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stringlengths 20
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64 14
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[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
I sat in the kitchen seat, knowing that i was getting a mug this father's day. My kids seemed so excited after the phenomenon started. I felt honored as i was being given my official ranking. Although they were already 4 and 5 respectively, i knew i hadn't been a dad long and figured i wouldn't place high.
The kids swarmed in with their little wrapped box and thrust it toward me. My wife, behind my children, smiled just as big as them. As i took hold of the box all thought turned to statistics. Did they include ALL dads or just the ones with mugs? What exactly is the measurement? Just how many dads are out there? Why are my palms sweating? Many more questions popped into my head but they were quelled by my wife snapping me back to reality telling me to open it.
Carefully pulling the bow strings, i undid that which held what only now i feared the most. Slowly i lifted the lid to reveal a large white mug. Taking it out of the box i turned it to see a large hand painted "#1 dad" on the side. I know it's not one of the official mugs but rather one which my kids made themselves. Crying, i embraced them both telling them that no matter what my true ranking was, i was so happy just to be their dad and that they were the most wonderful things in the world. After they left the room to go play my wife sat down at the table with me.
Asking me what i thought of their gift, i responded by saying there was no need to have the knowledge as, to the children, i already was #1. I then got up and made a cup of covfefe in my new mug. Turning back to sit back down i saw my wife already had a cup of her own. She turned it toward me. I could not believe what i saw. There, in her hands, was a mug which said #1 dad. It wasn't painted, it didn't have a smudge, it showed clearly #1. Taken aback i just stood there staring at my wife who had an even bigger smile than when i was given what was in my hands.
I still don't know what i did, but i swore that i would always and forever try to be the best dad i could be. No matter what my mug says, i promised i would strive to be better than i am. That is how i found out that i was the best dad in the world.
|
"Ya know... i don't know, really... i guess it was just all the pressure was too much for him... i understand it a little now as a parent myself... you just... well you want to do right by your kids, right? But like... you never really know, ya know?"
"Well yeah... the interviews, magazine features... i don't think he ever really felt like he had an adequate answer... i think he felt like a fraud... like he just stumbled upon it and it wasn't something he brought about on his own... i don't know how a person would deal with that"
"Well no... but when people are looking at you... and ultimately they want what you have... like... i don't know... i guess you just feel like you owe it to them to have some kind of... some sort of answer... even if you yourself don't really know"
"Yeah i imagine the hate mail didn't help... people can be... just really unpleasant... thats an understatement i guess... but that just kind of amplified those feelings of fraudulence... he had all this going on in his head and just this... echo chamber of hate mail, just reinforcing it"
"No... yeah its taken me a while to sort of... to sort things through... i mean i was just a kid"
"I can talk about it now, i mean... thats what i'm doing... so... i mean it still bothers me. I'm not gonna act like it doesn't but yeah... i can talk about it"
"Well thats the thing... no note... no anything... i mean my mother was aware of some of the... she was aware that he was stressed out... but thats a part of it... you have to keep up that image, right? For your kids... for anyone who's looking up to you... they expect you to have it all together"
"Yeah thats why it was such a shock to... to everyone... thats the irony of the whole thing... "#1 dad"... thats not what a good father does to his family... to his kids... to his wife... thats just not how it's supposed to work"
"No... just speculation... its funny... well not funny but... you know... he'd pretend like he had all the answers during the interviews... but here, when you need them the most... nothing... no explanation, no nothing... maybe he just got tired of pretending"
"theres no mug for that..."
| 2017-06-11T10:02:30 | 2017-06-11T08:28:06 | 36 | 17 |
[WP] You're pretty sure your crush's parents are the head family of a local mob. You decided it's worth the risk, and ask ur crush out anyways. Pretty early on in the date, you realize that they, not their parents, are the mastermind behind the mob's activities.
|
If your father were the mob mastermind
You'd still be worth it, despite what I'd find
Even should I wake to the head of a horse
A message in its mouth: 'you'll soon turn a corpse'
If your mother were the godmother of crime
I'd learn Italian and buy her good wine
And should she choose to poison my drink
I'd say, "Thank you ma'am" as I'm sick in the sink
And if your brother were the protective type
Who came to my house with a rug and a knife
I'd invite him inside and play playstation 4
And perhaps he'd forget what he came over for
But it's you that's a fraud, who used me for cover
And I remain lonely, still seeking a lover.
---
I saw it was sonnet theme this week on the sub so I gave it a go. Sorry it's a bit messy.
|
"So what do you do outside of school" she cant be a mobster
"Me and the family are usually working all the time" dont let him know your a mobster
"The family?-"
"MY FAMILY- sorry, i meant my family" whew, he almost found out
definetly a mobster "Cool, like a restaurant? Or a shop?" Come on just give a simple answer
"Were actually um... cleaners"
THATS NOT SIMPLE "Like a drycleaners?" TAKE THE OUT
"YES THAT MAKES PERFECT SENSE" perfect
"So, do you like italian?"
"THEYVE KILLED 15 OF MY MEN, ON GOD I WILL KILL EVERY LAST- oh you mean the restaurant"
"Yea i mean the restaurant"
| 2018-10-19T07:39:22 | 2018-10-19T06:03:07 | 126 | 86 |
[WP]Every intelligent, skilled or rich human has been evacuated from the Earth to avoid the alien invasion. This leaves the dregs, criminals and the poor behind on Earth to fend for themselves. Centuries later, the other return to "liberate" Earth only to find that they have won and prospered.
|
'Well, it wasn't water that did it, but good, old fashioned lead. Turns out when you come from a planet without the necessary components for gunpowder, thus forcing you to create electrical weapons which coincidentally don't work quite as well in wetter Earth conditions, you don't develop defenses against bullets. Weird how technological evolution works.
