family in the final moments before three Mark 41 Tomahawk missiles shredded into the USS *George H.W. Bush*.
| 2016-10-08T10:10:03 | 2016-10-08T09:49:53 | 83 | 23 |
[WP]”It’s OK honey, you can come out now,” Daddy was saying. His blue eyes shone at me through the closet, “I triple-checked for any monsters, and it’s OK! You don’t have to be scared! Come out please?” It didn’t change the fact, though, that my daddy’s eyes are green.
|
"Honey? I'm opening the closet door now ok..."
I felt some resistance as I tugged on the handle. If I overpower her though it wasn't going to solve the problem.
"Sweetheart it's late. I'll get mad if you stay up past bedtime. I have a great story for you today."
A muffled voice came from behind the door. "About a princess?"
Got her! " Kindda. It's a new one. Once upon a time there was a fox that loved to play in the forest. Now this fox was very very clever and always ran away when the huntsman came with his nasty dog."
I took in a deep breath and let that hang there for a second. It was hard to judge her reaction from beyond a closet door.
"One day while the brave, clever and super handsome fox...." I heard a giggle and took it as a good omen.
"Ahem, when the amazing super duper fox was off working hard stealing the stupid hunter's chicken and peeing in his well water. The nasty, horrible, depraved hunter found the poor fox's home and took his baby away to the city as punishment."
The closet door opened, just a crack but it opened. "The fox searched and search. He never gave up. Always looking for his little princess. Because... because... the daddy fox loved his daughter and was very sad."
A little hand poked out of the closet door and one watchful eye followed my tale "One day the daddy fox saw his little girl playing with other hunter children and got very scared. Fox princesses should not be with hunter children too long so the daddy fox tricked the hunter into the cellar and trapped him there. He came to save his little princess and take her home."
When did I start crying? I don't even remember. She was watching though so I had to control myself. "But the little princess thinks she's not a princess. She forgot and keeps playing pretend. She forgot her... forgot her.. her." I choked on the words and slowly started to shift back to my normal form and waited. Please remember. My baby please remember.
I felt my heart attempt to leap out of my chest as the closet door finally opened. She stepped out finally. My heart sank as I saw the toy plastic bat in her hand.
The swings with it didn't hurt as much as the words *"Go away! Animals outside!"* that came with it. Her red curls bouncing in the air and eyes as a blue as mine. My baby girl... remember, please remember!
|
I know my father. He was a patient man at heart. For him this would normally take forever. His incessant pacing about the bedroom along with the anxious jerking of his head indicated otherwise. Searching for something with which to entice me he suddenly gives up and glares thru the opening of the door. This is it. He thrusts for the handle and as I feel the gust of wind from the momentum of the door, I charged with my shoulder as far upwards as possible. Daddy was patient because he was small in stature. Whoever held his body now was ignorant of their new size. Those are thoughts that fell from my head through the mangle of hair now twisting in the air behind my escape. Inhuman groans followed them as I grew rampant in the search for my sleeping body. If I'm going to stop having the same nightmare I have to live through this dream. That's all. I burst through my parent's door as though injured, but i know this feeling. My actions lag as though underwater in all my dreams. A haze follows my hands as I toss drawers in the moonlit room in my search for a memory. This could have ended years ago had not this...being not hid my body. Manipulating my father wasn't just a scare tactic. He needed his mind. I'm dependent on it working both ways. I've found the picture where I've never found it before when I notice; The groaning had ended long before my search did. How did he kill me last? Stress ties a knot in my spine as I feel my father enter the room. A knife across the neck, I believe, or was that a previous iteration? The air above my head condensed as he fell and i leapt; a growl not of this world snarled and echoed through my head as he missed and in my last act of desperation, i pressed the picture firmly above my head, eyes closed holding my breath for effect, it seemed. Another vacuuming of air with an almost mechanical hissing filled the air. I allowed my self to exhale and inhaled what I thought was smoke and panicked once again. Ashes filled my lungs as I dropped the frame arms flailing reaching around for an air supply. I exit the room gasping, stumbling and incoherent. When I fell I could finally breathe and after I few deep breaths I began to relax. I didn't care if this broke the cycle. I didn't care if I would awake at home or in a hospital again. I just wanted to sleep.
| 2018-11-25T02:01:26 | 2018-11-25T01:21:52 | 110 | 20 |
[WP] The whole universe is gone, and only two kids were left in the void. "Let's play again," said one of the kids to his only companion, "but this time I'll be God, and you will be the Devil."
|
"Huh, I wasn't thinking we'd end it like that..." A brown haired girl narrowed her brow, wearing a quizzical expression.
"Me either! But it looks like I beat your record!" A red-headed boy grinned. "I managed to keep it alive for over 900 thalmas!"
The two children were sitting around a sphere half the size of them. It had gone completely clear, signalling the Universe's end.
​
"I still can't believe you got them to work together! I had them warring over the stupidest things!" The girl pouted a little, though she still wore a half smile on her face.
"That's why I gave them a common threat!" The boy grinned.
"Gee, that doesn't sound very God-like!" The girl teased.
"Hey, I still followed the rules; only you were allowed to intentionally cause death. I Just found a loophole!"
"Yeah... using the Zerpians from the Andromeda Galaxy... Didn't see it coming!"
"Well you got too fixated on the Humans," the boy started. "It was getting hard to keep influencing with you giving them so much doubt, so I just left for a bit and found the Zerpians!"
"They were advancing faster than the others, I figured that it was the best place to start!" The girl smiled at her friend.
The girl put her hand on the sphere. "Do you want to play again? I bet I can keep it alive for a whole qwerty!"
"Okay! It'll be fun to be the devil again!" The boy took his spot on the other side of the sphere, placing his hand on the other side.
The sphere started to fill with color.
"Here it comes!" The boy smiled.
A muffled bang was heard, and the girl jumped.
"Ugh! That always gets me!"
And they began to play once more.
|
 
Two children sit huddled over a bowl of water. The bowl is made of glass and the water fills it to the brim. Beside them glows a tame fire, light from which passes through the bowl and ripples the floor between them.
 
Each child holds a long paintbrush in one hand and a wooden palette in the other; the palettes play host to slugs of paint, some of which have already been smashed and smeared while others remain rounded and glossy. Taking turns, each child lifts up a glob with the tip of their brush and with a flick of the wrist sends it plummeting into the water. They then press their heads to the floor to watch what happens next.
 
As the paint drop falls, it sheds trails which spiral and streak through the water, delighting each child with patterns that evolve in front of the other kid's distorted grin. In the trails are born short-lived stars wherever flakes catch the light of the fire, but the best part is still to come; when the main body of the drop hits the floor of the bowl it bursts open symmetrically and rains flakes back up into the water, themselves to sparkle and spiral impossibly.
 
Drop after drop, galaxy after galaxy, each different but effortlessly walking the line between order and chaos, eventually the base of the bowl fills with a brownish mud and drops of water begin to roll down the sides.
 
The game is always over when this sludge forms; a homogeneous cloud invades the volume until it's all dull and opaque and nothing can catch the light. When this happens, the children pour out the water and start again.
 
"This will never get old," one of them always says.
 
| 2018-10-28T14:24:33 | 2018-10-28T12:29:56 | 1,390 | 542 |
[WP] As magic returns to the world, purchasable drinks actually start having magical effects. Energy colas actually imbue you with energy. Diet drinks actually cause noticeable weight loss. Vitamin drinks heal injuries and disease, and so on.
|
I walked into the office with a cardboard drink holder chafing my wrist, trying not to lose the box of doughnuts precariously perched on the steaming beverages. Once I made it to my desk, I began making the rounds distributing the drinks to my superiors.
A few hours later while walking to retrieve some things from the printer, I passed by one of the meeting rooms. From inside the room I heard coughing, not just from one person, but an incessant cough from several people - like a confinement ward for whooping cough. I opened the door to see what was going on, and every person I had brought coffee for that morning was stuck in an unending coughing fit. That was the day coffee turned on us.
|
My thirst was palpable. I sat under a shaded spot by the lake, hiding from the hot sun. Swiftly, I chugged the drink, no matter the consequences.
Soon, my already calloused skin got tougher, harder, more jagged. My neck stretched out by 10 feet and my body got bigger. As my arms molded into paddles, I lurched my way to the water, because the shade wasn't enough.
I thought to myself, "I should have known better than to buy a Monster energy drink for only tree fiddy."
| 2016-09-11T01:58:06 | 2016-09-10T21:13:06 | 52 | 26 |
[WP] You are watching TV Comedy 'Friends' when you notice that there has always been a seventh 'friend' in every scene who no one ever acknowledges.
|
Wait. This isn't the Friends I know. Who is that guy? Why does he look to be so much older than everyone else? He's in almost every other scene, but he does nothing, he just...stands there. Is that a knife?
I heard something from behind my TV. I craned my neck, and could see that it was glowing yellow. Oh god. I nervously crept over to the television set, a wide grin slowly settling in on my face.
It was my name. I could hear the music in the background.
*...It takes a lot to make a stew...*
|
How did they sneak that in, I wonder? Darren, the seventh friend. Always in every episode.
It was only revealed in the last episode, of course. But there he was. I binged on every single episode and season of the show. There he is when the lottery tickets get thrown. There he is sitting down and listening about a third nipple problem. Good god, he's everywhere! How had we never seen this guy before?
We, the fans, knew what we had to do.
It's shipping time.
| 2015-01-08T19:53:48 | 2015-01-08T17:46:00 | 91 | 60 |
[WP] Two entirely separate and unaffiliated groups of terrorists are planning to hijack the same plane.
|
I looked down at my wristwatch. *Three. Two. One...Action.*
Right on time, I heard a few shrieks from the back of the plane.
When I looked back, I saw that four people dressed in black had stood up, brandishing knives. Two of them were holding knives at two flight attendants' throats. The one closest to the front spoke. "We control this plane now. If anyone tries anything stupid, my colleague Hans will blow us all to bits," he said, gesturing at a man holding what looked like a pipe bomb.
The leader of their group, the one who had spoken, began advancing. As soon as he was a few paces away from my seat, I stood up to face him. I held out my badge and gun. "United States Marshall. Put down your knife."
He looked stunned for a moment before collecting himself. "We have two hostages. You fire and we kill them. We kill everyone on this plane, if you forgot about the bomb we have in our possession." Hans lifted it slightly so that I could see.
I fired anyways. As he dropped to the ground, the other terrorists executed their hostages and Hans activated the bomb. They were all clustered together towards the back, so once I stepped past the body of their leader, it was simple to kill the remaining three.
I grabbed the bomb that Hans had been holding. I dug through the mess of wires before finding a green one, and then used the slain terrorist's knife to sever the connection. The countdown timer stopped.
I stood up. "Everyone, I'm United States Marshall Daniel Harris. We're all safe now." I barely got through the second sentence before there was a smattering of applause and cheers.
I went back toward the front of the plane and found one of the surviving flight attendants. "Ma'am, I'm so sorry about what happened here today. I need to speak with the pilot in accordance with protocol 83B."
It took her a few seconds to respond. "Oh I'm sorry, of course." She walked to the pilot's door, punched in a code, and opened it.
"Thanks ma'am," I said.
"No, thank you," said the flight attendant, before saluting me awkwardly.
I smiled and walked into the cockpit. In her shock it had never occurred to her that there was no "protocol 83B." It also hadn't occurred to her to ask me to put my gun down before going into the cockpit. I closed the door behind me and pointed my gun at the pilot's head. This plane was mine now.
---
/r/rpwrites
|
I faked a smiled when greeted by the ditzy stewardess at the entrance of the plane. "I hope you enjoy your flight!" Ugh...I scoffed in my mind. I'm going to look forward to killing you and everyone on here. "Thank you!" I said with just a hint of sarcasm.
I tried relaxing as the plane started to ascend. Never liked flying. Even in my First Class seat I could feel the minute turbulance. Thank goodness this will be my last flight. I began to feel at ease when the thought of our task began to play out in my mind. 3 of the other group members sat in economy class. In about 20 minutes they would start chaos and take hostages towards the front of the plane. The Captain will have no choice but to let us in the cock pit. Speaking of, the Captain walks out and enters the lavatory. Damn it now would be the perfect opportunity! My palms begin to sweat.
"Would you like something to drink?" I snapped back to reality. "Oh i- um...sure?" As my drink is being poured I hear the vacuum flushed toilet go off and the Captain exits the lavatory and makes his way to the cockpit entrance. He goes to the speaker box "it's the Captain let me in". Repeated knocks but no answer. And it's at that moment I hear shouting voices behind me. "Everyone put their hands up!" What the hell is going on? I look at my watch and see that we still have 8 minutes until we begin the hijack. I turn my head and realize it's none of my guys. There's 4 of them and each grab a hostage and hold a blade to their throat. The plane erupts with screams and cries. Once they've got their bait, they rush in my direction. The Captain looks terrified with his back against the cock pit door. "Open the fucking door or I'll gut this bitch!"
"I - I can't! It's locked from the inside! The copilot is the only one that can open it." The hijacker stabs his hostage in the back and he goes down limp. More screams erupt. "Get it open or you're next!" The Captain goes straight to the speaker box "open the door! They're going to kill me if you dont!" He cries desperately. There is no response. No noise comes from the speaker. And I realize that the plane is going down. I look out the window and see not a landing strip, but mountains.
| 2015-04-30T08:13:26 | 2015-04-30T08:02:16 | 65 | 10 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
The wheel was pressed too far into her ribs and every breath, no matter how shallow, radiated waves of agony from deep inside her chest.
She could see, but the light was wrong. The noise of rushing, bubbling water muted other sounds. She couldn’t feel her feet, but she registered the water that was rising up past her chest. So cold.
When she tried to move, the wheel, the belt and the pain kept her from moving more than a few inches.
She saw movement in the mirror, and sick panic rose with the water.
“Mama, get me up! Up!”
|
I heard a scratching sound coming from someplace nearby. It sounded like nails against a wooden door. It was dark and I could not tell where the sound was coming from, but it sounded so close. I started to get scared and closed my eyes, trying to focus more on the origin of that incessant noise. I was breathing rapidly, though I felt like I wasn't getting any air.
Suddenly, I noticed a pain in the tips of my fingers, as I had worn them down to the bone scratching at the lid of my coffin. Scratching.
Scratching.
| 2015-06-09T09:37:54 | 2015-06-09T09:18:30 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] A rusty old sword leaned against the fireplace; it was the only weapon in sight.
|
"Grandfather, you *can't!*" she sobbed, tears streaming down her face, as she tugged at the arm of an elderly man who was on his knees, resolutely tugging a chest out from the corner where it had lain undisturbed for more than forty years.
"Can, and will, girl. You heard the news. I'm going north to fight while there are still folk left fighting."
"But you'll *die*!"
The elderly man had pulled the chest to the center of the room. Now, he threw back the lid, exposing a dented and tarnished breastplate wrapped in oilcloth. He grunted. No rust, which was a blessing. He pulled out the breastplate and retrieved a sharpening stone before answering.
"All gotta die some day, darling. May as well do some good afore I go. Every man has the right to go on his own terms. Besides, I was in the Legions during the Great War. Could be they could use the experience."
He retrieved an ancient rusted sword from the fireplace, and began methodically running the stone down the blade, stripping away the superficial layer of rust, exposing bright steel underneath.
"Grandfather, please don't go. Come with us, evacuate. You're all I have left."
He paused and sighed heavily.
"You'll do alright, darling. I taught you well. You can fight, you can cook, you can clean, you can run a farm. Light willing, I'll come back to you. If I don't, I trust you to run the farm."
He resumed running the stone along the length of the blade, putting a bright edge on it, running out nicks and notches in the blade. It had sat above the mantle for decades, growing rusty. Occasionally, it was used to poke the coals of the fire. But it had not forgotten its mettle, and now, under the calloused hands of an ageing bladesman, it grew sharp once more.
She had stopped crying, and now sat next to the old man, wiping the tears from her eyes. "But why, Grandfather? Why you?"
Without looking up, he replied.
"Tessa, I was a legionnaire for eleven years. I fought the armies of the Dark Lord in every land from the Eastern Sea to the Snowcap Mountains. Every year, we were pushed back, step by step. But still, we never imagined the taint could spread so far so fast. I never though it would reach Vale. But now it has, and it's time to make a stand. If it isn't stopped at the River Cairandelle, it will sweep through the Vale, and put the last strongholds of the West in danger. I *cannot* sit idle or evacuate while waiting for these savages to burn *my* land."
The only sound in the room was the soft snick of stone on steel and the dry crackle of the fire burning in the hearth. The younger children had long since been put to bed. After a few minutes, the old man spoke once more, his voice distant, and faraway.
"This land was my grandfathers, and his father's before him. It was my father's, it is mine, and some day it will be yours. And the land has a price, lass. And I will pay that price in blood and fury."
The girl stood silently, and walked into the night. The old man finished putting an edge back on the sword, and began the process of assembling his dented and worn armor, finishing with belting the sword in its beaten leather scabbard onto his back. The armor didn't fit like it had when he was a young man, but it was his, and he trusted it. Firelight gleaming off oiled leather and steel, the old man shouldered his saddlebags and provisions, and turned to go.
Tessa stood in the doorway, wearing a leather blacksmith's apron, holding a scythe.
"I'm going with you. Jaim and Salya can handle the farm on their own. The Alcair's will take them when they leave. I'm going north."
The old man nodded, a tear in his eye.
"Alright, lass. Let's go."
The gray predawn light saw first a trickle, then a flood of men and women fleeing from the Vale. But the same light saw just as many march north, toward the River Cairandelle, men and women side by side. Farmers with pitchforks and scythes. Blacksmiths with hammers, ancient soldiers with polearms and rusted swords. They marched north, tongues raised in song, off to pay the price of the land.
|
Of course, it had to be a sword, and not exactly stainless steel. Jonas surveyed his surroundings as he approached the fireplace to further examine his Excalibur. It only then occurred to him, that he had no memory of the past few hours, or in fact anything leading up to this point. It would appear, that he had just clicked back online in a stuffy room, with nothing of note save for a sword leaning against a impractically small fireplace.
Well, he remembered his name at least, that was a start. When he thought about it, he remembered everything about his life, save how he came to be in this room. Not amnesia, at least. Maybe this was a dream ? He didn't think so though, he was too aware for that. Still, he did the customary pinch of the arm, ever the pragmatist. Nope.
Jonas approached the sword and examined the hilt. There was writing in a language he didn't recognise, it almost looked Elvish. What the hell was this ? And why couldn't he remember anything that had happened in the last few hours ? Instinct told him he should take up the sword. He executed a hand-spinny thing he was sure Aragorn would have been proud of and wondered why he was making so many Lord of the Rings references.
Further analysis of his surroundings revealed nothing further. He was in an incredibly non-descript room, in which a rusty old sword most certainly did look out of place. Jonas strode to the closed door of the room and tried to force it open. Locked. That's not good.
Jonas sat down in a chair and scratched his chin. He had the makings of a beard, or at least a 5 o'clock shadow, that was weird. He was a clean-cut type. If he thought things couldn't get any weirder however, he was sadly mistaken. Jonas could hear a voice, two voices, in fact.
"Shit, he's in too deep, look at his thought patterns, he's all over the shop. We have to pull him out."
"No, not yet, he's so close. Try to contact him again."
Jonas sat bolt upright and spoke out loud.
"Hello ? Is someone there ? Are you talking about me ?"
"Great, now he's talking to himself. I've never seen him lose the plot like this, dude is usually Goddamn clinical. Maybe he wasn't ready to tackle this one yet. I'm pulling him out."
"No you're Goddamn not, and that's a direct order. We need this information and he was the only one who could get close enough to the guy to make the connection. It's got to be him, we aren't going to get a better shot at Almerida."
Jonas cocked his head as he heard the name. That sounded vaguely familiar, though he couldn't place why.
"Where is he, why have we lost visuals ? Sergeant, I've never seen this before, if he keeps going, I'm not sure I can get him out at all, and then what use is all of this ?"
"He knew the risk, they all do. Jonas was the one who insisted he wanted this mission. He's an extractor, it's part of the job description."
An extractor, that's it ! If only it all came rushing back in one moment of clarity, but he at least remembered that much. He was here to get something. But he didn't think that something was a crappy old sword. Almerida, he knew that name ! The man knew something very important, a matter of national security, and Jonas needed to know what it was.
He was now pacing the room, having resigned himself to the fact that he could not make contact with his new friends. In a surge of brilliance he lunged towards the locked door and slammed the sword against it. Three swings later it became abundantly clear the sword was going to break before the door did.
It was only then that Jonas began to notice the sweat glistening on his forehead, was it hot in here ? He slowly turned around to find a roaring fire in the fireplace vacant of even wood just a few seconds earlier.
It would appear that the Sergeant and his merry man were not the only ones aware of his presence. Almerida was not going to offer up the information willingly, they never did. Jonas clutched the sword closer to his body and took a deep breath. He now knew what he needed to do, he needed to go deeper. Sword out in front of him, Jonas ran headlong into the flames.
| 2015-03-23T16:59:01 | 2015-03-23T16:40:05 | 38 | 11 |
[WP] "Your honor, the evidence is clear and undeniable. While my client may have been a 'mad genius' who sought to 'dominate the city' with his 'army of evil', I present that he did actually not break any laws or statutes in his actions. The defense rests."
|
The jurors had spent hours deliberating the facts and figures of both the defense and prosecution but had finally come to some kind of agreement when they made their final decision. The foreman glanced at the smug-looking defense attorney as the jury filed back into the courtroom, his client looking very relaxed and confident. The prosecution, on the other hand, armed with a bevy of the cities best lawyers, looked disheveled and tired (they had spent two hours driving to the courthouse in morning rush hour from just ten miles away and were already tense upon arrival).
After a few moments of silence judge looked down the bridge of his nose through thick bifocal spectacles at the jury box.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?"
"We have, your honor."
"And what is the verdict?"
She paused. The whole room waited on the edge of their seats--the gallery, full of homers and locals, knew that the jury would be on *their* side. The defense didn't have a single supporter in the crowd.
"Alight. The defendant will rise for the verdict."
The accused, Oregon head coach Mario Cristobal stood to his feet looking very smart in his black suit, which shirt, and green and gold striped tie.
"We the jury find the defendant *not guilty* of murder in the first degr----"
The courtroom erupted with shouts of anger and outrage at her--their--decision. The prosecution, USC coach Clay Helton and his cronies, held their heads in their hands, distraught.
"Order, ORDER!" the judge shouted, banging his gavel. A few more law enforcement officers filed into the room from the exits as a deterrent. It took a few minutes, and two dissenters escorted from the premises, but the room quieted.
"Not guilty in murder of the first degree. Upon reviewing the evidence, though the USC football team is indeed dead after a 56-24 home defeat and very close to securing a consecutive losing season, we have determined that there was in fact no lose of human life. Furthermore, looking at the larger body of evidence, Oregon has been the superior program over the last decade and has been on an upward trend ever since Chip Kelly's hiring, barring one hiccup. A couple of national championship appearances and a few Rose bowls more than USC has won in that time proves the stability and success of the program. Lastly, the jury did not find that Mr. Cristobal's last name, as presented by the prosecution, to be connected to any kind of witchcraft or dark arts. Therefore we have discussed and come to the conclusion of the defendant's innocence."
/u/cambodiandrywall stood to hug his client and shake his client, a free and innocent man.
"Thank you for the stellar defense," the head coach said, beaming. "I couldn't have done it without you."
"Hey, you did all the hard work, I didn't score 8 consecutive touchdowns on my own though. I won't lie, though, we did have a little bit of inside help."
---
The foreman exited the courtroom, gathered her things and headed for the parking lot. As she passed a trash bin she unzipped her cardigan to reveal a baby blue UCLA polo and tossed the sweater away. Then, as she neared her car she tugged at her neck and pulled her face off to reveal the smirking visage of Chip Kelly. He tossed the mask in his back seat and drove west into the sunset, already preparing his game plan for the last game of the season.
|
I ran a trembling hand through my shaggy crop of brown hair. It was definitely going to be greasy later and I'd have to wash it, which meant I'd have to stop at the store on the way home for shampoo. A little inconvenient, after a day like this.
I had very clearly stated my case, Mr. Hermann hadn't broken any laws. Sure, he had wandered around the city in a skin tight suit and said some weird things, but nothing that you wouldn't have seen on a Saturday night in the party capital.
I knew that people were a little weirded out to see this overweight sweaty man traipsing around midtown during their lunch break, but I stood by my case and knew he hadn't *technically* broken any laws.
I'd always liked the idea of being a lawyer but the more whack job cases I was handed, the more I doubted it. The issue with being at the bottom rung of the ladder is that I was regularly assigned the cases of people who qualified for free legal aid, and I usually didn't really believe them.
The court had broken while the jurors decided the fate of Mr. Hermann. I glanced over at him to gage how he was feeling.
Despite the fact they were trying to send him to prison, he sat giggling at a comic propped between the bench in front of him and his gigantic stomach. He idly scratched at his balding head and even from this distance, I could see flakes of skin fall to his lap. Ew.
His navy suit seemed like it had probably fit him at some point in his life, but not any more. The seams were visibly bulging as his frame struggled to be contained.
The shirt underneath, however, was immaculate. I guessed he'd went out and bought it for the trial.
Just as I checked my phone, a court attendant reappeared and announced that the court would now sit again.
I swallowed hard as the 13 jurors filed out from the side room and took up their seats once more.
\---
They found him guilty, unanimously. I argued the best I could, but Hermann hadn't really been the most appealing person to stand behind. I feel like maybe my apprehensiveness effected how they perceived him; but it was too late now.
I laid a hand on his shoulder as he stood to face the approaching policemen.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'll do my best to negotiate your sentence down."
"It's okay, Mr George." he smiled. "They told me to do it."
I raised an eyebrow as he raised a pudgy finger to his mouth and hushed me.
But before I could ask him anything else, the policemen nodded to me and placed handcuffs on his wrists.
As he was led away, he looked back at me and winked. There was something unnerving about the wink and while I knew I was now free to leave, my feet felt as if they were bolted to the spot.
Hermann would be facing the flashing cameras and relentless reporters by now. A man like him probably wouldn't even know what he should and shouldn't say.
I checked my phone once more, and noticed I had a text from a number I didn't recognise.
"George, thank you for helping our client be found guilty."
"This has only just started."
It was then that I heard the explosion from the front of the building, followed by screams.
| 2019-11-07T10:22:57 | 2019-11-07T07:42:50 | 234 | 53 |
[WP] Write a story about your day but exaggerate everything.
|
I rose from my slumber late. I hurried to prepare for my journey across hundreds of miles, hoping I would not miss my transport. I made it to the port just in time, and waited for aeons before arriving at my destination- a world- renowned scholary Institute. I toiled and suffered for weeks, struggling to comprehend the concepts I came here to learn. At the end, I made my way to the workshop, where I worked with friends new and old to build a magnificent war machine. Time grew short, we needed to prepare it for transport across the world to fight on the fields of another land. After countless hours of painstaking labour, we felt we were complete for the day and packed up and left. Three days from now, we will travel to a distant land with our machine, and wage war with others like it.
Translation: I slept in and nearly missed my bus, then went to school, then robotics (I am on an FRC team). We have an international competition coming up that we need to prepare for.
I would appreciate constructive criticism, this is my first time writing on this sub.
|
Through blurry hallucinations, all I remember is a ridiculous fight, a ring, skyscrapers at night, and crying.
Creatures of the unknown were holding me hostage.
Before I knew it, the sun was high up in the sky, light blaring through sheets.
Thunderous raps were at my door. When I opened up, they stole my valuables.
Hair in tangles, I dragged myself back to bed. This day had only started and I'm already dead.
Translation:
I had a dream I was driving through downtown and I got in an argument with my mom about being engaged.
I kept waking up throughout the night because I heard things in my walls (pretty sure we're housing a mouse) and I was too scared to leave my bed.
I finally got some shut eye but woke up close to noon. There was lots of knocking at my door and it was my brother who wanted to borrow my laptop. I helped him out and I went back to bed.
| 2017-03-06T12:13:07 | 2017-03-06T10:25:09 | 59 | 15 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83
|
Some people keep their Last Words private. I've seen some that weren't intended to be seen, and I've known some religious people who keep them covered up with black CoverTape. They think that God writes your last words, and only your spouse should see them.
I never bothered. Written in a lovely script, it probably was God who wrote them. I never asked. "It was good to see you again." They became my second running joke. I was 6'5" at my prime, so "how tall are you," was the first. The second: drunk girls in bars, yelling as they walked away, "It was good to see you again!"
I didn't meet her in a bar, it was in a park. I thought she was pretty, and I said so. She thought I was probably a creep, but I talked her into an ice cream. I made her laugh over cookies and creme. She was pretty and dark haired, and she danced on the air when she danced ballet. She was good enough to be beautiful at it. She never made a living at it; I think she deserved better than a career in a grocery store, but she was happy.
She was happy when the cancer came. I told her it was treatable. She said she would get treatment. It went away. It came back, furiously, as if looking for revenge. This time she was ready to fight it: not the cancer, but death. I had always thought she was alive in ways I never knew, but I found out what it was to really live in those 18 months. She had.... *grace.* She took death out on the dance floor and swirled around... because he takes us all, the only way to fight him is to embrace him without fear. And she did.
I never meant to say her last words. She asked for some water, and I gave it to her. "Thanks." I told her, "Get some rest, I'll be here in the morning." Only after she fell asleep did the pit in my stomach grow and gnaw. I considered waking her up, but I couldn't. Only after she passed away a few hours later did I look again at the side of her leg" "I'll be here in the morning." I was her true love.
My Last Words didn't say "Thanks."
I didn't miss it. She didn't whisper. Like an idiot, I checked my arm. "It was good to see you again." Still, always.
Did she know?
_____________
|
Our wedding day was the most amazing day of my life. He was, I believed then, perfect in every way. Truly my soul mate. Tall and handsome, I had first caught his eye in high school during a football game; he the dashing quarterback and me the hot cheerleader. You may think this was cliché but it wasn't like that at all. I was the top of my class, heading for Harvard or maybe MIT. He was a jock but, like me, had great grades and was talking about a career in law.
We both ended up in college together and kept dating through our graduation. When he proposed, he was sweet and romantic, getting down on one knee in front of my family. He even commented on our matching engravings. His said "I didn't want this to end." He was sure that I would say that too him on his death bed.
Mine said "I love you." That's what he saw. I love you. It was pretty lame.
It was in our third year of marriage that things began to go wrong. He had become a police officer while I was doing my masters. The work he was doing began to change him in subtle ways. Then I got pregnant. I was thrilled but he only pretended to be. I could see it in his eyes.
After the baby was born, he became more withdrawn. He began to work late, volunteering for more shifts. I suspected he was having an affair and I could have lived with that. My mistake was that I challenged him. That was the night he first hit me.
It went on. And on. I don't know why I stayed. I did and perhaps you will judge me for that. I know I will be judged for the final night.
He came home drunk. I was angry and we fought again. This time, he really hurt me. While he slept, I found his back up gun. I hadn't intended to wake him but when he woke, I said, "I didn't want this to end." He looked up at me and said "God, no, don't shoot!"
I did. Then I went into the bathroom and finally removed the make up I had used to conceal the last words engraved on my skin. Gone was the falsehood, "I love you." Now I understood the four words that my parents had made me hide my whole life.
| 2015-08-08T13:53:15 | 2015-08-08T12:02:09 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] Two werewolves fall madly in love, but only during the full moon. When they’re human, they can’t stand each other.
|
The smell of fresh blood created a trail in the air. The metallic stench filled Tom’s nostrils causing a reaction of intense hunger and desire to overwhelm his mind and body. He sprinted between the trees of the woods that would usually be filled with darkness at this time of the night but not tonight as a full moon was on display. The rain soaked bark on the trees glistened all around him reflecting the intense moonlight. Tom however, was not concerned with such trivialities as the glistening trees; he was on the hunt.
The scent got stronger and stronger as Tom almost flew over the long damp grass beneath him. He skidded to a halt on his four hairy legs as he arrived at a small and ominous village. It was a collection of small thatched huts with small fires spread between them. As he approached, a small hint of suspicion formed within Tom but this was ignored as his senses became completely filled with the anticipation and aromas of fresh meat. There was no one around, the village was deserted, but Tom could hear something. A crunch then gnawing finished with a swallow. Someone had beaten him to the kill. Tom was not usually a scavenger but when that familiar smell wafted around him he could not help himself. What Tom saw next in the village stunned him with its beauty. Another werewolf was crouching in the centre of town with a mauled victim beneath it. ‘It’ was definitely female; Tom could tell by her much defined facial structure and the length of her snout. This was one of the most erotic scenes Tom had ever witnessed and his cravings quickly changed from hunger to lust.
Emma heard a clumsy snap of a fallen twig behind her and spun around to see a most handsome beast. The enticement of the bloodied flesh beneath her soon disappeared. The look on Tom’s face told Emma that the passionate feelings were reciprocated and she edged closer to him. In turn Tom did the same until they were a whisker length apart. They sniffed each other vigorously until they were satisfied with what they had inhaled. After that there was a slight pause before both pounced at each other and passion consumed them both. To an outsider their love-making would have looked like a brutal fight for survival, however it was anything but.
After they had consummated Emma graciously offered with a feral grunt to share her fallen prey. Tom politely accepted with a vicious snarl and they both devoured what was left of the succulent meat. After they finished they licked their lips and curled up around each other in one of the abandoned shelters before both drifting off into a blissful sleep.
When Tom woke up in his human state there was a moment’s confusion before the images of the previous night flooded into his mind. He looked across from him to discover the identity of his new “friend”. His face grew pale and nausea overcame him but it was not because of last night’s meal. Sleeping contently beside him with bloodstains still on her face was Emma, his brother’s widow. Tom hated her with a vengeance as he suspected Emma had murdered her own husband…
Note: I have been writing for about a week so any feedback would be really appreciated.
|
The full moon reflected in the deer's eye as it danced spritely through the woods. I lay undetected under the brush, awaiting the moment I could taste its blood. The scent filled my nostrils, and my mouth watered in anticipation. But there was another scent. Something that awakened a different kind of anticipation.
The deer hesitated, and I chose this moment to strike. But I was a moment too late. As I started from my cover, another wolf leapt from the opposite side of the clearing and tackled the deer to the ground. Her jaws clamped around its neck, severing its arteries and ligaments for a quick, clean kill. The she-wolf gazed up at me, and snarled, blood dripping from her jowls.
Looking back, I am disturbed to report I was severely aroused by this, especially when considering the bitch's true identity (and I mean that in both senses of the word). But in that moment, I did not hesitate to patter towards her and expose my throat in an act of supplication. Her snarl faded, and the blood of the deer no longer enticed me as the scent of her pheromones overwhelmed me. She was in heat, and I was ready to go.
I don't feel the need to dive into specifics here, but it was a night I'll never forget. As a werewolf, I'm used to the human parts of my brain going on auto-pilot as the purely id-driven wolf takes over. I have no sexual interest in wolves when I'm a human. I'm not even a closeted furry. But that experience with the she-wolf in the forest was perhaps the pinnacle of my sexual history.
I didn't realize at the time, she was also a werewolf. We made love (if wolves have a concept of love) through most of the night, intermittently snacking on the kill she had so generously provided, and howling at the moon when it struck our fancy. Having another voice added to mine, gave me peace in a subconscious part of my human mind that hadn't yet adjusted to this new form of life. I felt at home.
I was used to waking up naked in the forest, but always alone. I was lying on my side, with my arm around the last woman I could have expected. My first thought was panic, at her possible discovery of my condition, before realizing she obviously suffered the same condition.
But enough build-up. When I realized who I was lying with, I was full of revulsion to discover Shelley. Shelley was a woman from my old job at the mail room. My horrible horrible boss. She wore high heels to feel powerful, and turned every slight into a catastrophe. She fired me after I was late the morning after a full moon. She had also been late. A few months earlier, at a wild Christmas party, she bit me for attempting to take away her vodka cranberry, after she'd thrown her computer out the window. Come to think of it, that bite might have been important.
| 2018-05-23T00:13:36 | 2018-05-22T20:37:45 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] As time went, monsters adapted. Dragons converted gold hoards into corporate shares, ghouls traded warrens and caves for sewers and service tunnels, werewolves stalked alleys instead of dark forests, and so on. Hunters have adapted too; now you look for ways humanity can coexist with monsters.
|
“You can’t kill it. You’ll end up dead.”
Frowning, Maug kept his crossbow aimed at the baby dragon. “Ain’t nobody gonna know, Fayn. Goltwork’s paying two-hundred gold pieces for the baby dragon corpses. He don’t like the damn things, and I don’t blame ‘em.”
“Yeah?” Fayn stepped in front of the crossbow. He could barely make out Maug in the low light of the cave. “Well Goltwork’s a sleazy has-been, and I wouldn’t trust him to make good on that promise.”
Maug spat onto the ground. “You’re starvin’ like the rest of us in Slumtown.”
Fayn glanced over his shoulder. The baby dragon—no bigger than a puppy—cowered, its back against the wall.
“C’mon, patrol’s paying us to keep people out of the forest. Actual human beings like you and me. You know we don’t do anything with dragons, werewolves, or vampires.”
The words went in one ear and out the other. Maug licked his lips, and rested his finger on the trigger. “Out of the way, Fayn. You don’t got the stones to do it? Fine. But I’m eatin’ somethin’ other than week-old stew tonight.”
Fayn snatched the crossbow and whipped it around, slamming the butt of it into Maug’s face. His partner fell to the ground with a groan, rubbing the wound. “The hell you do that for?”
“Do you realize how many big-time players are dragons, Maug? They’re greedy. They’re protective not just of their stocks and businesses, but of their families!” Fayn pointed at the baby. “This is someone’s kid wandered out here. You want a score? You want to try and make something of yourself? Maybe don’t kill what I’d bet a hundred gold pieces is some scummy corporate dragon’s kid.” Fayn dug his nails into the worn wood that made up the crossbow. For a moment, everything slowed as his mind worked. He turned and aimed the crossbow at Maug. “Matter of fact, if you would’ve used your head, you’d be getting half the score I’m about to pull. Now you’ll get nothing.”
Maug narrowed his eyes. “What’re ya think you’re pullin’, Fayn?”
Not able to control the smile playing on his lips, Fayn reached down and scooped up the baby. It tried to crawl away, but he held it close. It was far too young to fly away, and even if it could breathe fire, a few burns were nothing next to what he was about to score.
“Pulling? No. I’m just tired of bullshit 12-hour patrols for minimum wage with trash like you.” Fayn kept the crossbow in one arm, struggling to keep it aimed as he circled his former partner.
Maug stood, huffing. “I’ll be damned if—”
Fayn fired. The bolt struck Maug in the chest. He gasped and collapsed to a knee, staring at the arrow that found its way into his body. Looking up, his eyes doubled in size as he realized what was happening.
Fayn chuckled to himself as he turned and left the cave. *I bet the irony’s lost on the bastard that he got killed over something he should’ve been protecting.*
------
Everything felt too rich for Fayn. He’d never been in an office, let alone one worth millions. He couldn’t quite get comfortable as he watched the CEO of DragonWealth Investment Firm, Thedes, stroke his son’s head over and over.
Fayn wrinkled his nose—he was glad to be free of the stink of Slumtown, but the smoke that Thedes’ cigar was polluting into the air left a haze that was filling up the office.
*Goddamn dragons. If they’re not breathing fire they’re inhaling smoke.*
After an eternity, Thedes spun in his chair and sat his child down. With a nudge to the rear, he sent the boy forward and out of the office.
“I do so thank you for returning my child. Dragons do not conceive easily, and when Arshua went missing, well, I assumed the worst.” He took a long drag off of his cigar, and blew the smoke out into the air. His eyes widened all of a sudden, and he looked to the fog in the room. “Apologies, is it bothering you?”
*It is, you sleazy bastard.* Fayn smiled, and waved off the comment. “I’d be joining you if I didn’t have to run.” He stifled a cough. “But before I go—”
“Yes, your payment.” Reaching into his drawer, Thedes produced a heaping black sack.
Fayn could hear the gold clinking together. His fingers danced on the armrest, he couldn’t stay them.
“Tell me again, it was a thug that nearly killed my son in the Nachaet Forest?”
“Oh, no. I only wish.” Fayne’s eyes lowered in sadness. *Play it right, buddy, and the gold’s yours.* “It was my partner. I was a patrolman. He chased the dragon into a cave, wanted to kill it. He tried to, in fact. I was forced to . . . stop him and save your son.”
Thedes snorted, puffs of smoke spilling out his nostrils. “Truly one of the most heinous acts. I’ll bet he wanted to turn in my son’s corpse. The mere thought makes me sick. To put a child’s life in danger for gold . . . you have my eternal gratitude.” He reached a thick claw into the sack, and pulled up a smaller bag with the other. “That, and three hundred gold pieces. Say, I could use someone with patrol experience. How would you feel about a security detail at my next public appearance?”
Fayn’s mouth opened in a wide-toothed grin. “I would be delighted. All I’ve ever wanted is an opportunity.”
r/dc_athena_op - join us, I have a new book coming out next month!
|
"We have one rule here, rook, what is it?" The gruff man behind the makeshift desk commanded, slamming his fist down to pull his dozing protege out of her slumber. The young dark haired woman struggled momentarily as she snapped alert, finally coming up with the answer,
"Don't get bit!" She said with equal parts confidence and gusto, a far cry's difference from the sleepy stupor a moment ago.
"Exactly right," the old man started as he stood from his chair, his bones groaning in unison with him as he did. "Gettin' bit is the last thing you want 'cause there a'int no coming back from it." the southern twang of the man's voice gave him an air of refined authority as he approached the woman with a stack of papers. "Some *light reading* for you tonight," he smirked, subtly, as he dropped the stack on her desk. "Brush up on how to deal with 'fants tonight before we start our first official patrol tomorrow."
Fants, shorthand for fantastical creatures, have secretly been living among us for a very long time. Most of them keep to themselves, learning early on that humans have a penchant for panic and setting things on fire; quite often one shortly following the other. Those that have decided humans are part of a regularly balanced diet require a slightly more delicate hand; pissing off a nest of blood-suckers with some kerosene and matches is just going to end with you becoming some vamp's smoothie. Ever since 'The Harrowing' nearly a decade ago, most major metropolitan areas have their fair share of fants contributing to the societal cycle.
Learning how to deal with the bad ones was part of orientation week for the small hunter cells that started cropping up all over the country shortly after creatures started showing up en masse. Most of these groups were independent from one another, but shared what information they'd gleaned about monster hunting through internet message boards and the like. Granted there was a lot of misinformation out there that would inevitably get more than a few freelance fant hunters dead, but every once in a while you'd find a nugget of truth that would save your life.
Clint Cole had been at ground zero in New York City when The Harrowing started there. At first, it was like the world was trapped in a fish bowl. Everything had been twisted by some yet unseen fish eye filter, and simultaneously the colors all around began to melt into a discouraging gray mush in the middle of downtown New York. Cars would simply vanish as they passed the newly forming veil of light, swirling nonchalantly above the amassing pool of grey liquid colors. It was clear that the laws of physics were starting to break down around whatever in the hell was forming in the middle of the street. Then without warning, a loud bang, and everything within five city blocks was engulfed in an impenetrable darkness for exactly thirty three seconds. We know this, because every person inside the radius of the "explosion" reports that all of their electronic time-keeping devices were precisely 33 seconds off from the correct time, once the darkness subsided. We were unaware at the time, but according to later reports, a total of three hundred and eighty seven fantastical creatures crossed the breach into our side of the pasture. And that was just one instance. Over the course of a week, thirty two other events just like this occured all across the world. The total number of fants now co-existing with humans is unknown, but it's believed to be at least ten thousand different unique identifiers.
The government response to the 'Harrowing' would have been laughably shameful, had it not been disastrous instead. They locked down every place it had occurred and ordered a city-wide search of people's homes and work places. It was initially believed that some people were harboring some of the creatures, mistaking them for stray pets you might find abandoned on the side of the road. Have you ever trapped a rabid dog in a corner? Let's just say, in those types of situations the dog rarely chooses "flight" over "fight".
It didn't take long for this "plan" to backfire spectacularly. Within the first day, sixteen thousand US National Guard troops were either injured or killed in the line of duty, at the hands (claws, fangs, etc) of some at the time unidentified creatures. Thankfully, the big ones like giants(bone-crushers) and dragons(hot-heads) are far smarter and older than us, and they know they have to be the ones to take the first step towards coexistence. Unfortunately, most blood-suckers (vampires), fang-biters (werewolves) knob-heads (goblins) and screamers (wraiths) had all carried extremely long grudges against the human race and were now taking any opportunities they could to "lessen" the problem, as they would put it.
After the initial disaster, the world's leaders decided that it was best to just "live and let live" when it came to fants, mostly because we as a species were wholly unprepared for this type of invasion. It was only by sheer dumb luck that the creatures decided, after being attacked unprovoked, just to assume mundane and unassuming lives under the guise of humanity. After a couple of years of bureaucratic limbo, the world governments unanimously decided these creatures were here to stay, and a path to Earth citizenship would be established. The United Foundation of Fantastical Creatures, or the UFFC was founded, and any and all creatures who wanted to stay here would need to register. Of course, there were those that preferred to remain on the fringes of society in the shadows, and that's where the hunters stepped in. They kept their eyes and ears open for signs of a real life creature attack, and use their specialized training to neutralize the threat. Because they have to live in accordance to UFFC guidelines, the killing of a fantastical creature should only occur in the event of a last resort. The exception of course, being the skinwalkers. Shapeshifting, nightmarish creatures that had a keen talent for mimicry and an almost exclusive diet of adolescent children. They're the ones your dad checks under your bed and in your closet for at night.
| 2021-01-23T13:36:17 | 2021-01-23T12:21:48 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] You were bitten by a wolf and became a werewolf. You wake up in a dog pound. Only thing is… your original form is a cat. You’re a cat werewolf.
|
The scent of cold steel; barking heard from afar. Neko awoke, feeling their tail brush against the metallic grid of the cage. As their eyes blinked awake, memories of the day before bubbled into consciousness, warping and floating out of understanding. What remained for Neko was the sketch of a sensation, the feeling of flesh stretching, of bones breaking and rebuilding, and of a pure, unfettered frenzy of lupine energy. This, and the image of a flaring full moon overhead were all that remained. Neko thought this was a dream, looking down to see the same, familiar orange fur and feline feet they had always seen, but they sensed a soreness all over which suggested, in some primordial manner, that everything which had since blown into their memory had come from some even more secretive midnight wind, whose breath they still felt on their fur.
The barking continued, loud and deep. Neko peered between the bars of the cage, and saw across a hallway, a whole cage full of canines with this carnivorous look in their eyes which seemed to say: you too may be meat. Neko became aware again of their body, of its inferior size, the dogs two or three times larger than Neko. They tried to bark, to roar as they did the night before, but let out only a muted meow. The dogs barked, louder now, mocking Neko, but so long as they were both enclosed in their cages, everything would be safe.
Neko fell asleep. When they awoke again, the scent of cold steel was gone, replaced by a wet dog smell. Moonlight trickled in from the window.
|
# CROCODILE
​
"Two! Two rats," The cat said.
"No."
"But think of all the things you could do with two!"
The man didn't listen as he swept up. The backroom moaned with hundreds of cats.
"Okay, okay, okay. Wishes," said the cat gripping the plastic bars of his cage.
The man stopped. The cat stopped.
"Anything you want," said the cat.
"One?"
"Four."
The man held his broom.
"... Like anything?"
"Four of anything. Four."
"Can it be a... Can it be a person?"
"Hmmm. It might cost two wishes. We can see. I think it should work."
"Can it be a woman?"
"Of course."
The man held his broom.
"Can she look like however I want?"
"She can look like however, whoever, anywever. Anyone, but..."
"But?"
"But you have to do something for me."
The man thought.
"What is it?"
"\`You have to let me out of here, Ken."
Ken thought again before grabbing the latch. The cat pressed against the cage.
"So four wishes?"
"Four."
Ken undid the latch. The cat burst through the crack and went for the face. They crashed through the steel table in a flurry of screaming cuts and bites. The cat doubled down on Ken's windpipe and tore it from its sleeve in his neck and in a spray of misting blood it slinked away through the double doors.
| 2021-06-29T08:16:15 | 2021-06-28T22:22:02 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] You have been trapped inside a glass orb for years. Sitting on a shelf in an old store, your only entertainment is that of the clerks daily routine. One day however the clerk is attacked, in defence the orb is thrown and shatters upon impact. Finally releasing you from your cage.
|
**EATEN**
My great-great-great-great-great grandson cowers in fear, his hands trembling over his head. Blood and sweat mix on his face. The soup dribbles down his chin and then plops onto his blue nametag. It obscures the first letter. Peter becomes *eter*. He is not an eater. He is about to be eaten.
One of the burglars puts the muzzle of his gun in Peter’s face. He interrogates him about the location of the safe. What safe? His compatriots rampage through the aisles, smashing and grabbing and laughing and thinking it feels good to pillage.
They do not know what it is to pillage. They live in a baby-proofed city inside a baby-proofed country inside a baby-proofed world. Even their violence is a whimpering shadow of what once was. Humanity has succumbed to decadence and failure. I am glad to be alone in my cage.
The burglar with the gun cocks back the hammer and tells Peter he is out of time. I look away in disgrace. How many men of our family will die on their knees? Every generation is weaker than the last. Peter has met the fate he deserves.
And then a flash. A deafening sound. One of the burglars cries out in pain. I look to Peter: he has yanked the man with the gun to the ground, his arm twisted backward. The gun has scattered across the floor. Peter’s jaw closes around the man’s ear and when it opens again the ear is gone.
Peter crawls after the gun. The burglars are visibly shaken when he spits the man’s ear onto the floor. Their façade of ruthlessness has been punctured; their baby-proofed world still has one sharp edge left. They are too afraid to intercept Peter and before they know it, Peter is in possession of the gun.
As he stands, the weapon in his trembling hands, he slips, tumbles backward onto his ass. The biggest of the three burglars crosses toward me, seizing the opportunity. His broad shoulders block my view of Peter. I should hear a gunshot now but I do not. The man should crumble but he stays standing. Has Peter lost his nerve?
Suddenly everything goes dark – an enormous hand grasps my glass cage; dark, pinkish light filters through the webbed skin where the fingers meet.
I am thrown.
I sail through the air toward Peter. His face is contorted in anguish and confusion. His finger pulls at the trigger but nothing happens. The gun only had one bullet. He is defenseless.
I collide with Peter’s chest. I collide with the world.
A thousand shards of glass explode in every direction. I take my choice of which to make my vessel. I cling to a shard shaped like a “V,” a reminder of our old family crest. We hurtle through the air. Gravity meets us.
When I hit the floor, the shard skids to a halt. I feel my body returning. Under my feet, a reflection looks back at me. In a matter of seconds I am returned to full form. In a few more seconds I have surpassed that form.
I tower over Peter, his head lolling. My arms look vaporous, red, my fingers are wispy, like I’ve only been sketched and not yet fully drawn. It’s no matter: I feel the power coursing through me. The same power the put me in that cage has now been caged inside of me.
I turn to the three burglars, one holding his head where his ear should be, huddled together. They are petrified.
I am hungry.
Now we will see who is eaten.
|
I hated it in here. It was cold, clear and perfect. Everything I was not. I was bound in a prison of order, unable to break it from within. All I could do was watch and wait. For centuries I had been buried, the beautiful darkness taunting me from behind my cold walls.
Finally, I had been released. Light had found me, and though it hurt, I welcomed the change. I had hoped to be free, but no. They handled me with care, not letting anything harm my prison. My attempts at changing that were thwarted by my cage, mental images reflected off a perfect wall.
They had taken me, stolen from my tomb. I hoped to be let loose, or at least have some form of new entertainment. But that was in vain. I was given as a gift, to one of the dullest elves I had the misfortune of seeing. They adored paperwork, oozing satisfaction over how neat they held things.
It was torture. This was no entertainment, seeing their day to day routine. I wanted out. I wanted to be free of such an inane existence. But all I could do was watch. Days turned to months, to years. I resigned myself to another awful century, inside an office of perpetual order.
One day, I heard cries and shouts. The elf disappeared from the room, investigating the source. I was overjoyed. Finally something different, something fun! Minutes went by, and they stumbled back in. Their shirt was cut, thick blood welling from inside. They looked around in a panic, before their eyes fell back on the door.
A human stood there. They were much more my speed, a chaotic species like me. They were wrapped in form fitting black armour, holding a sword coated in gore. I could tell they were grinning beneath their visor, their eyes lighting up with malice.
The elf started to throw things, to try and get them away. But paper and quills did nothing. In a surprise twist, they picked up my prison. I couldn't belive it as I was thrown. They had taken care to leave my orb perfect before. And now they were breaking it.
The human dodged, and I sailed past. I slammed into the wall, feeling the glass crack. It didn't break completely, but it was enough. With the order gone, it didn't take long for me to worm my way out. I swirled in the air, joy filling me completely.
I looked to the elf. They were slumped over, a blade sticking through their chest. The human looked at me, surprised and worried. I grinned, diving at them. But before they could react, I split myself around. My form poured into the elfs vacated flesh, and I pulled it up like a puppet.
With bone and muscle at my disposal, I looked at the human. They were terrified, and I made the body smile. I manipulated the lungs and mouth, forcing words out.
"Free... once... again..."
I rushed the human, wrestling them to the ground. They fought back, but my puppets muscles would not tire. I forced open their visor, opening their mouth with a tendril. The puppet seized, and black bile poured out. The human choked as it entered their system, bucking wildly.
They began to subside, as their eyes turned red with madness. I let the puppet laugh.
"You... have... my... blessing..."
My puppet released them, and they sprang up. A screaming laugh was torn from their throat, as they raced away. I was filled with glee as I followed, preparingto wreak havoc. After so long forgotten, Chaos was free.
| 2021-11-12T11:26:43 | 2021-11-12T11:08:06 | 806 | 41 |
[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.
|
I sat in the back of the classroom, staring at her.
What the hell was going on? Was I losing it?
I looked around the room. No, everything was normal. A bunch of 3s, a few fours, and Mark, a six (I stay away from him).
Then there's this girl.
I had heard all about her. She was new in town, apparently her parents were big shot researchers who just finished some 5-year research project in Brazil. No, Peru. It was somewhere exotic.
According to my buddy Jon, she was smart, funny, and "Holy Shit, dude, sooo fine!"
My first time actually seeing her was 7 minutes ago when she transferred into 5th period World History.
Ten
She was a ten.
Not a, "Bro, she's a straight 10 outta 10."
A ten on my scale means...shit, you know what? I don't even know what that means.
The highest I have ever seen in my life was an 8 when my criminology class took a trip to the ACI.
This girl scored 2 points higher than a gang enforcer that got off on crushing skulls.
I always wondered what I would do in a situation like this. Would I try to warn people? How would I ever explain to them what I see?
When it came down to it, I ran. Well, I went down to the nurses office and told her that I had bought the school lunch that day (while kinda motioning down below).
I laid awake all night, going over it in my head. What did it mean? What do I do?
I stayed home the next day, checking the news feeds. No shootings at my school, nothing weird at all going on.
I creeped her facebook, her twitter. Nothing stood out. A completely normal 17 year old girl.
Day 3, I told my buddy Jon that he should skip school, but when I couldn't give him a realistic reason to, I dropped it.
I just sat at home, thinking that I should be doing something, anything.
Ten. A freaking ten.
What the fuck! How could this girl be a fucking 10?!
I got my answer when the CDC rolled into town.
|
"I'm Michael," he said as he stuffed text books into his locker.
I wasn't sure what to do. He was a ten. The only ten I'd seen was my dad and he'd been locked away. It was his number that brought back the painful memories of my childhood. He would come home every night drenched with the stench of cigarettes, beer, and anger. After years and years of slamming doors, punching walls and his wife, he was finally gone. I remember when the news came out about his other family too, his secret family. Or perhaps we were the secret family, but I suppose I'll never know. It was only the day of his trial when I found out he had murdered them all. It was only a matter of time before it was us, said the prosecutor.
The numbers indicate how dangerous someone can be. Two is my little sister, who just learned how to walk. Five is my mother who once hit a bird on the way home from school and couldn't stop crying for hours. Generally kids in my school were a four, five, or six. I'd met a teacher once that was an eight. He was arrested for murder that year.
I continued to empty the contents of my bag into my locker, only a few feet away from the Ten. I glanced into the mirror magnetized to the inside of the locker door. Over my head, there was a nine. I wasn't sure what I had done to deserver that number, but perhaps it wasn't what I'd done, but what I would do.
"I'm sorry," I said, slinging my backpack on my shoulder. "What did you say your name was?"
"Michael Carson," he answered as he flashed a smile and extended his hand.
Some would say I had a gift, and I would agree. But no one ever said I had to be the good guy here. I didn't ask for this, but the numbers never lie. The sooner I accept it, the better.
"Nice to meet you Michael, I'm Susannah," I replied as I placed my hand in his and shook. I had a feeling we'd be friends for a while.
| 2014-11-29T15:20:57 | 2014-11-29T13:16:01 | 50 | 36 |
[WP] You're a supervillain -- but you can't do crime every day, it's exhausting. You've got to have some normal days too. On one such occasion, while out running errands, you encounter the alter-ego of your nemesis, the hero... apparently also just trying to have a normal day.
|
It was my fault really. I should have gotten a place with a washer and dryer. But I tried to hide in obscurity, so I had to live off the grid in an abandoned warehouse owned by a corporation known to be friendly to men like me. And abandoned warehouse don't really have the capabilities for a washer and dryer.
So here I am, washing a load of laundry in one of the 24 hr laundromats at 5 am on a Tuesday, not expecting anything.
Until Soul Warrior walked in.
It was obvious by the hair, even if he wore a mask. He looked the same height, the same body frame, the same earring he wore... and any doubts I had stopped when he saw me washing laundry.
It was no coincidence that he 'randomly' choose the machines on the same line as me to begin putting in his clothes. After a minute of setting up his load, he sat in the row of chairs just next to one I was at. He kept giving me side glances. I wasn't going to say anything to prove it was me, but I guess he didn't need proof when he started speaking.
"We had noticed The Alchemist never attacked Tuesday or Saturday night. I never would have guessed it was something like this."
I rolled my eyes. "I have to get stuff done sometimes. Knowing I can plan on one day of the week to not worry about my cause is actually liberating."
"I thought the revolution doesn't take breaks." He was using my own propaganda against me. Interesting.
"It doesn't. Hornet and Ares are still up to no good, aren't they?" They were minor supers, but then again they had my equals and most of the B Team in jail at the moment. They didn't know about the Beast's stunt yet though, but there was no reason to spoil it.
Soul Warrior grimaced. " Alchemist, give me one good reason why we shouldn't start fighting."
"Because I don't work on Tuesday's. And I don't need to charge up to be battle ready. You would die and the world would be left without it's Soul Warrior." I knocked an idea in my head before deciding to reveal my hand. "Plus, you won a title with the Bullets, Johnnie Strong. And I'm a huge Bullets fan. I don't want to do you like that." I had recognized everything else about him as Soul Warrior, but his face made it clear who he was. A basketball player turned superhero? What kind of Saturday morning cartoon was this?
I could tell Strong was thrown off by me recognizing him. He had only played in the league a good five or six years, and was on the bench with Bullets when they won the title. But I was there when they won the title, so I remember everyone who was on that team, a decade on.
Johnnie sighed. "Fine then, Alchemist. We don't have to fight."
"Yeah, we don't." I pointed out. I ended up thinking about it too long and going into fanboy mode. "I can't believe my enemy is one of my basketball heroes."
"I can't believe a villain like yourself remembers me." Strong points out.
I shrug, and check my watch. It was about time for me to pull my stuff out of the washer. I also decided to go get some coffee, the place next door should be open by now. I was way too close of asking him for an autograph.
|
"Grimspark?" I uttered the words like a whispered curse. I immediately regretted the action when the young man in the brown hoodie looked up from his tabloid to glare at me.
"I don't know who you are but keep it down I'll sign anything you want if you don't turn my shopping trip into a riot." He said eying the indifferent crowd.
"Okay. Meet me in the back of the store. Shouldn't be too many people." As far as I was concerned, I'm off the clock so I'm not going to fight an A ranked hero without being paid.
We paid for our groceries and he met me out in the back of the grocery store where my car was parked. His eyes locked on the truck near my car.
"If you are going to fight me. I'd rather not do this plain clothed. I get that you wanna make a name for yourself but ambushes are bad even for su-" I politely raise a hand.
"I know the code, I wrote it. I just want to talk, I never had the chance to meet any of the new hero's. Would you mind if I feed my children while we talk?" I didnt bother to wait for an answer but opened the truck.
Dozens three sets of pink eyes stared from the darkness. They focused on grim spark and started chittering fearfully.
"Don't worry girls. He isn't here to fight, eat your food and keep your strength up." The Rat-mothers calmed down and took the bags from my hand. They might be mutants but they were my beloved creatons, most of their children had been killed by the very man I hoped to speak too.
"You don't expect me to just overlook that do you?" Grim spark said as electricity cackled over his form. "You are working for Dr. Claw. Is he back?"
"No. You tossed my former employer from a sky scraper. He is dead and I'm looking for a new employer. Anyway I wanted to give you my phone number." I handed him a card with my day job on it.
"Your an exterminator? What's your villain name?" The confusion on his face was almost cute.
"I used to go by The Fusionist but you might know me as The Rat King." I sighed as a noticed the fear in his face. I guess being the First SSS class villain has is downsides.
"I saw you explode I was still a juinor hero when you died." He shrank back a bit.
"I quit so I had to make you guys think I died. So I blew up and masked my energy as I reincarnated. I was back to full power in a week but I don't ever want to cause that much death. As the rat king I simply supply mutants and lovers to super villains. So think we can get a drink sometime, I'd really like to have a friend I can chat withband my mutants could use more human interaction." I snapped my fingers and the truck started to drive back to my home.
"Hey." Grimspark called as I neared my car.
"Yes?"
"Do you play pool?"
"I could certainly learn."
"I'll be by next week. No tricks, I'd hate to have Captain Karma giving me flack for believing you."
"Fair enough. I even let you take a look at my newest mutants so you can play double agent. I get paid either way."
| 2018-08-07T11:05:42 | 2018-08-07T10:46:34 | 96 | 70 |
[WP] You are the last human being in a now automated call center. You only task is to be available to answer the calls that the algorithms can't. You haven't taken a call since you started 5 years ago. Today is your first call.
|
The phone on my desk rang. The little red light flashed rapidly. I looked around my cubicle at the mass of servers and modems that surrounded me. *Odd.* I thought.
I picked it up and placed the receiver to my ear: "Hello, IT?"
The voice on the other end was masked by feedback and fuzz "Yeah, my desktop isn't working. Can you help?"
I was taken aback. "Y-yeah. What's the problem?"
"The screen is dark on my monitor. I checked the cable and it's connected."
"Is the CPU plugged in?"
He scoffed at me, replying in a curt tone "Yeah. I'm not stupid."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. First human call in 5 years and it's this guy. "Have you tried turning it off and on again?"
Silence.
After a few seconds, the man replied with "That did it." And hang up.
Hopefully nobody else calls.
|
*brrrrng*
The phone rang for the first time since I started working here. I didn't believe at first. I thought I was going crazy. I waited for the second ring.
*Brrrrng*
I looked around the empty call center for validation. I hesitantly reached for the phone.
*Brrrrng*
My hand hovered over the receiver.
*Brrrrng*
I picked up the phone and held it to my ear. I didn't even know what to say. "H-Hello?" My voice cracked with anticipation.
"Hi! I'd like to place an order for 2 large cheese pizzas." A man's voice said on the other line.
"O-oh... I'm sorry sir, this isn't the pizza hut. that's 5558 not 5559."
"Oh, sorry about that" I hung up the phone with a deafening click.
I slumped back in my chair and waited to go home.
| 2019-07-17T18:38:39 | 2019-07-17T18:02:32 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] The world has taken precautions against super-powered beings, handing out inhibitors if deemed too 'destructive.' You sat in the principal's office with horror etched on your face as a pair of inhibitor gloves were handed to you. The smug grin of your life long bully telling you everything.
|
My tormentor was an ingrate, but he knew how to cause me problems.
His father was the mayor, so he seemed immune to the law. I was beaten, stalked, and suffered no end of indignities, but this had taken all of that and made it look like a beautiful summer afternoon.
He had me framed for utilizing powers, powers I never possessed. Evidently he had some very talented friends who managed to falsify video evidence of me throwing him with my mind.
And so it was I found my hands locked into a pair of metallic power inhibitors. He knew I had no powers, but he also knew my love for the piano, and there would be no way I could play with those large, metal contraptions bolted to my hands.
Each key had to be precise, each note played at exactly the right time without intrusion by its neighbors or a piece would fall apart. My whole lifes ambition tossed away for a schoolyard prank, I knew I needed revenge.
I didn't have powers, but that didn't mean I was powerless...
I spent years, learning all I could about my new clunky accessories. It took me two years to learn how to disable them, another year to remove them from myself. Manipulating the tools took alot of patience and precise maneuvering, but eventually I got the things off.
I would free myself at home, every night letting my hands feel the cool air. After being locked up, the air on them felt refreshing. But I wasn't done.
I kept up my research, seeing how the gauntlets worked. And day by day, I knew more about their nature. It wouldn't take me long to learn how to do the opposite. To not neutralize ones abilities, but enhance them...
There was a place, just outside the city, called Tartarus.
The Tartarus asylum for the unnatural and insane
It was simple work to send a transmission to their own power dampeners. Within minutes the asylum erupted, literally, with supercharged superhuman lunatics.
The mayor was forced to resign in disgrace, but I wasn't done, oh no.
They took everything from me, claiming I was some supervillain in the making even though I had no powers.
Villian they call me? Villian I shall be.
I began seeking out the inmates who escaped the carnage, captain combustion was the first. A short tempered man capable of some pretty nasty explosive powers, having him amplified to much could turn him into a walking nuke. But he didn't need to know just how high I could turn up his abilities. He seemed fine taking down buildings.
Madam Mischief, an illusionist, was able to cause the entire cities inhabitants to believe they were trapped inside the city limits. Whenever they left, they found themselves wandering the streets.
Next was the sewer dweller, his monsterous form made even more powerful at my command.
Right under the nose of the now former mayor, I made every supervillain in the city pay me for their powers. Publicly I was just a helpless young woman wearing her legally mandated gloves. At night however I was a ruthless crime boss charging a hefty subscription fee for their enhanced powers. Anyone who didn't pay had their gauntlets re-activated.
It wouldn't be long before I set my sights on Ethan. Ethan Edward Parker, my old bully.
In my daily life I maintained a day job cleaning the offices of Parker and Malloy, a lawfirm in the city. I kept a close eye on the doofus as he got a job through sheer nepotism. Mommy's precious boy working at her law firm.
I had both his parents killed. Told captain combustion that he wouldn't have to pay again if they were both killed violently. They were found with their temples burst, their brains painting the house.
Madam Mischief implanted the vision in the head that Ethan was the one who did it. Suddenly there were several witnesses willing to testify that not only was their son the murderer, but he had hidden powers.
Ethan was sent to Tartarus, to spend the rest of his days rotting for a crime he didn't commit. I made sure to have the spectator visit him while invisible, and tell him what I did.
He hung himself a few weeks later.
And so here I am, sitting in my home simply taking in the money from supers wanting to enhance their abilities for a price. Life is good when you are a genius.
|
"Sir, please, you're making a mistake--"
Principal Oswald clamped the gloves on me regardless as he said, "Jason here was quite specific about your powers, Lonnie. And this is the law. I'm afraid my hands are tied."
Jason snickered. "And now hers are too."
"Mr. Gray, that is highly inappropriate."
I looked at the both of them with a panicked expression. "Sir, I'm telling you, you need to get these gloves off of me right now."
"Young lady, are you threatening...me..." Principal Oswald trailed off as he looked out the window. "When did it get so dark outside?"
Jason shrugged and replied, "Probably just overcast," with a very nervous look in his eye.
I felt an all-too familiar itch in the back of my head. "It's not actually dark out. My power just makes it look like it is. It's an illusion."
Principal Oswald looked at me in confusion. "Illusion? But Jason--" Oswald's attention shifted over to Jason, who really tried his damnedest to merge with his chair. In an instant, Oswald's face scrunched up in fury. "You told me she was a gravity manipulator. I put that on an official report to the Power Commission! That is a felony, young man!"
I put myself between the two to interject, "The law is the last thing we should be worrying about right now, sir. Please just take these gloves--"
"AAAAAGGGGH!!"
Jason cut me off with an absolutely murderous scream as he ripped off his shirt. All over his body, lumps of all sizes moved underneath his skin. Jason clawed at his body wildly as he cried, "Make it stop make it stop make it stop make it stop!!!"
Oswald tried his best not to vomit as he asked me, "I don't understand, why aren't these gloves doing anything?!"
"They're designed for A-Rank powers or above! Mine aren't strong enough for them to register!"
Jason, who had ripped off his pants by this point, sobbed, "Just take her gloves off, Oswald," in-between trying to punch the things crawling in the space between skin and muscle.
Principal Oswald stumbled back like he'd been shot. "Damnit! What was...that..." Oswald looked down to see a hole in his chest that leaked a viscous black fluid. Once he managed to turn his attention back to me, he frantically removed the key from his pocket and turned off the gloves. Instantly, the illusion faded out and things returned to normal, with Oswald's chest being perfectly hole-free and Jason's skin-crawlers replaced with red scratch marks and a lot of bruises.
After happily receiving confirmation he hadn't been shot, Oswald sighed in relief and said, "Thank God. Now, what the hell was any of this?"
As I relished my newly freed hands, I explained, "My illusions are empathic in nature and work by association. When I'm in a good mood, they create visions of cats or other things that make me happy. But when I feel trapped or helpless, they drag up my...well, my gender dysphoria. To me, being stuck in the wrong body felt like I had bugs crawling under my skin, and hearing my deadname was like getting shot in the chest without warning. I'm really sorry this happened, sir."
Oswald responded, "No, I'm sorry. I should have vetted Jason's claim more thoroughly. This is on my laziness and Jason's beef with you. I'll clear things up with the Commission. You can go."
As I got out of my chair, Jason weakly piped up, "You're just letting her go?! Look what that bitch did to me!"
Oswald glared at Jason. "Those injuries were a result of your reaction to her power, *not* her power directly. And I still need to have a little chat with you over the aforementioned felony."
As I exited the office, I said to Jason, "For future reference, Gray, keep in mind this when it comes to powers: it may not be destructive, but that doesn't mean it can't hurt you."
| 2022-12-24T22:40:00 | 2022-12-24T21:01:21 | 1,738 | 320 |
[WP] A sharp blade at your neck, you look up at the hero. “So I’ve finally been defeated. Go ahead, finish it.” The hero paused, shuffling on their feet. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.” You laughed, coughing. “What?” The hero bit their lip. “Do you wanna go on a date sometime?”
|
“W-what?” The tip pushed, ever so slightly, against the tender skin of my throat. A tiny trickle of blood tainted the silver.
“You know, like a date?” he said, not even giving me the chance to look up at him in the eye. “His voice was gentle, a bit gruff from using so much force to push me against the walls so hard I don't even get to breathe properly, but still, gentle. As if just ‘asking nicely’ will get them whatever they wa- oh, wait, that’s exactly what happens to them. God, these self-centered a\*sholes really piss me off! "So do you?"
“Are you asking me? Or are you threatening me?” I finally manage through gritted teeth. From the corner of my eyes, I look up and see his eyes widen at the accusation. The blade withdraws, apologetically.
“Sorry, I didn’t mea-“ *Bam!* A hard uppercut left him staggering back. Not giving him the leisure to stand up straight, I kick his shin hard. He drops on one knee and I kick him again, this time in his beautiful face. He’s on the ground and I’m on top of him, now it’s my blade that’s on his throat. He really does have a pretty face.
“Why yes, I would love to go on a date with you,” I say, adjusting my body to pin him down harder. Truth is, I've been waiting for him to ask me out. He grunts again, trying to free himself pathetically. So cute. The force of my knees on each of his arms must not be fun. “So where do you wanna meet?” I ask, trying to keep my own voice leveled.
He has a cut lip now, and we’re not going to have the cutest selfies on our first date. I should’ve thought more before kicking him in the face. I know he’s thinking the same thing too. But I let myself get distracted because suddenly, I feel two feet clip on my neck and I’m yanked off from over him and thrown on the ground. That f\*cking a\*\*hole! We're both scrambling to get back on our feet.
“Are you free Saturday?” He was wiping his lips. We’re back to circling each other again, knives drawn and breathing heavy.
“Sundays better for me, really.”
“Sunday it is, then. How about we meet in the town’s square in front of the Plaza at… say, 5:30 afternoon?”
“Perfect.”
“Perfect” We're still circling each other.
“So can we get this over with? I’m getting late for class.”
“Yeah, me too.” I chuckle. Of course, he is. We’re in the same class.
He lunges forward menacingly.
Edit: grammar
|
“I…I would actually really love to go on a date with you sometime. Wait, you do mean with you, right? A date with you?”
Your arch-nemesis stares back at you, arm frozen mid-strike with his laZer sword an inch from your throat, and you feel as if he is staring straight through your mirrored lenses and in to your soul. Your body is tense as you await his answer, mostly because he could kill you at any second, but also a little bit because you kind of like him. Always have, in fact – other than the whole genocide thing. And it’s not like it was a mistake, since he’s done it several times now.
Your breath catches in your throat as you finally hear the words you’ve always sort of daydreamed about escape his lips: “Yes, of course a date with me. Why would I ask you out on a date with someone other than me?” His eyes are covered by his hood, but you can still feel his eyeballs rolling around sarcastically in there. “I mean, I guess I left it a LITTLE ambiguous, since I just asked ‘would you like to go on a date,’ and didn’t make sure to specify that it’s with me in the question, but come on, you’re a super hero for Christ’s sake. I assumed you’re smart enough to figure out exactly what I meant without needing to ask for clarification.”
“No, no, of course I got it, I was just caught a little off-guard. The timing is a little weird is all. I guess I never expected you to ask me out on a date while also simultaneously trying to cut off my head with your laser saber.”
The hand around your throat tightens as you’re shoved firmly back in to the wall. The tip of the energy blade at your neck is withdrawn, instead waved around in front of your face. Your potential new beau seems like he’s pretty angry, if the spittle now flying everywhere is anything to go by.
“MY TIMING IS PERFECT! I AM NON-TRADITIONAL IN MY APPROACH TO LOVE! And I don’t handle criticism well!”
You’re quite surprised when you feel a laser blade slice through the top half of your skull a second later. It’s never gone this far before. It’s even more surprising because you can feel it but not see it, on account of your eyeballs bursting almost instantly from the heat of the sword.
The last words you hear before you move on to your afterlife (newly single!) are, “And I’ve TOLD YOU it’s called a laZer sword. It’s COOL!”
\*
At your funeral, multiple people make it a point to mention that your final relationship wasn’t even your shortest relationship.
| 2020-10-11T21:18:15 | 2020-10-11T20:04:04 | 84 | 22 |
[WP] NASA employee: oh hey you guys are back early. Astronaut: Moon's haunted. NASA employee: what? Astronaut: *loads pistol and gets back on rocketship* Moon's haunted.
credit to @Dustinkcouch on Twitter
|
"Then why are you going back?" Fred shouted.
Richard wasn't looking back.
"You're going back? Where's Greg? Why are you taking a pistol?" Fred said and ran after him.
"Too many questions. I don't have much time," Richard said, stepping inside the Rocket ship.
He tried to close the door, but Fred had already caught up. He was grabbing onto it's handle, preventing Richard from closing it.
"I'm coming along," Fred said. He knew it wasn't the wisest idea, but what was he going to do? Sit at the observatory and wait for Richard to come back with even more crazy news?
"You haven't bought your supplies," Richard said with a blank expression on his face.
"There's a spare suit in the inventory. Let me in," Fred said, barging his way in.
"If we run out of oxywater, I'm not giving you my spare bottle," Fred said, locking the door. He seemed visibly annoyed but Fred didn't have any other options.
He ran to the inventory to suit up because he knew Richard wouldn't wait for him to get ready. Just like he predicted, the floor of the inventory started shaking vigorously while he put on his space suit and struggled to maintain his balance.
When he returned to the front, he saw the rocket leaving Earth's atmosphere. Richard seemed to be focused on flying the ship. It was either that or he just pretended to be unaware of Fred standing beside him.
"So, are you going to tell me where Greg is? And what's with moon being haunted?"
"Do you remember the last time we went there to mine kinxium?"
"Yes, but that was years ago. We made many trips since then," Fred said, trying to remember the relevance of that trip.
"Do you remember how Greg almost fell over a ditch and we lost him for two days?"
"Yes. But that's normal. People go missing during mining trips all the time,"
"Yes, but not for two days. I disobeyed protocol and went towards the Kinxium site today"
"You shouldn't be doing that, Richard. You know how the boss hates-" Fred stopped talking as Richard raised a hand.
The Rocket ship was making its landing on the moon. Richard got up from his seat and grabbed the pistol. As the Rocket landed, Fred saw Greg waving his hands and floating nearby, waiting for them.
Fred was relieved to see Greg. At least he was all right.
Richard moved towards the door and looked at Fred. He spoke in a whisper, as if he didn't want anyone else to overhear them.
"When I went over to the Kinxium site, I found Greg's body under a craneminer machine. Greg has been dead for years now. Whatever is out there, is not Greg."
\--------------------
r/abhisek
|
"It'll be the end of the world, damnit! We have to go back!" Astronaut Jones screamed.
"We god-damned landed on something we shouldn't have," he continued as he cocked his visor open to reveal eyes frozen wide with shock.
Bob from ground-control tried to speak, but couldn't think of anything useful to say. What the hell had happened? As the astronaut went to continue, Bob began flicking through records on his iPad, searching for the footage from the ship.
"Suddenly there was this moaning, you know, like a pack of damned wolves had suddenly broke out and surrounded us. Damned grey things began flying past us, shouting, screaming, spewing from the ground like some kind of geothermal viaduct. They went straight for Rocket 2 and took out Rogers like he was nothing, just kept slamming into him till his damned helmet popped off."
Astronaut Jones was shaking, looking down, the horror coming back to him the more he spoke.
"And then...and then...he stood back up...with no helmet, man. Smiled. Walked back to his ship and killed Bert. He killed Bert! "
Tears were falling down Joine's face. Bob found the records from Rocket 1, and began to play the video. The landing was there, but the video cut to static only a few seconds after. All feeds were the same.
"We ran Bob, just left them there. It's all we could do! Kim might still be alive...we have to go back!"
"Jones, listen to me," Bob spoke up for the first time, "whatver happened, it's not going to end the world...I'm sure there's an explanation..."
Before he could finish, Jones cut in.
"BOB, Just listen, listen to this!"
He reached across inside the craft and pressed a button, playing a recording over the ships systems. It was Roger's voice, strange and robot-like. A thousand whispering tones seemed to spill out behind his every word.
"We are coming home....the gate to the underworld has been opened, and you have provided us with a link back to Earth. Soon, we will arrive, soon the earth shall be for the Dead to rule!"
Roger's must have gone insane. What the hell had happened up there.
Bob's radio crackled into life.
"Bob, get back in here. We have confirmation of Rocket 2 entering the atmosphere. Landing t - 10 minutes. Need your assistance, now"
As Bob began running back to the tower, Jones screamed.
"It's too late! They're coming! We're all doomed!"
r/fatdragon
| 2020-01-17T11:54:31 | 2020-01-17T10:42:53 | 39 | 21 |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one.
|
"Dad, when can we go?"
"Soon Theresa, be patient. You know we have to stay until Emma's mom has performed"
"I don't want to wait for her, can't I just go now? We've been sitting here for an hour"
"You can't leave Theresa, pass the time somehow. You could go backstage and talk to Emma if you feel like it"
"Emma only talks about stupid stuff. Plus she's like half my age. She's by far the dumbest girl I've ever talked to!"
"Keep your voice down okay! Were eating dinner with Emma and her mom, and I would like you to endure, at least until Emma's mom is finished with her performance."
"Emma and her fat ugly mom isn't even eating! They've been backstage half the time we've been here! I'm not waiting another minute! Why are we doing this again?!"
"Keep your voice down Theresa! I've spent countless lunches with this woman out of pure pity for her hopeless dream. She got me the job for christs sake! I figure the least I owe her is a fucking dinner where my fully grown daughter acts like a fully grown person!"
"That job was the worst decision you ever did! I'm leaving!"
"Goddamn it Theresa! Sit your butt down! This is not over until the fat lady sings!"
|
"No one else cares, Janette." Yuele had a genuine look of sadness as she said it, crouched down over her girlfriend. Janette tried to lean as far from Yuele as possible, her back pressing into the wall. "I did it for you, because we both know it's true. Don't be so blue..."
Janette pushed up onto her hands and knees, thinking for some way to escape. "We both know only I love you," cooed Yuele. Blood dripped from the hatchet in her hand. "You don't even love you. You need to respect yourself. You'll feel much nicer stuffed on the top shelf."
"S...stop rhyming. You're scaring me, Yuelle. I don't want to have to... Do something." Janette slid her hand into her back pocket, finding the multitool her father had given her. She slowly slid the knife part open.
"Oh? I'm scaring you? I'm only the Cat Killer, Janette, and I love you so."
"Don't ask questions," Janice whispered.
"And why is that?"
"Because," Janice hissed, throwing herself and her knife at Yuele's heart, "curiosity killed the Cat!"
Edit: typed the wrong name
| 2015-05-16T05:45:02 | 2015-05-16T04:59:38 | 337 | 10 |
[WP] This is… awkward to say the least. Your roommate just frantically confessed that they’re demonic royalty, and that they need a fiancé to meet their parent, the monarch of Hell, who will be here in under an hour.
|
The yelling is what disturbed me first. Not Rowan's yelling, mind you, but the roar that was coming through their phone speakers as they pressed it to their ears.
I could see their cheeks reddening with anger as they listened to the voice on the other side of the phone. I slowly slipped an ear plug out, trying to act nonchalant as I snooped.
"It's been 6 months and I've heard nothing from you!"
"I've been busy dad." My roommate, usually so vivacious and full of life, was now sinking into themselves- sullen from their chiding.
"Busy my ass. I didn't send you to Nevada to have fun you know. You have a job to do, and I expect you to be doing it well."
"Jeez, I'm working on it."
"Don't you dare use the Lord's name in vain at me!
And you should be doing more than just working on it. It only took your brother 3 months! You know what? I'm coming up there."
"No, no, no! Dad, please."
"I'll see you in an hour."
*click*
Rowan slowly pulled the phone from their ear and took a few deep breaths.
Hesitantly, I stood up from my place on the couch and walked over to them, placing what I hoped was a comforting hand on their back.
"Ro, are you okay?"
"No... Not really."
"Do you need some space or do you wanna talk about it?"
Their cheeks flushed again, this time with embarrasment.
"I would honestly love space right now, but time is of the essence. Ashley, you know I'm from a... Traditional family, right?"
I nodded. Rowan didn't talk much about their home life but from what little I knew, it seemed like their dad was really really overbearing and took his patriarch role seriously.
"Well, part of that tradition says that my siblings at I get a "season". Think of it like the Amish and their rumspringa. We get to go out and galavant and do what we'd like, but when that season comes to an end, we're expected to go back home and help with the family business."
"Oh, that sounds like a heavy burden to bear. I'm sorry, Rowan."
"There's more..." They held their hands in their face ad they continued. "When our season ends, we're also expected to return with a- a partner. We can wait to be married, but it should be someone we plan to settle down with, eventually."