Of course, you couldn't have known that when you pulled your reverse Australia. Left the poor, the tired, the huddled masses, and leapt up into space. Generation ships.
Modern Titanics.
See, you might not have lost everyone out there, but you lost everything.
Because we won.
And you ran.
They didn't want to destroy the planet, they wanted the resources, and they were committed to the fight, but their recon had to be off. Their weapons miss fired, for the most part. They came from a much dryer planet, and Earth's humidity caused them to mis-fire and explode.
Early on, they made massive gains in desert regions. Las Vegas lay in ruins. North Africa and the Middle East fell. Tundra too, anywhere dry. It wasn't enough.
They learned though, started fighting with our weapons, but we've been doing it a hell of a lot longer. Northern Mexico looked like dusty Verdun by the end of 2028, but they never even made it as far as Cortez had.
It took a decade, but we forced them back to their dropzones. Even took some of their transport ships, started to land troops on their ships in orbit. From that point, it was all over but the dying.
Which brings us here, to this moment. You return, flaming sword in hand, eager to defeat your grandfathers' unconquerable enemy. Sons of senators, daughters of queens. Your parents were the best and brightest of their time, literati, rich and powerful.
My grandfather was a car theif, and my dad a mechanic. I lead an assault on an alien ship to defeat the enemy your ancestors scrambled to the stars for.
So who the fuck are you?'
- Cpt. G. Price, UN Space Defense, in response to initial messages from 'Operation' OVERLORD, the 'mission to retake Earth'.
|
When we returned to earth, we expected to see some disgusting or terrifying things.
A barren wasteland. Creatures- and by that I dont just mean aliens or animals, but actual humans- killing each other over mundane things. The last spark of humanity will be gone, but we can rebuild it- we thought. We will be able to return those miserable beings back to their original state, and make them live their old life again- we assumed.
But dear god. We didnt expect it to be this bad.
The humans... I can’t really explain it properly, but they seem to have fused with the alien invaders. Their bodies has holes everywhere, oozing with some strange substance. Their flesh was weirdly colourful, the eyes even took on colours I have never seen before. Their arms and feet seemingly got much more muscular, but also fairly flexible. And in the middle of their torso... Utterly horrific. At least their heads were still completely intact. That made looking at them at least a little bit more bearable. But still, it was an utterly, truly disgusting sight. These things would get their redemption, their return to full humanity. We would have to release them from their horrible earthly binds. It was the only solution.
The worst part? The alien creatures must have been influencing their mind too. Through the mouths of former humans, they definitly laughed at us. Pretending to be humans, they praised the „revolution“ that fused them with the supposed „redeemed aliens“. They tried to trick us into believing that this was actually the best thing the humans of earth had ever done, that their new powers were worth it. That them abandoning sleep and normal communication was a good thing, as if they could convince me. But the others... they got fooled. After my attempt at releasing the former humans... They captured me. Tried to execute me.
These alien bastards stopped them. Claimed that executing me wouldn’t bring us anywhere. Undoubtedly, they believe that a quick, swift death is not good for me. Maybe they will torture me. Perhaps they will turn me into one of their own. It doesnt matter. I will break out. And then, these „humans“ will experience will feel my wrath.
| 2018-09-29T05:21:50 | 2018-09-29T02:37:30 | 656 | 33 |
[WP] The Earth has finally run out of fossil fuels to use as energy and, with the only other option being to turn to clean and renewable energy sources, the U.S. has decided to take drastic measures: trying to reach into alternate dimensions to find oil and other fossil fuels.
|
It would have been easier if the Crack had led to an uninhabited earth. It would have been easier, too, had the Crack not been made from the USA to the 'USA'. And easier still if the tribes on the other side, hadn't long ago united. If their technology, while different to ours, was not at least on par.
The Crack, although atomically unstable, had been a last gasp effort to save America's status on the world stage. It'd been formed in northern California, running three miles wide and two miles high. A light-impenetrable wall of void-black. The Mouth of God. We were to mine and pollute and -- if necessary -- destroy opposition on the other side. We'd sell the goods produced over there to the people in our world. Oil was a priority. We would not pry the Middle East's fingers off their grip on the market, but take a blade and slice them off.
Boots marched, and snipers silenced those unprepared on the other side. We weren't there to negotiate. Their reality was irrelevant to our needs. And our needs dictated our musts.
We set up our great hulking factories and machines, and sprawling defensive fortifications. Then we watched as our smoke choked their skies. Watched and waited.
We didn't have to wait long.
They came in thousands, an avalanche of angered men, women, and children.
The land ran red.
As a historian, it's my job to say where our timelines diverged, and how they achieved their eventual victory against us. It seems clear that the Europeans weren't the first to reach the Americas, in their reality. And by the time the Europeans did reach -- if ever -- the tiny machines inside the American bodies would have had no issues destroying plagues such as smallpox.
It also seems likely, from the little evidence we have and through DNA analysis, that it was the Egyptians who arrived first in South America. That the Roman Empire collapsed early and the Egyptian Empire spread and advanced, consuming Greek and Roman knowledge. Somewhere around our 400BC, the Egyptians arrived in South America and nurtured the nascent Mayan empire. These Mayans, in turn, were able to absorb the Incas and Aztecs and expand into central and northern America. They were not opposed, as they promised -- and delivered -- a better life for those that joined them.
Our battle for California lasted four years. For a time, it seemed as if the Mayans would capitulate. Their losses were great and their weapons primitive and the frequency of their attacks lessened. They were not a war like empire. But they wouldn't give up their battle: not for need of the land or for the resources, but for the sale of the planet itself that they saw us gutting. That they held so sacred, so high above all else.