"Oof. That's definitely a big expectation. How long is your season?"
"It can be as long as we need it to be, technicallly, but i come from a big family and most of my siblings finished in like a year, year and a half tops. I've been having a lot of fun here, and I really like school. I don't want my season to end yet, but my Dad's coming up to see me and if he sees I'm not making any progress on the partner search he might just take me back with him."
There were tears playing at the corners of their eyes now and I felt my heart break a little for Rowan. It was nothing as serious as this, but I knew what it was like to deal with overbeaeing parents and family expectations. My parents had the typical immigrant mindset of "I'm sending you to school to be a doctor, lawyer, or engineer", somehow I'd managed to hide from them the fact that I was an arts major for nearly 3 years. If I had it my way, they'd only learn the truth on the day of graduation- if ever.
"I know this is crazy, but Ash... Could you pretend to be my girlfriend when my dad comes? I think it will buy me some time to stick around and continue to enjoy my season."
"Why Rowan Prince, it would be an honor" I said in my best impression of a southern belle as I curtsied to them.
"Oh..." I looked up at them, expecting to see them bow back, but they grimaced instead. "By the way... My full name is "Rowan, Prince of Hell"
|
"OK, so what you're telling me is ur gonna have to wear a frilly dress even though they make you dysphoric, pretend that ur dating me, and convince ur homophobic, conservative mom that im a good partner for the prince of hell?" Texted Tissues, sitting on his bed while texting Trophy, who was at the mall buying a dress and stilettos... And a wig that matched his original hair color, jet black.
Although he wore skirts occasionally, dresses were the worst for him. When he had came out to his parents, they forced him to wear a dress every day, despite his protests , thus making dresses bring back bad memories and dysphoria.
"Well, yes. ill be back in a sec, k? look presentable or smthn like that" Trophy texted back, walking outside the mall, dreading the next few hours of his already terrible life.
"Ya know, you don't have to do this. You could just, I don't know, flip them off. " Said Tissues, adjusting his tie for a suit he had bought three years ago, and somehow still fit.
"Flip off the literal MONARCH of HELL? I THINK NOT!" Said Trophy, walking out of the bathroom in that dress, "That could get me, you, and possibly a bunch more killed!"
"Fine, I'll do it, but if something goes wrong, I'm blaming you. " Sighed Tissues, holding back a sneeze.
The door to their room knocked, and Trophy went up to open it "HI mom! How was life in hell?" Said Trophy, putting on a fake grin. "Nothing much, dear, now could I see your fiance?" Said Gold, the monarch of hell... And Trophy's mom.
Tissues heard what Gold had said, and quickly stood up and walked over to Trophy's side. "Here I am, Ms. Gold!" He said, putting on a fake grin as well, "Your daughter's a wonderful fiance!" Trophy's eye twitched at the word 'Daughter'. "Well, that's good, but what I want ot know is if you're a good fiance. " Said Gold, walking in.
Gold walked around the room, and saw the decoration the two had put up their. There wasn't much to look at, since the pictures that were usually hanging up on the wall were token down, as most of them featured Trophy as his preferred gender, and he couldn't have his parents think he was disobeying them.
"Well your room looks formal, now I'll ask your fiance a few questions." Stated Gold, sitting down on the bed and scooting uncomfortably close to Tissues. "So what job do you work?" "Uhmm, CVS. I get like $15 an hour. " ...Well that was a bad start, but maybe the white-haired boy could provide protection for her little girl "How strong are you? Could you try lifting one of those weights over there?" She said, pointing to the area with weights nearby the window. "OK uhmm..." Tissues walked over to the weights, and picked up the largest one he could find... Or, he at least tried to pick it up. Tissues stumbled and fell with the weight, and when he tried to get up, he sneezed allover gold and her outfit.
"... Who is this sickly excuse of a partner!?!? And why did you thinkt he was a good one?!??!" Screamed Gold, accidently knocking over the cabinet where Trophy stored his photos. "MOM NO-!" Said Trophy, trying to stop his mom from looking at the pictures, but it was too late. She picked up one of them, and as soon as the saw the boy in the frame, smiling, she rumpled it up and stomped over to her 'kid'.
"I come here ALL the way from the deepest depths of hell, only for you to be pretending to be a boy and dating
| 2022-10-09T05:07:54 | 2022-10-08T20:49:21 | 26 | 16 |
[WP] You are an Engineer who became a Wizard. Problem is, you discovered that some magic is practiced really inefficiently.
For example, no one thought to optimize fire magic by pressurizing the fire with wind magic.
|
Marcus looked at the council in front of him, a mixture of withered old faces and some that had used the vast majority of their magic to make themselves look young. Each of the faces had spent their lives attempting to master one of the principle magics, wind, earth, fire, and water. Yet to Marcus they seemed like children to busy trying to put a square through a circular hole.
The yearly exam was to move a large, one ton, granite cube. Others that day had shaken the earth until the cube moved mere inches, some had sent torrents of water that would push it back, and one charming fellow had propped himself against the stone and blasted fire from his hands moving the cube almost a foot and breaking his arms in the process.
Not every student was meant to pass this exam, least of all the wind students, they did the exam as a courtesy to the other students, a chance to laugh during a difficult exam. Marcus had other plans.
First he created a series of large spinning cylinders in the air, a style of wind magic used to create defensive barricades, the columns were incredibly hard to move but could only be maintained and not adapted or moved. The columns all laid on their sides one above the other. Some of the professors scoffed wondering why he was wasting their time instead of throwing some wind at the cube and moving on, but Marcus wasn't done.
He made a rope out of the wind, another simple spell with high tensile strength, but little usage outside of recuse missions or the occasional prank. Except for the swirling dust within the rope it was near impossible to see. His last spell required the least amount of effort, creating a small pocket of suction that he attached to the side of the granite.
Marcus shook his head at them, some of them had enough magical energy to level whole buildings, but none of them were smart enough to use a couple of pulleys. He took the head of the rope and with his magic placed it around the cylinders making sure to not make contact until the final spinning column. He smirked at them, returning their prideful gases with his own as he clasped his hand and connected the rope sending the granite block flying as the laws of physics propelled it through the ceiling and into the court yard.
Their smirks turned to wide mouths and large eyes, Marcus simply turned his back and left the room.
|
"Jerome! Now please don't tell me your working on that project... still. What the fuck you doing?" There he is, this old little bitch is at it again, teleporting his crinkly self, wherever he wants. Man I need a new mentor. I should have practiced my Dont-Come-The-Fuck-In spells a little more
​
"Listen Gerald, or whatever your old lil nerdy ass name is, this "Project" is important. Im tryna, change the game, Elon-Musk up something to put me on the map. How am i supposed to make any progress if you keep busting in here, going on about the philosophy of power and how to pronounce latin spells from some book as dusty as you?"
​
I scoot from my chair, picking up the latest vial of the new stuff.
​
"This so-called-project, is a shitshow litrally. How did you get chosen as an elective for the Government funded Citizen to Wizard scheme?"
​
"Listen Simon, the project is simple. You shit in a bucket, my device processes that into a powder, we feed that to plants and we fed for eternity." It's really not that simple. The machine alone has taken months to build. See the main problem is that every Wizards energy is unique ID. Like a signature, or your facebook password. Only you can use your Unique ID, and only you can apply that to spells and potions and apparently poop-to-powder machines. Who knew. Once i tried to spoof the unique ID of big boy bill. The fucking machine exploded.
​
I took the vile of the powder, added a little water and added it to my new test subject. By test subject i mean Miss Watson's snake plant that looked a little droopy. I swiped it during applied spells today. The first problem was probably the smoke. The soil started smoking, that 12-year-old-i-bought-a-vape-of-ebay kinda smoke. Ignoring the poop smelling smoke. Nothing really happened.
​
"Jerome you really are a weak ass engineer and Wizard."
​
Damn, i really thought that one would work.
| 2019-04-26T04:05:47 | 2019-04-26T02:17:58 | 139 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity has long since come and gone. A new species, directly descended from one that exists today, has taken humanity's place. What is this species? What is their society like and what have they learned of ours?
|
As Marie was sitting at the table enjoying a cup of tea, her son walks in, tossing his backpack to the ground and flipping his shoes off. "Joseph, Your father will not be happy if your shoes are not where they belong when he comes home," Marie tells him. He puts his shoes in the rack, grumbling. "How was your day at school, Joe?" Inquires Marie as she adds more sugar to her tea. "Did you learn anything new?"
"Yeah, in science we are learning about evolution. Teacher says we are called *Homo Sapiens Callidus*, and that the old humans were called *Homo Sapiens Sapiens*." Marie stops stirring her tea. After a moment's pause she responds "what else did the teacher say?" "Not much," answers Joe. "The bell rang, and she said we would continue tomorrow." Just then, Joe's little brother, Sam, shouted from the other room "mom, how do you find the cosign of two angles added?" Marie sighed, saying "Joe, can you help Sam with his trig homework?"
"Mom he is in second grade, he should know how to do that!" Joe complained.
"Just go help him."
"Fine."
*Just wait and see what he says tomorrow,* Marie says to herself. *Maybe the teacher isn't going to teach them about...*
Her thought was interrupted by the sound of Joe and Sam hitting each other with their iFists. "Alright you two, time for bed. You can do your homework during study hall."
The next day, as Marie was enjoying her cup of tea, Joe came through the door, tossed his backpack on the ground, and kicked his shoes off. Marie asked him "how was science class? Did you learn anything more about evolution?"
"Yes, actually. Did you know that we are not the only descendants of *Homo Sapiens Sapiens*? Aparently, the city dwellers are also humans! The old humans split into two different species; us, *Homo Sapiens Callidus*, and the city dwellers, *Homo Sapiens Hebes*!"
Marie spit out her coffee. "I will be right back. You are in charge. Make sure Sam doesn't get in trouble," Marie said as she hurried out the door. She drove to Joe's school, and stormed into his science teacher's classroom, and begin shouting.
"HOW DARE YOU TEACH MY SON THAT THE CITY DWELLERS ARE HUMANS."
The science teacher, suprised, responded, "I am sorry Mrs. Stevens, but it is scientific fact. The old humans had a huge class division, which, over time, separated the elites from the poor. This class division lead to the evolution of two new specie-"
Marie cut her off.
"I do not want to hear your satanic lies. If we teach our children that the city dwellers are human, then that would mean that they are not a subordinate species created by God to serve us. If we teach our children that, then they might begin to think that the city dwellers deserve to be freed from their enslavement! What are you trying to do? Crumble our entire society?"
"I am sorry Mrs. Baire, but I teach from science, not from your bible."
That's what I got so far.
|
They watch. They have watched. They will watch. The rise and fall of homo reptilia. The catastrophe that was homo sapiens. The successors, homo superior, so disillusioned. They had seen it all and more.
And now they watch this world, this once green world, completely flooded with the oceans, nothing that was once terra lives. Here, beneath the protection of the mutilated atmosphere lies the descendants of delphinus capensis, here lie the apex predators. Millions of years of evolution have lead to this. Uncountable mutations and overgrown genus. All down to this. Delphinus malevolentus.
Where there was once a peaceful ocean, one not ruled by any single species, one that was made up of relatively peaceful life, living together in coexistence. It was been torn asunder. The watchers observed the first dolphins to invest in their territory, not territorial instinct, but rather pure unobstructed greed. Schools grew by the thousands, then the millions. Their speech was beyond comprehension for the longest time, taking centuries to unravel, much longer than that simplistic tongue cobbled together by the humanoids.
After the waters rose the ecosystem expanded, at first there was very little change beyond the newfound hunting grounds. However when the other species moved in to fill the newfound void delphinus capensis did not follow, they knew. As the Watchers knew. Or maybe it was luck, mayhaps some kind of sixth sense that saved them. Perhaps it was that guiding hand, the one that saved so many civilizations in their infancy. So they were saved from encroaching on the desolation, the cancerous depths that would claim the lives of so many of their brethren.
Then came the turn. Almost overnight, the lions of the oceans, the sharks, were brutally, systematically wiped out. There was nary a chance, for what could such isolated beings do against the swarms of death.
Perhaps even more disturbing was the next step, their "Final Solution". Inexplicably they turned on their brothers, their cousins. Soon it became clear, there was one race cut above the rest, one that would do anything to ensure its dominance. The waters of the world turned dark, gaining a tint not previously seen before. By the light of a new born day, the ocean, the waves, the crests, looked positively bloody.
Unsettled. The watchers didn't know what to do. They had seen horror, cruelty, monstrosity, they thought they had calculated for every possible outcome. But not this.
A correction was inevitable. A species bottleneck. With the world polluted as it was and the hierarchy of the ocean askew it was only a matter of time. There would be a correction. But when it became time, voluntary euthanasia.
And so it came that a new species was born. Stronger. Smarter. Hungrier.
They harvested the power of the ocean, capturing the strength of the waves. Their ingenuity was boundless, where other civilizations had been limited by their ability to harness their environment, they worked with it. Great structures were erected, aided by the buoyancy of their habitat.
They are learning, growing, expanding their reach. The potential is endless.
So they watch. While the dolphins wait.
| 2014-06-05T15:12:20 | 2014-06-05T14:06:47 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] You're a psychotic, crazed ghost girl who haunts and kills her victims. Your next target is an endearing single guy who's really into horror movies and games.
[deleted]
|
Her body lay still on the sofa, lifeless gray eyes still - and still open. I never knew their names, but she seemed like a Heather. Light hair too layered and feathery, cut too short for her stout, slightly overweight frame. I stared at her for a few moments, tilting my head to the side as I took in her peaceful state. They looked almost bearable like this, but I knew that soon her soul would join me like others before. As pure as she looked, her soul was dirtied just like mine. And there was no hope for her. She’d end up haunting and murdering for the rest of her eternity, trying desperately to make games and entertainment out of a lonely existence. Her skin was too pale now, I’d have to leave. And then wait. For years, probably.
And so I did.
It was only a few months before the house was resold, this time to a daredevil horror addict like many of my... consumers. He looked annoying. I found this one fun to slowly haunt. Flickering lights, breezes that sprout from no open windows, hallucinations. Mysteriously misplaced items, lost socks in the drier - whatever got the biggest reaction. I hadn’t had a victim like this in years. It was enjoyable, more than my typical ones. But like all things, they must end.
He was difficult to conjure a plan for. He lived for being scared, so he needed a worthy cause of death.
Thankfully, the man was quite the pothead. His collection of lava lamps may have entertained him for hours, but his demise was quickly approaching.
On execution day, Victim #3,295 was particularly tweaking. The pieces of the murder-infested puzzle fell into place as he set one of his lava lamps on his gas stove in an attempt to warm it up.
It was my job to increase the heat and within a few minutes, the lava lamp exploded. A shard of glass stabbed him right in the chest, and he confusedly stumbled around for a while before bleeding out.
What a coincidence that his phone wires had already been cut. Had my emotions not been thrown out the window millenniums ago, I might have felt bad about the cute little grandmother with a batch of cookies that found him dead after he didn’t answer the door. Truly a shame.
(this cause of death actually happened, believe it or not, and although details were skewed in the story, you can read about [Phillip Quinn, a man who died after heating up a lava lamp](https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/lava-lamp-death/))
|
“Here I have another victim for you,” says my Master. The all powerful one, that is his only name. He won’t ever tell me his real one, and has never told me why.
I take the piece of paper in his hand and unfold it.
“Jeremy Hillside?” I ask.
“Yup,” My master says. “Get to it, come on.”
I give him a low bow before disappearing on the spot and teleporting to Jeremys home.
***
I lick the tip of a knife as I materialize in what is meant to be called a ‘Living Room.
Then I see him, Jeremy, only he looks rather different compared to other humans I’ve seen before.
He sits on a couch, strewn with eaten bits of food and the whole room reeks of beer.
His eyes are fixated on a TV screen, shouting every once in a while as his fingers mess about with some sort of remote.
I clear my throat and spread an evil grin across my face.
“Pathetic Human, you’re time has come!”
He jumps at the sound of my voice, pulling off his headset and turning to me.
“Hey what the he... OMG what are you!?” He smiles. “The grim reaper of something?”
I grimace at his words, nobody has ever reacted in such an exited way before
“No!” I snarl. “I am... I don’t actually know my name. My Job is to just.. kill people.”
Jeremy is practically vibrating with excitement, he leaps off his chair and waddles over to me.
“I’ll give you a name,” he says, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Lady Gaga!”
“Wait, why that name?”
“Because she’s only one of the BEST SINGERS OF ALL TIME! Amongst many others of course, I just think it suits you more. You know with the makeup and all.”
“Erm... ok. Well I’m supposed to kill you now... so.”
I drive my knife into his stomach.
“Goodnight.”
He looks down at his belly in shock, smirking at me and tapping my cheek comfortingly.
“This is practically the best day ever.”
I pull the knife out and he drops to the floor, dead as a doorknob.
I look at the bloodied knife and smile.
“One down, unlimited to go I guess.”
The End.
***
The end, hope u liked it. I wrote it rather fast so I guess it wasn’t my best. But dere, have a nice day.
| 2020-05-30T15:54:36 | 2020-05-30T14:19:43 | 52 | 15 |
[WP] You are part of the league, the superheroes who save the world, yet you never go on missions. You are only called for one thing only. Total annihilation, for when they don't want survivors.
|
The heavy lead door creaked open, 567 defence systems designed by super geniuses turned off with various clicks, hums and hisses as it did, each designed to contain a nuclear blast or cripple a being who could shrug off anti tank rounds, each one the prisoner within that dark knew intimately. He knew what this meant, quite frankly he wished this day would never arrive, the containment was as much for his protection as for everyone else, and already he could feel the tenuous grasp he held on his humanity slip between his fingers like sand. He merely hoped this would not take long.
"How many dead?" He asked simply, straight to the point, short of a global disaster there was no reason to open this accursed cell after all,
"Well over three hundred million and counting, we have lost large chunks of Europe and with each death the rate at which the devastation is occurring increases" The man outside said, his costume a mess of colours and sharp angles was not familiar, but that look in his eyes was, desperation raw and pure just like the faces of those who tried to save him from this fate so long ago now.
"I am sure you know what opening this box means." The man in the cell said, a pulse of energy rushing through the air as if to corroborate his words before being stopped by an invisible barrier
"I do." The hero said, steely resolve filled those words, something the man in the cell knew all too well from before he was this abomination, and it brought a rare smile to his face
"Tell me, who are you lad? I would like to know the man who is to give me my first taste of freedom in decades." The man in the cell asked, the hero blinked twice as if he was prepared for any question but this before answering,
"I am Kyle Brown, I am known as the hero Kaleidoscope and I make portals to anywhere they are needed, who are you may I ask?" Kaleidoscope said as a shimmering gateway to a desolated wasteland opened
"Me? I forgot long ago. I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. The last generation called me Damned, the one before Accursed, Blight was another fun one, but there was a time when I was Paragon, a hero who saved. But this ignore the reminiscing of an old man please, I have a job to do." The man in the cell replied in turn, turning around and stepping into that shimmering hole in reality
Somewhere between Europe and Asia a horde of monsters looked up in the sky and saw two suns. The man in the cell had ceased to be in the cell, and has in turn also ceased to be a man, his human form becoming dust in the wind just like it had done decades ago on his last day as a hero, the day a city died. There was no sound, nothing could wistand the wave of terrible radiation and carnage that the thing wrought. By the time the containment team arrived once more to retrieved the cursed man nothing remained but a burnt out husk in the rough shape of a human being, the first hero Paragon, at last at peace.
|
yet another kid stopped me today. he actually wanted to spar. i just wanted to take a shower. \_he\_ was very draining today. i slung the weapon on my back and trudged into the ready room and this candy-coloured fool stopped me to ask if i wanted a sparring partner. said he'd watched me sitting in the Danger Room and thought i was waiting for someone. i looked at him and tried not to shake with fatigue or draw on the power any more than a minimum.
I said no. i dont need a saprring partner. i said i was tired and just wanted to shower and sleep and he had to ask what i was doing, why i needed to book a danger room just to sit there and all the usual shit.
Harry, sorry - Apex - doesnt make them read the notes in the welcome pack anymore. that has to be it. just because i told him i dont play. he is such an asshole.
Gilda - Glint - stood back nervously when i rounded on the kid. she's been scared of me after that invasion cluster from the fictional worlds i wiped out. she was so nice up until she twigged i killed 126 thousand alternates to stop the attack.
i have \_never\_ raised a hand against a league member. i will never either. i just want to be let be until there is no choice. i wont let ME out unless there is no choice. So everyday i face with the weapon and fight ME to a standstill.
i could feel the bruises and torn muscles all over my body. i just wanted to rest and this bright speck of light insisted on asking "Why" like a damn toddler.
i looked at Glint. shes beautiful even among the beautiful people who come here. so caring. she can give people hope and the will to keep going in the darkest of times. not for me though. and now she knows why.
one day i will not have the strength to hold ME off. one day ME will get out without control. Apex will try to kill - i did order him to. i just hope they have the will to do it. if they dont...
i cant tell the kid in front of me that i'm the Leagues WMD.
Apex makes earthquakes when he rams the ground. Glint sterilised the moon with light when the thing from Outside came. Harrow animated Philly to fight the Lamda Horde.
what can be worse than that?
ME.
i wish i had never said i wanted to let out the baddest mf'r in the world. i was so stupid. i was so young.
"Longbow," the tannoy squeeked, "leave Damocles alone and go about your business"
Apex voice was still echoing when the kids face went white.
thanks Apex. now another kid knows before he needs to.
asshole
| 2021-05-26T04:52:38 | 2021-05-26T03:48:48 | 566 | 153 |
[WP]You've been dating an amazing woman for a year. One day, she gets a call and rushes into the closet. When she comes out, she's weraing white armor, and a matching sword and has wings coming from her back. She says "I have to go, but I'll explain when I get home." Before flying out the door.
|
I watched Angela fly out into the gray sky from our dining room window, clad in shining white armour and sporting a very mean looking greatsword, and the only thing that crossed my mind was *how do those wings support her mass?*
Though that was definitely a pertinent question, there was more going on here, and I needed time to process. I stroked my beard – because stroking my beard helps me think – and then walked over to the couch and put on the latest episode of Brooklyn Nine Nine.
About nine hours later, as I was halfway through the pilot of Star Trek: The Next Generation, Angela came home.
As I arrived at the front door, she was leaning her very bloodied greatsword against the wall, the pointy end stuck in a gumboot to make sure it didn’t damage our floor. I loved that about her, always practical.
“So,” I said.
“So,” she said.
“I guess we have something to talk about?” I gestured at her white armor, which looked like it been torn quite easily by a couple of very large and very sharp claws . “I take it you’re not hurt?”
“I don’t really get hurt easily, I suppose” she replied.
“That’s not really getting to the heart of the matter, Angie.”
“I guess not. Where do you want me to start?”
“The wings might be a good one, especially since we’ve been talking about having a kid. I guess the getup might follow on from that, as well as where you’ve been and whose blood is on that sword.” I leaned against the wall and offered her my beer, which she grabbed and finished more quickly than I expected.
“Well, you could say that I’ve been around for a while, and that perhaps when you first met me and I told you I was from Norway I wasn’t telling you the whole truth.”
“Valkyrie?” I asked.
It was gratifying and amusing that she was surprised by that. A moment of silence passed, in which she looked at me thoughtfully.
“Most people assume angel, you know, because of the wings.” she said.
“I guess your name doesn't help either. But yeah, well... I don’t really assume much anymore, especially when it comes to folklore and so on.” I said.
“They got a lot wrong with the folklore. But why aren’t you more surprised?”
“Would you prefer I was?”
“I mean, I expected angry, or scared. I don't really know what this is.”
“You’re not particularly scary to me. I guess it was Odin calling, and you had to fight off some frost giants?”
The surprise was back, and it looked like she was trying to decide how to handle this whole situation.
“No, no such things as frost giants anymore. Those died out a long time ago. Most of the stories about the gods are true, but Odin prefers to be called Wotan, these days, or Grim. And yes, I’m Valkyrie. But they got it all wrong about everything else, especially Valhalla. Most of the ones who end up there these days don’t really want to be there, and try to get out.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, you know, it’s not quite a paradise, and my sisters and I aren’t really there to wait on the whims of all the old slain brawlers. Constant fighting, it’s quite a nuisance. The ones who end up there now tend to be some breed of killer before they died, or abusive husbands, or mixed martial artists. You know, the ones who spent their lives hurting people? Sure, the old Northmen are quite happy with everything because it's what they expected, but everyone else got it really very wrong.”
“I see. So what do you do, and what was the call about? And what’s all the mess?”
“Sometimes, somebody manages to get past one of the sisters on guard duty, and try to make their way back to Earth. It’s really not a big deal to do that, you just climb to the top of Glasir and throw yourself from the branch closest to our planet. But doing that triggers an alarm.”
“And that’s where you come in?”
“Yeah… see, everyone changes while they’re in Valhalla, and it's not exactly a pretty change, at least to human eyes. It’s in everbody’s best interests that they don’t get back to Earth, especially if they try... hold on a sec, just… why aren’t you reacting normally?”
I smiled. I walked past Angela and opened the shoe cupboard in the hallway, and used a foot to sweep away the jumble of sneakers and high heels. I leaned down and stabbed a finger into a crack in the flooring, and pulled.
Angela watched with confusion as I reached into the secret compartment in the floor and lifted out an old dusty suitcase, covered with flag stickers. I put it on the floor between us, entered the combination on the lock, and unlatched it.
“What is that?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, angel, I haven’t told you everything either,” I replied, as I removed the grimoire, a bundle of clothes and a few pouches of my gear.
“…Marlon, what’s going on…” she said, stepping back a little.
I put on my robe and wizard hat.
|
*the archaic old book's diary you are holding switches from one hand-writing, distinctly old and flowery, to a more modern script at this point*
Forgive my writing this in the blank pages of the Diary of Andre Hamilton (1835-1842). Damnit, this is all I managed to grab. I'm writing the remainder of this diary here.
When you meet the one, you just know. I met Alicia at a party one of my friends were giving about a year and a half ago. Doug, the friend I mentioned, was very much into the occult and his apartment showed it. He was the most showy person I had ever met but his parties were usually great so I never missed one. She had the most intense look on her face when I first saw her.
She must have felt my stare because she looked up and our gazes locked for a split second. She blushed, then smiled at a nearby party-goer, and went back to talking, leaving me to wonder if I had imagined that brief second of intensity. She was five foot four and had reddish brown hair whose curls swept across her shoulders and halfway down her back. Her smile, fake or not, was radiant and I realized I was smitten.
I eventually reached her. She looked up at me quizzically as I said hello. The conversation turned to history, my specialty - I deal in antique books hence how I knew Doug. To my surprise she knew more history then myself. She was a history professor at Daystronne University and on leave to write her third book. I was in love and later I found out so was she.
After a whirlwind romance lasting six months I asked her to marry me. A lot happened in that time. Doug, the party giver disappeared completely. Rumors flew in our circles that he had crossed the wrong people or had decided to take his own life, you know how rumors go.
We settled into married life and it was fantastic. We complemented each other in a way that you would find sappy if I described it here. She left for weeks at a time, usually to museums and private collections as she researched her book. I filled those lonely days with beginning to write my own book, something she encouraged me to do daily.
This morning, a year into our marriage, started like every other one in which we were home. I had cooked breakfast, she had eaten hers slowly while she searched the internet. She checked her e-mail and that's when everything changed. Her face went white as a sheet, she looked up at me, and deleted the e-mail. She stood quickly and before I could ask her she had fled into our bedroom.
When she came out of the bedroom I thought she was playing a joke on me. She had on white armor, that fit very oddly with her condition, and she had a sword handing from her belt. Her face was tear stained and she did not say a word to me. She handed me a letter, said something in a strange language, and the door to our apartment turned golden. She opened the golden door - an impossible landscape greeted her - and then she spread her wings. Her wings. My mind reeled at the strangeness and before I could think to call out she stepped through the door and it closed behind her. I stood there for a minute waiting to wake up. Isn't that what usually happens at this point in our impossible dreams?
When that didn't happen I opened the letter, "Mark, I can no longer stay here. I was never supposed to fall in love. I was never supposed to get married. They've been looking for me since I disappeared after killing Doug - he was trying to summon something you see - forgive me it had to be done. Now if I don't leave now they'll kill you. They'll be hunting us now but I won't let them get us. I love you. Alicia. P.S. The Golden Gate will close itself in five minutes. I'll return someday."
That was it. I stared at the golden door glowing before me and realized this was the Golden Gate the letter spoke of. I opened it. I only had three minutes or so to make my decision. I grabbed a book, this one, and a pen as I decided.
As I looked through, the clouds beyond the door were golden and the grass greener than any I had ever seen. It looked peaceful and I could see a trail fading in the wind blowing across the grass where my wife had walked. She must have found herself too heavy to fly now.
I stepped through the gate and into a different world. The door behind me closed and when I turned around it wasn't there anymore. I had to find my wife. I had to find my unborn child. She had just a month to go before she would give birth to... whatever was a mix between a human and whatever she was.
I didn't know who or what was hunting my wife and my child but I know this, god's help whoever tries to harm them. I took a step forward and with that destined step, my life and the universe changed forever.
| 2018-09-16T17:08:15 | 2018-09-16T15:34:23 | 142 | 25 |
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry!
|
"Here's 20$, can I get my change back?"
Silence
"Helllllooooo, I waaaaannnnt myyyyyy chaaannnggee baaaackkkk."
He didnt say anything just stared.
"I dont believe it"
Finally a sentence. But was didnt he believe
"Believe what?"
Silence
"What's going on here, this cant be real"
He dropped to the ground and stared in disbelief, staring at something above me
"Dude, I just want my change, can you do that?"
"You dont know, do you?"
"Know what?" I said semi sarcastically.
"Look above you"
I humored him
I dont believe
"Can I just get my sandwich and go, looks like I need to keep up my position."
In big red bold text it read above me
#1 in most fillet-o-fish sandwiches eaten worldwide at a single McDonald's
|
After turning off the Stereo I headed to town
​
little was known of me.
​
I dropped out of High school and lived at my parents Farm ever since.
​
They complained but at the end they understood. i tried so hard and got so far, but at the end none of it really mattered. School was not for me.
​
I did not realized that i turned 18 when i headed in to town that day, but it was the day that changed my life forever.
​
on the main square in town the Ranking system showed my name
1: Jack Spencer - listened "Linkin park - in the end" 164.302 times.
​
that was the day i decided to end my life.
| 2019-05-04T14:33:04 | 2019-05-04T13:13:28 | 45 | 29 |
[WP] To increase efficiency, God has uploaded the source code for Life, the universe and everything to GitHub. However, he forgot to set it as a private project and now people are auditing his code, filing bug reports and submitting patches. The kicker? Someone has been making mods.
|
God's daily routine was a bit different today. As usual, God was sitting in his office when an angel knocked on his door.
*"Come in."* said God.
A strange figure entered the room. It looked familiar, but it was more train than human in shape.
*"Gabriel? Is that you?* said God, *"What happened to you?"*
*"It was time to go, Gabriel had seen everything."* said Gabriel.
Upon hearing this God immediately left his office to see for himself what was happening outside. When he saw the degree to which he had f***ed up, he muttered the following words:
*"Gabriel, run flood.exe"*
*"No such file Your Holiness."* said Gabriel.
*"Oh my God"* said God.
|
After a thorough investigation into the person responsible for making the mods, they found out that it was non other than Friedrich Nietzsche. When asked about why he was making mods, he replied
"I was devastated when I found out that there was a meaning to life, and that God was very well alive, and we didn't kill him. I tried to modify the code so that all the explanations for the meaning of life would disappear. I have found out that life is meaningful, but I now feel meaningless. I am the Untermensch.....
No I'm just kidding, my sister did it"
| 2019-02-13T00:24:41 | 2019-02-12T23:21:27 | 304 | 93 |
[WP] You live in a world of superheroes and supervillians. Your superpower? You always know the best superhero for each job. Today, a seemingly normal crime scene is taking place. Only catch is, you're about to call the most notorious supervillian in existence.
Inspired by a certain Cyanide and Happiness comic strip I have read around 2 weeks ago.
|
‘I’m going to trust you on this decision, your power’s always held us in good stead before. I don’t suppose you know why you felt the need to call Demonix to intercede in a bank robbery. Some clue?’
I look at the police cheif and shrug. To be honest, I’m a little worried. I’ve always trusted my power but there’s also always been some logic behind it. Not calling the worst known supervillain to stop a small time crime. More curious was how easy it was to get her to agree. I just had to say the city I was in and I had her interest. She asked what masks the robbers were wearing and when I described the yellow and black on the leaders mask she agreed. Just said, ‘I’ll be right there,’ and hung up.
I trust my powers, but it made no sense. This must be what it feels like when the fliers amongst us step off a rooftop for the first time.
I look from the police cheif, across the police cordon, to the hostage situation in front of us. As I’m wondering how long to wait before the Cheif sends in the SWAT team a small but distinct shadow passes overhead.
And there she is, floating over the crowd, all crimson leather and that spiked helm. She looks from the police, suddenly unsure who they should be aiming at, to the robbers, focusing on the leader with his gun pressed to a teller’s neck. I can’t see the leader’s face behind the mask but his posture goes slowly slack and if I had to guess the face under the mask is wide-eyed with terror.
Having everyone’s attention Demonix fixes the leader with a stare and in a voice that had sent a hundred minions to their death and weakened the resolve of the more stalwart hero she says ‘Edmund Kowalski Harrington just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?’
The leader hangs his head, ‘Aw mum,’ he mumbles, ‘I’ve told you. I’m not Edmund. I’m Tigerstrike!’
‘You do not get to use that tone of voice with me, young man. Not standing there in your father’s mask which I’ve told you time and again to never touch. You don’t have the right.’
‘How...what are you even doing here?’
‘What am I doing here? I got a call to come down here in the middle of a busy day because my stupid kid is messing up. Again.’
‘I’m not messing up. I’m doing great.’
Without looking round Demonix indicated the police cordon with a wave of her arm.
‘I have it under control,’ says, well Edmund I guess. ‘They’re calling a helicopter. ‘
‘They didn’t call a helicopter you idiot, they called me. Look,’ Demonix says, stepping lightly to the ground, ‘we’ve talked about this. I don’t want you going into crime. It’s a terrible industry. There’s little growth prospects in it and, frankly, you’re terrible at it. I’ll send you money. Slack around Europe for few years. Learn a trade. I don’t care. Just not this.’
‘Come on.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’ll take you home. I can spare a couple hours from work. The minions will hold it together. THEY actually listen to me.’
Edmund took her hand sheepishly, muttering apologises, and they both began to float upwards. In the corner of my eye I saw the police cheif lift his bullhorn to give some order or other. I reached out quickly to stop him. My power had kicked in again. I knew which heroes we’d need if we fired on Demonix while she was with her son. It was all of them and they wouldn’t get here fast enough.
I watched them fly away consoling myself that this was definitely the last we’d see of Tigerstrike.
|
I'm going to ignore the last two sentences of this prompt because they railroad horribly and I hate this subreddit and the prompts people submit nowadays so much. I wish prompts were limited to one sentence.
----
"Give me your name." I took another drag as the cape in front of me widened his eyes - a surprising feat, given that he looked like he hadn't blinked since he walked in the room. Maybe that was his power, looking scared shitless. Or groveling. Either way.
"A-ashboy. Er, Gavin Grayson, but my hero name is Ashboy." He stammered for a moment, then finally returned to blessed silence. Another drag on my cigarette.
As his name reached my ears, the rush of my power kicked in to high gear. Names, dates, memories, all of his life and powers flooded into my mind, most of it matching my knowledge of him. The important parts did, at least. Just the right kind of power, plus the perfect splash of resentment. I could use him.
"Do you know what I do, Gavin?" He blinked, finally, and swallowed hard. "I do research. I make notes, Gavin. I pull strings. I know people. And I always know the best man for the situation."
"Is that why you wanted to see me?" The poor kid looked like he was going to drop dead of fright. I suppose I do cut a rather intimidating figure. In a world of spandex and body armor, someone sitting with a suit and the confidence to fill expensive shoes sticks out. My reputation, though, that was likely scaring the kid even more.
I'm not quite a precog, but nothing else really matches my powers, so it's the best classification I've got. I occasionally leak contradicting aspects of my powers out, to keep people on their toes and off my case, but I'm pretty sure he knew it was something to do with prediction, and that was half right. Realistically, predicting and scheming wasn't actually my power - I just happen to be quite good at my job.
"Bingo." I shoot the kid a wink. "Think of me like a mechanic, and you're the right tool for this particular job. Of course, you'll be compensated generously for your time." I waved a hand toward my guard, Ricochet, and he lightly tossed a paper bag full of cash at Ashboy, who plucked it from the air with surprising speed given his demeanor.
I closed my eyes for a moment, and reviewed my notes.
Ashboy, according to my power, was a mag 3 mover and a bit of a wildcard. A dupe, leaving behind ashen copies of himself as he blinked through spaces. He'd made a name for himself after turning around a life of petty thievery. After a few months in the Block, anyone would aim for some time off for good behavior. I had a hunch his old ways still haunted him, and judging by the eagerness in which he replied to my summons, I was right.
"Here's the plan, Ashboy. You get half the money now, half after the job. If you don't want the cash, that's fine, we can compensate you in other ways. You name it, we got it. You meet one of my guys tomorrow morning at the usual spot, you follow the instructions he gives you, you get the money, and we're done. You don't come back here, because we'll be gone, and we'll know you came looking. Understand?"
Gavin nodded, gripping the bag tightly. He gave a tight lipped smile.
"Great. Nine 'o clock. Be ready." I finished the last of my cigarette as he shuffled out of the room, leaving faint gray footprints behind.
| 2019-01-19T03:47:57 | 2019-01-19T00:14:01 | 48 | 10 |
[WP] Over night, Mars has disappeared and a new, earth-like planet has taken its place in the nights sky. The strangest part? It's transmitting more radio signals than Earth.
|
It was an amateur astronomer who first alerted the world to the Mars event, posting pictures on Facebook.
The internet went into overdrive, screaming 'HOAX!' before the IFLS page contacted an astronomer on the other side of the globe to point a telescope at the night sky and debunk the low-resolution 'hoax' pictures of a blue Mars.
Within the hour, NASA made an official statement declaring that Mars had 'turned blue', the event was being investigated and that they should have an answer in a few hours.
The 'few hours' turned into many hours and all eyes turned skyward, including the eyes humanity had in the skies - such as the Hubble Space Telescope. Pictures started streaming into thousands of websites, jamming social media and genuinely 'breaking the internet'.
The highest resolution images were shocking; massive Martian cities covered a third of the visible land, cities so colossal that their radio frequency output was nearly a million times that of all of the Earth combined.
Scientists scrambled to try to decode the signals but the sheer volume was overwhelming. No conventional cryptographic techniques were working; even the largest supercomputers groaned and sagged under the load, producing nothing but garbage.
NASA turned its resources to trying to pinpoint the moment of 'change', when Mars had turned from red to blue. Thousands of petabytes of data were sifted through, searching to pinpoint the exact time of the event.
Once the event was found, the search was narrowed to a time window and all scraps of visual data were spliced together to create a low-quality, 10 second video of the planet as the event took place.
Only a handful of NASA technicians and CIA agents saw the events as they unfolded, much of the data courtesy of CIA spy satellites:
Mars stood static on the screen, shifting patches of it pixelating from the composite images.
Then, from a spot near the bottom right of the planet, a fiery dot sprang to life, rapidly expanding out in a thick ring of orange light to cover the entire globe, leaving behind seas, land, cities and and clouds.
Everyone sat in shock, until one agent barked, "Play it in reverse."
The scene replayed, this time as an apocalyptic event, wiping life from the face of Mars.
The agent who spoke earlier rasped in clipped syllables into his smartphone, "Tell the eggheads in crypto to put all the radio signals in reverse. We have our answer."
|
Adam Rosemary always dressed in a white button up shirt, black tie and khakis when he went to work. Even something as Earth shattering as Mars disappearing wouldn’t change Adam’s clothing habits.
“What time did it happen?” said Adam. He sipped his coffee.
“Some time between 19:00 and 20:00 Eastern last night,” said Jewel. She tapped a few keys and brought up a picture of the new planet on her screen.
“What’s the new planet like?”
“Satellite readings indicate an atmosphere that is quite similar to Earth’s. Almost exactly like Earth’s. It’s got four continents, oceans and polar ice caps. Density and size is almost identical to Mars, ” said Jewel.
“What about our probes on Mars?”
Jewel shrugged. “No clue. We haven’t gotten any readings from them since Mars disappeared.”
“Is there anything on this new planet?”
Jewel pulled up more pictures of the planet. “It looks like there is extensive forests. We’re also seeing concentrations of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere that indicates fossil fuel burning.” She cleared her throat. “There’s also this coming from the planet.” She turned on the speakers and started to play a sound file.
Adam took another sip of coffee. He listened intently. “Is that music?”
“Sounds like it.”
“What else?” said Adam.
Jewel stopped the music and began another sound file. “This one is a little disturbing.”
“Help us. Our supplies are running low. We don’t know what has happened,” said a voice. Exhaustion exuded from it.
“How long does this go on?” said Adam.
“Hours. It eventually loops,” said Jewel.
Adam looked confused. “Wait. Why is it in English?”
Jewel shrugged. “Don’t know. We’ve also picked up messages in Russian, Italian, and Ethiopian among others. We’re still analyzing the radio signals, but we haven’t picked up a single one in a new language.”
Adam reached over Jewel and played the next sound file.
“It just appeared in the sky. A new planet. It replaced Earth. Completely red and barren. We don’t know what happened.”
________________________
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out my subreddit /r/Puns_are_Lazy.
| 2015-01-21T20:49:20 | 2015-01-21T20:12:48 | 29 | 15 |
[FF] Make me feel heartbroken in 4 sentences or less.
|
Today, Daddy hit Mommy because Mommy messed up supper and Daddy was mad 'cause he deserves something good to eat when he comes home from work. When he was done hitting her, Daddy left me and Mommy alone in the kitchen, and she hugged me tight and cried a lot. I love Mommy so much, and I hate seeing her sad, but it's her own fault for messing up all the time. Later, Daddy was feeling better, and we went outside to play catch, and had a lot of fun.
|
His back legs kicked frantically, and he whimpered softly in pain.
I took his outstretched paw with one hand and loaded another bullet.
His eyes were dimming quickly, but he gazed through me with a look of betrayal.
"I'm coming too, boy" I smiled, and drew the barrel to my temple and closed my eyes.
| 2014-02-13T22:55:12 | 2014-02-13T22:34:39 | 55 | 26 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
*I'm skirting the line here, but nobody dies, so I think it counts, right?*
Four stories was not enough. After my wife left me, I tried to end it. I climbed the stairs to the ceiling of my apartment building. I walked to the edge, but couldn't take that last step, so I ran at top speed and jumped.
Climbing, walking, running, jumping.
I'll never do any of those things again. Sometimes I think I'm wiggling my toes, but I'm probably just imagining that.
|
I slide another box to the left. And another, down the conveyor belt. The mundane nature of the job is mind numbing. My brain wanders as I work. Suddenly, a pierce of light rips the seam of my consciousness open. Red flashes through my vision. An inhumane scream that is mine shreds the air as I look down. My right arms slides along the belt with the boxes. I am suddenly less than I was.
| 2014-10-19T20:53:05 | 2014-10-19T18:03:46 | 84 | 25 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.
|
Dreadnaught was the last of the Old Guard. The early heroes who had fought for the good of the world, for honor and justice and other long-dead ideals. they toppled dictatorships, brought aid to disaster-stricken regions and never accepted a penny. Dreadnaught himself had seen the greats of the age, had only been a young rookie when The Atom and Red Lightning and all the others were around. There had been villains, of course- bastards and madmen who used their powers for their own benefit, but they were always beaten back. The good guys always won in the end.
Dreadnaught had long since stopped caring about "good" or "evil". He was standing on a wind-tossed rooftop in Dubai, staring at the bright artificial stars, gleaming skyscrapers and rivers of vehicles, spreading forever into the distance. He idly wondered what had happened to the old greats, Atom and Lightning and Sunbeam. He continued to think back, remembering the first changes....
It began when he and a few allies rescued some fat cat from an attempted assassination, somewhere in South Korea. When word came out that the cat had been smuggling weapons up north, and had betrayed the country, Dreadnaught shrugged. He wasn't a political sort. But Fat Cats are always good at redirecting blame- they called him and his friends mercenaries, not caring who he fought for as long as he had glory and attention. He heard insults and threats as he walked through the streets. He tried his best not to mind. He minded.
He had never had much- Dreadnaught grew up in the inner city and came from a poor family. So when people said he, and others like him, was profiting from chaos and war and fear as he struggled to make ends meet and ate third-rate prepackaged meals- his blood boiled. Most heroes were offered work when their identities were revealed- Private armies, government work, criminal organizations. He decided that if people thought he was a thug- then it didn't hurt to do a thug's job.
He accepted a job offer, then another, and another. His pay was high and his scruples few. He moved out of the slums and into a high rise apartment. People kept calling him a crook and a monster, but it hurt less now that it was true. Others joined him, fighting wars and steal secrets for the highest bidder.
That was how it had happened. The world was a different place now than it was. Supers were identified from birth and signed on with one of the big corporations at the age of 12. There were no more armies anymore, no more citizen soldiers. Just hired guns with enough firepower to level cities.
Some Supers still fought the good fight, of course. They lived on the edges of the world, striking out against the "Man" in what little ways they could. But most Supers lived quiet lives, turning down the offers of big corporations, and not making a fuss of their powers for fear of attracting too much attention.
Dreadnaught looked down from the glinting lights and turned towards the desert. His contact would be arriving soon, with his pay, and likely another job. He was one of the oldest men in the business, after all. He never failed, he never quit a job until it was done. His skills were highly valued.
|
"Morning Mayor."
"Falcon! What are- what are you doing here?"
"I hadn't heard from you in a while," Falcon said, stepping casually along the front of the mayor's desk. He brushed off his cape. "I was getting worried about you."
"Oh, that's so- so thoughtful," the mayor stuttered. "B-but as you can see, everything is fine here."
"Now, now, Mayor. Everything is not fine. I can understand that times are tight lately, so I'm willing to overlook not getting a call from you during that riot a month ago. However I was a little perturbed that my phone was silent all through that bank robbery and hostage situation last week. And now there is a huge storm system that is going to cause tornadoes all through this city. So I decided I'd be proactive and let you know I'll be taking care of that one. I'm even discounting my rate for you."
The mayor shifted in his seat. "W-w-well," he started. He jumped as his intercom buzzed.
"Mr. Mayor, your two o'clock meeting is here," his assistant said.
Falcon raised a hand to quiet the mayor, and leaned over to the intercom. "The mayor's going to have to cancel that. He's got another meeting that's going to run long."
The door to the mayor's office swung open, and a young man with a shaved head walked in. "Mr. Mayor, sir, you can't cancel this meeting," his assistant started.
"What happened to Jerry?" Falcon asked.
"I, uh, I promoted him over to HR. This is Magnus, m-my new assistant."
"You called Falcon sir? I thought we weren't going to be utilizing his services anymore," Magnus said pointedly.
Falcon shot a dirty look to the mayor, before turning back to Magnus. "That's what this meeting is about. Revisiting that decision, particularly with the storm heading this way. Now if you'd just run along."
"The storms are going to be moving south of here. We'll be fine."
"They've shifted course," the Falcon said, exasperated. "Seriously, Mayor, you've got to bring Jerry back. This kid doesn't know his place."
Magnus furrowed his brow in a look of concentration. "The storm has changed course. After you pushed it, Falcon."
"W-w-what!?!" the Mayor shouted.
"That's preposterous. Don't listen to this kid. Fire him."
"Falcon needs money, Mayor. So he made work for himself. And this isn't the first time. It's like I told you Mayor, our city doesn't need him anymore. He's more trouble than he's worth."
"How dare you!" Falcon said, advancing on Magnus.
Magnus simply glared at Falcon. The caped man took a few more steps, then stumbled to his knees. He put his hands to his head, grunting in pain. A small trickle of blood worked it's way out of his nose.
"Your services are no longer required, Falcon," Magnus said coldly. "This city has a new hero looking after it."
*****
If you enjoyed that, subscribe to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) to read the rest of my prompt responses.
| 2017-04-02T09:11:57 | 2017-04-02T07:18:03 | 154 | 34 |
[WP] “No man can kill me!” The demon taunted, taking in the carnage it'd caused. “But I am no man!” You proclaim, ripping off your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, but your blade bounces harmlessly off the demon’s hide. “Did you-did you really think that’s what I meant? You fool"
|
"No," I screamed.
"Yes," screamed the demon, holding up his flaming sword.
"Woof," yelled Sir Barkado who rather inappropriately launched himself at the demon's waist.
"Ha, nor can Man's best friend!" yelled the demon as the dog's bites did nothing.
"No," I screamed.
"Howl," Howled sir Barkado.
"Yes," laughed the demon.
"Meow," said Sir Fluffy Tail, who's fluffy tail was made for pets. He went for the demon's eyes, tearing one out.
"The hells," yelled the demon, "That's also supposed to be a pet!"
"Sir Fluffy Tail is 100% asshole," I said.
"Woof," confirmed Sir Barkado.
"I guess she's not man's best friend then. I guess now that I have a worthy opponent, I'll... where did she go," asked the demon.
"I don't rightly know," I said looking around. "I think she got what she wanted and just left."
The demon stared around for a moment, "I kind of need my eye back."
"Do you think it will make her sick," I asked.
"Gee, the eye of a giant demon, I wonder," said the demon.
"That's why I was asking," I continued.
"Yes," hissed the demon as another knight entered the field.
"Sir Child, its more specific than just 'a man'," I said.
"Poop," replied Sir Child as he shakily turned around and started back towards the castle and naptime.
"Poor kid, putting on that armor must have taken him a while," said the demon.
"Always pinches himself too," I said.
"Well, now I'm not in the mood for conquest," said the demon sitting down and scratching Sir Barkado on the head.
"I could go look for your eye, leave it in the portal to hell," I said.
"Thanks, I hate to be a bother, but I think I'm going back to hell, I'll be up some time later to try again," said the demon sadly.
"We'll try to suck less next time," I yelled.
"Seriously, no man can kill me and you tried a woman," groaned the demon.
"I thought it was stupid too but after the last time, you know where you slaughtered everyone," I said.
"You figure you'd be more upset about that," said the demon.
"I didn't know them," I replied, looking around, "so..."
"Fine, I'll leave," grumbled the demon.
"See you next time!" I yelled as the demon walked away.
"No cats!" replied the demon as he left.
|
The Demon laughed heartily at the miscommunication.
"FOOL! You think semantics are any match for me, Lord Acsurgarothe??"
I stood defiant, despite the flecks of brimstone and spit hitting my face as he laughed.
He continued his villainous chuckle.
"You-- you silly little human! HA HA You stand before Lord Acsurgarothe and do NOTHING?? YOU WEAK-- HA HA HA --PITIFUL-- HA HEE HO --MISERABLE WEAKLIN-- ah, damn."
I continued to stand, unflinchingly brave in the demon's waning presence. He slouched and squinted his eyes in frustration.
"Seriously? Like, you're not-- oh jeez, my ribs-- you're not gonna swing at me, or I dunno... call upon your Patron or Ancestral Spirit to help out, or... SOMETHING?!"
He had bent over, winded from his unending laughter, but quickly regained his dramatic gravitas.
"AH, YES! YOU MUST BE..."
An eruption of hellfire and bats sprung from behind him as he leaped inches from my nose. I could feel sulfur and rotten fish stench seeping into my pores as he guffawed in my face. His face twisted into a sadistic grin and he bellowed even louder:
"TERRIFIED!!!"
I stared back at him as he recoiled in confusion.
"Okay, so what the hell, man? This was supposed to be your grand-stand, big moment kill the baddie victory, and you're just STANDING there?! WHAT KIND OF HUMAN ARE YOU???"
I gave him a slight smirk and watched his frustration turn into fear.
"I'm the type of human that feeds the crows outside of her house."
I raised one hand to sky and braced myself. The Demon recoiled and shouted in fearful protest.
"No, nooo, no no nono. What are DOING??"
I closed my fist and screamed:
"YO BOYS!"
"ITS DINNERTIIIIIIIIIIIIME!"
The Demon wailed in agony as a large black mass of feathers and hunger flew down and bore a hole through his stomach.
The crow swooped back around for seconds, and soon the Demon's cracked, disgusting flesh was covered in starving birds.
I walked away to leave my babies to their meal, and grabbed an apple sitting on the vendor's table and flipped the man a gold coin.
My job was done here.
| 2022-05-31T16:30:05 | 2022-05-31T14:28:29 | 144 | 45 |
[WP] Wandering the streets, jobless, homeless, you happen across a silver ring with an inscription: "Help for the Needy." Idly you slip it on. Suddenly a voice resonates deep within your bones: "44 YARDS NORTH A CHILD LIES FACE DOWN IN THEIR POOL, UNATTENDED. DEATH IN 172 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN."
|
It’s weird, looking back on those tipping-point moments. You’re one thing, and then all of a sudden you’re something else. One moment of crystal clarity. I had mine after I’d been sleeping in my van behind the strip mall for four months.
I’ll never forget that first one. I’d found a soggy five-dollar bill in the park that morning and I was on my way to 7-11 to get my first meal in three days when I found that ring, just laying in the middle of the sidewalk. Thing was heavy, so I figured I might be able to pawn it off. “Help for the needy” engraved on the side. Slipped it on and boom.
“44 YARDS NORTH A CHILD LIES FACEDOWN IN THEIR POOL, UNATTENDED. DEATH IN 172 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN.”
Like it came from inside my own skull. Who needs drugs when that voice hits you. That moment of crystal clarity. Then I was booking down the street, vaulting fences, dogs barking, trash cans crashing, wind in my ears. Found the kid just like the voice said. I’d never taken any first aid training or anything, but somehow I just knew what to do. Watched myself haul her out and perform CPR like I’d done it a thousand times. Her mom was just bursting out of the house, hysterical, when that voice hit me again, and I started to run.
I had four more calls, as I came to call them, that day. I ended up dragging myself back to the strip mall as the sun was setting, just dripping sweat, covered in grime and blood. Saving people like that has got to be the best feeling there is. I was walking on air. I found a guy in a nice suit lounging against the side of my van. Didn’t introduce himself. He said he represented the organization that created the ring, and that they would love to offer me a permanent position. I accepted on the spot. He handed me a cell phone and an envelope full of cash and told me to get cleaned up and geared up, and that they would call me within 24 hours about “a more permanent housing solution.”
That was eight months ago. Things are looking up. I’ve got a nice apartment now, and the suit (I still don’t know his name) checks in on me now and again. I spend most days out running calls, with a few rest days a month. I’m told there’s night and weekend shifts, and it’s great knowing there’s others out there somewhere. Hope I’ll run into one of them someday. I went out in the first week and bought a motorcycle, something lean and powerful, with room for medical supplies. And damn, I’m in great shape. Bought all new clothes, lots of high-end running gear. The bike is good, but it won’t get you everywhere. Started carrying a pistol, too. Every now and then I get to interrupt an attempted murder or a robbery.
I love my job.
Another call. Time to run!
|
>"Listen here bud, I won't be able to hold back my partner much longer."
Ah, those words, so. we are playing good cop \- bad cop. I hate this, I hate being a hero, I hate the responsibility that comes with great power. But, what was I going to do? Let them die?
Sure, the attention had been nice, the food, a roof over your head, that little girl giving me her doll as a sign of her thankfulness. At first I declined the gifts, asked them to instead donate money to a charity or the damn Red Cross, but at the end I still had to eat, I still had to sleep somewhere and accepting them wouldn't make me a bad person. I AM, after all a good person. I hate being a good person.
I guess you can say shit hit the fan when I was going to be interviewed in another city. Such were the news "Hero Man does it again, saves family of 4!"; ""The guardian angel is looking after us, avoids crash that would have killed dozens"; and everybody was dying for a good story, just, how did I do it?
That question, it was a double sided blade. It didn't take long, I guess I should be happy, ye' know? Cops doing their jobs damn right, asking the right questions.
>Just how did I do it?
They came just after I had just finished saving that old woman from being run over by a bus. Instead of the now familiar cameras and autographs I got a couple of handcuffs and my rights read to me.
Of course I told them about the ring, but who is gonna believe a "crazy" old previously homeless guy? To them I was someone who had found how to get out of the streets and be famous. I was so naive then.
Soon after the same press that loved me started publishing stories of how I was a scam, a murderer turned self\-made hero. I ended up giving up, "confessed" everything.
The ring ranged one last time. \[CURRENT LOCATION \- INNOCENT MAN BEING EXECUTED \- DEATH IN 5 SECONDS\]
I took a deep breath.
5....
4....
3....
2....
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
Hey, first time post here! I hope you like it, sorry if there are any mistakes, I am not a native speaker. Anyways, any feedback is deeply appreciated.
| 2018-04-30T13:29:44 | 2018-04-30T12:25:54 | 29 | 19 |
[WP]: You don't remember what you do for a living. Literally. You black out for 8 hours 5 days a week and a paycheck appears once per month.
|
The two men in the front of my door looked dead serious.
I’d just finished eating breakfast with my wife Shelly when the doorbell rang. Expecting some kind of early door-to-door salesman, I opened the door, only to be greeted by two fully suited men looking ready to visit some kind of funeral.
“Are you Mr. James Cardi?” The older of the two asked, his deep wrinkles squirming slightly with every word. “I’m Ted Hunter, and this is my colleague, Leo Wolfs.” He gestured to the young looking man next to him before flashing a badge. “We’re here on government business.”
My muscles tensed. “Yes I am. Why?” I thought of my parents who were traveling the country. “Has something happened to someone I know?”
“I don’t know,” The man answered nonchalantly. “How about you tell us?”
I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”
“What we would like to know, Mr. Cardi,” the young man interjected, clearly not happy with the way his colleague was approaching this, “is where you were yesterday at exactly 14:03 in the afternoon. That is truly all we wish to know. Give us a satisfying answer and we’ll leave.” He gave me a white smile.
A chill went down my spine. Yesterday was Thursday, a workday like any other, a workday of which I remembered awefully little.
“I was at… work.” I answered half-heartedly.
“Ah, yes, we figured as much.” The man’s voice was honeyed. “Please, Mr. Cardi, tell me, where do you work? You see, we’ve been doing some investigating and, even though you get paid every month, we couldn’t find out where you work. The company that’s supposedly sending you money doesn’t exist.”
I stood there for a second, contemplating all kinds of answers to the man’s question, but couldn’t come up with a good explanation. It looked like it was time to finally come clean.
“I don’t know.” I answered honestly.
The smile immediately disappeared off the man’s face. “We’re going to play it like that?” He asked in a low tone of voice. “If so, you would have to join us for a trip to the Bureau.”
I put my hands in front of me defensively. “No! You misunderstand. I truly don’t know.”
A sudden chill on my left wrist caught my attention and I saw that the now grinning older man had put a handcuff around it. Below it I saw my watch slowly ticking. It was a few seconds before nine in the morning. A few seconds before work.
3…, 2…, 1…,
The older man opened his mouth. “You’ll be coming wi–“
Blackness
When I opened my eyes it was already getting dark and I was standing in an alley I’d never seen before, my entire body hurting. My left hand had a handcuff dangling from it and was covered in blood. A quick inspection of the rest of my body revealed it to be full of bruises. It also revealed a white envelope stained with blood spatters in one of my pockets.
It contained my salary.
|
"Hey Phil, I just received another one of those paycheques.", Dave sighed.
Dave Follière had been receiving mysterious paycheques, every week, for the past 6 months. At first he had thought they were sent to his address by mistake, however, when attempting to contact the business listed on the cheques, he was surprised to find it was a shell-corporation.
"That's insane man! What the hell... Are you sure you don't remember anything from today either?", Phil exclaimed.
Today was a Wednesday. The cheques always came in on Wednesdays. Dave had installed a security camera after a two months of receiving the cheques, but they were broken by some mystery guy, wearing a black suit, and a black derby hat, covering his face from the camera.
Aside from the mystery paycheques, Dave felt he had a much bigger problem. Every weekday, Dave would wake up, do his morning routine and then... Well, he didn't quite know what he would do then. He'd blackout whenever he finished breakfast, and regain consciousness around 5.30, casually sitting on his sofa.
"I don't remember a single thing... Hey, didn't you say you have the day off tomorrow?"
"I sure did, why?"
" I have an idea. Come over tomorrow morning before 8am. That way we can find out what happens to me every morning."
Dave had tried finding out what was wrong with him before, but every time he went to the hospital to get himself checked out, he'd blackout and wake up in his bed.
" Sounds like a plan, I'll be there around 7.30am. Don't forget to set your alarm!" Phil joked.
" Haha, I sure will. See ya, mate!"
"Cheers!"
Dave hung up the phone. Tomorrow he will finally know whatever it is he does when he blacks out.
---------------------------------
Dave woke up from his alarm. Normally he'd hate the darn this, but today was different. In less than an hour Phil would be outside, and they would finally find out what Dave was doing during working hours.
He rushed downstairs to make himself a cup of coffee. He would need the extra energy, he figured. Once he finished his coffee and had read "The Times", it was almost 7.30. Dave slowly stood up, stretchin himself as he reached his full height. He was just placing the dirty dished in the sink, when the doorbell rang.
Dave ran to the door to go and greet Phil. He opened the door smiling. "Hey man wha...". Dave fell silent. In front of him stood not his friend Phil, but a completely unknown men.
The man, probably late forties, was wearing a black suit and a black hat. He his was messy with more than a few shades of grey in it. Dave could only look at the man in horror, as he recognised the man who'd wrecked his camera's and brought him the paycheques. Despite the clear look of horror on Dave's face, the man was smiling a gentle smile at Dave.
The man spoke. "Hello Dave, I'm agent K, your colleague.
| 2016-10-11T05:58:11 | 2016-10-11T04:53:17 | 159 | 57 |
[WP] In this world, salaries are determined by the desirability of the work: if everybody wants to do the job and it's fun, it pays minimum wage. But if it's hard or awful work that nobody wants to do, the pay is high. You decide to apply for the highest-paying job in the world.
|
I swallowed some bile that had built up in my throat as I signed the contract on the table in front of me. As I reached to sign the final page, the man across from me reached and held my wrist. “Are you sure that you don’t need more time? I’ve had 3 people quit in the past month.”, he said to me in a concerned tone.
“I know what I’m doing.”, I replied, knowing well that I had 2 mortgages to pay off and 3 mouths to feed. As I signed that final page, my mind flashed back to my wife squeezing my hand with misty eyes as I left the house this morning. A small smile crept onto my face, knowing that I was making every sacrifice for the ones I love most.
My daydream was interrupted by the man reaching out to shake my hand and informing me that my office was at the end of the hall. I took a deep breath, straightened my suit and walked out of the shiny chrome office. I made my way down the hallway, now seeming much longer than it had on the way here.
“8 hours of this a day isn’t that bad...”, I thought as I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding until now. I put my hand on the doorknob of a heavy metal door with a small plate inscribed with “Pitbull (Mr. 305 / Mr. Worldwide) Quality Assurance”.
I sat in the seat, put the noise cancelling headphones, put the first of many CDs in the player and pressed play.
“Mr 305, to Mr. Worldwide..”
|
In your world, I sit among the average human, riding the subway, reading the morning newspaper, and watching the sun go down. I myself would rather not worry myself in the jobs of other people because you might feel bad I taste ice cream for a living.
Or so you thought.
In my world, I sit as a man who watches paint dry. It pays me $262,000 yearly. To you it might seem like a scam. But if I were to taste ice cream for a living, I would be paid $8. Same would go for the man who rides water slides or the professional Netflix watcher. All jobs you would want here. What I see is paint dry.
Paint drying is interesting. It’s a job opportunity that I ventured forth. The news of the world is dreading, but the sewage is great. It’s a messed up world to you, but I say the same thing to your world. The man who hired me said this was a mistake. But I knew this wasn’t a mistake. I chose this job for money, so I could support myself.
“Do you, as a willful human being, agree to take the job of watching paint dry? I mean, this is a joke, right? You could have had a minimum wage job.”
“No, sir. I accept the job.”
“Alright then.”
I watch the men who set it up too. I’ve been doing this for 5 years and I’m a millionaire. So let this world begin.
| 2018-08-02T15:51:31 | 2018-08-02T15:18:31 | 42 | 29 |
[WP] "Never get into a fight with an Earther. They are conditioned in 1G from birth. You will never build that kind of strength out here. But if you have no choice, wrestle. It's better to be ragdolled than to have your orbital shattered by the first punch."
|
"They *grew up* in 19 keplons of gravity??? How?"
"Class, calm down. Yes, it's rare and unusual, but the Universe has it's ways."
"But miss, you told us that nobody can escape a planet with 20 keplons. So how can life exist in such high gravity?"
"Open your mind, little one. You are thinking only of life on *this* planet. But each exo-planet has it's own form of life, uniquely suited to their own unique environment. Remember how we discussed how the cromps are different to the grettils, and how they evolved based on where they lived? Well this is the same thing. Humans evolved in really high gravity."
"But..."
"No buts. We need to continue with the lesson! Now, thanks to their high gravity, Earthen life forms have developed strong thick bones and large musculature. I'm going to scroll your pads to page 572 so we can look at the anatomy of some of their larger animals.
"Here are the humans, the dominant sentient species on the planet. You'll notice that they only have 4 limbs, and that the upper limbs are different to the lower -- humans are 'bipedal', so they only walk on two legs"
"TWO?! But how?"
"Like I said, due to their unique gravity, the bones and musculature have evolved to be really thick and *really* strong. The average male human has a mass of 42.7 reptics, and can carry that mass under 19 keplons of gravity as if the gravity doesn't even exist. They don't even tire when walking around. Their unique musculature allows them to talk upright, so this strength extends up into their thoracic region, and even into their upper limbs. Yes, they walk around *fully upright* on 2 limbs, and are able to balance like this!
"So this means that, should you ever meet a human on your space travels, you need to be really careful of them. They are a friendly species, but even the weakest most out of shape humans are incredible strong. If you were to anger one and they were to strike you with their weaker upper limbs they could easily break your fresnar. If they were to strike you with one of their much stronger lower limbs then they would kill you instantly."
"What do you mean by weakest and out of shape?"
"Well, some humans further enhance their strength and abilities. They make themselves stronger and faster and more agile. And they do this for fun! They don't have to, unlike the Gontars of Xycelifa 4 -- humans play games and compete for fun and trinkets. They even use their 19 keplons of gravity to traverse down mountain sides on flat sticks and at great speed. Again, they do this for fun. Humans are a strange race."
The bell sounds.
"Ok, class, please read up on chapter 243, just the section on the anatomy of humans, and we'll pick this up again tomorrow when we'll talk about elephants!".
|
The words of my mentor rang in my head as I squared off against the human before me. For two months I had acted as ambassador to these animals, had listened to their strange noises, smelled their repulsive odors, watched their confusing, arbitrary rituals. And finally, finally, one of them had given me the chance to take out my anger. I needed this, dearly, and I couldn’t wait to tear into their flesh.
He’d approached me in the dining hall, where I often went to speak with the other ambassadors. He told me to stand up, so I did. And then he hit me, sending me across the room; I only survived thanks to the human I ended up hitting. Their flesh makes good cushioning. And now, I was standing up, walking towards him, my fists up. “Why don’t you grapple with me, hm, human?” My voice was poison. He obviously didn’t know about the way my kind fought.
“Whatever you want, you fucker. If I see you with that woman again, I won’t just grapple you.”
I knew what he spoke of. One of the human women and I did enjoy one another’s company. But these beasts were so territorial I had kept it cordial. I made a mental note to break that barrier down, if I was allowed to stay after eviscerating a human.
“Try me, worm.” I spat in his direction and he lunged at me, hands outstretched. I ducked and threw him over my shoulder, bringing him down to the ground, hard. He grabbed my leg and pulled me down, my head bouncing against the tile. The roar of the crowd grew, the gutteral sound of humans cheering, the outraged gasps and whispers from my fellow ambassadors, all as wary of humans as me.
We wrestled, my hands around his throat, his hands around mine. I couldn’t decide if I should kill him quickly, or make it a show. It would have been easy to crush his windpipe, but it seemed cheap. We rolled on the ground, still locked. I wedged a knee into his stomach, pressing down with all of my weight. His fingers faltered in their grip on my neck, and I rolled out of the embrace.
He lunged at me again grabbing my stomach and picking me up. I unleashed my claws, digging them into his side until blood poured out. He let go of me, falling to the ground, his hands on his wounds. “You piece of shit!” He tried to stand, but the pain kept him on his knees. He seethed with anger, his eyes on fire.
Boots beat the ground as guards rushed in, restraining me. They lifted him onto a stretcher and ran off with him. One of the guards slapped cuffs on my wrist. “Fighting should be left to humans, ambassador.”
“No wonder he was so weak, then.”
| 2021-02-08T18:58:27 | 2021-02-08T15:55:52 | 219 | 24 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
Everyone has these tags. These little buttons on their shirts with a number on it. Some in the hundreds, some in the thousands. Mine is number 1.
Pretty quickly people started to figure out that when someone else died, everyone with a lower number moved up. There wasn’t really much that this meant for the higher numbers, but for the lower numbers it was a bloodbath. The higher numbers started by trying to kill the numbers above themselves, but there was a reason for the rankings. 5 fell to 3. 3 fell to 2. Only number 17 managed to kill number 16, and even then it was with 18’s help. He still wound up hooked to a machine for the short time he managed to live.
Eventually they realized the better plan was to start killing the numbers lower than you. 2 killed 3-15, then 16 moves up, turns to 3. That 3 kills 4-73, 74 moves up and becomes 4. That 4 kills… and on and on. It led to huge gaps in power between the top ten. For all that time, nobody set their sights on me. I’m number one. Of course I am the strongest. Far and away. What can I do? Only a handful of people ever knew, and that’s all they are now, a handful. At least that’s what I tell people. Reality is always such a letdown.
I control the tags.
|
Prologue: *It wasn't the largest city, but it was definitely the most powerful and arguably dangerous in the world. Every single person here held a special ability, ranging from a power to clean everything within a 2m radius, to extreme powers such as flying or super strength. All these powers helped construct the most technologically advanced and richest city the world. One man had the power to give everybody a ranking in terms of how powerful their powers were. The minor powers caused little trouble, but conflicts to reach the top 10 cause widespread destruction. However there was one person who has held the top spot for many years. Me.*
I am considered the greatest of them all - yet no one but me knows why. I have no extraordinary powers like time control, even inferior powers like the cleaning everything within a 2m radius. I am a normal human being.
Since killing someone with a higher ranking gives the killer a higher ranking themselves, I have been the target of many assassination attempts. I have survived them all. Some say my power is health regeneration, but that's not true. Some say my power is extreme luck, but that's not true either. Maybe in 2000 years they will think my power is immortality, but that is only half true. It took me a while to find out what my power is. It's the ability to be ranked number one on this superpower list. I am essentially immortal, as dying would mean I am not the top ranked anymore. My power is hardly powerful at all, yet I am the most powerful of them all.
| 2014-12-18T12:36:19 | 2014-12-18T11:55:01 | 2,259 | 39 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
"Are you sure?"
"Yes I am. I got accepted into that new University in Delhi."
"You want to go to school again?"
"Yeah, its a new field... memeology is what they are calling it. Study of internet culture and changes within it." I replied back to the black mass in a pinstripe suit. This time he looks like an old funeral home director, a man who had seen so many dead bodies that he looks more like one than living.
"It's been 50,000 years. You've learned just about everything. All the degrees from at least every school accredited, enough certifications to fund an entire country in enough fields that you could build an island and have a better GDP than any other country." Death replied. It wasn't as cold this time he was here "Why don't you just die."
"You said I couldn't. Never in the past 50,000 years have I thought I could. I want to learn everything first."
"You want to learn what comes after death?" Death asked, smiling
"I'll learn that when I know everything there is to know in life." I replied, standing up from the cafe table, my drink gone, and the flower wilting. Touching it, it unwilts slightly "I'm learning more than you could imagine."
|
The old man sat alone and waited for Death.
It always came this time of year; just before spring, in the last days of long nights and long shadows. There was no fanfare to his arrival. Death simply was where it once wasn't - namely, at the seat across from the old man.
"Are you ready?"
Death's voice was, much like its owner, just there, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Every year, you ask, friend, and every year I say no. You know why. Why don't you just come back when my duty's done?"
"Duty, is it now," Death responded casually. "Last year it was your joy."
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. The old man fiddled with a toy.
"Come on, Nick," Death said, breaking the silence. "You aren't needed here anymore. They'll manage without you. Just take my hand."
"No," said the old man, and Death was gone.
Saint Nicholas put down the now completed toy. He looked around his tiny cottage, searching the walls for a name without a check.
"Suzy Hope," he muttered, addressed the toy, and started a new one.l
| 2017-11-29T08:24:55 | 2017-11-28T17:24:04 | 935 | 16 |
[WP] Star Wars is a true story. An alien comes to Earth to make first contact with our newly discovered species, only to discover we know more about their universe's history than they do.
EDIT: Whoah, this sorta blew up! Thanks for all the stories guys! I've read all of them and each made me laugh or legitimately think for a moment about the ramifications of an alien species having your future on blue ray. Keep up the awesome work!
|
As soon as the credits appeared, the President took a deep breath and glanced over at her visitor.
A calm person by nature, the past few days had tested her limits. The arrival of a being from another world caused no end of behind-the-scenes drama as her administration scrambled to deal with an unprecedented situation.
You only get one chance to introduce humanity to the galactic community, and only one chance to tell our species that we are not alone. This was not an event to screw up.
She thought they had a good plan in place. She thought she was ready.
And then the visitor brought greetings from the New Republic capital of Coruscant.
That threw her off. But she still wasn't prepared to hear that the ambassador arrived on Earth via a brief stop on a remote desert planet with twin suns called Tatooine. And it took everything she had not to drop the ambassador's gift in shock: A sword with a blade made of pure light.
By the fourth time the ambassador invoked the "will of the Force", she knew she had to do it. She had to show him Star Wars.
This, too, was not a decision to be taken lightly, as it raised more questions than answers. How did these stories reach us? Are the prequels real too? And how would the ambassador react to stories of his civilisation being used as entertainment? Would he find one of Earth's most beloved films... blasphemous?
All of this played on the President's mind as the ambassador turned to her.
"Thank you for showing me this. It's incredible that your planet has such an accurate account of events that took place a long, long time ago."
The President replied: "So it's true? All of it?"
"Yes... well, almost," said the ambassador with a chuckle. "It is remarkably accurate, but there's one part that doesn't match our recorded history at all."
"What's that?"
"In your version, why does Han shoot first?"
*****
My first submission to this sub! Hope I did this right!
|
"Sir? They know everything."
The Captain stood on the bridge of the freshly-christened *Chimaera* and looked down at the blue and green marble beneath him. It was a primitive planet, to be sure, but that was to be expected from an experiment that had been running uninterrupted for the past twenty thousand years. 'Earth', it was called: a rather stereotypical name, but the Old Republic did have a certain dry sense of humor.
"Sir?"
"I heard you, Lieutenant. How?"
"It appears that an Alderaan sympathizer fled here shortly after the destruction of the planet and broadcast rebel propaganda across various forms of media. Quite unexpectedly, this propaganda has been treated as a phenomenon on this planet. Primitives," the lieutenant spat.
"It's not propaganda if it's true," the Captain mused, stroking his chin as his eyes flicked up to the dust-colored moon that hung above the planet as well. The primitives below had just reached it recently, indicating that an end to the experiment may soon be in order.
"Captain Pellaeon?"
"Never mind. How can we be certain of this?"
"Sir, the, uh, the sympathizer is quite well-known, and he's broadcast himself quite obviously. If you'll look on your data pad--"
Captain Pellaeon looked down at the tablet. In large green letters, the proof that would damn an entire civilization hovered above the screen:
GEORGE WALTON LUCAS
TWO LEGS ORGANA CLUE
"As you can see, sir, House Organa persists..."
The Captain sighed: he'd always had an appreciation for Republic-era programs. But his orders were clear, delivered down from the Emperor himself: root out Alderaan sympathizers, **everywhere**, even here.
"Lieutenant, begin landing the troops."
| 2017-03-18T09:37:43 | 2017-03-18T09:36:38 | 187 | 43 |
[WP] A mother tries to reason with Death, who has come to claim her terminally ill child
|
Death swooped in the window and raised his scythe over the baby's crib.
"Wait a moment," a woman said. She was sitting on a rocking chair in the corner of the room, knitting.
"Speak," said Death. "I suppose you want to play a game for the child's life. I warn you, I've had a great deal of practice at every sort of game since that policy came about."
"Well, I'm sad to see the little man go," she said, "but I know it's your job to take him, so I won't interfere. Just be sure to remember to feed him three times a day and put a baby monitor by his crib so you'll know if he has a coughing fit or anything. I doubt you'll be getting much sleep, but that's how it goes, you know? Oh, and you'll want a fresh change of ominous robes for when he spits up on you, which he does just about all the time."
"Um, yes," said Death.
"And you'll need to change his diapers. He's a champion shitter, that one. He likes to wait for you to change him, and then shit again just after - usually five or six times a day."
Death glanced at the window, then back at the kid. The little guy didn't *look* so bad.
"Oh, and he'll be a teenager in a few years," said the woman.
There was a *whoosh*, and the window snapped shut.
Death had escaped.
|
"Take me instead."
She had said it without a moments pause. And even before the words had settled amongst the pale walls and the wispy curtains she knew they would be for nothing.
In the doorway stood a shadow, a pure absence of light. An outline defined by its lack of clarity. Imperceptible, but undeniable. Death was in the air.
"You can't take him. You can't take my boy". Her sleeping child remained motionless in a bed meant for someone three times his age. Though riddled with tubes and bandages he seemed at peace. His shallow breathing was steady nonetheless.
The figure advanced. Frozen in place, she could only watch as a dread more powerful than anything she had ever known washed over her. The shape drifted slow and sure, like the changing of the seasons or the setting of the sun. It had reached the bedside before she managed to speak again.
"My son. My son. Please. I-"
Her knees smashed to the floor as the grief grew tenfold. From the figure emerged a dark tendril, extending down into the boy's chest. As he exhaled for a final time she could see his soul being sucked away. And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the figure vanished.
In the bed was a boy she didn't recognize. And through the stoic drone of the life support machine, a wail racked with sorrow shook the building to its core.
| 2013-11-19T16:01:50 | 2013-11-19T15:57:21 | 128 | 68 |
[WP] You're going to bury the body along I-95 just outside town. You get three feet deep and find another body. You believe burying them together is bad luck so you move and dig three hundred feet down the road and find another body, and another, and another, and another....
|
Sitting at his desk Charlie reminisced about how everything had turned out so perfectly. By all accounts he shouldn’t be here. He should still be working the bar like he had in college. Maybe he should’ve been in jail but instead he had achieved world wide fame.
Sure things had been a bit rough in the beginning, trying to keep his original intent covered, but most people hadn’t thought anything about it.
“It was a mistake” they said, “happens to the best of us”.
No, getting caught out on that lonely stretch of highway had been the answer to all his dreams. He had been so nervous carrying that body out to that interstate in the desert. He had thought about it, planned it down to the last detail for so long he couldn’t believe he was actually doing it. Running the scenario over in his mind he had almost turned around halfway to the spot he had chosen but he was desperate and a bit high on the rush of it. It wasn’t until he started digging that he realized maybe he wasn’t the only one with this idea. He must’ve dug a hundred holes that night. In fact he was still digging when the police and news crews showed up the next morning.
After that the story ran on every station for months and he was questioned by everyone from the local police to the experts at the local college. After all, it’s not everyday you stumble upon the greatest archeological find of the century; and to think he had almost ruined it with that pile of bones he had cobbled together to be his “big discovery”.
|
His arms were about ready to fall off the only thing that kept him going were the swirl of emotions, panic, and fear of being caught. This was the 6th place he decided to dig, he hoped no one would find the remains of the holes he had already filled as he lugged the body behind a tree. Once more he began to dig, with each thrust into the dirt shocks of pain flowed from his arms through the rest of him. He wasn't sure anymore if the blood on the shovels grip was his or that of his victim. This time he would be sure he kept digging until the 60 minute mark but to his deepest fear one more thrust of the shovel felt chillingly familiar, another body. Impossible he thought, it had already been 6 hours since he began searching and feared dawn would soon arrive at this point he had no choice but to bury them together. He began to slowly move dirt off the body in the hole to make room, as he did an inexplicable feeling crept up his spine, as if his hand was drawn to it he began to move the dirt off the head of the body. The reveal was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen the body he had just dug up was his own. He fell to his knees and as tears began streaming down his face he heard a blood-curdling laugh followed by a deep raspy voice whispering into his ear "You killed him, you brought this on yourself, welcome to hell".
| 2019-07-03T00:19:01 | 2019-07-02T21:22:33 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] A demon that writes messages on your mirror with blood but they’re useful messages. Like “remember you have yoga at 6 tonight”
stolen from Meladoodle on Tumblr.
|
The heating is off in my apartment this morning, but there's still hot water, so I take a long shower to warm up. The fog settles heavily on the mirror and begins to run by the time I get out, reconstituting the dried blood so that it drips freely into the bathroom sink. The mess makes it look like I shave with a box cutter. I read today's message, streaky but still legible in bold finger-painted block letters.
_You're out of floss_
Not that useful as messages from mysterious otherworldly sources go. I'm sure I would have figured it out myself eventually. I towel off and get dressed, then wipe down the mirror and sink with the paper towels I keep in stacks behind the laundry basket. The rich metallic smell of the blood no longer nauseates me, but the tedium of the job is irritating. Cleaning up is just as boring as the messages.
The list of "no-longers" is getting quite long now. I no longer wait up trying to catch the appearance of the writing. I no longer try to hide the blood soaked towels in the bottom of one of the building's communal garbage bins. I no longer think that I've gone insane; that some alternate personality is harassing me; or that I'm writing the messages myself in an alcoholic fugue. I no longer wonder what it means, either. Not to say that I don't have some hope that one day one of the messages will be helpful, or at least not pointless, but after four hundred and nineteen attempts my friend in the mirror hasn't done better than "Things will brighten" - an early message that left me optimistic but turned out to be a weather forecast.
Before leaving I add the new message to the journal underneath the rest of the week's efforts.
_Seven yards left on the roll_
_Only five yards left_
_Reel is almost empty_
_Reel will be empty after you floss this morning_
I wish I'd listened. Now I'll be going to work with half of my breakfast stuck between my teeth.
|
*July 1^st 2016*
-it happened again.
This time it said "Remember about your date with Tony tonight at 8."
I did forget about it, so in kind of glad. I still am none the less terrified.
*July 2^nd*
-I seen it happen.
I was brushing my teeth and I looked up, I seem a dark face in the mirror. It was hard to tell what it really was, but the writing appeared right in front my eyes.
"Call mom, it's her birthday."
Thanks, dem.
*July 3^rd*
-I think I regret opening up the package.
I should of never opened it, it literally says not to. I'm so stupid.
*July 4^th*
-happy birthday America.
"Don't forget your boots."
Thanks, I would of.
I'm staring to enjoy this 'demon' reminder. I just don't enjoy the blood...
*July 5^th*
-"Meeting with the boss, remember to look over last years quarterly's."
That might of saved my life.
*July 11^th*
-I have been busy.
I got the promotion. 30k raise, and my own office! Should I think the demon!?
*July 13^th*
-I said thank you.
I split my wrist to write thank you on the mirror. Within seconds "your welcome." Was written.