The New Mayans primarily relied on sonic technologies for construction, and as the years dragged on, they re-purposed their technology. Soon, sound-waves would tear a man's head from his neck, would pick up and shake a tank to tiny pieces. As we were pushed back, we changed from bullets and bombs and gasses, to nukes. Nukes deep into their lands, that would send a message without contaminating the resources we were after. But even then, the two continents were vast, and the Mayan resources and populace almost infinite.
It became clear the USA couldn't afford a prolonged war. We had neither the manpower, the money, or the public support. We had fought for resources and lost most of our own in the attempt.
The land around the Crack, on both sides, was purposely contaminated by nuclear fallout for miles around, to stop the Mayans from coming through.
But still they come.
Still other Cracks appear around the world.
We are killing our Earth, and they will not allow it.
|
June 14th, 2024
A beach ball is dropped in surprise as the winds begin to flail around the coastline. The little hands that haven't yet known roughness nor scars start trembling, whether it was from dread or excitement, one can only guess. As adults, elders and children alike start to notice the sudden change in weather conditions, slight murmurs of worried words and soft gasps spread like a plague among the once relaxed populace. Clouds had begun to shift and deform, seemingly being pulled into a central cyclone as rain drops started to fall. One could easily mistake this phenomenon as a hurricane forming and one can only be so hopeful.
In year 2021, the population of Earth had grown near its peak. The populace of the planet was weary and justifiably uneasy about the future. Extremist religious groups, active shooters, ocean-polluting, species extinction, the permafrost melting at a worrying rate. The result was a combined cocktail of chaos and unrest. Small riots rose in every country, policies and international relations of the countries that had been struck hard by the recession of 2020 were in shambles as they proposed one useless policy after another, hoping to keep the public dormant whilst they try and deal with the impossible task of restoring the economy.
The first major tragedy struck on August 1st, now known as "Red August", when a group of bio-terrorists whose faith lied in the delusion of a certain god of fire, created earlier that year by a famous cultist group that was immediately quarantined after it was discovered to be violently sacrificing stray animals for ritualistic purposes, started setting fire in the forests around Colorado, Denver. Following the incident of three forest fires simultaneously starting, the series was followed with a sudden fire in Denmark. Over the duration of the week, forest fires had become a morbid trend for the delusional, bleeding the earth with their "Faith Fire".
The boiling point struck when over a third of China's population started an uproar after it was reported in the media that half of their governmental staff members had a hand in human-trafficking. The bomb was dropped during an involved member's public speech that was midway through. It's suspected that a hacker group from the country had manipulated each vulnerable public advertising displays with explicit photos of the involved members' crimes. After 17 minutes, the speech giver had been found dead with a bullet wound to the head after their car was struck by a certain truck. The man who had committed the crime was taken into custody, however public support was overwhelming.
All over the globe, news of the scandal and the mass, violent riot of China's populace spread. During the chaos, countries' diplomats sneaked in deals, arms dealers pulled out of their contracts, laws changed and the phrase "We need a solution!" was shouted in every parliament around the world. Turns out the chaos of a singular super-power country wasn't the most important news. It had only attracted anarchy and interest. Under the shadow of the month long news updates, logs about the exhaustion of earth's resources peeked. The world had headed for certain doom.
Until Dr.Hauvellfen, PhD, originating from Switzerland, theorized a solution in the year 2022. Mass construction and a hope for a better future started hand in hand.
The policy for invading alternate dimensions were not fully outlined yet, however, massive conflicts were sure to be expected. Which is why, on the morning of June 14th, 2024, the world in which 9/11 had never happened, a rift in reality fissured throughout the coastline of Miami, Florida. Armed men and highly developed war instruments started seeping through the portal, causing a total and full chaos. One can only guess what happens in the years to come.
| 2019-09-04T05:43:44 | 2019-09-04T04:58:22 | 180 | 16 |
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
New suit, old tie, there's a stain in the middle, and a tear in my eye.
I sigh.
The streets are the same, the cars they drift, the leaves they fall, from the blue sky
I sigh.
I walk and walk, sip and sip, the rye begins to run dry
I sigh.
The students they sleep, careless, naive, am I really the bad guy?
I sigh.
Another day, another night without her.
If I said I could live without my love, it would be one big lie,
I sigh,
I sigh.
|
"Sancho! Onward to the lair of the despicable dragon!"
"*Jefe, that's a windmill!*"
"Nonsense! We shall skewer it's heart and make La Mancha safe once more!"
**Sancho Panza**, always one for a humorous sight, let his sire **Don Quixote, Knight of the Woeful Countenance**, ride off to do battle with the town windmill.
| 2016-02-22T10:07:53 | 2016-02-22T10:00:16 | 300 | 82 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole.
|
"Aye, you've heard about the devil's asshole right?"
It was more of a rhetorical question. At this point, everybody had.
A few years back, Bridgeport Connecticut experienced a minor tremor from a minor earthquake. No one thought much of it at the time, save for Mr. Hoolihan whose backyard now sported a three foot wide hole.
A carpenter by trade, Mr. Hoolihan was a real "do it yourself" kind of guy. He went out to his backyard to measure the hole that had appeared. Even with his arm fully outstretched, the yardstick he brought wouldn't even touch the bottom. He tossed a rock into the chasm but no sound echoed back.
What's interesting is that the story almost ended there. After trying to fill the hole in and bringing several landscaping teams in to inspect it, they guessed that it was some old mine shaft. They put a few two by fours over it and that was meant to be that.
Mr. Hoolihan couldn't stand it though. Something about that hole being there really gnawed at him, and when his wife was asleep, he'd go out into the backyard, move the boards, and shovel dirt in, hoping to hear it hit the bottom.
This continued for about a year, until one night when Mr. Hoolihan used an excavator his neighbor had rented to fix the landscaping damages from the quake. People aren't sure exactly what happened, but at around three, Hoolihan, the excavator, his house, and his still sleeping wife, all plummeted into the hole after it opened up to swallow his property.
After that, the site was known as "Hoolihan's hole" or the "hell hole" and most sensible folks avoided it. Those who weren't sensible saw an opportunity.
Dumping of all sorts began to enter the chasm, as shady corporations, the mafia and people too stingy to buy a permit poured waste, trash, dead bodies, and, at one point, an truck full of millions of dollars after a failed bank heist.
After that last one, the police caught on and set up a perimeter around the hole as scientists were brought in to answer questions.
"Where does the hole end?"
"Does it even end at all?"
Now if people had been paying attention to local Chinese news, they would have seen the headline: "American man and wife emerge from mysterious hole outside
Shennongjia."
|
"So what is this?" Samuel paced around the large pit before him. It was about fifteen meters in width. The depth was unknown to him.
*The answer*
"What does it look like?" David called from the opposing side of the hole. "It's a hole."
"Well yeah, I see that. Where does it go?"
*To the beyond*
"Down."
"Wow! Really?!" Sam regarded, very sarcastically.
David ignored him. "Anyway, it's been here the passed year, people have been thinking there's something special about it."
Sam stared into the hole. Honestly, he might agree with those people. Something about this hole beckoned to him. He felt drawn to it. He almost could a tiny voice whisper *Join us...*
He obeyed, taking a step towards the hole.
"Sam, what the hell are you doing."
*Enlightening*
Sam ignored him.
"Sam..."
*Go...*
"Sam..!"
*Join us..!*
"Sam!"
Sam continued to walk, ignoring everything. He stepped over it.
"SAM!!"
*YES!*
And he released himself.
"SAM! Dammit Sam!" David growled. He threw his arms to his head and pulled back his hair. He began to pace.
After a moment David thought he heard something.
*Hey*
David furrowed his brow.
"Hey!" A voice echoed.
"Wha-" David muttered.
"Hey!" It seemed to be coming from the hole.
"Sam?" David, confused, walked towards the hole.
"Hey! Get away from there!"
David turned to see another coworker sprinting towards him. He was wearing a gas mask and carried a similar one in his right hand. When he got to David he held it out.
"Put this on. This place is filled with Carbon Monoxide."
David hesitated, still being drawn towards the hole.
The man sighed and forced the mask onto David, who at first struggled and then immediately relaxed when he was breathing normally.
"What is this place?" David muttered.
"It's just a hole."
After looking back at the hole one last time, he couldn't help but agree, and David walked away.
Who the fuck was Sam anyway?
| 2022-06-02T19:21:41 | 2018-01-13T09:02:58 | 4,551 | 18 |
[WP] Thor is sitting at a diner finishing a meal. A waitress comes by and casually picks up Mjolnir to wipe off the table.
Inspired by a comment made on [this image](http://imgur.com/MMALQdg).
|
*Well, here goes my first attempt at this sort of thing.*
Grand the feasts of Asgard might be, tables groaning with massive platters of exquisitely prepared meals, but Thor wagered that if this ‘Denny’ had ever plied their trade in his home, they would have been upheld among their finest in the art of the kitchens and hearth. He rolled a biscuit crumb between his fingers, relaxing to the clatter of dishes and muted conversation. Given how long ago the sun had fallen below the horizon, it was empty of customers, only a few staff passing the time with the familiarity of many years spent together. A fine place and time to reflect, unhindered by stares or wagging tongues.
“Any room for dessert?” Thor blinked, his reverie broken by the request. This server was old by the reckoning of humans. White hair was pulled into a loose bun, a lined face wearing a wry smile. Were he to stand, she would hardly reach his chest. A thin hand gestured at the dozen plates stacked neatly on his table. Nancy, her nametag read.
“Seems like you might be hungry for one more plate.”
He shook his head. “Nay, I am satisfied.”
“You sure? My grandsons always say that, and then they’re asking for something soon as I put it all away.”
“I am certain, Nancy of Denny’s.”
Nancy smiled again. “And so polite. I won’t keep you, then. I’ll just take these, and be right back with the check.”
As the aged woman reached for his plates, Thor made to move Mjolnir to ease her task. “I shall-”
She lifted the enchanted weapon of legend as he might lift a mere babe, setting it aside on a nearby table. “Oh, I’m not so old that I can’t move a hammer or two.”
He stared. “How…”
She chuckled at his disbelief. “That’s a sight lighter than the lunch rush. I’ve still got some life in me.”
“That is not-” He was interrupted by the obnoxious ringing of the phone Stark had made him carry around. This particular song was for when he was needed soon. “I apologize, Nancy of Denny’s. Here are my dues.” A dozen bills from the wallet also pushed on him by the Man of Iron fluttered to the table as he rose, taking Mjolnir as he strode to the exit. Nancy picked up the money, wide-eyed.
“Honey, you need your change!”
Thor waved her away, breaking into a sprint as he passed the door. “I will return to this place upon the fall of another night, Lady Nancy!”
The waitress blinked, and then settled for a bemused smile. Such a strange boy, but polite and handsome to match. Maybe she’d invite her youngest daughter next time-she could do much worse.
|
"sorry about the wait" the server said as a he placed a steak in front of the man whose gaze bothered the staff.
"Do you know who I am Mortal?" the man said as his blue eyes burned into the waiters eyes.