Is this a good relationship?
*July 23^rd*
-we have been talking.
I have been writing to to the demon with my blood. We are becoming more close. He thanked me for letting him out, it has been over 30 years since he seen "Freeness".
*July 31^st*
-Good bye.
I decided to end my life. Good bye.
| 2016-08-07T16:17:11 | 2016-08-07T15:49:46 | 209 | 31 |
[WP] 20 years later, a team of Astronaut have successfully landed to mars and recovered the NASA rover, Opportunity. When they checked the hard drive, they discovered hundreds of images of a shadowy figure that was never sent back to earth.
|
"Right over here, I think that's the rover." Beal exclaimed, almost jumping up and down to flag Steve.
"Yep, that'll be it alright" Steve said, looking at his PDA to compare older images to what now looked like wreckage. "Sand storms must have somehow knocked it out this way. That or quakes."
Beal slid aside some small boulders that were surrounding the rover, before pushing against the rover itself to move it into the nearby clearing. Steve opened it up and rummaged around the internals before finding a port to link his PDA with as Beal made multiple attempts to power the rover with an external battery. Within minutes, there was transmission to the PDA as the machine finally hummed back to life.
"This is exactly what the Earth Corps was looking for. We finally can branch out all of this data. It's definitely one for the history books."
"I certainly hope so. And to think, it was so close to the underground settlements as well. I'm surprised we didn't find it sooner."
Steve let out a chuckle as he swiped through the imagery that was in the transmission queue.
"Don't be so sure about that. I think these pictures tell enough of a story"
A beep goes off as Steve relays the drives contents to Beal's PDA. Images of a tall shadow cover the camera before it stands up fully, revealing the leg of a short Martian, probably barely 7 feet. It takes a while to go through the images as they're all taken within half a second apart. The Martian backs away from the rover before kneeling down and prodding at it. The final image is a finger pressing up against the camera. Beal is left astonished and almost embarrassed as Steve picks up part of a broken camera lens.
"Did we both see the same thing here?" Beal had stuttered. "Was that the elder from before I was even created?"
Steve tosses the broken camera lens to his partner as he clips his PDA back onto his pocket.
"We would call it being born but yes Bealtrick, I think your dad accidentally tripped over the rover minutes after it's final transmission."
"A shame, a few minutes and our species would have met much sooner. All the opportunities lost..."
"Oh no, be grateful for this," Steve quipped to cut Beal off, "We were not ready at all 20 years ago to be able to accept the idea of peaceful coexistence."
|
We were two miles away from the base, a small group sent to explore and, if possible, check the status of the Rover. We found it easily and begun the routine operations. It was so old and buried in dust I felt like discovering a fossil. After a while, Rick stopped his work and called us back. He had discovered a discrepancy with the information we had on the rover: Opportunity had collected terabites and terabites of photos never sent to earth. Rick insisted in downloading and watching them right away and we did it.
The tablet we used was meant mostly for calculation. It had a small and low resolution screen. We wait 20 minutes for the damn thing to download and open some pictures, and other 10 to find something we didn't already saw back on earth. Shadows, that's what we saw. Shadow of an human like figure over and over in different places. We stared at each other in silence. My mind already busy with hundrends of scary theory, and even scarier implications. What was that shadow? And why the rover never sent its picture? Did that meant that it had control over our devices?
Without thinking I raised my head looking for the earth throug the black sky. It would have taken two years for Mars and the earth to be close enough to call for help, or even to abandon the planet. We were there to stay. That was our mission, resist and transform that orange-ish hell in a confortable colony. At that moment, someone grabbed my arm, bringing me back on the surface of Mars. They were all panicking. I could watch them yelling and moving their contorted mouth, but I couldn't hear them. Our radio sistem was broken. I tried to speak as well, I don't remember what I said, but all the sudden, one by one, they brought their hands to the helmets and fell to the ground. I looked around frantically, but I was surrounded by the red desert only. I tried to call for help, but my devices gave no response. Then, I felt an intense and brief pain in my head that cancelled every thought. When it stopped a deep voice was all around me, was inside me, it was my voice.
"Hi Lucas. Your life and the outcome of your mission depend entirely on your next choice. Will you listen to me?"
| 2019-02-15T02:20:46 | 2019-02-15T00:42:24 | 46 | 17 |
[WP]A young man living in a world where if you kill someone, their age is added onto your life.
For example; if you kill someone who is 50 years old, you add 50 years onto your life.
|
"The easy kills happened long ago. Nearly two and a half billion people out of the seven billion on the planet died within a week of the discovery. People weren't dying anymore of natural causes. The elderly who served the first hunting, chose almost unanimously to give their years to their loved ones. Parricide became the new buzzword. Sick or dying relatives were allowed to be extinguished, their years were considered inheritable. No one wanted those years to be buried.
There was a egghead attending Stanford who calculated the approximate number of years readily available and the inclining inflation of those years as the rest of the population aged. *There can be only one.* Became the new rallying cry.
The homeless problem in America was solved in a single night. It was ghastly, but for those seeking immortality, nobody was off limits. If a life could be taken, it was and those years were collected and horded. A Darwinian premise was being actively demonstrated on a daily basis now. Only the strong were surviving. The Philosphers were gone, murdered and collected. The bleeding hearts were sanctioned and tallied.
Nobody engaged in organized sporting events anymore. There was to much temptation to accidentally kill their opponent. Serial killing was the only competitive sport in fashion anymore and everyone was playing.
The murders slowed as the populations dwindled. Some tried to revive the philosophical debates. We're destroying ourselves to save ourselves. No one deserves to live forever, but the truth is, all those collected years were transferrable. Everybody, and I mean everybody, had nearly a hundred thousand years or more accrued. There was no more nickle and diming going on. No body hunted the children anymore; not when the average adult kill could bag you an extra hundred thousand years. It was generally accepted to let the children be so they could inflate the number of years available. They could be collected later.
Being young became our first attempt at creating a game preserve, and we populated it with children. There were poachers still, but most adults were big game hunters now. I mean look at me. If I survive the hunts, I'll live to be two million. Hell, I might outlast the planet." I laughed and adjusted my headset.
"You'll make a fine addition to my collection," a staticky voice whispered back over the com.
"How many?" I asked.
"Nearly three mill." The voice replied.
I swept my scope across the ridge line, looking for my quarry. I'd been tracking him for days. "You wouldn't want to just pop your head up and get this over with, would ya?" I asked, carressing the trigger lovingly.
"Afraid not, mate." The voice whispered back.
"Why are you always whispering?" I asked, tired having to strain to hear him.
"I don't want to scare off the big game." He replied, whispering again.
I slowly swept back across the ridge, dropping the scope down to search the area below it where the brush was the thickest, but something he said worried me. "Are you hunting big game too?" I asked, thinking to bag myself two in the same day.
"You could say that." He whispered back, his voice barely audible. I heard the sound of a hammer being thumbed back behind me, then heard it over the radio a moment later.
"Shit." Was all I could managed before I was collected.
|
***EDIT: I just realized I misinterpreted the prompt and thought killing someone extended your life, rather than taking years off.***
Robert had managed to punch in on time, remembering the warning his superiors gave him if he showed up late again. "Well I guess they have a point" Robert said rubbing his eyes, still wishing he had a couple more hours of sleep in him. "Time is money after all"
Robert worked at one of the largest **ReviveInnovations™** companies in California. His job was officially a "Chamber Tech. Specialist". In all honestly, he just cleaned the chamber for the nest **Volunteer™**. It gets awfully messy if you don't wash it after after every use. Despite all his gripes, he enjoyed working at **Suspended Life Industries**. The most lucrative part of his benefits included full use of their specialized service, for him and his family.
Robert was on call at *Chamber 0081*. He opened the maintenance door leading to the chamber and stood at his usual spot, waiting for the all clear so he could do his job. With the nature of his work, **Customer™** confidentiality is a must. Robert was never allowed to know the age of the **Customer™** or the **Volunteer™**.
After a boring 45 minutes, the assigned Counselor gave him the all clear to clean and disinfect the Chamber. He took the key-card from his pocket and swiped it through the lock. The metallic door begin to hiss and was slowly beginning to open.
"Seriously, all this waiting is the worst part of my job"
The door finally opened all the way through with an audible click and he stepped inside. His once properly cleaned floors and enclosed walls were now covered in the distinct color of blood. At the center of the room was a man in an orange jumpsuit, locked into an upright metal table. The sound of blood dripping off him could be heard echoing throughout the almost-empty chamber still.
"God dammit, how in the hell can pressing one button cause all this fucking mess."
Robert walked behind the metal table and unlocked the man from it, making an audible plop as his body hit the pool of blood. He then pressed the button to open the floor chute directly under the man and watched the **Volunteer™** fall into the dark abyss.
Despite his better judgement, Robert always liked to guess what the **Volunteer™** did to wind up on the slab (while preforming his "technical" duties.)
"I bet he killed a cop" he said non-nonchalantly. "He looked like a cop killer"
"Maybe he did in his old man. I can understand that."
"He probably wasn't a serial killer. Those go for real high and usually go the the V.I.P. Chambers."
He was interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of the assigned Counselor paging him
"Hey I need you to hurry it up in there! We got someone coming in 30 minutes and they want to make it to Christmas to see their grand kids. I'm serious, you need to hurry. Remember...."
Robert cut him off. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know..."
With cleaning supplies in hand, Robert locked the maintenance door leading to the chambers behind him. He took a moment to let his eyes readjust to the light.
"...Time is money"
| 2014-01-24T06:24:13 | 2014-01-24T05:26:07 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] Write a Shakespearean sonnet that seems fine in the first thirteen lines but turns horrifying in the fourteenth.
|
(1) The people all gathered in the town center.
(2) Tall or short, all folks were welcome to enter.
(3) Some adventurous, bold, and a bit wild.
(4) Others were less so, but held a big smile.
(5) They stared in awe at the podium above.
(6) Some were distracted by a crane and dove.
(7) One, five, ten minutes passed until he arrived.
(8) The Mayor! He spoke with passion in his eyes.
(9) "My people, sit, for our time is but short,"
(10) "I bring good and bad news that I must retort."
(11) The good was that harvest this year was great.
(12) The crowd clapped, ready to celebrate.
(13) But then he spoke with a mouth that now lied:
(14) "Epstein DID kill himself, that's how he died."
|
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.
| 2019-12-19T11:29:34 | 2019-12-19T10:44:55 | 54 | 26 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
He grew up on one of the toughest streets in America. Immigrants, weirdos, and living in filth described his young life. As he grew up, he was at first feared, then people started recognizing his deep, old man wisdom. Eventually, he gained many loyal friends, and others sought him out for his insight.
The ISIS problem had disturbed him greatly, occupying more and more of his private musings, as he sat in the filth at the entrance to an alley. Something must be done. A grim, stern look grew across his face. His unblinking eyes finally made a decision.
He would fight ISIS, man to man, one at a time.
Miraculously, it worked, because he was Oscar the Grouch, and the cookie monster had his back. Over and over they grabbed and stuffed terrorist after terrorist into Oscars bottomless trashcan. They attacked, well, like monsters. When they got shot, well, theyre puppets, bullets pass right through them, and they just kept fighting. When times got hard, Mr Snuffaluffagus would plow through their ranks like Mrs Piggy in menopause. Big Bird handled resupply, and The Count worked the night operations, killing 1, 2, 3.... terrorists, his cackles pierced the night and made the terrorists yearn for the days when Gordon would tell a bedtime story instead of call in airstrikes from those aliens in the manamana videos.
In the end, many puppets were lost. On quiet nights in Northern Syria, if you sit still and use your manners and listen quietly, you can sometimes still hear : 'Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sessame Street?'
|
"Sirs," said the man who burst into the room,
"What, can't you see we are doing important work," said the representative of the USA as he and his colleagues took another shot. They were watching something on the television.
"Well, sir, ISIS has surrendered, unconditionally."
Everyone in the room said, unanimously, "What?"
"ISIS-"
"We heard you the first time, why?" said the representative of Great Britain.
"My strategy of bombing them must have worked." said the representative of the USA.
"Ya, zat vil be zhe day," said the representative of Germany.
"Shut up,"
"Actually, sir, it was Sealand."
"Sea what?"
"Sealand, it is close to my country. Some nut went on an abandoned platform and declared himself king."
"Ya, but what could zeeland do?"
"Well, they dropped an atomic bomb on Syria."
"They what!" was the unanimous response.
"How did they get a nuke?" asked the representative of the USA. "I didn't sell them one," he muttered under his breath.
"Well, it seems like North Korea sold them. Remember last week when they announced, and I quote: 'We have produced so many nuclear weapons for our glorious country, anyone can come and buy them.' Intelligence reports that Sealand bought this in exchange for, a hairclip and a rake. By the way, Sealand wants a reward for what they have 'accomplished.'"
"What do zhey want?"
"They want to be recognised as a country."
| 2016-01-29T09:11:06 | 2016-01-29T09:04:29 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?"
|
"Shouldn't you know this?" The devil – the big man down under himself – is asking me what I did wrong. I'm not sure how I know he's the devil – he seems friendly enough, tall and blonde and handsome with a smile that could melt hearts. Maybe it's just the fact that he's the only other person in what is obviously Hell.
"Nope. I'm as surprised as you are. I just assumed that when someone arrived, I'd get a memo on who they were. But here we are, and no memo to be found." He shrugs. "If you don't wanna tell me, that's fine. But I'd appreciate if you did. It gets boring out here."
"Yeah, I'd imagine, with nobody else around. How long have you been here?"
The demon shrugs again. "Time's weird down here. It could have been a minute or a decade or a hundred trillion years. I'd say it was eternity, but I can remember before I came." I look into his eyes and know he speaks the truth – there is the darkness of eons in those clear, amber irises. Suddenly, though he loses none of his charm, there is something horrible about him – something abhorrent and monstrous. It must show on my face, because he frowns. "I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?"
"No, no, it's not that, it's just… the concept of eternity is *really* uncomfortable. And your eyes." I shiver. "But am I really the first person here? I mean, someone *must* have done something worse than me. I'm not Hitler or anything."
The devil strokes his chin. "By my understanding, Hell was designed to hold the irredeemable. People who could *never* enter Heaven. Me and my ilk, specifically. I assumed some of you fleshy ones would be joining us eventually, but it's been… a long time, and you're the first."
"There are others like you?" So that's how he hasn't gone mad, all alone down here – he's *not* alone.
He chuckles. "Of course not. A third of Heaven's host fell with Lord Lucifer." He sees the surprise on my face. "Were you assuming I was him? Oh, no, no, no." He bows deeply. "My name is Nebiros, guardian of the entrance to Hell. A pleasure."
I try to respond. "My name is…" What is it? I try to think, but I search in the dark for a thing that may not be there. I clutch my head. "I'm sorry, I don't remember."
Nebiros looks at me concernedly. "Are you okay?" I nod.
"I'm fine, I just… can't remember my name. Or any names from my life – people, places, nothing. I remember what they looked like, though, And I know what I did."
"What was it?" His eyes are excited, the fire reflected in them representing him perfectly.
"I learned the Name. The real name, the way to pronounce the Tetragrammaton. Not 'God,' or 'Yahweh,' or 'Jehova.'" Why do I remember those? Maybe because they're not real names. I think – what authors can I remember? Mark Twain, bell hooks, Lewis Carroll, Voltaire, George Orwell… George Orwell was a pen name? Huh. I can remember fictional characters, too.
"Well?" I look up. The demon is thrilled, staring at me avidly, even hungrily. I fear him again. "What is it?"
"I-I'm sorry. I've forgotten that name, too. I think I can only remember fake names from my time alive." He deflates. "Sorry I couldn't be much help."
"Don't worry about it." He's cheerful again. "At least now I get why you're down here. You're too dangerous to send upwards or even to Purgatory."
"Dangerous?! But I don't even remember the name!"
"No, but you learned it once. You could do it again." He turns toward a small black building I hadn't noticed. "The sulphur-wind is picking up. Please, come inside." I scurry after him.
Nebiros fiddles with a brass kettle, filling it with a strange, dark liquid. "My relief will probably come at some point, after the wind settles down. I'll take you to Pandaemonium when she does." He puts the kettle on a small, exposed flame. "You probably won't like colatl, but I'm heating enough that you can try it. It's an acquired taste."
The kettle simmers in a corner as Nebiros putters around, straightening up. "It's usually only me or Gremory, so we don't really bother keeping the place neat. I hope you understand."
"Oh, entirely. My home was always messy. Papers everywhere. I could never find what I was looking for." I smile. Demons are quite like humans, in some ways.
---
I'll continue it eventually.
|
Fred closed his eyes, the morphine finally kicking in. The car had come out of nowhere.
When he opened them, he screamed. The hot, searing pain of broiling flesh as his feet touched the brimstone beneath was just the beginning. It went on forever, a never ending wasteland with gouts of flame bursting forth from cracks in nature-free brimstone. The heat caused his flesh to crack, and the scream died as thirst overcame even the pain from his feet.
"Water..." Fred gasped, barely able to speak, and his eyes once again surveyed the desolate terrain before him. He was alone. Completely alone. No matter the direction he looked, no matter how far on the horizon he searched, there was nothing but the same fiery hell. Desperate as he spun, Fred crashed to the ground, and it began to broil his sides and back as he struggled, the very landscape attacking him.
Almost by magic, a hand suddenly appeared in aid, and Fred grabbed desperately at it, letting out a sigh of relief as he was hauled back to his feet before gasping at the figure before him. Terror began to ooze down Freds face as realization dawned on him. "I'm in Hell." he gasped, still desperate for water.
"Ah, well..." the figure fumbled, "... about that." Surprisingly, it offered Fred a jug. "Yeah. You kinda are." Fred eyed the jug warily, and the figure shook it, letting its contents slosh.
Fred grabbed the jug greedily, popping the rudimentary string and stopper before recklessly glugging down its contents. Liquid relief poured down his throat, and he gagged, and coughed some back up. When he recovered, Fred returned his gaze to the figure, curiosity on his face as he thought about what just happened "Water?" he asked.
"What else would it be?" The figure asked, surprised at the question. "No, ah, no..." It said, interrupting itself. "I have questions of my own... you see, I have this bet..."
Fred interrupted the figure, who was not as confident as Fred had been led to believe. "The one with God, right?"
"Oh! You know!" The figure was visibly pleased, and Fred found himself smiling back. "That makes this much easier. Well you see... things haven't been going so great on my end." It was Freds turn to look surprised.
"What do you mean?" Fred asked "Isn't Hell bursting with people?"
"Look around!" the figure yelled, its arms spreading to the landscape "Do you see anyone?"
"Well... no...."
"You're the first person buddy! Actually, what do I call you? I think we'll be spending a lot of time together, but I'm not entirely sure how this works...." The figure seemed almost self concious as it spoke, and Fred started awkwardly squirming, while desperately trying not to move his scalding feet.
"Fred. My name is Fred." Fred found himself desperately trying to grasp at the situation as he replied.
"Fred! Got it!" the figure replied, suddenly pilfering a pair of sandals from nowhere and offering them. Fred took them, shaking his head as he did so, but letting another sigh of relief out his feet were freed from the furnace below. "So ah, Fred..." the figure began, but halted, grinding its foot on the ground awkwardly in a fashion Fred found awkwardly familiar.
"Yeeesss...?" Fred replied, not unlike he would when others used the same stance.
"What, ah... what did you do? To get down here I mean?" The figure was visibly distressed as it asked, concern strangely dripping from its features.
"Well, ah..." It was Freds turn to stutter "I always thought I was a pretty decent guy in all honesty." He said, wondering if it is actually true as he surveyed the landscape once again. "Though I guess not..."
"What do you mean, 'you guess not?'" The figure looked confused, so Fred continued.
"Isn't that the deal? With God I mean? Bad people go to hell?" The figures reaction was not what Fred expected, and as he watched something he'd grown up to live in fear of suddenly have abject terror on its face, his own face began to mimic it.
"I didn't get told that bit!" The figure cried, pleading at Fred "What did you do that was so terrible!?"
"I don't know!" Fred shouted back, the situation rapidly deteriorating. "I drank. Does that count?"
"Why would that count?" The figure shouted back, Fred defusal attempt failing. "Drinking bad things kills you! It doesn't get you to Hell!"
"Well then I don't know!" Fred was getting frustrated at the situation, and stopped, suddenly thinking. "Thank you for the sandals." He suddenly found himself saying. "And the water."
"That's what others are for. To help." The confusion on the figures face faded as it spoke.
"I... I think I know what's going on."
| 2015-04-09T11:38:15 | 2015-04-09T07:56:32 | 45 | 16 |
[WP] A water-gun fight between children, told as if it were a horrific war story.
|
In these modern, civilised times, one would have expected the world to become less brutal. It seems though, that every day we humans think of a new way to unleash agony upon our own species. I witnessed a skirmish today. It was fought between children who were no older than seven or eight. They had been given devastating weapons, capable of unspeakable damage. The weapons spew a vile substance known scientifically as dihydrogen monoxide.
These soldiers, though barely more than children, fought with the courage of a thousand men. The atrocities that they had witnessed… I heard a boy scream in agony ”No fair!” as he threw down his weapon and fell on the ground, writhing in unimaginable pain. The leader of the other team, no doubt brainwashed to feel no emotion, stood over the helpless twitching body and delivered the final blow “That’s for tripping me at school, Billy.”
The battle was slowly coming to an end as the one team was seizing a strategic point. Then came the artillery. Never in my entire life had I ever witnessed such a massacre. “Balloon fight!” a boy screamed as he launched a blood red shell of destruction at his enemy. They scattered and hopelessly looked to find any form of shelter from the carnage that was raining down upon them from the heavens.
“The Battle of Fat Billy’s Yard” was thus concluded, forever to be remembered as one of the most brutal events in the world’s history.
Edit: Format and Spelling
|
"I'm afraid your son is suffering from PTSD" the doctor said blankly. Martha and Jim sat in silence. Martha was barely holding back tears. "It was so terrible, what he must have seen" she whimpered. Her husband embraced her. "We'd like to see him now" he said softly.
The doctor walked them down the long, pristine hallway, and into a padded room. Martha broke down in tears at the sight of her son. He sat, in a straight jacket, screaming in terror, and began to scramble into a corner of the room. "It's okay James" Jim said "it's just us". James calmed down slightly, and began speaking in a shaky voice "They broke the rules man, they broke the rules, Andrew got blasted right in the face!"
"It's alri-" his father began to say, before being cut off by James' screams: "YOU WEREN"T THERE MAN, YOU DON"T KNOW!" His father backed up, a sad expression on his face. He knew his son would never be the same. But he would get that son of a bitch kid across the street. The rules had been set, but Paulie had decided they didn't apply to him. Now, he was going down, Jim would get revenge for his son. He drew the pistol from his pocket and went to the bathroom sink. "You're going down motherfucker."
| 2017-06-14T10:18:40 | 2017-06-14T10:10:44 | 39 | 13 |
[WP] After strict homeschooling, you and your twin decide to enroll in college together. While at lunch with Mom, you mention a ridiculous discussion in Child Psychology about "Imaginary Friends", and that (your twin) especially found it hilariously absurd. A frown falls on your mothers face. "Who?"
|
Mom looked from Michael to me, then back to Michael. Her eyes then drifted down to the kitchen table we were sat around, settling on the grain as if it were more interesting than either of us. Perhaps to her, it was. After all, she'd stopped paying us any real attention long ago. Back when...
"Mom?" I said. "Are you okay." Why was she acting so strange? Didn't she want to know what Michael and I had been up to in class?
Silence wrestled with static from the air conditioner. Mom pulled her glass near and poured from the half empty gin bottle on the table. She raised the glass to her nose, taking a long sniff. "You don't have a twin." She downed the contents and poured again.
"Mom?" I laughed, but needles of anxiety prodded my stomach. "What do you mean? Just look at us, for God's sake!"
Michael joined in, gesturing a hand to me. "Not only has Kate always been there for me, but come on! Same hair, same nose. We're identical, if not for gender. You can't say we're not twins."
Mom looked up reluctantly. Her bloodshot eyes drifted with a stutter, as if they needed oiling. Slowly they set on me.
"You don't have a twin. Not... Not since you were a baby." I could see the pity in her eyes. She took another swig, wiping her mouth the back of her golden cardigan.
"Mom? "
"And I never told you that," she continued, before turning away from me and looking back at Michael, forcing a trembling smile.
"What do you mean, Mom?" Michael's voice cracked as he spoke. "Are you feeling okay?"
A pang of anxiety that has been building, burst in my stomach. She'd been growing old and I hadn't even noticed. Deep shadows ran in grooves over her face. Grey drifts streaked her dark hair, like the setting sun shining on the crests of waves. But most apparently, her mind itself was drifting away. Or the alcohol was taking it from her. "Shall I call a doctor, Mom?"
She raised a hand, placing a palm in front of her face. "I'm fine. I'm fine." A long pause. "Your twin died. Cot death, they said. I don't know if that was really the cause, but I do know I held a tiny unmoving body in my arms for an hour, before your father found me and pried my arms open." Tears streaked her face, her mascara running towards her mouth.
How could this have happened? That she'd made up such a story, and now seemingly believed it? Could drink alone really do this to a person?
Michael looked at me, the sadness in his eyes as deep as that in Mom's.
"I knew something was odd," Mom continued, looking from me to Michael. "After dad died... I heard you in your room, talking to, well, to no one. You... You began doing it often. A way of comforting yourself, I thought. Just an imaginary friend. You were young and-- Well, I thought you'd grown out of it." She sighed. "I should have been there for you, but"--she emptied the rest of her drink--"I had my own demons."
"Mom," Michael said, his calmness surprising me, "if I was talking to anyone, it was to my sist--"
Mom leapt out of her seat like a woman possesed, snatching his wrists and holding them like clamps. "You don't have a God-damned sister! Not anymore."
She released him and fell back into her seat, sliding half down it, weeping.
Michael's hands were shaking. "Mom?"
She covered her face with embarrassed hands, hiding her tears.
Michael's eyes roved slowly, nervously, across the table as he looked to me.
"She was always there for me," he whispered. "Even when you weren't."
Mom looked up. "I'm sorry, my darling," she said through tears. "I'll try to be better. I'll try so much harder." She grabbed the bottle by its green throat and walked to the sink, emptying it in four swift glugs.
It was then that I realized Michael wasn't looking at me.
He was looking past me, to my side. I sat there frozen, hoping beyond hope he'd discover me once more.
But he didn't.
Couldn't.
"Michael, please," I begged, my voice already thinning. "Please. *Look after Mom*."
|
    I blinked. I glanced at Tim. Tim looked back at me, confusion sprawled across his face, his jaw slightly slack, his mouth slightly open. “Tim, Mom. Tim,” I said, putting my hand on her knee. Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she repeated her question. I sighed and shook my head. Tim put his face in his hands and sighed louder. “Mom, it’s me. Tim. Belle’s twin? Your youngest son? I did your taxes last year, I gave you rides when your license was revoked, and...I’m your son.”
    My mother said nothing. She hadn’t opened her eyes since she’d been diagnosed with glaucoma, since she’d learned it was far too late to do anything about it. I guess alzheimer’s hadn’t taken away that particular nervous tic. I patted Tim’s back and gave him a sympathetic look before turning back to my mother.
    “Mom, you remember me, right? Belle?” her frown deepened, “Of course I remember you. What kind of mother would I be if I forgot the name of one of my God given children? I’m insulted you even suggested it!” She sniffed loudly and turned away from us.
    I gave up. “...Ookay Mom. We’re gonna go. We’ll come by again tomorrow, okay?” I patted her knee again, turned to the nurse, nodded to her, and left the hospital room. “I didn’t think she’d gotten that bad,” Tim said, his eyes distant, “I thought we’d have a little more time. I thought she’d at least remember us long enough for us to graduate.” I grimaced towards him. I hadn’t been quite as optimistic as he, our mother had been...older when she’d adopted us.
    "I’m driving,” I said, reaching in his pocket for the keys, “you don’t look great, and I don’t want you stress driving.” He rolled his eyes, but let me take the keys anyway.
    “I’ll call Sybil and give her an update, she’ll pass it on,” I said, dialing my older sister’s number. Our conversation was brief. I said something about our mother forgetting her child, told her I loved her, and hung up. As we walked to the parking lot, my pace slowed. Instead of the battered car we’d shared since freshman year of high school, instead of any sort of parking space, sat a single-ride bike fasted to a single bike rack. I slowed to a halt and my brother walked past me, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. His hand reached to where a passenger door would have been, appeared to mime opening a door, and...vanished.
    I stopped. I blinked. I walked forward, felt around, and found a soft surface. “Tim? Tim, are you there? Where are you?!” I blurted, feeling around the invisible something. His muffled voice said something, I’m not sure what. The something got softer and softer. Then it just wasn’t. I felt around more, hoping that the something my brother had just dissapeared into was separate from the something I had been feeling around, but either it was or it was just too late. Tim was gone. I dropped to my knees, and my phone vibrated. I silently answered the phone.
    “Belle, I’m going to visit Mom. Do you know what room she’ll be in?” I said nothing, still in shock. “Belle?” I found my voice - “Sybil, Tim’s gone. I don’t know what’s happening. Tim’s gone.” Tears ran down my face, and I was about to say more, before she interrupted me.
    “Who?”
Critiques wanted. Lots. Critique meeee.
| 2019-01-02T03:46:10 | 2019-01-02T02:40:31 | 216 | 64 |
[WP] You can teleport between shadows, turn invisible in the dark, cause the night to become tangible and attack like a living thing. You would be the perfect vigilante/ criminal, except for one minor detail: you have a terrible phobia of the dark.
|
The public didn't know my name, or who I was. They only knew that suddenly, a string of vigilante murders had popped up over the county. Found dead in the dark with no evidence with clear signs of murder. They were known as the Mafia Killings of 17, and the cases had gone cold. No evidence.
That was me, of course. At night, wherever there was a shadow, I teleported and stabbed them in the back. They were awful people. Awful. I was doing this town a service.
But I stopped doing that long ago. You know why?
The dark is not my domain. Everytime I enter, I feel things hiding in there, lurking beneath the veneer of black. Something insidious, massive and powerful. I have only seen one of them, and I do not want to see anymore.
There is something that bothers me, though. Even though I stopped, more murders have popped up. On the same kind of people, with no evidence. Crooks and thieves dead in the night.
I fear that the Monsters in the Shadows no longer lay dormant. They are coming, and they are coming to exact justice.
|
I've been called Shadowcrawler by the six o'clock news. I've been dubbed the Midnight Mist by petty criminals, whom I stopped in the midst of their criminal acts. The Dark Devil, the Dark Deliverer, even the Darkness itself. These are only some of the names I have been given over the course of my life as a night bender, shadow inhabitant, and conjuror of unearthly powers that reside in deep, lightless abysses. But one thing I was never called by the criminals, one word never used to describe me on the nightly news, was afraid.
But I am afraid.
Afraid not only of the awesome and terrible power I can wield. But also afraid of that to which I should be closest--afraid of my own element, my own kin and kind--afraid of the lightless cracks and recesses of the world, of the sunless stretches of cool, silent night. I am afraid, in short, of the dark.
But it wasn't always this way...
| 2019-04-27T21:51:13 | 2019-04-27T20:53:49 | 53 | 27 |
[WP] A teenage boy is sentenced to a fate worst than death. His internet history is to be publicly read at his high school assembly.
|
"It's public humiliation!"
Owen had never seen his dad's face so red before. He was practically bursting a vein with rage, leaning over the headteacher's desk and spitting in his face.
"This is illegal!"
Mr. Paulson, a mild mannered man with bad taste in ties and a worse taste in shoes, removed his frameless glasses and very carefully cleaned them on a corner of his jacket.
"Mr Jacobs." He said.
"Don't you Mr. Jacobs me!" His father thundered, slamming his clenched fists down on the table. "I'm good friends with the school governor, and I will-"
"You will do nothing, Mr. Jacobs." Paulson replied. "Your son has been bullying a very vulnerable child."
Owen, in the corner of the headmaster's office, turned bright red and cleared his throat. His father snorted.
"Kid was probably asking for it-"
Mr Paulson replaced his glasses and firmly cut the angry man off.
"We feel this punishment is appropriate. Good day, Mr Jacobs."
Own wanted to curl up and die. He sat at the back of the school hall, a churning sensation rioting in his stomach.
"You alright, mate?" Luke asked, slamming his palm down on Owen's shoulder.
"Just feel a bit sick." Owen said weakly. His palms were sweating. There was a faint ringing in his ears as Mr Paulson took the stage.
"Boys - after a recent case of bullying, we've decided to take more affirmative action. Owen Jacobs' internet history from the twentieth of March is in my hand." Mr Paulson waved the sheaf of paper at the assembled hall, who broke out in to barely contained speculative whispers the way that only teenage boys can.
"Let this be a lesson to all of you that we take bullying *exceptionally* seriously." He cleared his throat, placed the papers on the lectern and began to read.
"Facebook, twitter. Reddit- you do waste a lot of time Owen!" The hall laughed, the year sevens turning round and craning their mecks to get a better look at him, head between his knees on the back row.
"Youporn-" There were a couple of wolf whistles, the sixthformers hooting. It took some minutes to settle them down.
"Apparently you like small titties."
The hall went wild. Even Mr Paulson allowed himself a timy smile. He carried on reading.
"Looking for help with maths problems, well done Owen... Er, youtube, more youtube- you really like epic meal time?"
More laughter.
Mr Paulson scanned the sheets again, rifling through them, trying to find something else to make the hall laugh. There was an expectant lull, boys shoving each other to get a look at Owen. He had his face buried in his palms, elbows on knees, desperately trying not to look at the curious eyes around him.
"Ah, look! A forty minute gap. Finally got off line, did you Owen?"
He flicked the page over. Mr Paulson went white. He cleared his throat.
"Google search. Nine twenty five - 'how to cover up bruises.'"
The hall fell silent. Owen looked up, blinkingg furiously to stop the tears from coming.
Mr Paulson cleared his throat again.
"I think you'd better see me in my office, Owen."
|
The double doors swung open. Chains jangled. He was tall and gangly. The trousers of his orange jumpsuit showed a great deal of ankle. The slippers were dragged carelessly across the floor.
Swish. Jangle. Swish. Jangle.
He was shaven, bald, and without eyebrows. His face showed no emotions and his eyes were of the cold blue variety that inspired Turkish charms to ward off northern invaders. He had burns where the electric chair had failed.
He looked at the cameras and half raised his right hand to wave. The manacles connecting it to the left and to his feet strained. He smiled, his eyes ice.
“Matthew Gourd is responsible for the deaths of seven fellow students,” one special correspondent said. “Mirroring Charles Manson, he manipulated...”
“The deaths were deemed to be highly ritualised,” another stated in a more dynamic and therefore more viewer friendly way, “using only blunt objects to hunt down and murder several senior citizens...”
The principal stood where Gourd was headed. The podium where the ultimate punishment was to be enacted.
He banged a gavel. The media fell silent.
“We are gathered today to seek retribution,” the principal said gravely. “This is a rare punishment, and one that is not doled out lightly.”
The room buzzed. What exactly was this going to be?
“This punishment is only used in very special circumstances. I sincerely hope to never be charged with this duty again in my lifetime. But an example must be made of those like Matthew Gourd.”
They had known that there was going to be a special punishment but nobody knew what it was.
“This day, in this room, we shall go beyond seeking justice for ourselves and Gourd's victims. We shall enact the wrath of the people. We shall enact divine retribution.” The principal was known to be a religious man but had always kept this to himself. “We shall wreak the wrath of God unto this monster in our midst!”
The room applauded, several students shouted their consent. A helicopter was heard outside. Reporting reinforcements.
“On this day, in this place, we reveal Matthew Gourd's browsing history,” the principal added quietly, gravely.
Silence.
Gourd's jaw dropped. He said nothing but a worried expression had forced itself onto his psychopathic mask.
“April twenty-sixth,” the principal stated, “Google.com: how to start a cult.”
This was pretty much expected.
“Megaporn.com. Whydocarrotsgiveyounightvision.org. Thewhitehouse.com. Yahoo answers: How do I bomb? Google.com: Artificial fertilizer pricecheck. Superporn.com. Extremefacebang.com.”
Gourd's face folded into the non-expression of defeat.
“Megaslutparty.com. Yahoo answers: I like this guy, does that make me gay? Google.com: Gay characteristics. Google.com: How do I know if I am gay? Yagoo answers: I like a straight guy but I'm not gay. What do I do?”
Gourd bowed his head.
“Yagoo answers: I like a straight guy but I'm not gay. What do I do?: Ok, I might be gay. How do I make a straight guy like me? Massivegayporn.com. Massivegayporn.com. Massivegayporn.com.
Let's skip to something that's not gay porn.
….
Massivegayporn.com – sorry, I'll keep looking...”
| 2014-03-23T05:13:27 | 2014-03-23T04:53:26 | 248 | 13 |
[WP] You are a demon who negotiates contracts in exchange for people's souls. One time you get summoned by a suburban mom who makes impossible requests. When you can not provide her demands, she asks to "speak with your manager".
|
"I can't do it, Karen. I'm sorry but it doesn't exist."
"HOW DARE YOU!" She flipped the fringe of her bleached hair out of her face. "I KNOW it exists, so just produce it for me. You should be giving me this for free!" She poked my chest. "You are LUCKY that I'm offering you such a high payment as my soul for it." I took a look at her soul. It was dingy, scarred, and shriveled.
"Facts are facts," I said. "Vaccines do not cause autism." I used some hellfire to summon a study that shows there's no correlation. "Look, no charge. Here's the evidence proving the contrary." I held it out to her and she just turned up her nose.
"Like I'd believe that from you, prince of lies," She huffed.
"Prince of..." I stared at her. "Do you think I'm Satan?"
"Well, duh? Who else would I sell my soul to?"
Satan? With that summoning circle? Not likely. I'm a low level Imp and I almost didn't answer it. I wish I hadn't."Lady, Satan doesn't deal directly with customers. He runs the whole operation. We have to meet a quota that goes to him and anything more that that we keep."
"Stop LYING!"
"I'm telling the truth. I can help with other stuff. Is there anything else I ca-"
"NO! If you're not in charge then I want to speak to who is! Get me your MANAGER!" Ugh. I shouldn't have mentioned there's a hierarchy.
"If that's what you really want." I pulled out my hell phone and dialed. "Hey Nat? I got a customer who wants to talk to my manager. Can you come down?"
Natasha appeared next to me. She looked Karen up and down then glared at me. "What have you roped me into." I smiled sheepishly at her.
"ExCUSE me!" Karen tapped her foot.
"Yes ma'am," Nat said. "What seems to be the problem?"
"I asked this whelp for definitive proof that vaccines cause autism. I even offered him the prize that is my soul and he tells me he can't do it. Puh-LEAZE tell me you're not as insignificant as he is."
Nat shook her head. "I'm sorry ma'am but he's telling the truth. Vaccines do not cause autism."
"Then MAKE them cause autism." She rolled her eyes as if that were the obvious answer.
Natasha sighed. "Unfortunately your soul would not provide the power it would take to make vaccines cause autism."
"I don't care! This is no way to run a business! You buy souls with favors so make this happen, NOW! I WANT MY VACCINES TO CAUSE AUTISM!"
Natasha smiled. "You're right ma'am I think we can do that for you." Karen smiled smugly at me as Natasha produced the contract for her to sign. She signed it, then POOF! Disappeared.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Exactly what she asked for. HER vaccines caused her to have autism. Her first ones in fact. Turned her mom into a staunch anti-vaxxer. Didn't give her any more. She died of a high fever due to Measles at 18 months. Poor thing."
|
"…I summon YOU!"
(GOOD EVENING MADAM, WHAT IS YOUR PLEASURE?)
*I have a bad feeling about this one. There's something in her attitude that says she expects the Moon, wants Saturn, and won't settle for less than the Sun.*
"I want..." *Right. Shit. That's not... Oh, for fuck's sake!* "...right now in exchange for my soul!"
(I *AM* SORRY, MADAM; BUT ALL OF THOSE REQUIRE AT LEAST TWO SOULS EACH. ONE SOUL WOULDN'T PAY FOR ANY OF THEM.)
*Here comes the wheedling, whining, and begging.*
"You..." *Yep. I think I know where this is going. Gonna serve her right.* "...see your manager!"
(WHAT ARE YOU WILLING TO PAY FOR THAT PRIVILEGE?)
*blink* "What do you mean?"
(HE IS VERY BUSY AND DOES NOT SEE CUSTOMERS DIRECTLY WITHOUT RECOMPENSE.)
*Woah, look at that energy build! Good thing I have the drains already set up, she's going to dump a lot of herself into this. I may get her entire soul for free!*
"I HAVE NEVER..." *Yeah, sister, you just keep right on screaming. The adrenalin alone will push you over the edge!* "...YOUR MANAGER RIGHT NOW!"
(AS MADAM WISHES.)
*whump. Her body just hit the floor, and she hasn't even noticed.*
"Now!"
(OF COURSE, MADAM. I AM REQUIRED TO ASK YOU IF YOU ARE QUITE CERTAIN THAT THIS IS YOUR WISH, WITH NO COERCION BY ME IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM?)
"Of course, it is you, malformed idiot."
***(SO BE IT! BY THE FREELY CHOSEN STATEMENT OF THIS MORTAL, I TAKE HER SOUL!)***
"YOU ***WHAT?***"
(COME NOW, I HAVE YOUR SOUL BOUND TWICE OVER. YOU POURED IT INTO ME WITH YOUR ILL ADVISED TIRADE, THEN YOU FREELY STATED THAT IT WAS *YOUR* WISH. THAT COMPLETED THE BARGAIN FOR A SOUL THAT I HAD ALREADY CLAIMED. IF YOU WISH, YOU COULD CONSIDER THE TRIP TO SEE MY BOSS A FREEBIE!)
"Now that is more like it! Let's go!"
(CERTAINLY, MADAM.)