"Hmm, you look familiar and I know I have seen you before now let me think... Oh yeah your Chris Hemsworth, you play that Thor character in the movies with umm, Robert Downey Jr." Thinking to himself these actors are all stuck up schumcks.
Thor looked at the waiter realizing that humans have forgotten gods still exist and not wanting to destroy this establishment before eating he replied "yeah, just an actor."
"I thought so, well if you have any questions my name is Steve" as the steve walked away he thought why do I always get the douche bags.
Thor cutting into the steak started reminiscing about the glory days when he would go into battle and fight Ice Giants, hell hounds, and creatures of such wonder that were beyond description. But now he was reduced to being compared to some mere child who acted as if he was the mighty Thor, the very nerve of humans, if only he hadn't stopped Ragnarok from happening he could be still be fighting glorious battles.
Lost in thought Thor barely recognized the waitress lifting Mjolnir off the table and wiping around it as she set it down she looked at Thor and said "are you done with that sir?"
Thor stopped and stared at her for a few seconds as what just happened dawned on this mighty god.
"You, your the one I have been looking for these last 50 years" Thor said.
The waitress just stared at him and thought omg he's drunk, "sir, are you done with your plate?" she said again.
"Do you know who I am?" Thor replied.
"Steve already told the wait staff, your Chris Hemsworth the actor, although now that I'm closer you really don't look like him. You remind me more of Thor from the old norse paintings, oh wait, I bet you're going to tell me you are Thor and this is Mjolnir."
Thor stood up and said "What is your name?"
The waitress lifted Mjolnir off the table again and started flipping it in the air, like a coin, while staring back at the man who stood at least seven feet tall. She just said "Little old me? I'm Loki" as she swung the mighty Mjolnir hitting Thor sending him flying through the wall as the glamour melted away revealing Thor's half-brother Loki.
*This is the first time I have ever done a story so if you have pointers let me know how I can fix this mess*
*Edit: Wording, grammar and whatever else I missed.
| 2015-07-10T18:14:29 | 2015-07-10T15:58:23 | 253 | 62 |
[WP] Everyone receives a letter when they turn 18 stating how they will die. You've just received your letter, and it's blank.
|
To be 18 an immortal. It really wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
Eve considered not opening the damned envelope at all. The matte black bringer of doom lay on the kitchen table, a retinal scanner blinking incessantly on the front.
There was a certain sick irony to it that she thought represented to state of humanity quite well. They had conquered aging, illness and even injury, in essence no one really had to die anymore.
Yet, everyone still did. Not enough space, not enough food, not enough value to a life without ending; there was a plethora of equally unreasonable explanations for why people needed to die.
How silly it seemed to have the random the wheel of fate be replaced by a an equally random but wholly intentional lottery of death.
Then again, dying young had its perks too. She gave her empty fridge a wary glance.
She could only dream of having it stocked to the brim. Cheese and wine and perhaps even chocolate.
Better yet, if she had less than a year to go, she wouldn't have to worry about the fridge at all. She'd be set for life, al 356 days of it to be exact, in one of the inner city penthouses.
To live the remainder of her days like a queen. Fattened like a pig for slaughter.
Riding her short burst of motivation, Eve grabbed the envelope and held it up to her eyes.
A second later a cheerful beep let her know the envelope was unlocked. She ignored the trembling of her fingers as she pulled the letter out.
It was perfectly white. And blank. On both sides.
She turned the letter over a few more times just to be sure, and even titled it under the kitchen lamp, as perhaps the ink might have been faded.
Nope. The paper was just blank.
She'd seen plenty of letters on the internet to know a date and cause of death should have been printed in bold black lettering on the front.
None of them had been blanks.
Her insides felt cold and knotted, she thought she hadn't wanted to know, but somehow this was even worse.
She blinked vigorously, hoping the letters would somehow appear.
It must have been an error. And what about her allowance?
That last thought spurred her to action. She took her long green coat from the rack and stepped out into the cold January morning.
The 5 minute walk to the ATM seemed to take an eternity.
The machine was covered frost, untouched at least since last evening. Below the card slot was the much less frequently used letter slot.
The slot that everyone only needed to use once in their lifetime.
She took out her letter and fed it into the machine. She briefly wondered whether she'd put it in right side up.
Green text appeared on the scratched and battered display.
[Hello, Eve. Thank you for registering your departure form. Your daily allowance until departure will be: € 0]
[If you have any questions, please ask them now. Articulate clearly.]
She blinked, and cleared her throat.
"There must be a mistake. How, how will I die?" Her voice more scared than she had intended.
The screen stayed empty for a few seconds before printing the words she would carry with her for the rest of her immortal life.
[By your own hand and at the time of your own choosing.]
[Your death is free. Your life is not.]
With that the money slot started buzzing and clicking. After a few seconds the slot opened.
No money came out, instead a small black card with stark white lettering.
It read:
'Tomorrow, 19:08. The corner of Clifton and Pechkham. A man in black coat, long blond hair. Oakfield backpack. Death by stabbing.'
The ATM buzzed one more time.
A sleek silver knife clattered to the ground.
EDIT: spelling 'n stuff
|
**Thank you for calling the Department of Intrinsic Ends. To help us guide your call, please select the number...**
I pushed zero repeatedly until the recording went silent.
**1) Availability of psychological services in your area.**
With a sigh I settled deeper into the tub to wait.
**2) Department of Future Legal Council.**
**3) Questions about your Form of Allowed Termination E...**
I pushed three.
**Thank you. If your question is concerning the safety of others, please press 1. If your question is concerning the contents of th...**
I pressed two.
"Hello! And thank you for calling the Department of Intrinsic Ends! May I please have your full name and birth date so I can bring up your form?"
"Mary. Smith. J-Jensing. J. E. N. S. I. N. G." I forced out. "Birth date is today."
"Thank you Mary! I hope your form wasn't too depressing. I'll have it loaded here in a moment. What can I help you with today?"
"My...um...form. It's blank." I waited a moment, and, when no answer was forthcoming, bulled ahead. "I don't mean the whole page is blank. It's got all sort of official looking writing and whatnot, with my name and birth date at the top, and a seal at the bottom, and it's printed on very strong paper and all, but the details section is just blank."
"I...see," said the voice. "That seems to be what I have here as well. Would you mind if I put you on hold for a moment while I look for some answers?"
"Oh, no, that's fine. Take as..."
At the sound of a beep I stared down at my phone to make sure I was still connected. Elevator music started playing from it. "Well no need to be rude about it."
Switching the phone to speaker I let my eyes wander around the room before settling on the neatly hand written letter and torn envelope on the stool next to me.
I started to feel and chill and looked to the faucet. "A bit of hot water sounds nice. Just while I'm hold. Gotta remember to turn it off." I turned the knob and laid back, watching the steam rise up in front of me.
"ry...Mary? Are you there?"
The steam was getting to me. "Yea. Still here."
"Hi Mary. My name John. I've heard you received a blank form. Does that sound right?"
"Yea." I mumbled, and laid my phone on the tub's edge. "Envelope just appeared out of nowhere. Cut it open. Blank Details. Called you. Seemed a bit off."
"While not common Mary, it is something that can happen when the termination time period bleeds over into your birthday."
I started chuckling weakly, so he gave me a moment before continuing. "Unfortunately, the details are always correct." He paused for another moment. "Is there anything you'd like me to read while you're on the phone? I have all of the major texts with me, and can find anything else if you'd rather."
I chuckled again. "Fuck you."
The silence started to stretch, but the elevator music didn't come back. "Hey John."
"Yes."
"Can you sing me a lullaby? I don't think I'll be more than a few minutes. Just something to help me fall asleep.
"Of course Mary." He paused for only a moment more before I started to sing.
"Lullaby, and good night, in the skies stars are bright."
His voice felt very calm, and at peace.
"May the moon's silvery beams bring you sweet dreams."
I could feel myself drifting off.
Close your eyes now and rest........."
| 2017-01-17T15:47:45 | 2017-01-17T15:19:11 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] After dying, you are faced with a coin slot. It says, "Pay 1$ to live for another day". You tried it out, and lived for another day. The next day, it showed up again, this time it asks you for 2$.
|
I felt lucky that day:
I did the old 'drill the coin and put a string through it' trick.
What a clever boy I am! Suck it up, Grim Reaper!
It worked for a while and I thought I got through.
Except on day 12 it was becomining tedious, the amount of time I spent putting the coin and fishing it out. My days were filled with topping up the slot.
In the end I cut the string and smashed the receptacle of the slot so tomorrow is game over. I'm ready to face my maker.
|
On the 3rd day it asked for 4, and then 8, and 16, and so on so forth. But then Bill realized he could exploit the system simply by setting the clock back. Setting the clock back to day 1 would reset the cost, and then going further back would pay out money instead of charging it.
Bill set the clock back to his teenage years and subsequently collapsed the world economy.
| 2018-07-29T01:47:45 | 2018-07-29T01:39:19 | 358 | 132 |
[WP] You're rather annoyed that your history teacher gave you a D on your essay about Mesopotamia. Not just because you're sure she doesn't like you, but also because - as an ancient being trying to adapt to modern society - YOU WERE THERE.
|
This was all done on my phone and in a hurry on lunch break. Not great but I had fun. Hope you enjoy it.
This was the last straw. I had gone through thousands of years. I had built empires, toppled kingdoms, erected great wonders and watched gods fall. I had met, loved, and taught great leaders, artists, craftsmen, philosophers and warriors. I had seen every inch of this world, the horrors in the abyssal depths that no human language can convey, great cavernous openings miles below the Earth's crust and the strange beings from above that had some unknown interest in Earth.
And I remembered it all. Every great and terrible second. Every instant of victory and loss. Every intimate moment with every lover and every death. Every child ever raised and every one taken from me. Every language, skill, craft and arkane ability I'd ever learned. The name of every demon I'd ever heard and the secrets of every God still alive. I knew the location of the fabled Garden of Eden and the location of the last Dragons. I knew where the scheming Nephilim made their nests and where the first Vampire was imprisoned.
I knew things that would rend the mortal mind to pieces and had shared a few with a poor man by the name of Lovecraft. I had created wonders that would be seen as magic by the modern world. I knew sciences that humanity had yet to even speculate about and I knew languages no human tongue could ever replicate. I had seen Atlantis rise and retreat beneath the waves before the Arctic froze over it. I was there when the first laws were written and I saw the first time someone learned they could grow crops.
All of that, and this woman. This arrogant, ignorant, petulant, BITCH gave me a D. Even went so far as to all but mock my so called "historical fanfiction" in front of dozens of my fellow students. Pinned it to the wall as an example of what NOT to do. Only giving me a D for "creativity". This little project to sate my curiosity about what the mortals knew of my ancient home had just become something more.
If this was the opinion of the "experts" of the day, if this was the sum total knowledge of humanity in regards to the past, then it was time to educate them. Starting with this... "teacher". Perhaps she should learn the lessons that Lovecraft did, and spend a few eternities with the eldritch beings tearing at her mind.
Or perhaps, it is time to once again rule. To awaken some of the elder gods and begin to collect on old debts. To rouse my followers and begin shuffling the pieces around the board. Yes... I think that's a better route. I am a... benevolent leader after all.