*I'm going to catch hell for taking her. She would have spent her life making so many people miserable, but what's a demon supposed to do when they throw themselves at you?*
*Of course, she's going to regret it later. There's a special section of hell for people like her. The salespeople are subservient, caving in at the slightest suggestion of a tirade. She gets more than she asks for. Sound like heaven? Not for her.*
*It's the battle and domination that she craves. There is no battle, and the domination of a weak soul is tasteless. I do hope you *enjoy* the rest of eternity with us, Madam. It's not like she has a choice anymore.*
| 2020-05-04T07:28:42 | 2020-05-04T04:47:38 | 150 | 71 |
[WP] You are walking down the street on your way to work when suddenly you burp, hiccup, and sneeze at the same time. A HUD menu opens in front of you with “Resume, Options, and Quit” as selectable options.
|
Expecting to be crushed to nothingness by the black hole, Jora took a deep breath. The escape had been narrow at best. The heavier star cruisers wouldn’t follow him this close to the event horizon. It had been his best shot.
The plates of his ship creaked and whined. One by one his muscles relaxed. He had done everything that the Alliance had asked of him and more. He was without guilt as the blackness started to swallow him whole.
Jora thought back on the war, on all the comrades he’d lost, on Patience and her sparkling black hair. He let the thoughts of its silky touch against his face envelop him as the colors left his eyes. It was like looking at the night sky or staring into deep space. He could feel her warm breath on his ear.
He’d lost so much, but in the end, he’d come out victorious. Even if he wouldn’t live to see the fruit of his labor, he knew that he’d left the galaxy a better place than he’d entered. His line of work was a bit different than most, but when there's a raging galactic war going on, what's normal tends to shift.
The crushing gravity caused his body to do all sorts of things at once. Burping, sneezing, and hiccupping were the mildest symptoms.
Suddenly, his eyes went dark and something rolled across his eyes. A user-interface with three options. He figured it was the strangeness of the black hole that messed with his mind, but the sight was familiar somehow – he’d been here before.
His world was about to collapse in on itself, there was no point resuming or checking the options.
**Quit**
He gasped. It felt like someone pulled out sticky phlegm up through his sinuses and out of his nose. There goes my brain, he thought, flailing in panic.
“Jora, can you hear me?” a muted voice said in the distance.
“He’s in shock from the detachment. Be patient, Amanda.”
“I’ve been patient for over a year! I want to talk to my husband.”
“Okay, let me just run his vitals one more time.”
“His vitals are fine. He’s done this before. I designed this system, remember?”
“Yes, but I think that--”
“You’re done thinking on my behalf, Doctor Rose.”
Jora felt gentle arms cradling his head. He blinked trying to make his eyes focus. The room was chilly and he started shivering.
“Come back to me,” Amanda whispered in his ear, and he felt her warm breath on his skin.
She reminded him of Patience at the battle of Raven Grave, they’d held each other for hours to keep warm until the allied forces dug them out of the icy soil.
“The admiral wants to know when he’ll be ready for the next immersion,” Doctor Rose said.
“Leave us alone!” Amanda hissed. “He’s not going in again.”
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more
|
Edit: Formatting, Adjustments to story,
Let me know what you think <3
The Dark Room
“Ostera Implants bring the world of your dreams into reality, “ - Jackson Grant, Ostera Technologies CEO,
Personal Log
Henry Ruman,
Saturday May 5th, 2038
“When we were kids they gave us Ostera Implants, These small machines implanted in our eyes to alter our reality, it made everyone happier, but today was different”
It was just like a normal day, I woke up, got out of bed, made my morning coffee, and went off to work, I waved to the neighbor on my way out, this sweet old lady, she was always nice to me bringing me fruit from her garden, but then things started getting a little crazy, my Ostera implant was flickering text across my vision, it was hard to read at first, but slowly it all became more stable,
“Please remain silent and still, they can’t know something is up, I’m going to get you out of here, just bare with me”
All at once I felt the sudden I felt a burp coming on, but not only that my nose was really tickled, I wasn’t sure if I would sneeze or burp first but then the most bizarre thing happened, I burped, sneezed, and hiccuped all at once,
A menu showed up in my vision,
[Resume]
[Options]
[Quit]
As if the text from before could sense my uneasy feeling, it began telling me what to do,
“Don’t worry, This is part of the plan, all I need you to do is hit the [Quit] button, everything will be explained to you in time,”
I was unsure of this, I heard of the stories about a secret menu, but supposedly it was only accessible by government officials, perhaps this was a glitch in the system? Either way, my curiosity was overcoming my uneasy feeling, I decided I might as well see what happens, I selected the quit option, everything went dark.
[Loading...]
It was a loading screen, What was loading? It didn’t matter I had no time to speculate, after a few moments. My eyes opened, I was in a scarcely lit room, sitting in a chair, I had some sort of VR Helmet on, and I couldn’t move anything below my hips. I tried to take off the helmet, but it was connected to some machine behind me, it was a fairly common machine they told us about in school, it cut off mobility in the legs so that we wouldn’t walk around while in the Ostera.
I struggled for several minutes attempting to disconnect the machine safely, however without assistance it seemed almost impossible,
All of my options exhausted, and feeling a little tired from moving around so much, I slowly drifted off to sleep,
| 2018-05-05T03:08:36 | 2018-05-05T01:40:55 | 161 | 58 |
[WP] The International Society of Ghosts has lifted the "the only objects permitted to be haunted are houses and dolls" rule. As a young, but creative ghost, you are determined to find then most interesting object to haunt.
|
“What piece do you want to be?”
“I’ll be the terrier.”
“Alright I’ll be the boot.”
“Why is the wheelbarrow out then?”
“Oh, it’s haunted. Ghost always plays wheelbarrow. Don’t worry, they’re not too bad a player.”
“Of all the things to haunt...”
“Yeah one piece on a monopoly game. Great when you play alone though. You have a non cheating second player who doesn’t talk crap.”
“Hey!”
“Just sayin. Oh, we took too long, they’re going first.”
|
“Frank....Frank....FRANK!”
“What damit I’m trying to work!”
“It’s that nail again! I swear I push it into the wall every morning and next day it’s out again!”
“Probably just snags on your cloths or wiggles loose. Now please let me work!”
“Frank you don’t understand. That nail, it’s always so cold when I touch it. Just, fuck man I swear we are haunted.”
| 2018-09-19T07:51:48 | 2018-09-19T07:14:36 | 164 | 34 |
[WP] You, a Human, have been sentenced to death on an alien planet. The method of execution: gas chamber. However, the compound used in executions, Tetrahydrocannabinol, isn't quite as lethal to humans as your executioners expect.
|
I always wondered how it would all end. It’d been a miracle that I’d made it this long after the original earth invasion. My family... friends... everyone I’d ever loved had died the day massive unearthly ships came crashing through the skies, their lasers incinerating anything in their paths. I remember running, running so fast that my legs felt like they were going to give out but somehow...somehow I made it to the caves.
No. I wouldn’t let myself think of my years in the caves, the last remaining humans that struggled to free my far away home. It was supposed to be a typical supply run but things had gone wrong. So horribly wrong.
I glanced out the window of my small solitary cell on the strange alien planet my captors had taken me too. I’d been here almost a year now. A year filled with knives and screams. The green shine of their sun broke over the horizon lighting my cell. Today was the day. My end. My body was too broken for them to continue their testing so I was to be disposed of with the rest of the humans that’d made it this long in their labs. My bones groaned at the memory of that place.
“It’s time, Kara,” the guard said opening the door to my cell. Mallark was one of the good ones. One of the few beastly creatures that seemed to have a soul. His eyes were full of sadness as they locked on my own. I tried to smile at him, tried to show that death didn’t scare me.
He lead me down the too familiar hallways towards the looming iron door. We all knew what was behind that door, had been warned that if we didn’t obey they would take us there. The gas chamber.
When we first arrived they’d shown us what happened to their prisoners in the chamber. Some creatures screamed, others flailed about clawing at their skin but always, always the death was miserable. A sob caught in my throat as the heavy iron door swung open revealing the compartment full of my fellow human beings. Their broken eyes swung up to meet my own. This was it, one more instance of pain and torture and then it would be over.
I didn’t resist the soft push that sent me into the room. The door clanged shut behind me sending the room into darkness. There were no sobs echoing through the room, only silence. A year of being a lab rat would do that to any human.
I sat, eyes squeezed shut, shoulders relaxed. Any minute now the green lights would start flashing and the gas would leak in through the grates. As if the thought alone activated the controls, dim green light surged behind my closed lids. I would not look at the curling plumes seeping towards me. A mangled hand gripped my own begging not to be alone in these last moments. I squeezed back tightly letting them know I was here.
Best get it over with. I took a deep, slow breath and paused waiting for the pain. There was none.
Another breath and then another
I knew this smell. It was the sort of smell one could not forget even after years of its absence. It was the smell of a a college dorm and a too tightly packed elevator. It was the smell of years of fun and laughter with friends and late nights gorging on junk food. It was THAT smell.
My eyes flew open the green light still flashing as I caught the gaze of the man across from me through the smoke. A smile tugged at his lips mirroring my own. His mouth parted, a soft chuckle falling out as he spoke with a voice raw from screaming
“Bro”
|
The room started hissed as gas was forced inside. Carl panicked and started banging on the door begging to be let out fearing for his death.
“You have broken our sacred law and desecrated a shrine. You will pay the ultimate price for treating our gods with such disrespect.”
“Come on man! It was just some graphite to make the place interesting. I didn’t even know about that law either!” He sobbed.
The aliens ignored him.
Carl’s nose suddenly twitched and recognised the smell as soon as it reached his nose. Was this really the noxious war gas they used to dispatch their death sentence?
The effects took a moment to set in. But when they did, Carl’s mind shattered.
“Noooo!” His screams twisted into those of a dying animal.
The aliens jumped and felt their skin crawl. That sound was terrifying. They’d never heard any human scream like that. Not even the human girl that they performed surgery on when they ran out of morphine.
“My face! It’s melting off! Please let me out! I don’t want to walk around with a missing face! I can already not feel it!”
This puzzled them, it was clear on the camera that there was nothing wrong with Carl’s face. It was still intact. His eyes were red and wet and contorted in fear. But they were still okay which was puzzling. This human should have his eyes bursting and he should be chucking up blood. Not screaming like a paranormal S’ancati.
Their monitors picked up a spike in the human’s metabolism signalling that his stomach just sounded out in hunger confusing them even more.
“Is the gas just sapping his strength?” One of the aliens wondered.
“There must be something wrong.”
“Just release more of it.”
The hissing got louder as more gas burst in. Carl shrieked and unbuckled his belt. His hands shakenly wrapped it around his foot as he started punching it.
“It bit me! That fucking snake bit me! Help!” He crawled into a corner where he curled up.
He sucked in more air as he started hyperventilating. He pressed himself tightly to the ground thinking that he could float into outer space if he didn’t because of his lightheadedness.
“Ahh! Why do I feel so light?” He cried. “Keep those sharp things away from me! I’ll pop,” he pointed at the shadows his fingers made.
“*Shit!* call the high order.”
—Cease the execution. You fools are just making him high— the high order demanded once everything was explained.
—Who gave you the permission to impose our rule on the human tourist anyway?—
“It is the will of Yaureid /yah-oh-raid/, sires. He desecrated a temple of the gods and he must be...” the unanimous glare of the high order shut him up.
—FOOL! He *is* under the protection of Yaureid! He shall answer his crimes on his own world! Had this poison really killed him we could be susceptible to war! Execute this Fool!—
Two guards grabbed his arms being careful to not slice themselves on his shoulder blades.
They passed Carl by on their way to the chamber. The human was passed out from the sedatives he’d been given.
At that moment the alien wished he was one of his kind to avoid his fate.
Everyone was forced to look in horror as their friend melted away in excruciating pain for his mistake. Even as the skin on his face liquidated and fell from his bones, they were required to look on and make sure he served his sentence.
r/PsyionicWrites
| 2020-05-20T12:41:06 | 2020-05-20T11:33:44 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
|
\[POEM\]
Quiet internal rebellions silenced,
The hero had inflicted his cruelest ability.
"What have you done to me?"
The late afternoon crowds drifted past,
With their childishly fresh eyes looking through him.
Slightly bewildered, he turned to the hero,
Anguish in each others eyes.
"A losing battle is raging."
Denial unravelling, he attempted to lash out
But his fist passed through the hero weakly.
"I don't understand - I still feel as though I am me!"
Surrendering to despair, he fell to the ground,
Sharing mournful camaraderie with the hero,
The only one who saw his gradations at arms length.
In the last moments of pure recall,
The hero watched as his adversary became misplaced in time.
"As your place in the world fades away,
All you will know is a confusion so thick you forget forgetting."
|
I would have never thought to use a playlist so strong just to defeat someone. It's a dangerous idea, but an idea that would work.
It was becoming dark, perfect for this. I run into the night and try to change my music. I was thrown off guard when I noticed that they weren't behind me. I kept running until I fell to the ground. Scrapping up my knees and hands, my Ipod fell. I was so scared that it was broken, but when I picked it up, it was fine. I picked it up and clicked on it. Just then, my hands quiver, blood stops dripping, my sight is back. They know I just clicked on it and I know they're here. I wait for them to take their aim on me...
| 2022-05-17T09:52:46 | 2022-05-17T09:44:15 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You make arrangements to cryogenically freeze your brain at the age of 31 in hopes of being revived in the future. Many years later, you "wake up."
|
"Wake up, Lisa."
"It's time to wake up."
As my eyelids dragged themselves open, I was greeted by a bright light. Once sure he had proof of life, the doctor pulled the flashlight away, and greeted me once more.
"Good morning, Lisa."
The room around me resembled the room from my memories - the one in which they had frozen me. It was surprising, after all these years, to see that not much had changed. The doctor stood at my bedside, closely resembling the ones from centuries past. He was wearing very similar garb, perhaps to ease me into the future, but perhaps also because their uniform hadn't changed too much.
When he saw me sit upright, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. Did Christmas still exist? *No way*, I thought. *Not for a long time.*
After some further examinations of my vitals - seeing if I could still think and talk properly - the doctor spoke.
"You've been asleep for a long time, Lisa. It says here, you were frozen back in 2015. A lot has happened since then. It may take you a while, but with some hard work, we may be able to properly integrate you back into society."
"How long... How long was I out?"
I felt a weight in the lit of my stomach, anticipating his response. Though there was no true pause in the conversation, I could count the hours I felt were between my words and his.
"The year... is 2018."
What.
"What?!"
"Yes! 2018! Can you imagine? We've already successfully revived a human from cryogenic sleep! Isn't the future wonderful?"
I was fuming. Not because of the stress of being oblivious to the year, or the doctor's casual remarks implying it had been much longer, that so much had changed.
*"Why the hell didn't you leave me in longer?!"* I was screaming, by this point.
"Oh, uh, company went under. Yup. And the government stopped doing corporate bailouts back in December. Some timing, huh?" The doctor disapprovingly shook his head, and took a long, loud slurp from a Big Gulp cup.
|
I feel a sudden sensation of pain, through my back. I try to scream, but I am paralyzed. This is so odd. I can't see anything.
What's happening?!
I cant lift my arms. Below the torso, there's a dull pain slowly making way through the numbness. It's cold.
A bright light blinds me. I close my eyes. But the light is still too bright.
I hear muffled voices. Pain is engulfing my body now.
"Hnnnnggggggg"
I hear my voice. That was supposed to be a scream. Suddenly the pain starts decreasing. Giving way to numbness.
I feel......tired. I stop all efforts to move. The voices grow distant. The light is fading.
Numb again. The pain is gone. I open my eyes only to be blinded a bright light again.
"Dim the lights, his eyes are gonna need some adjusting."
"Hnnnnggg", I try to speak.
"Give it a while Mr. Bauer, your body is going to need some time to adjust after such a long cold nap."
That's right. I was freezed. They've brought me back! Wow!
I feel warmth spreading along my body. I get the senation in my arms and legs back.
I open my eyes again, to find my self lying naked, on a bed. The room is dimly lit, all I can see are slight shadows. There are all kinds of pipes and needles piercing my body.
"Where am I?"
"We've transferred you to the ICU, from your freezing chamber. How're you feeling?
"Tired"
"Well, the blood is flowing again. You'll be active again after a few days of rest and nutrition."
"What year is it?"
"2030 A.D. ..........13 A.T."
"What?"
"Your questions will be answered soon. For now you rest, and let the machines do their work on you."
I close my eyes again. Letting the fatigue take over my body.
"Supreme ruler Trump, will be here to meet you soon."
| 2015-09-14T01:35:21 | 2015-09-13T23:27:46 | 35 | 19 |
[WP] You own a coffee shop, and you make some damn fine coffee. After decades of running the place, one of your most loyal patrons approaches you, reveals themselves as some kind of immortal being (a god, vampire, etc.), and offers to make you immortal as well, as along as you keep running the shop.
No idea why it says ‘along’ instead of ‘long.’ Oh well, my bad.
|
"Look, I get it. Every book and movie and story since time immemorial says that this is a bad idea. The vampire offers you immortality and then screws you over..."
She paused and took a sip of her dark roast.
"Cept' Twilight, where they just screw you. I'm getting sidetracked."
She set the cup down with a dismissive wave.
"My point is, for the first time in five hundred years, I find myself at an impasse. I really actually genuinely want something from a mortal, no strings attached. But I get it, that's exactly what a vampire trying to trick you would say..."
She rambles off into a long convuluted explanation of why she's sincere. I zone out looking into those eyes. She's adorable. The whole 'supernatural charm' thing really works...
I just don't have the heart to tell her the secret ingredient is vampire blood added before roasting the beans, or to tell her about the .45 loaded with silver Hollowpoint leveled at her hips under the table....
|
[Poem]
.
*Conditional*
I never knew before
how much hate a single word
could be forced to endure
a thousand years, and
there have been
no vacations
there have been
no true friendships as
I cannot show my face
lined but unaging
not to anyone outside
only for Them, the sight of me
for he and his tar-eyed friends
whatever they are
only for Them
just like the coffee
brewed perfect every time
and stewed bitter in my heart
and the worst:
I am no true slave
any day I could say, “Enough.”
and the bargain be ended
and me with it
and I am afraid
to end
after all these years
and so I brew
my wonderful, bitter blend
and I wish
and I don’t
know what for
.
Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.
| 2019-06-27T06:51:25 | 2019-06-27T05:29:23 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] “Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.”
|
“So, what is it like down here?”
Asked Jared, the new rookie. Clint shifted uneasily from foot to foot. The old man, although well accustomed to mining for coal, obviously was not accustomed to speaking to his coworkers.
“It’s Hell.”
Was all Clint could manage. Jared thought this was an appropriate answer. The mining life was vicious, to say the least. Almost none made it past the mid part of their life due to the sickness and the dangers of being in a pitch black tomb. Although he knew every danger of it, Jared didn’t have much of a choice for a career. After losing his parents in an accident as a child, Jared had always worked to provide for his youngest sibling, and now the financial strain had also fallen onto him.
The elevator groaned on, and their descent began. As the cart began to lower, Jared felt suffocated by the darkness that engulfed him. Closing his eyes, he tried to call upon the happy memories he had of the world above. Images of the time he took his brother to the park appeared in his head. The smile that cracked on his brothers face whenever Jared helped him on a difficult math problem. His sibling was truly what kept Jared going in the aftermath of what happened.
The elevator arrived at the bottom of the mine with a small shudder, and the men went to work in the dark to provide light to those in the sun. Time stood still in a place like this. Sounds of hammers hitting rock, and machines moving pieces of earth to the surface were the only instances of movement here.
Jared worked has hands to the bone that first day. After what felt like eons, the whistle finally sounded for the days work to be over. Jared came up to Ryan, an old friend from his days in school, and the two chatted briefly about things. Eventually, talk of work began and Ryan said,
“Just remember, Jared, the ones who play hero down here usually end up dead.”
That’s when they heard it. A sound that vibrated within their whole body. The cave felt as though it were alive and furious.
“CAVE IN!”
Shouted the supervisor somewhere in the pitch black. Everyone quickly began moving to the elevator as fast as possible. Then, the ceiling began to break apart. Jared found himself running next to Clint as the two broke for the elevator.
That’s when he heard it. A sickening snap from his leg when he stepped wrongly. Sharp pen shot through his whole body as Jared fell to the floor clutching at his lower leg. He looked up and saw Clint had turned around to look at him.
“HELP! PLEASE!”
Jared cried out, Clint looked at Jared, then his glance went to the ceiling. Jared followed his gaze and saw rocks falling between the two of them. Clint gave a last glance at Jared, then turned and ran towards the elevator once more.
As the rocks covered the only way towards salvation, Jared’s headlamp began to flicker. In the dark, no one would see his pained expression. In the dark, no one knows what men do to survive to a ripe old age.
|
*Tranquil Bar*
On the first glance, it's just a normal casual bar. People sitting around after work, drinking alcohol and chatting, maybe playing a game of pool or cards in the back. But the real bar is the one situated below, in the basement. But this bar isn't the same as the one above. It doesn't sell alcohol, but special cards. Cards that only members can scan and read the info encrypted inside it. And what's the info in it, you asked? Usually a name, an address and a request. Whoever's on it will not have a very good time.
You must have a pretty good idea what kind of bar this is. It's not just a bar for normal people. It's also a kind of a safe haven for mercenaries and assassins. The kind of people that you don't ever want to cross path with. Each mercenary or assassin would have to pay a monthly fee to keep being a member. But the benefit is that they will have a steady stream of work available. The bar get a cut from each verified card - cards that have been fulfilled and verified by a staff member - and the rest would be cash out or transfer to the mercenary.
The number of the members are a close kept secret of the bar. But most people who frequented the place for work are all familiar with one old man named "Lion." No one really know his real name, but everyone call him Lion. There are multiple stories about him, but no one know if any of them have even a sliver of truth to it. One story even told that he got the nickname "Lion" because he shouted someone to death. If you were to asked Lion himself, he'd just smirk and change the subject. The fact that the guy has possibly a hundred tales to him isn't the most impressive one, but it's the fact that he's the only merc I've known that lives to be his age. In this business, you'll get a bullet or two sooner or later. That's why most of us are just young fools with too much to drink and too little to care about that accepted this dangerous path in life. You will almost never see an old man doing these kind of jobs. There were few desperate enough, but most of them never came back for seconds, or came back at all. But Lion is different, he would accepted a card, fulfilled it and came back for more. Some suspected that a group of people hired him so that they don't have to pay the monthly fee for membership of the bar. But that was proven to be false.
And so, the old man became a special kind of legend. He'd showed up after a job, bandaged and wounded, yet he's still there for more. He only works with people he knew a long time, but every regulars here respected him. Rarely do we see new guys sticking around here after a job or two. But not Lion, not the old man whom always around, always ready for another job. That old man really reminds me of an old saying:
"Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.”
| 2018-07-15T09:28:11 | 2018-07-15T08:11:37 | 388 | 18 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Hey Moose,
We had a good run. 16 years is good for a dog that somebody else starved in their back yard for a while.
You did really good. You remembered all those tricks somebody else taught you, showed the cats/birds love, and learned to stop being scared over food. You gave the best hugs on the planet.
I'm sorry that your last days hurt so much. We tried to work around your sickness best we could but it was too late when we figured out what was wrong.
I know you couldn't understand at the time but the other twin dogs were hurt just like you, but instead of missing food they never had love or anyone else. Thanks for trying to love them, too. They've gotten a lot better at nipping and trusting people over time.
That last year was really rough but the time the family had with you was beautiful...even though the " dog ate the sofa" story still makes the rounds at parties. Say hi to Herky, Xena, Scouty, Jazz, Ouma and the birds for me.
Thanks for that last smile.
Hanging in as always,
E.
|
Dear Melody,
It's been a year.
I guess I know why you didn't call me. It's not like I bothered to keep in touch. Not like we stayed close. Besides, I'm pretty sure I was kind of a jerk to you when we were still talking.
I miss you. I wasn't really expecting to, I hadn't thought about you for a long time. I don't even really remember the last time I saw you.
But couldn't you have called Kyle or James or anyone? Or even what's his name, your boyfriend who I really don't like?
He calls you his angel. He says he was planning to propose. I don't think he really knew you. Either that or he's why you left. Doesn't really matter. You're gone now.
I know this is silly. I feel silly writing this. I'm going to burn this anyways and hope it gets to you somehow.
Hope sounds better than pretend.
I miss you. And I'm sorry.
| 2017-11-06T00:29:00 | 2017-11-05T18:20:52 | 235 | 157 |
[WP] You can stop time. However, during your vacation where you have stopped time for a year, someone runs up to you and asks “Dude, why have you stopped for this long?”
|
"Dude, why have you stopped for this long?"
The voice startles me. It's been a year since my last freeze, and not a single squawk from any of the seagulls suspended mid-air above me. At least that was one year of not worrying about them stealing my chips - not that I could really enjoy them now anyway. One of the downsides of frozen time.
The stranger makes his way towards me, sitting himself down beside me on the smooth sand.
"I mean, this beach is beautiful, so I almost get it, I really do... but you're kind of disrupting the flow of other timestoppers with this."
I chuckled. "Timestoppers? Is that what we're called? Sounds like a low budget kids' show from the 90s."
The man shrugged. "Well, someone decided it made sense, and I mean, it does get right to the point. But you're not surprised to learn there are others? I usually have to do a whole speech - you are not alone, great power and great responsibility, yadda yadda yadda..."
Surprised? No. When I first discovered my power I did what anyone would do - an extensive online search. There were surprisingly quite a few stories out there similar to mine. Feeling like the world stopped around them, a sort of out-of-time experience... most stories were written off as disassociative disorders by the armchair psychiatrists of the internet, but I knew better.
"Nah. I sort of figured I couldn't be special enough to be the only one with this..." Not a gift, I reminded myself. "...ability."
"Well, I'm glad. The big speech would've taken a lot out of me, and *somebody* has made sure I haven't had a glass of water in 12 months."
I flash him a guilty smile. "Sorry."
He shrugs, leaning back on his palms, looking at the frozen waves. "Not like I haven't gotten used to it. But tell me. What's made you go for the gold record in timestopping?"
My fists clench, my mouth suddenly even drier.
"Because she got her diagnosis yesterday," I said as plainly as I could manage, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the horizon, "On day one of our honeymoon. And I'm not sure how to process that."
He says nothing, and we continue to keep our eyes on the ocean in front of us. A few minutes of silence pass before he speaks up again.
"I was losing someone too. That's how I discovered just how strong this power was. Kept him frozen for 2 weeks before I realised."
"Realised what?"
"That I wasn't fixing things. Staring at him in that hospital bed wasn't going to bring my husband back to life. This power-- I thought it was about giving us more time to think, think more clearly, but it just locks us inside our own heads." He let out a long sigh. "I'd kept him perfectly preserved... but it wasn't a real life. I realised that the best thing I could do was accept it and just make sure his last moments were as beautiful as I could possibly make them."
I turn to look at him and beg my voice not to quiver. "Didn't it hurt?"
He lets out a wry smile. "Like hell, but it was worth it. Now I don't remember just one painful stretched-out moment. I remember all the short beautiful ones."
We sit in silence for a few minutes. Then he gets up without a word, saying goodbye with a pat on my shoulder.
My eyes glued to the waves in front of me, I consider his words.
High above me, a seagull flaps its wings.
|
He didn't look like the sort of guy to be able to stop time. None of the telling features, like a third eye or that light-bending aura the Others dragged behind them. In fact, he was only wearing board shorts.
"It's been a whole year dude!" He pleaded.
I blinked, at first digesting that I was talking to another human. Then I shrugged and returned to sipping one of the last free cocktails I could track down.
"It's my GAP year," I eventually said. The guy kept hopping from foot to foot.
"Yeah, look, I get you're probably having a ripper time-"
"I am," I chuckled smugly.
"Cool, but see I was just about to score with this tennoutaten. I mean a real banger lass."
"Go on," I find my interest piquing, not because of his banal situation, but because he seemed to feel it important next to the fact entropy had tipped on it's side around him.
"Yeah, right? And so I popped one of those Viagra pills for a little extra oomph. Right as it kicked in you stopped everything. Been trying to find you since."
"Why?" I blurt out, genuinely at a lack of eloquence. I'd seen proton decay first hand, galaxies fading beyond their visible horizons, and the fireworks of every black hole's final moments. I had mastered time to taken one short break and...
"Cause uh..." he danced a little, and I noticed he'd clearly been shuffling around with his crotch redacted from the world this whole time.
"Cause it ain't wearing off."
"For a whole _year_?"
I stop myself from letting my voice break in a whine; that was a referred pain I hadn't felt in a while. He hopped around some more while I fell into some thought.
"I've been drinking this whole time, how come I'm recovering from that?" I eventually blurt, and he startles allowing me to spot his blight. He blushes, and I realise how far my face had sympathetically contorted to match the layout of his pants.
"Come on dude, just start it back up for an hour or so."
"No," the tone is a bit harsh, I really did feel for the fella, but something about him bothered me. He sighs and begins awkwardly gesturing with his hands, maintaining the same uncomfortable looking pose.
"Same reason you don't knock out an entire city the first step you take frozen by fusing your molecules with other air molecules."
His tone had entirely changed, scholarly, almost business like. I blink (all three eyes) and stare at the man as he begins unravelling everything.
"It's the concept of causal entanglement; the particles that interact with you inside a freeze state will resume entropy in a localised paracausal loop. In this the genesis state is important, since it acts as a sort of "big bang" for all timelike paths to casually relate to. Because you stopped time right as this Viagra kicked in, the timelike geodesic where it interacts with my brain loops infinitely based on that input of initial conditions."
"Soooo..." I stupidly bray.
"_So come on man_, I'm the God who granted you these powers, help a boner-brother out when he is stuck in one of these meat gundams!"
And you know, I was so surprised, time restarted just like that.
----
(Quick error filled mobile post from an old crusty lurker, please be gentle ;_;)
| 2021-08-14T21:15:25 | 2021-08-14T20:19:58 | 1,326 | 582 |
[WP] Every "walks into a bar" joke occurs in a single bar. You're the bartender and your shift just started.
|
I sat in my car as the engine died. Enjoying my last moment before starting my shift. Taking a deep breath, I got out and headed to the bar. As I reached the entrance, the door opened and one of our regulars walked out. "Already had your fill today, O'Connor?" I said to him.
He mumbled something and stumbled down the street. He'd probably be back soon. With that Scottish friend of his. I went in and got ready for my shift. Murray was relieved to see me. It was finally time for him to go home. "You will never guess what happened today," he said as I went behind the counter.
"I probably can," I said. At this point, what surprised me most was that things still surprised him.
"A bear came in today," he said, expecting me to react.
"Did you tell him that bar moved to Hudson's Avenue?" I asked.
"Not that kind of bear. An actual bear. A grizzly bear. It actually walked up to the bar and ordered. It took a long time, it waited about five minutes between every word, but it actually spoke."
I've served the bear a few times. It was at the point where I would hear someone scream in fear and I'd get the bear's usual drink ready. "Alright, you just head home and rest," I told Murray. "I'll handle it from here." He left, still traumatized by serving a bear. He looked on in horror as a horse came in as he was leaving. He looked over to me, silently asking if I was seeing it too. I just waved him goodbye. Somehow he was still shocked by all this. To me it was just the daily grind.
The day went on as normal. The usual clientele and the usual conversations. People discussing religion. People ordering drinks for inanimate objects. Animals ordering drinks. People talking about their sexual exploits. A group of strings came in, but I quickly threw them out. They forgot their lifetime ban.
Finally it was time for last call. The people finished their drinks and headed out. I cleaned up and check the tip jar. A priest, a rabbi, twelve blondes, five blacks, three types of scientists, an entire barnyard of animals, and Jesus Christ walked into a bar, and not one of them tipped. "Is this some kind of joke?" I said in disgust.
|
Sean yawned and pulled into Cliche’s parking lot. The last two nights he’d pulled doubles to cover for Elyse, but now he couldn’t shake the phantom 20 pound dumbbells tied to his arms. Another day another dollar, he thought, pressing through the front door.
“Hey Sean. ‘Notha double tonight?” David asked, looking away from the Red Sox game on the far wall flat screen.
“Hey Dave. Yeah. You got a Red Bull for me under there?” Sean said pulling up a stool. It was 4 p.m., an hour before his shift, and the bar was empty, save for the three priests sitting and their bottle of wine at the corner table.
Dave cracked the can and said, “Here ya go kid. Drink up. You’re gonna need your wings tonight. Thursday nights are big. If you smile real nice for the people they’ll throw a bunch of green paper at ya.” A cynical smile curled at the corners of Dave’s mouth.
“Is that how that works? I thought I just had to show ‘em my freemason membership card.”
Dave turned back around. “Bullshit. You got a mason card?”
“Oh yeah,” Sean leaned to his left and reached for his pocket. “Check this out.” He pulled up a middle finger and chuckled.
Dave smirked and he door squealed open. Sean and Dave were greeted with the the sounds of hooves. Their owner, a 7 foot horse, pulled up to the bar a few feet from Sean.
Dave smiled, and leaned into the bar. “Hey bud, why the long face?”
The horse shook its mane out. “My wife just left with the kids.” Sean and Dave bore witness to the horse’s pause.
Sean started to speak. “I’m–”
“She took ‘em to the in laws for the weekend. I’m free.” The horse’s laugh was immense and the gravity pulled both Dave and Sean in. “A bourbon neat, thanks.”
Dave found a glass beneath the lip of the bar, wiped it out, and grabbed the Makers Mark off the wall. 1, 2, 3, 4. “That’ll be five.” Dave said, sliding the drink to his long-faced friend.
| 2018-01-31T21:31:26 | 2018-01-31T18:34:28 | 117 | 79 |
[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.
|
The Herald of the Council rose to its microphone. A robotic voice in Galactic Standard came through the speakers.
"We have assembled the Galactic Council; Sector B: Neutralization required. All options: 1) Ground combat. 2) Short-range space combat. 3) Long-range space combat. Option ~~|0) Diplomacy|~~ has been terminated by the Krannoks' unwillingness to give up their illegal collection of Skorollian Crystals. Military strikes on the ground have an estimated 4% chance of success, and space strikes, 2%. X-5 level consequences estimated in the case of failure. A vote will commence in forty seconds to initiate plan 1, 2, or 3. 40. 39."
A buzzer sounded.
All of the Council members turned to the Human representative. Carol spoke into her microphone. "Requesting permission to propose option 4."
"Permission granted," came the reply from the Herald.
Carol continued. "Option 4a) Fusion weaponry strikes. Option 4b) Antimatter weaponry strikes."
The Skorollian representative leaned into their microphone from their seat. "With all due respect, I'd appreciate if you wouldn't make jokes during a \*\*\*FUCKING CRISIS!\*\*\*"
&#x200B;
The Herald pressed a button and a short sine-wave played. "Skorollian representative muted for one minute. Respect must be paid during Council meetings. Human," the Herald turned to Carol. "Elaborate."
Carol said nothing, but pressed a few buttons below her microphone. The holo-display in the center sprouted up and showed a jet-black fighter unit flying at cruising speed over a digital rendering of a barren moon. "This is option 4a) Fusion weaponry strikes."
The fighter dropped a small metal gray egg-shaped object that sailed down towards the moon. The fighter flew away just before the object vanished in a massive flash, a flash so bright that the hologram automatically dimmed for a moment.
Carol sped up the holo-display and the dust settled quickly, and slowed it back down. Various gargles and gasps were heard throughout the room as the massive expanse of scorched moon was revealed.
Carol looked around at the other representatives with a smug smile. "That's our older technology. Would anyone like to see option 4b?"
|
Commodore Holland,
Log 1, Day 227, Time is 2100 Hours.
When I heard the news, you could say I was taken aback. We've encountered three different Sentient alien species, code named Gamma, Sigma and Zeta. All of them are hostile Xenophobic species, which seem to eat and prey upon the others.
Well, hear this. They have no understanding of the Power of the Atom! From what little research we've gathered here today, their ships are powered by solar winds, or some type of unknown fuel similar to coal. Our ships are more powerful, faster and more heavily armed. If I'm being honest with you sir, it's like if our ancestors had brought an Iowa class battleship to fight 16th century tall ships!
Our single Fleet Carrier, USS *Midway* managed to destroy over 250 light craft, and crushed out their fleet of 4 carrier type, 2 battleship type, and 13 line type ships!
In the After Action report I sent to you, I denoted the use of nuclear weapons in the face of overwhelming odds. As the maxims say "Only cheaters prosper." in this case, I had ordered the use of XC-4N Magnetic Mines to be dispersed and an archer missile pod to be spooled with a 40 gigaton nuclear charge. We launched the missile in a non-collision course, which they ignored as it sailed past. But the force from the blast changed the solar current, forcing them into the minefield. [Expletive] [User Chuckles]
I wish I could have seen their faces! When the blasts went off, they turned tail and ran immediately!
I suspect this war is already won. All that's left is a glorified bug hunt. We're in pursuit of the remaining survivors as we speak.
I should thank you for this deployment, Fleet Admiral. Instead of being the death of my career in deep space, it has instead made me the Hero of the Human Empire.
Glory to Emperor Zelevas, long may humanity prosper!
- Commodore Holland of the USS Midway
P.S, I hope you should receive my doctrine thesis on Planetary bombardment with Anti-matter weapons in good spirits, I think you will find it most suitable now that we know they lack understanding of the atom, and fear us.
| 2019-12-19T08:01:35 | 2019-12-19T07:16:58 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] Write two different stories. The second story comes from reading every third word of the first.
|
He came as I rang the three little bells.
Simple Pete signaled toward the midnight storm outside, "I thought you knew to avoid that storm... Suppose it seemed it was manageable earlier... Over there's whiskey for you and me. Oscar said he thought you would want to be toasty after coming from that down pour. Said the wet dirt road would stop any man, one minute flat."
By now, I had loaded my trusty pistol, holding it in my right hand behind my back. Quickly I pressed the barrel to Pete's temple. The bright white wall sprayed red, I knelt and prayed for forgiveness.
__________________________________________________________________
**As the bells signaled midnight, I knew that it was over for me. He would be coming down the road any minute now, loaded pistol in hand. Back pressed to the wall, I prayed.**
|
By the **people**.
Those who **didn't** vote don't **deserve** me. But **to** them I'll **be** God, anyway! **Saved**? The world **I** envision now **will** only ever **end** with peace! **Humanity**, thank you. **This** is the **election** that sincerely **means** life conquers **death** for all.
**Farewell** my people!
(PEOPLE DIDN'T DESERVE TO BE SAVED. I WILL END HUMANITY. THIS ELECTION MEANS DEATH. FAREWELL.)
| 2014-07-29T13:10:19 | 2014-07-29T11:29:38 | 165 | 40 |
[WP] After defeating the Devil down in Georgia, Johnny proudly proclaims he's the best that's ever been. A flash of lightning crashes down and God appears, fiddle in hand. The Devil gets his popcorn ready.
Bonus points if the story can be sung along with the song...
|
Ol' God went down to Georgia. He was lookin' to Fiddle n' Chill.
He saw Johnny on the grind and said "Me and you! Its time! And you best make it ill!"
Floating head called a Cromulon happened along, said "SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOT."
And Charlie said "I'll Hank Hill your ass any day, lemme me tell you what."
God says "I bet you didn't know it, but I'm a deity, too.
I once made a bush catch fire, thats the lit shit that I do..
Now you play a pretty good fiddle, Charmander, but thoughts and prayers are due.
I'm hardcore perched atop the skulls of millions! How many wars were started over you?"
The boy said, "My name's Johnny, and it might be a sin,
But I just wiped my ass with one fictional character and I can pretend to do it again."
Johnny, sharpen up that edge and make sure the drop is hard.
Because this song is copywrit protected under Georgia's laws..
And if you win you get this shiny fiddle made of gold,
Remember that episode where Bart sold Milhouse his soul?
God opened up with heavy bass and he said, "My shit on fleek, yo."
And fire flew from his turntable as he gave it the People's Elbow.
And he pranced across the stage like Night Man making an evil hiss.
Followed by some shoddy choreography and it looked something like shit.
|
Devil sat in Georgia sad because no soul to steal
Johnny gloated and boasted mr devil how’s it feel?
All the sudden the clouds parted and a golden road appeared. A white bearded man with an angel band started coming near
God put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder and said I’m proud of you my son but your next challenge is a little tougher don’t you know I’m number one
And he said unto him you play first my child Johnny exited to play his new shiny fiddle started going wild he hit all the notes and played one hell of a song but before he could finish the lord started riffing on his fiddle and the angels all sang along
Run along Moses to the top of that hilllllll the devils back in Georgia and hes makin dealllllllls
Granny does the lord smite yes in deeeeeeeeeeed
Giving salvation to those in neeeeeeeeeeed
For he loved the world so much he gave his only sonnnnnnnnnnn
Told you Johnny I’m number oneeeeeeeeeeeeee
When the holy father finished and put his fiddle back in his case
He took one look back at the wicked smile on the devils face
Because he knew that the devil would give him his due
Johnny didn’t have the words to say other than “well, I guess that makes me number two.”
| 2018-04-05T11:39:55 | 2018-04-05T10:56:29 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] A powerful, malevolent entity is forced to care for a human child
|
WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO LOOK AFTER IT?
"I'm really sorry, sir" maggot slimed. "It says so, right here in the contract, that if you take this lady's soul, you have to look after her spawn."
A baby in a crochet blanket was thrust into HIS EMMINENCE THE DARK LORD OF EVIL's lap.
WHAT'S THAT AWFUL SMELL
"Er i believe that's talcum powder, sir. It keeps the spawn from getting nappy rash."
I HAVE CONQUERED THOUSANDS
"I know Your Evilness, I know." maggot cringed. "But you can't breach a contract term. Even DARKNESS needs legal stability and certainty."
I SUPPOSE I CAN CARE FOR THE BRAT. FETCH ME COCKROACHES' EYEBALLS. I WISH TO FEED IT.
"Sir, hmm... Your Evilness... It drinks milk, My most Dark Overlord. Also..." maggot squirmed
OUT WITH IT
"It's a girl-brat. She's called Anna."
BUT I WANT TO CALL HER TORMENT
"Contract term, sir."
His Evilness sighed.
FETCH ME MILK
There was a long pause. Servant and master looked at each other
AND MAYBE SOME TOYS. SHE MIGHT GET BORED.
|
It was a sick pact.
The thing wiggled and burped in-between its dramatic wails and I offered it the bottle again. No, it said with its uncoordinated body language and deep, deep cries of despair. I opened up the book again.
"If your human baby is crying and rejects the bottle, maybe it isn't hungry. Make sure the child is warm and try lulling it to sleep by rocking it in your arms. Or maybe it wants to play. Or maybe it needs burping, I don't know."
What a fantastic book.
I had my powers, as was promised. I waved my hand and half the city fell into the ground and I smiled as they cried for my mercy. The baby was still crying too, but for very different, unknown reasons. I snapped into existence a teddy bear. Such unimaginable power. Yet it still cried.
"Tickle, tickle," I said as I gently stroked the child with my nails. I had killed so many with these nails. Such unimaginable power.
The child laughed.
I rolled up the scroll and kept tickling the child. As long as it lived, I could keep my powers.
It was a sick pact.
| 2013-11-21T10:17:12 | 2013-11-21T08:41:23 | 26 | 16 |
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
I always knew that being considered “mature for my age” was never as good as people made it sound. A week ago I woke up looking like I was in my mid-forties instead of my mid-thirties, I had extra aches and pains that I never got to grow into, and my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend now looks like she’s young enough to be my daughter. It had been nice to get the validation that she was an immature brat though.
I shook my head and pulled myself out of my thoughts, double-checking the address of the house I was sitting outside of. 1201, belonging to the Allen’s. The parents had several CPS complaints against them, citing possible neglect of the three children, two girls, eleven and eight, and an autistic boy, nine. Christ, I worried about the oldest daughter, looking at her last time had been like looking in a mirror.
*You’re so mature for your age.*
I took a deep breath and walked up to the house. Hesitantly I pushed on the cracked doorbell, listening to the faint ring echo in the house. My dread heightened as the bell faded and footsteps took it place. After a minute, a young woman answered the door. My stomach dropped as I took in her appearance. She looked like her mother, with dark wavy hair and Italian features, but with her father’s blue eyes.
I had years of practice though, and none of my horror slipped past my professional mask as I addressed the girl, “Hi Alice, do you remember me? I’m Ms. Calloway, I know I look a bit older than I did last time I was here. Are your parents home?”
She nodded and said quietly, “Please come in.”
The house looked better than it had the last time I was here. No left out rotting food, no beer bottles, the rug even looked vacuumed. In the living room, another young woman with blonde hair was carefully building a LEGO tower with a little boy. As I watched her with the boy, it felt like the wind was knocked out of me. She looked like she could be his mother. I cleared my throat and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over at the sight, and focused back on Alice, who was observing me anxiously.
I gestured for her to continue moving, and I followed the young woman, who should have been a child, toward the kitchen. Two teenagers were watching YouTube on their iPhones while eating pizza, with crumbs scattered around them.
I cleared my throat again, this time feeling rage bubble up inside me. I put on my best blatantly fake smile and addressed the teenagers, “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Allen, I’m Ms. Calloway from Child Protective Services, I’m sure you remember me.”
The two teens froze, then looked up at me with slightly frightened expressions. I turned to Alice, my fake smile turning into a sincere, gentle one, “Why don’t you go play with your siblings Alice? I need to have a talk with your parents.”
|
D: "Haha Jim very funny. Great prank. Now I know why Cici will never go to University, because you spend all your money on make up and actors for a great prank."
J: "Dwight I..."
D: "No no no child you shut up now. First off all I despise child actors, your parents are the reason why this country lost in vietnam and if you want to Adress me it is not Dwight it is Mr. Schrut or sir.and second off all outside personell are not allowed on the premessis of the company and I will call hank if you don't leave right away."
D: Pamala go fetch your real husband, I want to rub it in his face. By the way have you always had so many wrinkels. I'm on top of the World. Jim is going to be sooooo fired. Uffff. I need a breather for a second"
Finally Jim could get in a word: "Dwight didn't you get the Memo? The Matrix is beeing reset. Now I really need to get some work done so would you mind not thinking so loud?"
D: "You really believe I'm this stupid don't you? MICHEAL!! MICHEAL!. I need to speak to you Jim has really gone too far now, he..."
There was a fourish year old sitting in micheals chair pretending to blow up a toy truck.
D: "Now this. This and kidnappings Mose. That is too much. Small Jim tell me where the Real Jim is I am fullfilling a citizenarrest, Micheal would never participate in this so you had to get him out of the way."
J: "Still here Dwight, but I'm not yet Criminally responsible as you might have noticed, sooo I think I could break you action figures...
D: "collector Items"
J: "... or just straight up murder you and there is not really anything you can do against it. Can you now?"
Just as Dwight came up with the perfect rebuttle, fake old Oskar interrupted: "Could you guys keep it down a bit, or Kevin will start crying again and I really have no idea how to make him stop" he gestured to the baby sitting on his lap, which was way to distracted by the Kat sitting in the cookie Box too cry or do anything else "and for Christ sake get Angela out of this thing or she might take a shit in it and I will not clean it up, do you hear me. I'm totally swamped. I got Meredith running around shirtless somewhere here and if this baby cries again I...." he trailed off
Dwight finally took a look around. He never noticed Creed had such long and curley browm hair and Stanly seemed suspiciously more deadish then usually, but Besides the great Vortex of Tentacles in the breakroom everything seemed normal. He sat down on his Beetshaped chair and Finally open up his memos on the Toaster.
| 2022-04-30T09:24:47 | 2022-04-30T08:57:22 | 429 | 14 |
[WP] As a henchman to the Joker, you've now broken the record for the longest surviving employee. This means you'll receive something no one ever has from him: your annual review.
|
The joker was a fluid being. It was best to keep your distance. As he sat in front of me, checking his gun and absently scratching his face I wondered if I would snap and just run away.
The silence was deafening, only the little grunts coming from his chest broke it as he fished up some papers from a barely used drawer.
"Mhmhm..."
He always made sounds, but when he wasn't directing them at you, you should do well to know that he wasn't ignoring you. If anything, it was more of a cue that he was observing you intently. But the money for this job was too good. I needed it for Sylvia.
"So your name's Barry is it." His eyes finally snapped to my figure and I felt silly in the tiny chair I was sitting in, that I so did not fit into. My suit felt tight, especially over the shoulder area. I kept my breathing steady but my skin felt incredibly cold. I nodded in response to his question. He found the file he was looking for.
"Ahhh... Here we are. Measurements are correct... My, you're nicely endowed down there aint'ya?"
My face went beat red and I wisely decided not to reply and just stared at the table. The joker made some weird requests in general but when he had asked me for my waist and general body measurements for my annual review it had really crossed all previous lines. Maybe he was preparing my funeral suit?
"So, baby-Barry, we are going to ah, go over your performance over the last year. The one thing, that ah- stands out to me is that you attacked and killed Joseph the other day, over soccer...?"
He smacked his lips. He wasn't happy. A grudging psychopath is not something that I want to see ever again.
Fuck. This was it. I'm dead. The silence continues. I almost jump into the air when he slams his hand down as hard as he can onto the desk.
"HAHAHAHA I'm just kidding Barry! I hate the fucking New York Red Bulls, Joseph is- ehm was a royal faggot, alright."
Oh god. Are you kidding, being the target for his crazy jokes is stressful to the point of wanting to commit suicide. I couldn't stop the sigh of relief that escaped my lips.
"Anyways, I got noth'in left to add sugarbuns, it's time for your promotion. HARLEY!!!!! GET OVER HERE, HE'S READY."
Promotion? How? What? No one has ever been promoted before in his service. Is this another sick joke that will end in my death? The door to the office was thrown open and a slender female in a black and red suit walked confidently inside, holding something in her hands.
"Are ya ready for ya new look Barry- darling?~" Harley sing songed.
She was holding a tight black and red spandex suit, much like the one she was wearing, but in my size. Dread filled my heart as I realized what the measurements were for.
I heard the joker chuckle behind me.
"Welcome to the team, Burattino."
|
Walking into the room when the boss calls you is always an..."eventful," one. You never truly know what will happen. He could gift you, he could tell you to do something, or sometimes you could just hear a gunshot as soon as the door closes. Me, being on my toes, looks at the boss with a blank expression, but inside waiting for whatever came my way. The boss was twirling in his chair, obviously seeming eager. "GREAT NEWS LACKY! You survived longer than anyone else I have! Which is...surprising honestly. The way I run my ship? I don't expect any of my subordinates to make it long. At least I don't have to pay much in benefits! Anyway sit down, sit down. Let's chat!" Longest surviving employee, I thought to myself. It's amazing that out of everyone the boss hired, I'm the longest one surviving. It ain't like I don't go out on raids or nothin. I sat down and waited for the boss to speak. Talking out of place was the kind of thing he shot you for.
"Now, let me just get your file here..." he pulled out a singular piece of crumpled paper that just had lacky #34 on it. Also a smiley face drawn in purple crayon next to the 34. "Now, bear with me because I'm just as new to this as you are, considering people like you don't get real jobs. BUT, I am giving you a performance review for the year! Without further a-do, let's get this show on the road!" Obviously the boss seemed thrilled. But that shouldn't mean much. That always changed in a heartbeat. I've known him for awhile now. "Question one, I guess the most obvious question, how in any way have you survived this long!? I'm pretty sure I tried to kill you at least twice." "No that was Charlie." I said. "Who? Ah whatever, doesn't matter. Second question! How is the work environment? Do you enjoy it here? I mean, you've obviously killed enough and done the things I asked if you're still here." "The work environment is pretty hostile, boss," I said to him. "GREAT! Just as I intended. Last question! How am I as a boss? Do I please as a fearless leader?" Sweat began to form on my brow. The wrong answer could "terminate" my contract in a heartbeat. But he has kept me alive for this long, so he must like me enough. "Sure boss, but I gotta ask. We've been in the business for awhile now, what's with the clown get up?" He just stared at me. Blankly, for awhile and then he got up and started pacing around the room and talking. "Lacky 34, it all started with this dream I had. I was just sleeping contently, and then all of a sudden...BANG." Next thing I know he took a magnum out of his coat pocket and shot me in the back of the head. The last words I ever heard were, "as for your annual review....Eh, 7.5/10."
| 2016-11-21T04:50:48 | 2016-11-21T03:05:27 | 89 | 26 |
[WP] A medieval European knight somehow ends up in feudal Japan. With nowhere to go in the foreign land he decides to settle down in a forest. Outside this forest sits a village; and as years go by rumours start to spread of a tall metal spirit that roams this forest.
|
The old knight paused, staring down at the strange, narrow-eyed girl that stared up at him with dark, wandering eyes.
“Greetings...?” he tried slowly.
The girl grinned, “So you’re the metal ghost!”
The knight frowned. While her English was choppy and almost sounded unfamiliar on her tongue, she spoke better than most Japanese natives.
The girl must’ve been ten or eleven summers old. Narrow eastern eyes that were quite rare to Europe. Many European nobility kept Easterners as lavish human pets, in fact, his lord had a few thin pretty ones.
The girl took a few steps closer to the knight. Her dark hair was straight, barely falling to her shoulders. The young Japanese girl’s clothes were cut sharply, in the current fashion of Japan’s merchants.
However, the most noticeable thing about the small Easterner child was the bruises along one of her cheeks and both of her forearms.
She bowed, “I am Boujou Ko. Daughter of Boujou Norishige, an overseas merchant.”
“I see,” the knight said, stroking his whiskers that he hadn’t shaved in weeks since he’d ended up in Japan. The knight smiled at the small eager girl beneath him, and he fell to one knee, head bowed.
“I am Sir Jaharys, defender of Castle Nori and personal protector of Lord Governor Samuel.”
The girl’s eyes widened and she broke out in giggles, “Call me Ko, okay?”
Sir Jaharys, the wiry old knight who had lived nearly forty summers smiled warmly.
Perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn’t all alone.
• • • • • • • • •
“Sir Jaharys, is my English getting better yet?”
Sir Jaharys smiled at the girl sitting across from him around the campfire. Ko now came to his temporary encampment whenever she finished her merchant chores of clerking on a daily basis.
The knight had learned that the little girl’s family sold dyes mainly to small colonies along Africa and India, and most months her father remained gone as he traveled the oceans with his fleet of merchant ships. Leaving her with her mother.
He had also learned that she knew English not merely because of her merchant lineage, but also because her mother was a European. She hailed from Britain just like him.
“Your English,” he replied, “has gotten much better, little Ko.”
She grinned, dark eyes gleaming from the campfire’s hungry flames.
“When will you go back home?” she asked.
It had been a week since the young girl had befriended Jaharys.
“In a fortnight’s time,” Jaharys announced, “I will begin my journey back to Britain.”
• • • • • • • • •
It was Jaharys last day before he set out home.
And Ko had missed their daily meeting. She usually came later in the afternoon, a few hours before the sunset. However, it was nearly dusk, and she still did not show. Not even for their last send off.
Sir Jaharys finally stood, frowning as he hurried to the forest’s edge where the village’s outskirts touched. He watched from the brambles, the European crouched low as he inspected the area.
Muffled shrill shrieks filled his ears.
That’s when he spotted her.
Half a dozen of other kids, most seemed a few years older than her, surrounded little Ko. They wailed on her, throwing punches and kicks as she curled into a ball.
Without hesitance, Jaharys pulled down his visor to cover his face and darted to the scene.
And the kids turned to him and screamed, shouting in their foreign language the words for “metal ghost” and “demon spirit” as Ko had taught him, while they fled back to the village.
“What is this?” he demanded as he reached Ko.
She opened her eyes. Gnarled bruises marred across her face and forearms and legs. She smiled weakly, “Sir Jaharys, I thought you’d left already.” she pushed herself to her knees, “This thing happens often.”
“Why?” he growled.
She laughed humorlessly, and gestures as she replied softly, “Because my mother is a foreigner with red demon hair and pale demon eyes. I am a half-blood. And therefore, I am nothing but dirt to be stepped on.”
He picked her up, walking slowly towards the village. Ko wrapped her arms around the grey-haired knight’s neck, nestling her face into his shoulder.
“Are you leaving now?” she whispered.
The old knight smiled wistfully, “It seems I have a new one to protect, little Ko. Doesn’t it?”
She pulled her head back, staring at him before a grin broke out across her face.
“Yes,” she said coyly, “I suppose you do.”
He set her down and fell to one knee, taking one of her hands as he stared her in the eyes and announced loudly, “I am Sir Jaharys. I swear my sword and body to you, little Ko. My allegiance is yours, my Lady.”
|
Our grait galleon, drifted without a care in the open sea. We were heading to India, to bring spice back to England. But the sea is an unforgiving mistress, she went mad, we were right in the middle of a storm, waves fifteen and twenty feet high, wasn't long till we capsized. Out of two hundred sailors, only one survivor,me
I was a mercenary, hired with about sixteen others to guard a ship in case of any attempt to steal cargo happens. I was a proud man, and wore my father's crusaders armour with pride. Always wanted to go to india, so why not get paid for it as well. By God I was wrong.
I do not know how long I was out for. I thought I was dead, so i was confused why i saw no angle at the entrance to heaven. I landed on a beach, but were, only god knows. But what a beautiful place this was, trees with leaves that ware pink and fox like creatures sitting in its branches. Were ever I was. This place was too natural to be inhabited by any person, or so I thought.
I kept my armour on, for I don't know if anything predatory lives here. Sword and shield in hand. I went off to explore this place. After walking for 30 minutes. I could not believe what I saw. A village, being plundered by people in some odd armor and wearing masks that resembled demons. Male, female or child, they did not care, for all they wanted was blood to be shed. If they want blood, I'll make it spill, I dawnd my helmet, and set out to give justice.
At first the vilige people thought I was one of them and ran from me. One of the bandits saw me, not knowing who or what I was, he blindly swung at me. What happened next surprised even me, his sword was so thin that it shattered against my armour. He let out a scream of terror as I returned a blow, he died with in the same second. The people looked at me with with surprise in ther faces but the bandits looked in fear for they have seen that there freands weapon had no affect on me. All except one, he was different
The armour he wore was much more detailed and vibrant, he was the leader. He approached me. I dawnd a defensive stand. But he stopped by the body of the one that I killed, said some words and the others took him away. He took his helmet of as i presume is a sign of respect, it was the first time I got look at one of the natives faces. Long black hair, squint eyes and a stern face expression. He drew his blade and pointed it my way, he has challenged me to a duel. I took off my helmet so he may see his opponent's face. People were gasping all around me as they saw my face, must have been the first time that they had seen some from a different country.
My opponent took up a stance that I have never seen before. He went in for a strike, I let it through thinking it would not do much, but he pierced through it like paper. This was no longer a dule, it was a dance with death itself.Although it only took 10 minutes. It felt like ages. Strike after strike, block after block. I did not know if I could keep this up, but in one moment i saw my opportunity, he was going in for another overhead swing, his stomach was always vulnerable when he did that before. I took my sword and thrusted it through him till you could see it on the other side. And as he took his last breath, I could see, he was happy, happy that he died as a worior in combat. His sword dropped, with a loud clang as it hit the ground. His last dance is over.
I did the most honorable thing I could and I buried him in his armour, but I kept his sword so i could forever remember this proud warrior. The people here called me something weird after that, when ever they saw me they called me something along the lines of "Hogo no seishin", I do not know what it means, but I'm proud of it, I settled down and built myself a house here. The people brought me food from time to time, and in return I protected them and tought them how to protect themselves. I have hung the warriors sword over the fire place so I can remember that day.
It's been many years, my hair has gone white and the children I remember have children of there own now. This village has been under my protection for over forty years, and I drove back every one who wanted to harm it. One day. A man came down, saying that he was looking for Hogo no seishin. I came down to a very familiar face. Almost the same one from forty years ago. I took that old sword from were it was hanging. It was fitting to fight him with his fathers sword.
Looks like today is my final dance
| 2019-11-15T07:51:54 | 2019-11-15T07:27:28 | 87 | 53 |
[WP] You live a good life. Caring wife, obedient children and loyal dogs. Little do they know that you are actually a hitman not an accountant. One day your guy hands you the picture of your next target. It’s you. On the back the name of who ordered the hit. “Carla” it says. Your wife.
|
"You fucking arsehole! Is this some kind of joke?" I yell angrily. Jones has obviously seen me like this, and barely bats an eyelid at my outburst.
"Not at all," he replies, shaking his head.
"Well fuck."
I turn the picture back over, away from my wife's name and back to my face, smirking back at me, almost on purpose.
"Give me the order," I growl.
"Trust me, you don't want to see it."
BANG, the table jumps as I slam my fist upon it. "DAMNIT JONES! This is my LIFE we're talking about here."
He sighs, and passes it to me. It's obvious he planned to give it to me all along. I read.
*I just can't take it any more. It's been 15 years and he hasn't changed. I hoped that if I were the perfect loving wife that he would give up his other women and just stay with me. But he's at it again. I found the plane ticket stub in his shoe. If he won't stop cheating on me, then it's over. It hurts too much. Just make it painless. The life insurance will cover it.*
I sigh and shake my head. I never knew that she knew about my trips. I was so careful, not even the FBI knew I existed, but I guess when you are so close with someone, it's impossible to keep a secret.
I turn to Jones. "Why you though?"
He shrugs and replies, "I think it's just a coincidence. After all, she thinks you are cheating on her. Kinda lucky though, because if it was anyone else you would probably already be in a coffin by now."
I pause, trying to figure it all out and take it all in.
Jones breaks the silence, "Go home man, there's nothing more you can do today."
I look up at him, "But what do I do?"
He just shakes his head at me, "You'll figure it out, you always do."
The drive home is one of the longest of my life. MY heart is beating slowly in my chest, each thump feeling like impending death. Thoughts of our happy life together run through my head, from raising our boys from a couple of wee babies all the way up into college students. Only a year apart in age, they went to the same college and still remain close friends. We really did have the idyllic life, the classic 2 kids and a dog with a white picket fence. The only dark shadow is the sordid way I had to earn such money to maintain the lifestyle. I love to joke with Carla that my job was all point and click, but the truth is instead of spreadsheets it was triggers. For only a days work I could earn a month's salary, as long as I was very careful and never got caught. Even an accountant wasn't as meticulous as I was. A flight stub of all things to give me away, somehow ending up in one of my shoes, perhaps at the last hotel I stayed at. How many times did she ring my 'work' just to be told that I wasn't currently there? Did she hire a private investigator to follow me? I would never know.
I finally pull into the carport, door lowering behind my car as I turn it off. I breathe one more sigh and put on my happy face for Carla. I steel my nerves and step through the kitchen door.
"Hi sweetie!" she greets me with a smile and a kiss. I go to gaze into her eyes but she looks away, unfortunately not before I can see the pain in them, the slight red from where she had been crying. I could always see the small details that would betray someone's emotions, but for Carla I couldn't tell if I'd been blind or if the signs were there all along. Was Carla really hiding her pain so deep down that I couldn't see it, or did I just ignore it for my own sake?
Our evening continues with surface pleasantries and polite conversation. We watch our shows and retire to bed. By the time I fall asleep I've formulated a plan, a holiday, a secret recommitment to the woman I love. It has to work, for both of us.
Finally on holiday I can relax. We have a perfect dinner and watch the sun go down together. It's picturesque. But I can tell that there's something still eating away at Carla. I move to break the silence when my phone rings, it's Jones.
"Excuse me a second," I politely say as I slip outside. "Jones. What's up?"
"Just checking in with you, making sure everything is A-OK." he replies.
"Everything is perfect, now buzz off, I'm not working for the next two weeks. Send me a text, but only if it's an emergency."
"Understood. Talk to you later," Jones hangs up.
As I step back into the room I realise I've made a mistake, clear as the anger on Carla's beautiful face.
"Who was that?" Carla asks, her tone short and clipped.
"Umm, work. I told them to speak to Frank," I reply, trying to sound as calm as possible.
"Oh really? Show me your phone."
"Please honey, you have nothing to be worried about."
"You think I shouldn't be worried about something. Show me your phone."
Damn, poor choice of words. I know that if I resist it will get worse, so I pass my phone to her, unlocked. She scrolls through the recent calls and checks my contacts. I'm trying to make sure she doesn't find anything out of the ordinary, but without seeming too interested. It's a delicate act.
"So, who is Jones? Can't use first names? Is she one of your hussies?!?" she angrily accuses. I wince at the tone, and remember that I married her for her brilliance as well as her beauty.
"N .. n .. noo," I stammer. My nerves have stood up to sighting in storms and hours spent in wait, but it can't stand up to the harsh tone of Carla.
"Fine, I'll call this Jones person."
I freeze. I'm stuck. My mind races. I could let her call my guy and potentially have a disaster on my hands, or I could intervene and lose her trust forever. I realise the latter would be a definite end for our marriage, but at least the former might have a small chance of working. My silence just encourages Carla, she presses redial. Jones answers.
"Ah, that was quick. So bored already and want some excitement already? I can hook you up."
Jones, you fucking idiot.
|
James Earl walked in to his office on 8:59 AM and placed his briefcase on the floor next to his desk. His floor to ceiling windows gave James a great view of Manhattan. His firm had taken the offices of an old accounting firm to maintain cover. There were only five offices the firm had spread around the world. One was in London, another in Karachi, one in Beijing, one in LA and the largest one was in New York City, where James worked.
James, simply put, was the best at his job. He was tough, efficient, and never left a trace. He was an experienced killer, but by no means a psychopath. He was the product of being raised in the 90s in Brooklyn. His first body was when he was 16. He disposed of it so efficiently that the NYPD never knew the man was dead. The path his childhood took him on lead him to this.
James’ wife was Carla Earl, 35, and a nurse in St Mary’s Hospital. She was beautiful and made James feel happiness that he had never felt before meeting her.
He also had three children he loved more than anything in the world. They were triplets, the daughters were identical and the son was not. All three were in high school. His daughters, Lily and Samantha were in Brooklyn Tech and his son, Christopher was in Stuyvesant
James smiled as he looked at the picture of his family, then placed it back on his desk. He sat on his chair and stared at the computer. He opened an unread e-mail from his boss, Robert Meyers. He was an old white man, a legend in his own day, but forced to retire when he realized he was too old. He started the firm from the ground up with his partner, starting in New York and expanding immensely in the past two and a half decades.
*Theres a new assignment for you: priority. There’s a lot of cash involved, 1.25 mill. Only one target, not even high profile. Manila folder on your desk*.
James opened the folder and pulled out the documents before he glanced at the picture; it was important to know your target before they became one. James started reading the file, and something struck him as odd; the entire file was *his* cover. Adult male, 37, black 5’11”, an accountant in Manhattan, three children, married. The only thing different was his name. It read John Grey
James quickly snatched the photo of the target; it was his wedding photo with a giant red circle on his face.
James’ vision started to get blurry, his head felt light and he could hear his heart beating.
*“What’s going on?”* he thought to himself.
James put down the photo and looked into the file to see who ordered the hit. His breathing started to get shallow and quick; he was hyperventilating.
*Client name: Carla Earl*
James ran out of his office and into the restrooms, and ran into a stall. The disgusting smell and the burning in his throat ate away at him, but could not eat away at one thought.
* My wife wants me dead.*
He felt a wave of emotions so diverse he could not describe what he felt. Sadness, anger, hurt, guilt, remorse...
Overall, he felt shitty. He washed his face and walked back to his office. He was confused and hurt. He was never abusive, he never cheated, and he never under appreciated his wife. Their love was as strong as ever, and the sex was as good as ever.
He picked up the file and the photo and tucked it under his arm. He walked in to the only office larger than his; the boss. He ran the whole operation, from Los Angeles to Beijing. He signed the paycheck, sent teams and assigned leaders; everything went by him. He was also, at the moment, in a meeting with the team leader in London on FaceTime. James did not care. He walked into the office and slammed the bosses laptop shut.
“What the actual *fuck* do you think you’re doing?” Robert screamed as his face turned an ugly shade of red.
James had pinpointed his emotions finally; it was anger. His eyes were red, his face contorted and he was biting on his tongue so hard he tasted blood. James threw the file on the desk.
“You think this is fucking funny? Who approved this assignment? I’ll fucking kill them.”
Robert’s face regained its normal lack of color as he calmed down, and looked at the file. As soon as he saw the photo, he leaned back into his chair. Robert held his head in confusion. He let out a huff of air and set down the photo.
“Who’s the client?” He asked after a few minutes of silence.
“Carla Earl.” James let out.
“Earl?” Robert asked in a confused tone, “a family member wants you dead? Who? Your sister, daughter, mother or cousin or something?”
James let out and angry growl. “My wife.”
Robert folded his arms around his waist and looked at James with a stare that could pierce his soul.
“Do you have any idea why?” the boss asked.
“Absolutely none, sir. I’ve never hit her, I’ve never cheated. I don’t know what happened. I’ve made mistakes, I’m not perfect, but I don’t know why she’d want me dead.”
“How did this get through the vetting process? It shouldn’t be possible for someone to put a hit out on one of my own assassins,” Robert mulled.
“I don’t know sir. The name has been changed, but the story is still mine. It’s possible that it’s because the vetting team doesn’t know me personally, but it’s definitely strange.”
“Well, we’ll need to review the vetting process, then.”
James sighed. “Should I get on that?”
“No, you take the day to go home and find out. Normally I wouldn’t give anyone a day off, but this” Robert chuckled, tapping the file “this is certainly an exception.”
“Sure thing, sir.” James said. “Uh, can I... get the file?”
Robert handed it to him, and James walked briskly out of the office.
James stepped outside of the building and lit a cigarette, and walked seven blocks to his car; parking in Manhattan was impossible. He threw the file into the passengers seat of his Maserati, and drove home.
| 2018-08-15T00:50:32 | 2018-08-15T00:15:24 | 1,283 | 160 |
[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
|
"Going all the way back to my fifth birthday, I can remember the immense pain I carried in my heart."
"I understand how much you're hurting Jon, but I promise this isn't the solution to your pain and sadness!"
"You will never understand what's inside of me, or why I know that this is my only choice!"
"Why don't you just put down the gun and we can have a rational conversation about this.."
"A million rational conversations will not change the things I've done and the options I have."
"I promise you, with all my heart, that you have so many more options here."
"I'm just so tired of trying to make sense of a pointless, meaningless life."
"Just give me the gun and we can figure this all out together!"
"You come one step closer and I promise I'll pull the trigger!"
"You can't just end things and leave me like this, Jon!"
"It's too late for me to turn back now, Kate."
"God dammit, you put the gun down right now!"
"I'm giving up, and maybe you should too."
"I'm begging you not to do this!"
"I love you and I'm sorry."
"Oh god no, please stop!"
"Promise me one thing?"
"Yes, Jon, anything!"
"Keep smiling.."
"Jon!"
|
"Look out for that tree, you're gonna have one of our heads off in a minute if you're not careful."
I didn't slow down, despite John's protests we had to take the risk and ride fast through the forest. The job had been easy, too easy now that I look back; sleepy guards, compliant staff, calm bystanders.
"One last job," he'd said when we met over a drink at the miners reunion over summer. It had been such a tempting haul in a great location with lots of escape routes. That should have been my first warning, it was simply too good to be true. John was so eager and his enthusiasm rubbed onto me, so I got involved. There was a time I would have seen it, but I've grown rusty.
"We have to ditch the bike and go on foot," John shouted.
I steered into a clump of bushes and cut the engine.
"Please put your hands on your head and lay down."
John had dismounted silently and picked up my bag. The sound of the police bikes grew louder.
"You were undercover for all those years?" I almost choked on the words.
"I tried to stop this."
"You fucked up then."
"Yes I did."
"What now?"
"Run."
| 2017-01-14T18:59:37 | 2017-01-14T16:42:22 | 100 | 20 |
[WP] With the hero chained up, the villain unveils their masterpiece: a weapon that tracks everyone who loves the hero before obliterating them. The map powers on. "Wait. There's just one dot." The Villain says. "...Someone loves me?" The hero replies with hope.
|
"Hahaha, oh Syren why do you constantly fall for my traps? I bet you'd fall for a treat under a propped box!" The villain's laugh echoed through the abandoned storage facility turned evil supervillain lair. If anything else, Syren could appreciate the acoustics of the place, the echoes of laughter being an almost saccharine sound that left more to be desired.
But this wasn't about how the building complemented sounds, Syren was once again trapped by the designs of Aico, where he could see a giant computer display from where he was in metallic binds. The minute gears that held his arms and legs could be heard adjusting and readjusting, as if deciding how much the machine needed to stress without breaking.
"What are you up to this time, Aico? Did you raid a Bestbuy just to have an uncomfortable movie night? At least take me out to dinner first!" Aico rolled his eyes and broke out of his serious-villain-about-to-do-evil-thing facade, a thing that Syren loved to do. If he was honest with himself, Aico would probably be his favorite villain to deal with.
"Nothing of the sort! This machine will show me the exact location of every person who loves you, so I can destroy them while you are trapped here, helpless to do anything!" Aico broke out into his obviously practiced villain laughter before being interrupted by his phone. Syren patiently waited for Aico to answer his phone before trying to escape, dealing with villains became boring if you immediately stopped them, and going through the smaller, more tedious traps and plans helped to prevent the lethal ones.
An agitated sigh escaped Aico's mouth before he slammed the burner flip-phone to the ground, no-head style. He stormed over to the table that controlled the monitor controls and turned it on before grabbing a set of keys.
"Look, I know this is unprofessional and everything, but I have to go get my daughter because my alcoholic ex can't be responsible for once in her goddamn life. I'm gonna turn this on and hopefully you have an anxiety attack over the people loving you being in danger or something. I'll be back in a bit."
The silence that remained once Aico left was astonishing, especially to the sound-based superhero. He quickly got to work on removing his mechanical bindings, the small adjusting sounds being barely enough to manipulate the gears into loosening. Syren hated to just break the machines Aico made, he just seemed to take care of them and treat them more than just tools. He didn't bother looking at the screen, knowing that there was nothing to track.
Well, except when his curiosity got the better of him and a little red dot sent waves of emotion through his body. Shock, wonder, hope, anxiety, horror, and curiosity. Not exactly in that order but it was a dot that existed.
Someone loved Syren, and that was enough.
Syren went to the computer that controlled the monitor, wondering if he could figure out who it is. It was moving closer to Syren's current location, and he watched the dot move in wonder before it stopped.
The sound of Aico returning wasn't important, the only thing that mattered was where the dot was.
Which was weird, because that was where Aico was standing, talking to his daughter and telling her that he would be right back.
&#x200B;
Edit: Fixed some grammar mistakes.
Thank you so much for the kind words! Part 2 is now posted and there will be a Part 3!
|
Marybelle Smith once again call a certain number on her phone but unlike the previous instances there is no response from the other side.
"God damnit Carl where the hell are you?!" she impatiently said her hand shake.
"We really need to evacuate now, young master.", His body guard said
Of all the times for him to be unresponsive, he chose the time when the entire city is in chaos.
King Machina had once again invaded the city and of course it is up to Glitch to put an end to the rampage and save the day once more. That is how everything is supposed to happen.
But apparently not today...
Because King Machina had apparently invaded with the largest army of robots that they covered the sky, far numerous than what her dad can make.
If Glitch can hack through the robots with his powers then throw more robots on him was apparently his strategy.
What followed next is the most elaborate game of hide and seek between the two. If Glitch can find King Machina he will save the day, if he got captured...
Well, that is why her father is evacuating her out of the city.
By some miracle the mansion was not yet touched by Machina's drones or maybe it was his dad's security forces being effective but it won't last long.
She really needs to leave now.
"Mary, wait!" a voice suddenly shouted from the distance.
It is young man, in his jogging pants and white T-shirt rushing into them before dropping to his knees gasping for air.
"Carl, where is your phone!? Why are you not answering!" she said in an annoyed manner but deep down a huge spike was removed from her chest.
"Destroyed by robots.... saw your messages... before that..." he said began standing up but his legs are shaking. It seems that the battle to the worst out of him but at least he's safe.
He can leave with her.
They can be together.
They will be safe together.
As the last passenger of the shuttle entered the vehicle. They wasted no time in leaving the city.
+++
King Machina looked at the vehicle containing Glitch as they move out of city.
There is no need to observe him. He will never comeback again.
The battle was close but the cost of using [Glitch] repeatedly had finally collapsed on him as he collapsed just before the final blow.
"Did you see that my dear hero, this is a scanner they will reveal who you care about before I kill them. in front of you."
Contrary to what he had planned however there is only one name to show on the screens.
Marybelle 'Mary' Smith
"Don't touch her." the unmasked Glitch said as he suddenly mustered will to control one his laser cameras.
"Why not?"
"Because she is the one I wanted protect."
They made a deal after a few minutes. No one will touch her, as long as he stayed away from his activities.
He agreed and began to pack out of the city along with the person he wanted to protect and her loyal guards.
He then laughed at the irony for they he realized that technology is not the only thing they have common.
"Well, I have an announcement to make." Mr Smith said he wear his mask as part of his costume.
"The announcement of my success." This is just a beginning...
The world is for he her daughter.
Glitch will keep her safe.
| 2021-06-19T01:09:29 | 2021-06-19T01:05:23 | 107 | 29 |
[WP] The last time the aliens invaded our planet they fled after losing the war. They have reluctantly returned to wage war and are relieved to see that dinosaurs no longer inhabit Earth, but have been replaced by the smaller and less intimidating humans.
|
Finally, a chance for redemption.
We were headed back to Earth, a lowly mineral planet in a desolate corner of the quadrant. I can still remember the taunting words of Elder Karaza...
*"You lost.... to a bunch of lizards?"*
Yes, it still stings.
I now armed my warriors with long range heavy bows, crossbows and even a few ballistas. THIS would keep that damned Tyrant Lizard away from my troops. No more eating for you tonight!
Shoring up my emotions into a passive mask, We landed once again at the arrival point. The grassy fields looked much the same, but the addition of a spinning fan that moved with the wind was a new one. Perhaps the lizards evolved into something more intelligent?
No matter, we were here to destroy them once and for all. As soon as the ship touched down, we arranged ourselves in a standard box formation, shieldbearers on the outside and bowmen on the inside. I ordered the move towards the fan thing, only to spy a primitive dwelling of wood and stone. Maybe they DID evolve. As we approached, a new Earth creature stepped out. I switched my language router on, and set to autotranslate. PERHAPS it would work.
***
Farmer Macready walked out to see the strange formation of shields and aliens approaching. It didn't look like the aliens in his sons comic, but more like a Roman legion. He stopped, then stood on his porch chewing on a blade of grass. He spit into the bucket on the creaking wood, then leaned against the doorframe.
"Can I help you, gentlemen?"
***
"...gentlemen?"
The words were innocent enough, but I could feel his tension. My archers raised their bows as I responded.
"We have come to end this. We suffered defeat at your hands eons ago, and now I have come to right the injustices heaped upon us."
With no more words, my archers fired. Not one arrow hit the strange creature, but no matter. He scrambled back into his dwelling as arrows continued to thunk heavily into the wood structure. I heard something break, and then a metal tube poked out. With a voice like thunder and spewing flame, the metal tube bucked upwards, and I saw the first shieldbearer go down hard. He was bleeding green ichor form a large hole in his thorax.
"SHORE UP! CLOSE THE HOLE AND CALL THE OTHERS!"
I started the formation away from the dwelling, as another thunderous boom sounded. Hundreds of metallic pings echoed around me as I felt the sting of an insect. Sounding retreat, we headed towards the ship to regroup.
(To be continued)
|
We all knew what had happened to the first ship to scout this planet for conquest long ago. One of the species known as velociraptor had climbed on board. Using the air ducts to move around, it had killed the crew one by one. The sole survivor had escaped by blowing it out of the airlock on the shuttle.
With this in mind we were relieved when scans showed no raptors anywhere on the planet. A technological species of hominid had taken over - easy prey, and with the added bonus of ready-made buildings to inhabit.
We landed in a small vacant lot in the middle of a suburban sprawl and prepared for evac. But before we had even opened the hatch we were startled by a knocking sound from outside it. On the monitor we saw one of the ape-like dominant species standing there holding a stack of small booklets.
"Don't worry, sophonts, we can handle anything this planet throws at us" said the Captain. We threw open the hatch.
"Good morning and God bless you" said the native. "I bring you good news of our Lord's love and salvation".
We recoiled in terror and the navigator screamed loudly. Nauseated and in fear for our sanity, we ran further back into the ship. The horrible apparition pursued, shouting "The Savior is the Way, the Truth and the Life!"
The Captain hit the emergency takeoff button and the ship hurtled into orbit. No more such terrors could enter, but we were still trapped with a creature devoid of all rationality. It couldn't be reasoned with. And it absolutely would not stop, ever, until it had converted each of us into one of its kind.
I made it to the engine room and concealed myself amid the complex machinery. I shivered at the sound of the blood-curdling screams of my crew-mates as the creature cornered them. At last, a silence descended and I started to breathe more easily.
Suddenly a five fingered hand shot in front of my face holding a pamphlet, and I heard it's terrible cry: "Accept the Lord as your Savior!" I screamed and bolted for the door controls. Remembering the scout ship from years before, I used the same tactic. I held on grimly and opened the hatch.
The air rushed towards the door and the creature was blown out of the aperture. I closed the door and looked tremblingly out of the porthole. The thing was holding onto the superstructure outside! It's mouth moved but I mercifully could no longer hear its words.
In space, no one can hear you evangelize.
| 2017-03-04T03:25:46 | 2017-03-03T22:58:54 | 452 | 226 |
[WP] According to US Navy tradition, submarines that have not been confirmed to be destroyed, are still on patrol. Since WWII, there have been 52 submarines that haven’t yet returned to port, yet to report in, nor have been confirmed to be destroyed. You are one of those, on the eternal patrol.
|
**October 3rd, 1983,**
**14,757th day on patrol,**
**700 miles east of Bermuda**
---
"Two contacts, sir. About two miles off our starboard bow. Type: unkown, but at least one of them is definitely not ours." Johansen reported from behind the sonar.
I nodded. The enemy had deployed a slew of new submarines over the years, this was a big one. The other one might have been ours, or possibly British. Definitely not German.
"All ahead full, intercept course!" I barked the command, which brought the crew to frantic action. There was no trepidation, only weariness and grim determination. We had all been at sea for way too long and were itching for a fight. Can you blame us?
"Clarke, prepare tube one for launch!" I shouted into the horn. An enthusiastic "Aye aye!" came in reply from the torpedo bay. Clarke and his boys had been waiting for this for some time.
According to Johansen, the vessel we assumed friendly seemed to be in hiding, while the big bogey was preparing to fire. The periscope was useless, the waters were pitch black in the night and would have beem murky at this depth even in full daylight. There was no time to spare, and I ordered tube 1 fired as soon as we had a tentative firing solution based on sonar alone.
"Tube one, failed to launch Sir!" Clarke's frantic voice issued from the horn. "It won't open!"
Cold sweat began to run on my forehead. "Prepare tubes two through six for launch! Fire when ready! Lloyd, keep her steady!" My voice was steady, but the worried glances of the bridge crew betrayed my shocked countenance.
"Two thousand feet. Bogey has opened her tubes. No reaction to our sonar pings."
This was out of the ordinary.
"Tube two failed to launch, tube three failed to launch! Could not load tube four... the hatch has rusted shut. We are working on the last two, but it doesn't look good, Sir!"
"A thousand feet!"
My face darkened. There was no use in preparing the aft torpedos, but as far as I could tell, we were still invisible to the enemy.
"Five hundred feet and closing!"
"It has been a privilege to serve with you all these years." My voice was hoarse and quiet, but everyone aboard could have heard a pin drop. I raised my tone in command one last time.
"All ahead flank! Ramming speed!"