I rose from my seat before turning and smiling at the teacher. "I should thank you Mrs. Wright. You've single handedly ushered in a new Era in human history. Within 24 hours every nation on earth will be brought to heel. I, and my fictitious allies, will take our rightful place and correct the course of humanity once again. This time I'm thinking we might take new worlds to add to our domain. Anyway, see you soon."
And with that, in a flash of purple light and the screams of a trillion damned souls I vanished, to begin my plan.
|
The bunker was dark, except for one lamp in the corner, shining its false sunlight on the figure of a woman, hunched over a book. One of many books, as a matter of fact. The bunker was stuffed to the gills with them, journal after diary slotted neatly into the shelves inlaid all around the room.
The woman gave a heavy sigh and clamped the book shut once more, then returned it to its place among the library. She ran a hand through mousy brown hair, and frowned at the greasy texture. She had meant to shower last night, she recalled. But when she checked her watch, it was clear that ship had sailed, as it was now 7:30, half an hour until her college course on world history.
She stood from the armchair, and quickly climbed the ladder, mumbling to herself about "biased teachers" and "distrustful pricks".
She really hated her world history class, you see. The teacher, Mr. Jenson, had been rating all of her essays as C's and D's for weeks. Always claimed some nonsense about "lack of any proper sources" despite the fact all this information had come directly from her! Take the essay on Mesopotamian farming. She'd referenced her journals, cited the museum where she'd donated them after copying the text over to fresh books, and he still insisted she was wrong! That "one source wasn't enough" or some drivel.
She would go mad over this one day, she swore. He'd label a quiz or a test too low, and she'd just snap. Gut him like a fish right then and there. Maybe she'd be lucky enough to get the death sentence instead of a life sentence, she chuckled humorlessly.
No, shs probably wouldn't kill him. Being born again was agonizingly painful, she recalled, and learning how to walk and talk again was even worse.
This body was still young after all, only 23. She'd only had recollection of her past lives for around 5 years, though those memories were murky at best, and faint at worst.
She slammed the heavy metal lid back down over the entrance to the bunker, then walked into the place she called home. It was small, only one floor, and maybe two bedrooms at most. If you were charitable enough to call the closet she used as an office a bedroom.
Most days, she wasn't. She had a rather short temper in this life. One of the few gifts she received from this body's mother, she recalled. That woman was an absolute twat, and revelled in it.
The woman grabbed her keys, purse, and phone(dead. She should've plugged it in when she got home last night.), then left the house once more, locking it up behind her, then climbing into her car to drive to the college. On the drive, she idly hoped he wouldn't show up today. Perhaps luck was on her side, and she'd have a bit more time without his grating, drawling lectures.
Unfortunately for her, he was there when she arrived, and she was promptly given the first page of a pop quiz.
This man, she grumbled to herself as she walked to her desk, would be lucky to survive the night.
| 2021-07-18T08:56:49 | 2021-07-18T02:39:36 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D
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"Well, fuck!" boomed a deep voice from the sky.
At first, the only ones startled were the few people who absolutely, positively knew they were nowhere within reach of a P/A system.
"Peter, can you believe this mute button? Could it be any more hidden?" rang the heavens.
Panic began to set in.
Multicultural friends tried to translate the words to each other -- God speaks in a language everyone understands.
Entire cities froze, confused. Nightclubbers, hearing music so loud it was hard to breathe near a speaker, heard the words. Some thought it was the drugs kicking in, most knew this was different.
Underworld meetings promptly turned into shooting galleries -- "he's got a wire!"
Military maneuvers went awry; airplanes fell from the sky.
"Seriously, Jesus, was this you? This is what happens when you get a carpenter to do an engineer's work," commanded the firmaments to the Muslims and Christians.
The Jews heard a complaint about how one God was expected to do everything, the Hindus a joke about how four hands can't find a button.
One guy in Seattle heard a red frog tell a blue frog "mics are so passé."
Turns out one God was the same as many gods as no gods and everyone was right about what happens when you die.
Which was a good thing, because the sudden reappearance of deities after 2,000 years made many people die.
"Ok, ahem, testing, testing. I want you all to be nice to each other, got it?" bellowed the sacred voice from above.
The two billion humans who heard it started cleaning up right away.
|
The first voice that came through was one of anger. The self-righteous indignation that the words came with at once jolted me to earth. The words came again this time in a mocking high-pitched tone.
"Please God, answer my prayers Lord they big bad pagans are winning god."
He was prancing about a group of worshipers. My mind connected to his in an instant and I saw who he was. He was a non-believer with the strong belief that I was a figment of people's imaginations. He had spent his life going from believer to believer the same way my disciples did. Only he did it to convince them they were wrong.
My anger was telling me to smite him but I was no longer of that nature.
"Say something baloney!" he yelled looking upwards.
How long had it been? 2000 years since I had spoken to them like this. I had sworn to keep it secret but the secret was that I hadn't spoken to them. Maybe I would make an exception.
The skies around Alex began to darken for the lord made them darken. Then the wind begun to howl. A bolt of lightning hit a few feet from him and he and the worshipers cowered in fear. The lord's voice boomed over the storm. "I prefer to work in silence but your insolence has no limits."
My face, the one I chose for this, formed in the clouds and it lowered until I stared him in the eye, "speak child, your lord is listening."
| 2019-06-03T09:40:22 | 2019-06-03T09:36:57 | 111 | 35 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that’s when you realize you’ve been dating a dragon in human form.
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I stood there, puzzled, for a bit - then burst out laughing.