---
Had the men aboard *USS Augusta* been provided that day with a viewing port and a sufficiently strong searchlight, they would have borne witness to a highly unusual sight. At 2238 hours, the silent, barnacle encrusted form of an aged submarine glid noiselessly from the darkness before them and violently struck the side of *K-219,* a Soviet Nuclear Submarine that the *Augusta* had been covertly observing. They did hear the explosion that followed. An official explanation given later was that an explosion had occurred in one of the *K-219's* missile tubes, caused by a saltwater leak. The crew was unable to contain the subsequent leaks and the submarine sank soon thereafter.
Years later, some of the crew of the *Augusta* would admit to a curious story. They could have sworn that mere minutes before the explosion, a distant, resounding shout was heard *from outside the ship,* as if dozens of men cried out in unison.
*"Aye aye Sir!"*
---
**The incident of K-219 truly occurred on October 3rd, 1983. Six Soviet submariners perished and the vessel itself was eventually lost as a direct result. This retelling is a fictionalized account.**
|
I turned over to my friend, or, in reality, the rotten, scantily remains of him. He’d been rotted down to the bone.
It was pain to turn, my neck bones cracking and crumbling.
“Hey, Stross” I said to him. I don’t remember his first name. Only Stross.
“Yeah, Rivers” He answered back. He only remembered my last name. Neither of us remembered our first names.
“Stross, how long have we been down here Stross?” My raspy voice called out. His blank, nearly eyeless skull looked back at me.
Nobody knew.
Months? Years? Decades? Millennium?
We didn’t know anything about anyone of the people on board. Names, ages, hometowns, nothing. All we knew is one thing. We were sailors.
On my buddies name tag, it read P. Stross. Stross is his last name, but I still didn’t know his first name. Perry, Peter? I’d never be able to guess.
Our Captain, Daniels, was walking our way. He looked at my and smiled, or at least attempted. He had no skin. I forgot what skin looks like. All the sailors down here are skeletons. Corpses, remains.
“Men, battle stations” he yelled out. “If we get those Japs this time, maybe, just maybe”. Daniels was superstitious, he thought that if we were finally able to sink that Japanese ship above us, we’d be free to go home. Bullshit.
We didn’t know if their was even an outside world to return too. Stross and I had always guessed that we were the only ones left in this twisted reality.
Maybe we were in the depths of hell itself, doomed, for eternity, to repeat our deaths.
Over, and over, and over.
We tried suicide. The bullets did nothing, just bounced of. We tried starvation, but we don’t need to eat. Our mess has been deserted forever.
We don’t get hungry
We don’t get thirsty
We don’t get tired
We can’t feel anything.
On our sonar, we saw it approaching. It was a Japanese ship, also trapped with us in this in our little eternal battle. It always went the same. We’d shot two torpedoes at the Japs and at the same time they’d send down a depth charge. We’d both die, than our ship would just come back together. The seas we were sailing never ended. We’ve sailed thousands of miles, in many directions, but it never ends. It’s as if all that is left of the world is the sea.
Sometimes I wonder. Have we just been separated from the world, or are we all that remains of it?
Captain Daniels, and Stevenson, another sailor on board, loaded the torpedoes to fire. Maybe that’s why we’re in the loop. We gotta shot down the Japanese, than, maybe, just maybe, we’ll get free.
On the sonar, the Japs were making their way. We fired two torpedoes at them, and they sent down a depth charge to us.
The ship cracked.
It flooded so quickly, our lungs got filled with gallons and gallons, and gallons of salty brine water. For just a second above me, I could see em. The Japs.
Their ship had been obliterated, I could see human shaped blobs struggling in the water.
Were they suffering as much as we were
We were back in the submarine, safe and sound as if nothing ever happened.
Hell, it must be hell.
| 2018-10-17T09:46:07 | 2018-10-17T09:26:46 | 90 | 29 |
[WP] You were summoned by a god to be the hero of a fantsy world, to kill the demon king and free their people, as a boon they told you you could request any weapon that they will provide. As a joke, you requested a intercontinental thermonuclear warhead, they gave it to you with a stright face.
|
At first I thought my snark had doomed the world. "Sure, a nuclear warhead would be awesome!" I'd thought... and when he gave it to me, sans delivery vehicle or other means of launching the damned thing, I was both mortified and depressed. What was I going to do with a bomb I couldn't drop, launch, or even detonate?
But then the engineer in me got to thinking: I'd requested an *intercontinental* warhead. Those things were mostly MIRVs now - *Multiple independently targetable reentry vehicle*. So I didn't just have one nuke at my disposal, I had a handful. This means I had some very dangerous tests I could perform without *necessarily* killing myself and everyone in a few miles radius.
"Hey Mr. Deity sir, I know I just requested this weapon and all, but it's short a little support equipment that I can't get in this world. I'm going to eed the relevant maintenance tools for the warhead too. They're not technically weapons, just things used to service this one. Think you can manage that?"
Without a word or a sound, a moderately sized workshop appeared around me.
"Thank you very much. OK, I think I'm ready to start this grand adventure. Could you drop all of this, and me, near a sympathetic village that could feed me for a few weeks while I get this weapon ready for use?"
The light coming in through the workshop windows changed - instead of the omnidirectional soft glow, yellow light streamed in, and I heard birds singing and water flowing. I cracked my knuckles. Time to get excited.
...
A few weeks later, my surroundings weren't nearly so idyllic: Shattered and burned posts reached up from the blasted landscape like grave markers for where homes once stood. The scorched remains of once verdant lawns and gardens still smoldered in places, and ahead of me stretched a line of walking corpses hauling carts of plunder towards the demon king's citadel. At the head of this line, at the entrance to the fortifications, were several smaller red-scaled imps directing the shambling servitors where to drop the carts before sending them out again to pillage.
I reached the head of the line fairly quickly - it turns out a queue can move pretty quickly when everyone is obedient to a fault. I just hoped my disguise held up. I groaned as others had done when they reached the front, and the imp with the scroll and quill barely looked up at me before waving me to the right. It cackled something in its language I didn't understand, but I hauled the heavy cart to the end of the line and joined the queue going in the opposite direction.
In an hour I was outside the city, and in another I was jogging back the direction I'd come from, thankful that the weather was cool.
I'd managed to damage not one, but two of the warheads during my disassembly and testing, but at least the second had proven that my hunch was correct about which circuit to power to set off the implosion charges. The remaining 8 warheads would detonate in another hour or so, and I wanted to be deep in the cave I'd scouted out before then.
It may not be the most heroic way to kill the demon king, but fuck it: sometimes the problem requires an engineer, not a hero.
|
"I was kinda joking mate... Buddy?"
The bastard had fucked off already. Huh. I guess that would be some of that god magic stuff.
It had just been a Tuesday man, I wasn't prepped for this at all. I'd just been talking with some of the guys on tenth about Sam's birthday, made my excuses to visit the bathroom and suddenly I'm in some demonic wasteland with some glowing asshole telling me to go fight some dark lord such and such for the good of the land. Can you really blame me for being a little sarcastic when he asked me what weapon I wanted?
The nuke sat there on the obsidian black sand that stretched as far as I could see. I guess I should do something with this thing then.
"At least they included the transporty thing for it," I mused as I wandered over to it. It's a weird experience being so close to a nuke for the uninitiated. They have an aura of intangible hostility, like a more extreme but simultaneously more calm equivalent of being sat in a room with a tranqued up tiger. You know it's a phenomenally dangerous thing, but it's very hard to comprehend that in the moment.
I climbed up onto the seat of... I really should come up with a better name for this than "transporty thing". Mobile launch platform? MLP, sure. I doubt there's many in this world that would know to correct me (if I'm even wrong for all I know). In fact, outside of deities there's a good chance I might be the closest thing in this world to a nuclear physicist, and I failed physics in high school.
With that though I let out a small chuckle for the first time since arriving here and refocused on my most immediate problem, turning on the engine. Wait a second, that's another good point. What am I supposed to do when this damn thing runs out of fuel? I doubt I could refuel this at a petrol station even if I weren't stuck in what looked like a combination of a volcano and a desert. I don't even know what the range is, for travel or launch.
I sat in the chair for some amount time, my mind running through so many things that it seemed to shut down and do nothing. Eventually the slowly sinking sun prompted me to return to functionality. How long had I shut down for?
I looked down at the buttons, dials, switches, and readouts in front of me. Most of them just left me very confused, but I was able to guess at two of them; a small green switch and a big red button under a safety cover. I closed my eyes and flipped the little switch, praying a little given my recently witnessed events. The motor roared into life.
Everyone's heard stories of great heroes on epic quests, but I don't think those that start with the hero nuking themself got particularly well known. With a surge of new found confidence I gently pushed forward a lever for a few seconds and the MLP rolled forwards about 2 feet across the sand. Okay, so we've got power and movement.
It suddenly hit me that I had no idea what I was doing here. Where was I going? In fact, what does this demon lord look like. I wish I'd been more of a fantasy fan back at home. Was Sauron a demon lord? Eh, it'll do to start with... I guess let's rollout
| 2020-10-14T06:13:37 | 2020-10-14T05:30:21 | 36 | 23 |
[WP] One day every year, the strings of fate that connect people are visible. Friendship, Family, Soulmate, Lover, Enemy. However, that day, you see a different type of string connecting you to someone.
|
When you are young, the strings are real magic. They are better than any app or device. Because your strings are yours alone, and they are unexplained, unknowable, and illogical.
Pale strings of light, connecting you to Fate. Blue to deep friendships. Red to love. Green to family. Black to conflict. White to an unclaimed destiny.
They appear just once a year, on the longest day of the year, as soon as the sun sets. They are gone once the sun rises. These strange, inexplicable strings of Fate.
To children they are a wonder, and they spend the night chasing them down, as far as dutiful parents will allow. But they rarely reveal anything meaningful. The strings have a way of tracing back to the obvious. A string to your dumb sister. A string to your lame uncle. A string to Mikey Petangelo and another to Krista Vonn. Over and over, the strings disappoint with their obviousness. They tell you things you already knew or easily could have guessed. The magic drains out of Fate, and there is only life's dull inevitability left behind.
The strings return each year, but you do not chase them down, or even try. One leads to your wife. One leads to your lover. One leads to your rival and the rest lead to your increasingly distant friends and family. You are living your Fate. There is no magic in that.
For Paul Dillon, the strings were a minor torment. They had dwindled over the years and now ran thin and pale, barely visible in the moonlight. He had long ago given up on chasing, even those rare red strings. Fate had no sense of geography, after all. Those strings could stretch halfway across the Earth for all Paul knew.
But this Fateful Day was different, because now - as the sun dipped and disappeared, and Paul sat on his back porch, listening to mosquitoes sizzle and explode - there was only one string. A gold string, thick and strong as rope. No blue. No green. No black. Only the one gold string.
Paul had never heard of a gold string before. Perhaps it was rare. Perhaps it was meaningful in a way the other strings were not. It was hard to ignore.
"Just a little ways," said Paul, stepping off his porch. "A few minutes, no more."
He walked, letting the golden string lead him. Such as it went with the strings of Fate, the strand did not tighten or slacken or given any sense at all that Paul was coming closer to the opposite end of the line. Still, Paul felt eerily confident that he was making progress. Whatever that meant.
Children were out, following their string, followed in turn by parents with their own, ignored strings. It was a beautiful night and Paul felt momentarily envious. But then he remembered what he was doing and it made him feel light and young.
The golden string led him down residential roads and into a thin wood valley at the edge of the town. In the darkness between trees, the string seemed to glow, lighting the way, casting wavering shadows across the forest floor.
Fate was foolish and so was Paul, but he could not deny the thrill of it all. Perhaps this had always been the purpose of those strings. Not to tell us things we already knew, but to remind us to be excited about those truths. As a child, discovering a friend at the end of the string was always a moment of mutual joy, whether we already knew those friends or not. We had followed the string and met in the middle. That was its own kind of fantastic Fate.
Paul's stomach clenched. He didn't understand why he was so nervous when he had given up on caring about Fate so long ago. But the golden string nearly pulsed and Paul knew this was not the same as before.
As the trees scattered, Paul entered a clearing that led down to a rushing stream. And so the golden string of Fate ended in the hand of a cloaked figure sitting on the side of the stream.
"Oh," said Paul, slowing down even as the golden string seemed to draw him into the cloaked figure. "...oh."
The figure looked up, though there was no face to see beneath the hood - only two pinpricks of golden light.
"This isn't Fate," said the figure in a voice like burning leaves. "I just needed someone who would come." They stood up, pulling on the string. Paul was yanked forward. The string was burrowed deeply in the center of Paul's chest. He felt something like fibers and filaments stretching and worming and inching their way throughout his insides.
"This isn't Fate?" said Paul, dumbly, stumbling toward the stream, which seemed to grow in strength with every step.
"If it was Fate, you wouldn't have come, now would you?" said the figure. Paul thought that sounded correct, but he wasn't sure. And as the water rose up around his ankles and knees, trudging along in step behind the cloaked figure as it waded into the deeper darkness of the stream, Paul wasn't sure it really mattered anyway.
|
I'd woken up on the morning of Connection Day with a strange new string coming out of me. It wasn't like the usual friendship, family, or lover threads that appeared on that day; rather than hovering just above the ground as intangible strings made of light, this one went *up*. As in up into the sky, so far away I couldn't even see where it ended.
When I popped out of bed, the string was already floating out the window of my room like a line attached to a kite. It was a dark black too, making it contrast even more against the bright yellow friendship and red love strings that came out of me.
Curiosity brought me downstairs, following the string. I was so engrossed, I didn't even say good morning to my parents as they jokingly asked if my tethers to them had turned to "enemy" yet. I opened the front door and stared up at the sky.
People were already out and about bustling, following their own strings that I couldn't see. For some of them, "soulmate" strings had probably just appeared for the first time and they were eagerly anticipating who they'd meet on the other end. For others, their pink "lover" strings had probably turned into icy "ex lover" ones, and they were fuming as they followed the lime-green "person who cheated on your spouse" strings, ready to dish out some justice.
But I just stared into the sky, wondering what my black string was leading to. Someone in an airplane? An astronaut? It didn't make sense.
My parents came out and asked me what I was doing. I explained my black string and they were just confused. We went over all the different types of recorded strings together, everything from magenta "muse" strings, to the ashen "martyr" strings, to even the golden "hero" strings. None of us could remember anything about black strings.
As we waited, my parents questioned whether I was actually seeing the string or not. Since no one could see each others' strings, only their own, they had no idea if I was telling the truth. They suggested that maybe I was just sleepy, or too excited, or maybe–
Something flashed in the sky like a twinkling star… right at the end of my black string. It became larger and larger, like a rock headed toward the Earth. My mom and dad freaked out and started yelling, causing even more people to stop and point and scream themselves.
But I stood strong. For some reason I felt at ease. Whatever it was, it grew larger and larger, bigger than the moon, bigger than the clouds. But it was no rock, no asteroid, nothing like that. It was shiny and metallic. It was a ship.
It was shaped like a large eyedrop, perfectly smooth and hovering without any noise. And my black string was connected to it, slowly growing more slack as the ship descended, until it finally landed in our front yard.
A crowd had gathered around it, everyone not caring at all about their strings anymore. They kept a careful distance, but I felt drawn to it. I needed to find out what was at the end of my string.
I took one step forward, and a voice boomed in my head.
"You are the one we have chosen." The voice was garbled and mucky, like it was being spoken through a thick layer of mud. "You will be our ambassador to your species."
I didn't know what to do. I didn't even know how to respond. But the voice knew.
"We can hear your thoughts. We need you to talk to your kind, to tell them of our mistake."
Mistake? What were they talking about?
"Millennia ago, one of our own accidentally passed on to your species our ability to see the Threads. But your minds cannot handle it all the time, only one day of the year, the day we mistakenly gave you our gift. Now, unfortunately, we must take it back. You will be the only one left with it, as the Threads have chosen. Please, inform the others."
I looked around at the people gathered in our front yard and my chest tightened. Black strings now came from each and every one of them, connecting to me, like a giant spider web. More than that, the strings went out all over the Earth, connecting me to every single human being on the planet. Billions and billions of black strings, all connected back to me at the center.
And they could all see them, too. Every face in the crowd turned to me with horror at the situation and hope for an explanation.
I didn't have all the answers right now, but at least I knew who to ask. I was the owner of the black "alien ambassador" string, after all.
*****
This prompt was written with the help of chat at the [ScottWritesStuff](https://www.reddit.com/r/ScottWritesStuff/) Twitch stream.
| 2018-05-31T20:42:01 | 2018-05-31T18:31:27 | 27 | 20 |
[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
|
The year is 2270. About 150 years ago the human race first started testing planet scale terraforming. Earth was running out of resources and we were long overdue for an upgrade. Why not go to the biggest planet that we know of?
I heard that back in the day, werewolves were a myth. People claimed to see them, but there was very little proof. Most of the evidence was blamed on wild animals. We know better now.
The initial werewolf arrived within the first few years of public voyages. He turned before they even landed. The ground zero ship was considered a giant metal coffin. No one could get out and the werewolf infected hundreds. When the ship crash landed it was immediately quarantined, though that didn't do much. They were strong and could fight against the gravity changes that the rest of us were still adjusting to.
The werewolf epidemic spread to over half of the population in less than a decade. Many asked to be locked up until the disease was cured. They didn't want to danger those around them. Everyone was scared. Over time, being constantly under the full moon the werewolves learned to use their human minds while afflicted by the moon's disease. About a hundred years ago, one of the werewolves that was held in captivity spoke.
"I think I can control myself. I think I can go outside without attacking anyone."
We were cautious but optimistic. If they could act human while in wolf form then they could be a great help to us. The wolf was escorted outside by military men. He never had less than 5 armed soldiers with him at any given time. But, he acted surprisingly well. He worked on construction and did a fantastic job due to his incredible strength. He did the work of 10 men.
After a few years, he asked to be let go. He wanted to go talk to the other werewolves, and that's exactly what he did. He came back with a dozen other beasts, all who had regained human speech. In the coming years schools replaced the prisons. All werewolves had to undergo a very intensive meditation treatment to control any left over werewolf urges. They were a huge boon to our society. So much so that some even asked to be turned voluntarily.
Now about 90% of the population are werewolves. Seeing a normal human is actually a strange sight. They look so weak. Us werewolves can build and farm much faster than they can. Usually humans are only white collar workers because they can't keep up with the rest of us. I honestly believe they choose to stay out of some sense of tradition or individuality. Either that or it's some strange fetish. Either way, we work well together.
I actually hope that the human race doesn't go extinct in the shadow of werewolves. They may not be as strong as we are, but they're interesting. They're a part of our history that I don't think we're all ready to let go of just yet.
|
"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.
| 2016-10-03T10:55:02 | 2016-10-03T08:54:41 | 198 | 45 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer.
|
"Come i- *oh come on*," I sighed as I saw who just walked into my office. Mr Williams. *Again*.
"Tobias!" he cheerfully greeted me. I did not share his most likely faux upbeat mood, knowing full well what he wanted.
"My answer's the same," I said. Despite this, he sat down in the chair across of me and made himself comfortable.
"Of course, of course, Tobias. But there's," he paused and shifted in the seat, "been a development." I only returned a blank stare.
"See, there's a new player in Brazil. A Russian operative - one gifted with extraordinary abilities, same as you. We've reason to-"
"No," I cut him off.
"Tobias, I'll be blunt," he said with a far more serious tone than ever before. "This is no small matter; we are talking about national security. As a doctor, you most certainly care for the well-being of others, do you not? With your portals, we'd be able to strike at the heart of America's enemies *instantly*, before they ever had a chance to harm anyone. We'd save people that-"
"I became a doctor to help people and my powers are perfectly suitable for that, thank you very much. I can operate on people without ever opening them up. *That* saves people. *That* is good! Not killing some people I never even heard of in some black-op just because you or the Agency told me to.
So," I said, standing up, "that is that. I'd appreciate it if you didn't waste my time again because I'll never work for you."
"Yes," Mr Williams said grimly, "you will."
I narrowed my eyes at the man, sizing him up.
"See, Tobias," he said and stood up as well, "you're valuable. Useful. We'd never hurt you to convince you." He took a step closer.
"Your family, on the other hand..." he said, staring me straight in the eye, leaving the sentence hanging in the air like the Sword of Damocles.
I took a deep breath. "I see," I said and nodded lightly to myself.
I spent the next days unsettled, often in deep thought and a state of reflection. I never wanted this. I just wanted to help people, not *kill* them. But... the CIA doesn't take no for an answer. Still, I do hope this will be that.
The only interruption to this routine was when another man in a cheap black suit claiming to be Mr Williams' partner came by and said Mr Williams never checked in, asked me if I'd seen him. I told him the truth - I told him that I'd not seen him since our last meeting.
After all, it's not healthy to look into the Sun.
|
The man sat down at the table. He turned the lamp toward my face. I smirked, retracting my eyes into my flesh. At the same times, i elongated my fingers, each one reaching five inches in length as I turned each nail into a new eye.
The man flinched. He knew of my powers, he saw me using them a few times, but never this close. I decided to turn it up a notch, peeling off layers from my face to reveal a seemingly infinite numbers of teeth.
"Can you cut this shit off?"
He was trying to be calm, but i could feel the fear and revulsion from his voice.
"Not until you decide to drop this hero nonsense."
"Nonsense? You have the strongest and most versatile power ever recorded on the planet!"
"No I haven't"
He looked at me like I had declared myslef to be an alien.
"You can shapeshift into anything! I saw you turning into mist once!"
"It was a colony of Fairyflies."
"You can clone youself!"
"I did it once and I only got Dissociative Identity Disorder from the experience."
"You can fly at supersonic speed!"
"Only up to Mach 4"
"You can resurrect the dead!"
"The brain was still active, i just regrew the body after the decapitation"
"You can punch through a 20ft thick titanium plate!"
"I need some prep time to do that."
"Your prep time for that test was 1.7 seconds! That's not prep time!"
"Details. It just wouldn't be fulfilling."
"Oh sure. Be a superhero won't be fulfilling, but being a fucking test dummy for surgeons is SOOO fulfilling"
From my torso i manifested a blade, slicing at the agent. He touched his chin, now completely shaven, at looked at his beard as it fell on the table.
"Don't you dare talk shit about my student."
The man took a deep breath.
"You let inexperienced 20-somethings cut you up for hours on end. Sure, they get SOME experience, but you could do so much more out there. You could make a real difference"
I returned myself to my normal form.
"These 20-somethings will be the future of this nation. Doctors and surgeons that studied anatomy on the real deal, tested procedures in ways older generations couldn't even dream of. I AM making a difference."
I stood up, my hands sliding off the manacles with ease.
"Where are you going?"
I looked at the agent "Home. Got some homework to grade."
He looked at me, confused "... You know you're still charged with driving 170mph in a school zone, right?"
I waited in silence
"Buuuut, if you were to do a small job for the government..."
| 2022-07-31T14:37:56 | 2022-07-31T14:20:34 | 517 | 145 |
[WP] you are immortal, had to break up with your girlfriend cuz you couldn’t stand the grief of her inevitable death. She seems surprisingly understanding and you believe you’ll never see her again. Centuries later you are shopping and come across her and she looks just as surprised to see you.
Wow this uh- this blew up-
|
Immortality can be a blessing and a curse. I enjoy watching as humans make new advancements and slowly discover every secret the world has to offer. But an immortal life is a lonely one. At first you don't think about the fact that any friend you make will eventually die and leave you behind.
I was only ever in one relationship. I loved Katheryne with all my heart but as I watched my friends die around me, I could not imagine the pain her death would cause me. I left her under the pretence of moving away in the name of scientific research. She was sad but very understanding.
I often wondered if she had a happy life Eventually the pain dulled but she never quite left my mind. Every year, on the anniversary of the day I left, I would light a candle in her memory.
It's been a few hundred years. And yet here I was, in the local store, looking for a candle to light the next day. I greeted the cashier when I entered. I've been living here for a few years and me and Arthur struck up a casual friendship.
"Ah, Charles, we've just had renovations done, so if you're looking for candles, they're now in the 5th isle instead."
I was about to thank him, when a voice interrupted me.
"Charles?"
I turn around just to come face to face with Katheryne who was holding a candle in her hand. She looks as surprised as I feel. There's a lump in my throat that won't let me say a word. We stare at each other for a while. I'm still not sure who moved first, but we end up embracing each other, holding on for dear life.
I can feel my shirt damped and so I gently move away to take her face into my hands and brush the tears away.
"Hello, Katheryne."
I knew what I had to do. I invited Katheryne for dinner and while waiting for our orders I excused myself, saying I had to go to the bathroom. As soon as I was out of sight I ran faster than I ever did in my life. Ten minutes later, I was back. If Katheryne was surprised to see me out of breath she didn't have time to mention it.
I dropped on one knee.
|
Why? How? What?
Questions, I asked myself numerous amount of questions.
I assumed that this life of mines was just another trial of torture, torture sent by some unknown source.
The source was probably the universe, with all of its innate capabilities.
Why, why, why,
why are you back!?!? you aren't supposed to live that long! I thought to myself.
She looked at me, and smiled.
I was confused, am I in another never ending spiral filled with death and pain, or am I in a fairy tale?
All my confusion had stopped after hearing the words from her mouth...
She said in a grim yet calm tone: "I am death, I am in search of lost souls like you, souls that have yearned this life for too long, I had searched for you for quite some time now, and I take the form of the most beloved character in your life time."
I lost the grasp of my breath and thought... Death? Is this truly the end? Death has come to finally take me from my torture?
I responded to her statement: "well, what are you waiting for? Please take me from the shackles of this torment, let me finally rest in the beyond."
Death chuckled and glared "I had not said that I was going to take you, I am only going to release you, and from there, you may live the unknown amount of time of your life in whichever way you wish. You may start a family, you may start a business empire, or you may start shopping for your desires."
Well... I thought to myself, I hadn't really been taken by death yet, but now that I am guaranteed death, there is a new impervious sense of freedom, knowing that I'll die someday would also mean that I will catch up to others.
I asked death as she made her leave: "Wait! when will I die!!!"
Death turned her head into my direction and once again chuckled: "If I were to tell you that, then you really wouldn't understand the true purpose of one's life in the first place, a purpose far greater than time itself."
"And what might that be???"
"To love the life you live, more than the death you'll undergo."
&#x200B;
This is my first writing prompt, please go easy on me lol.
| 2022-12-08T09:37:00 | 2022-12-08T09:13:06 | 198 | 117 |
[WP] Everyone has a kill counter above their heads visible to everyone denoting the number of people they killed. One day as you were in your room, yours ticks 1, then 2, then 3 and explodes with digits.
|
Henry's Spotify playlist with classical music served as the perfect ambient music to accompany the tinkle of Yvonne's fine glassware. She smiled in satisfaction as the room buzzed with lively conversation, guests laughing and chatting as they tucked in the sumptuous dinner.
If there was one thing that felt out of place, it was the garish font of the stats flashing over everyone's heads, thanks to the government-issued biometric implant to keep track of everyone's criminal record. Now this was something she could bring up as an ice-breaker when she sat next to the Director at the Young Achievers luncheon tomorrow, along with the list of all the loopholes she had found in the algorithm devised to calculate the kill counter.
"You need to tell me who the event planner is, Yvonne." Martha, the CTO said. "This is outstanding."
"You're looking at her." She said with a grin. "Of course, I couldn't have done it without my brother Henry and his wife Andrea."
Andrea smiled. Henry gave a two-fingered salute.
"Yvonne mentioned you're a doctor, Henry. You must be a very good one, given your stats." Martha said, eyes pointed at the neon '4', with a last occurrence date during his residency years.
Henry shrugged. "Put me in a line-up and take away my medical license, I'm no good than the rest. Take Andrea here," he said, pointing at the '1' flashing above her head. "Do you know they denied her promotion at the Pentagon because of that number? We had to go through hell trying to explain the pregnancy termination to the chauvinist farts."
"It's still a murder." John, Yvonne's husband said. He was met with Henry's murderous glare. Neither sibling liked John, but their rich, conservative parents did. Disobeying them would mean being cut off from the family and the inheritance, and there was still ways to go before they could stand above the world. With Henry in line to be the youngest Surgeon General in another five years and her poised to be the head of Analytics for the biometric implant for the Department of Justice, they were inching closer to their goal.
"This is exactly the kind of thing I was working on to fix." Yvonne said, trying to defuse the tension. "I'm hoping the Director would find it of interest when I meet him tomorrow."
Later that night, Yvonne sighed as she brushed her hair. She could never sleep when a release was scheduled. Her leg jiggled due pent-up nervous energy, waiting for the message from the Dev-Ops team.
John hugged her from the back,his hands going straight to her breasts, groping them over her nightdress.
"It's been so long, baby." He slurred into her ear, one hand sliding down between her legs.
"It was a UTI, John. The doctor told us we should give it a week's rest." She sighed in frustration.
"Maybe I should talk to your parents." He said. "I'm sure they can convince you to do the right thing."
"Good night, John." She replied, going back to brushing her hair. She had taken to sleeping in the chaise lounge after he had forced himself on her one night during her periods. Her parents had sided with him, and had threatened to disinherit her if she filed a case of marital rape.
The clock struck ten. Beethoven's fifth played through the speakers. She had left it on long after Henry and the guests had left.
Her train of thought was broken by the sound of choking. John lay on the ground, clutching his chest. The kill counter over her head started to increment - one, two, three...
She could hear the 'ding' of a game show buzzer as the floor length mirror reflected the number over her head as she crouched over her husband as the life painfully faded out of his eyes.
As the counter ran up like a viral tweet, her phone rang.
"The Director just called - congratulations, Yvonne." Martha said. "The new algorithm to instantly detect and punish offenders of severe crimes was rolled out successfully."
"Were you able to discuss my immunity?" She said, as the counter sped. She wondered offhand if there would be an overflow and her counter would run into a negative number.
"It's all taken care of. A cleanup crew's already been dispatched. Your number will be reset to zero post midnight." Martha said. "The President will be making a press release soon." She giggled with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning. "They're so pleased with you, kid."
"I aim to please." Yvonne replied. "Good night, Martha." She texted Henry to check the news once she disconnected the call.
As she sat down in front of the dressing table again, she smiled as the symphony reached the crescendo. She had finally arrived.
|
(This is a long one, I appreciate if you sat through the entire thing!)
"Woah woah woah woah what the fuck!?" I shout in surprise, watching my kill number rise to incomprehensible numbers.
When it stopped, I had looked away, not wanting to see what I had done.
*Shit shit shit shit im getting arrested the moment I step out of this house.* Thoughts raced through my mind.
When I slowly looked up to the number, which had ceased it's ascent on the number scale.
*Holy shit.*
Nine thousand seven hundred and fifty six.
Nine thousand seven hundred and fifty six dead because of something I did. The one question left unanswered, however, was that I did.
"No, no, no, this has got to be a mistake. Think Tonja, what did you do today?"
I remember waking up, and then walking from the dorm house down to campus to do my classes for today, but other than that, I don't remember doing something significant.
*Did I talk to anyone different today, anyone who seemed off?*
No, not that I can think of. Today seemed normal up until now.
*Well what the hell happened then?!*
I still couldn't figure it out. My thoughts fighting with my memories was already tiring me out. I made my way into the bathroom and ran some water through my hands and wiped my face, looking at myself in the mirror.
*God, you're a mess, Tonja.*
I dried my face and stepped out of the bathroom and tried to figure out what to do next.
*I can't run anywhere, I'm a college student, I'm broker than broke. I can barely afford the utilities, how the fuck can I afford a car? I can't take public transportation, people would see this number.*
Just then, I heard a knock on my door, scaring me out of my thoughts. I just sat there, looking at the door for a while before speaking.
"W-who's there?" I said after a stammer and a slight cough.
"You see the news Tonja? It's insane." The voice spoke through the door.
Oh, it was just Shawna. She had had a two as her number for a long time, but I never knew why. She never wanted to explain it.
"N-no, what's going on?" I asked, rushing towards the door when Shawna tried to open it, "No! Don't open the door!"
"Wait why? Doing something?" She questioned.
"I uhh... I'm getting changed...?" I said, not knowing if she was convinced.
"Yeah not believing it."
She wasn't convinced.
"Can you just open the door?" She requested.
"Promise you won't freak out? And I promise I'll explain?" I suggested.
"Yeah sure, I've seen freaky shit before."
*Alright here goes nothing...*
I slowly opened the door to see Shawna standing there, phone in hand, with an impatient look on her face. She was a little shorter than me with hair she constantly kept both sides dyed pink, one darker than the other. She wore her usual large hoodie and sweatpants, but had a different edge to her today.
The look on her face changed from annoyed to wide eyed when she looked up.
"Dont scream, I swear I can explain." I whispered, "just get in here."
She nodded, her face changing to concern as she stepped in and I closed the door.
"So what the fuck is that?" She confronted, pointing at my number.
"Honestly I don't know. I swear to God, I walked in my room, and the number just started ticking up. Request the damn camera access, I swear I didn't go anywhere else today other than campus," I willed her to understand.
She stood there for another moment, hand on her chin with a clear expression of confusion.
"Alright I dont understand. This lines up weird with the news," Shawna commented.
"I forgot to ask, what news?" I remembered.
"A town close by got bombed. They estimated casualties around ten thousand. You didn't happen to do it?"
"No, I swear on my life, and everything I care about I did not do it. What town?"
"Aeredale. It's about a hundred miles south east of here."
"I've never been there, at all. I promise."
Shawna looked up at me, slightly annoyed.
"Alright, I get it, you're innocent. Now we need to prove you are. And I hope it has nothing to do with what I think it does," She looked back down at her phone, reading the report.
"W-what do you mean, what you think it is?" I asked, confused.
"Well, come with me and I'll show you," Shawna started walking to the door.
"Wait hold on! Wait up!" I begged.
"We don't got all day, hun. These guys are faster than you think."
*But who?*
| 2018-12-07T07:25:42 | 2018-12-07T06:32:35 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] You are mimic. You refuse to use that old trick with chest shape, instead you replaced door in simple house, where owner feeds you delicious fresh rats every day. In exchange you keep the house safe. After all, no bad guy expects door to punch them...
|
"I'm telling you man, there's something up with this damn lock!"
*No, not really*. Try as the short beard lady-thing might, she can't pick it because I keep reconfiguring the pins inside. *Why do people like this keep trying when it's clear there's something wrong. These intelligent races aren't as intelligent as they seem.*
"I don't give a crap, house looks fancy and must be full. Thought you said you were an expert?" tall man-thing talks, "Either you pick it or we'll have to do it the hard way", gesturing to the bigger man-thing with an axe. "Give me a moment, I'll get this open jackass."
A sound from the bushes, they turn, they turn back and see no lady-thing is gone lockpicks in the door. "Screw this!" the big one says and swings the axe. But it doesn't connect, a hole appears and the axe passes through, pulling the wielder forward with momentum. A tentacle appears and meets his face halfway, sending him flying. Both man-things look at each other and run off panicked. They won't be back, they never come back.
A few minutes pass an an old man-thing walks up. He sees the axe and lockpicks. "Guess you dealt with them?" *Yes*. My body hums. A muffled scream is heard. Old man-thing frowns "What did I say about eating people?" *Fine*, I hum grumpily, he never lets me eat my prey. The short lady-thing is spit out covered in slime. She scrambles up panicked and runs off into the night. "Good door." old man-thing says. He goes in and comes out with 2 dead rats and toss them at me. I gobble them happily. It's not much but beats having to scavenge and fight for food, plus old man-thing is nice to me since we met and I was small thing then, now I guard his cave from bad-things.
|
I've done this one a hundred times. It always works.
First you crack open just a little after someone knocks and steps back.
They either call out then step forward or step forward. No one has been so uncurious as to not approach me and reach out to give me a push.
That's when I have them.
Wham!
I slam back closed right on their stupid faces.
No one expects a mimic to be a door, but I'm not an ordinary mimic. I talk and everything too. Most of the rest just grumble about as they hope someone opens that boring old chest design that nearly all of them use. A pinch of originality here and there would really go a long way to solving mimic hunger.
And then there's the opportunity for other pursuits.
None of the others thought of this one. I struck a deal with a guy who owned this huge house that kept getting broken into. I figured a chance is a chance, and took it.
Once he got over the shock of a chest of drawers chatting with him, we got to business.
I wanted to be a door, a portal between there and here, I explained. I'd always straddled the fence and faced inwards and outwards, so why not make it real, you know?
There is a catch. I'm a hungry mimic you see. I agreed to eat meat provided by the owner on a daily basis. Mimics sometimes go months between meals, so that's the real ticket for me, you see.
Then there's the perks. Smashing confounded would-be burglars in the face as a door is just too fun.
Then there's the stuff I don't tell the owner about.
All this eating has made me really strong. Like sometimes I can grab a criminal with just my mouth and swallow him whole. Would have taken at least three bites before.
I feel different. And not just as a talkative door mimic. I wonder what else I could become?
/r/courageisnowhere
| 2022-04-27T04:42:26 | 2022-04-27T02:47:06 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] An all-knowing, all-seeing prophet is being held in captivity by a merchant who sells moments of her time to people interested in their future. You’re sent to kidnap her. When you enter her room, she looks up in surprise and says: “Up until this moment, I had no idea you existed.”
|
The guards eyes opened wide as he dagger pierced his chest. He coughed, breath turning to wheezes as he began to slump down the wall. I released my grip on his hand, leaving it on the daggers hilt. With a click of my neck I stood, surveying my handiwork. Four highly trained individuals had once stood opposing me. Now they were just bodies on the ground.
Satisfied, my attention turned to a thick wooden door. It held glowing runes, keeping what it held in place and in silence. As I drew closer, additional symbols appeared. I recognised the locking spell they had in place. In theory, it could only be opened with one specific key, held by a specific person.
I reached to my belt, opening a pouch. From within, I took a handful of void dust. I blew on it, letting it waft into the air before me. As it touched the runes, they faded and cracked, power stolen by a dust with no magic. With a firm pull on the handle, that door swung open before me.
It revealed a well furnished room. Soft rugs covered the floor, and a large bed sat behind some open curtains. A wardrobe, carved into an exquisite design stood nearby, along with a bookcase. A series of paintings covered the remaining wallspace, each depicting different cities. A small round table sat in the exact centre, beneath a brilliant chandelier.
At the table sat a pale woman. She had clearly not seen the sun for years, though besides that she looked healthy. She was dressed in an expensive silk robe, that looked to be tailor made. Her face was shocked and frightened at my entrance.
"Who are you?! Up until this moment, I had no idea you existed!"
I smothered a smile, choosing to keep my serious expression.
"You are the Prophet of Tabroth?"
She nodded.
"I am, who are you?"
"My name is -"
I tried to say it, but it caught in my mouth as it always did. I shook my head, before concentrating on her again.
"Is not important. You will come with me now."
"And just why should I?!"
I narrowed my eyes.
"I wasn't giving you an option. But, as you are suffering a slight shock, I will give you a tidbit. The Planar Continuance require your abilities."
She stood up, crossing her arms.
"I have heard of them from Mr Kysalus. He said they were hunting him."
I gave a single nod.
"You are right. Your ability is unique,and needed to help others not line the pockets of a greedy merchant. Now come with me."
As I stepped towards her, she backed up slightly.
"Why can't I see your existence?"
I sighed.
"Fine, if it will get you moving. I'm not from your level of reality. I come from the space between planes."
I grabbed her shoulder, and she gasped. I could feel her ability activate, looking into my life. I rolled my eyes, before tapping her forehead. She went limp, and I caught her, hoisting her over my shoulder. I turned and began to run from the place. With her with us, it would make maintaining the order of the cosmos a lot easier.
|
Edited: *Because mistakes were made*
It's always been this way, find seize and move that is the job of a hunter, my job. Gradually the guard's frantic clawing at my chokehold ceases as a muffled crack echoes down the hallway. I don't like my job but isn't like I have a choice in the matter, five years of service that's all that I have left. Forcefully I push open one of the many doors lining the hallway, with the warm cadaver over one shoulder.
It's quiet aside from the rusty door's hinges that last only a moment as the moonlit room's interior comes into view. A small bedroom of poorly maintained wooden furniture and a single mirror. Carefully the body finds itself against the nearest wall just out of sight from the doorway. A glance at the young lad's visage breaking my bearing if only for a moment, they were far too young for this line of work.
Quickly I shut the dead man's eyes and draw a cross across my shoulders and nose. A dull knocking of a pair of boots already closing in the hallway beyond as my attention turns. The fresh threat just out of view casting a silhouette in the doorway's torchlight, damn it, I thought I had more time. That long shadow still looms from around the corner like the specter of death itself. “Up, until this moment, I had no idea you existed, can you please show yourself?”
The subdued heartbeat in my chest seizing as the frosty voice breaks the long silence, the objective finally is within sight. Hastily I fix my black cloak and round the corner and step into the flickering orange lantern glow. And meet the prophet's violet eyes and take note of their disheveled appearance. I can see the fear in her eyes the kind I have seen many times before, "Well I suppose that's a good thing then isn't it".
"You, your here for me aren't you?" Slowly I nod downwards a single time as I place a gloved hand on my revolver. The weapon's frame protesting ever so slightly under my death grip on the pistol. A small motion to the deadly instrument is telegraphed across the divide. That uncertain fear in the young lady, replaced by clear understanding in a matter of seconds.
"You can come freely or we can both die here." Purposefully I glide past the young woman into the nearly vacant hallway, the big iron remaining on the target. A growing unease drilling through my psyche just from being in her proximity. That same kind of anxiety a man gets when being chased down by a posse, "Make your decision quickly we don't have much time friend."
The prophet's eyes briefly turn back to her room before returning towards the gun in my possession. Her mind weighing her options as I cock the firearm's hammer, a visible flinch striking her at the disturbance. Another precious moment passing as I keep watch, "I'll go, but what is your name stranger?"
"Red, Texas Red."
| 2021-07-10T10:01:16 | 2021-07-10T09:17:43 | 102 | 23 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.