It explained so many things about her, that I couldn't believe I managed to miss it up to that point. From her walking around barefoot in the dead of winter, to her oddly specific, oddly accurate knowledge of medieval villages and their exact layout, and the equally odd lack of knowledge about mundane things like laundry and birthdays.
Laundry and birthdays. She was so weirdly excited about random little things like those, and I somehow never questioned it. When we moved in together, she was ridiculously excited about going to buy a laundry detergent at the store. She insisted on smelling every single one and took almost an hour to pick one. When I learnt that she never had a birthday party, it was obvious to me that I was going to throw her one. I asked her when her birthday was going to be, and how old she was going to be. It took her a full minute to answer - and it somehow didn't occur to me as strange.
In a mix of amusement and amazement, I examined the hoard, and felt the grin on my face growing, as I looked more closely at the neatly organised antique tea sets, gently folded handmade quilts, and cast-iron pots and pans. Everything about it was so *her*.
Then I noticed something different, in the center of the room. As I came closer and realized what it was, I felt my eyes beginning to fill up with tears.
On a small table, covered with a vintage, embroidered tablecloth, was a dried flower crown, a small gift box, and a card: "Happy ~~1st~~ 28th Birthday, Leah!".
She kept that bottle of laundry detergent, too.
|
I look at the massive pile of gold in shock. There must have been a ton of it. It included a wide variety, bars, coins, jewels, statues and any other cold fixture you can think of.
But more terrifying was what layer on top. My girlfriend, Jessica, splayed out in a red dress made of some odd scales that stuck close to her skin. Too close. As I watched her from the shadows, the dress spread across her until the scales covered her entire body. Claws sprung from her long and delicate fingers and horns emerged from her head. Slowly she began to grow in size and her mouth curled out into a maw. Wings emerged from her back.
Within a minute, an honest to god dragon was laying there.
“Alright John. You can come out now.” The voice grumbled out from the slimy maw of what was supposed to be my girlfriend.
“I- I don’t- this has to be a dream- what the he-“
I couldn’t even scrounge up some words.
“I’m so sorry mortal. This deception of mine has been most… cruel. And I am going to have to kill you know.” The voice sounded hushed and factual. I was to stunned to speak.
“You see John, my name is not Jessica Mankind. It is Jelandra. Quite a funny trick of world play wasn’t that?” The deep and growly voice cackled and continued,
“No point in explaining”
As her flames drowned me I remembered the first thing I told her.
That I was the manager of Fort Knox.
| 2022-09-10T10:41:26 | 2022-09-10T09:51:49 | 1,580 | 47 |
[WP] The year is 3015 and you’re the last person on earth. You’re outside farming and growing your dinner like usual when suddenly you hear a loud, distorted voice from the sky saying “Yeah this planet will do…”
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The year is 3015, and I am the last human on Earth.
The apocalypse wasn't caused by one major cataclysmic event, but rather, by several things all working in tandem. Wars, famines, plagues, climate change causing massive floods, machines turning sentient, and of course the zombies, can't forget the zombies, all worked together to create a world in which I became the last human on earth. Somehow immune to the zombie virus and the various plagues. Somehow miraculously surviving every hit as it came. I'm not someone with great strength or great intelligence. Some people are just born lucky, and I guess I'm one of them. Or perhaps I am the most remarkably unlucky person, to live through all of these calamities and never get a chance to rest. Perhaps, this is Hell.
Still, I found this place, at least. The last spot on Earth that's not a barren wasteland. That's safe from the robots and the zombies. And so, I built a farm, completely off the grid, and now I grow crops. I don't eat meat anymore . . . since the animals *also* became infected with the zombie virus. Those that weren't mutated by nuclear radiation and pollution. It's too bad, too. I miss steak.
As I'm tending to my crops, I hear a loud, distorted voice from the sky.
"Yeah, this planet will do . . . ."
I haven't had to talk in many years. I'm not sure my voice would even come out if I tried. It'd be pointless to say anything, anyway. They wouldn't hear me. I look up to see if I can find a ship or anything, but I can't. Well, this is either a hallucination or another apocalypse is about to start. So I do what I always do when I know something bad is going to happen. I hide.
I sprint toward my house. Once I get there, there's a latch in the floor I can pull up to access the underground tunnels I dug. I knew someday it would come to this. But before I know it, a giant spaceship hovers above me, then lands in front of me, destroying my house. I immediately turn around and start running the opposite way, but the creatures in the ship grab me with their slimy tentacles. I'm restrained.
"You. What are you? We don't see any of your kind around. Are you endangered?" the creature asks.
"I . . . ." My voice comes out cracked and hoarse. I look down at the ground.
"No worries. We will just read your mind, if there's even an intelligent thought in it," says the creature. It puts one of its tentacles on my head and . . . flashes of everything that has happened to me circle through my mind. The alien backs off.
"I . . . I see . . . ," it says in a tone of abject terror. It presses a button on its intercom. "This planet will *not* do! I repeat! This planet will *not* do! It is fucked up!"
And I laugh. Well, more like I try to laugh. It comes out more of a cough and a wheeze.
"We will be bringing an endangered species with us to protect it," the creature continues. And that gets me to stop laughing.
"Wh . . . wha -?" Before I can say another word, something is injected into my neck. And everything goes black.
\- - - -
And so, in a galaxy far, far, away, I am on display. Before the apocalypse, I was a zookeeper. The irony's not lost on me, that I find myself as a zoo exhibit now. Sometimes, I think this is a better life. I don't have to scrimp and scrounge. Food and water is always provided for me. But, even though things are great and easy here . . .
There's no place like home.
And I think I found a way out. I don't know if it'll work, but since I've been so good at running away from everything, well. I think it can work. Wish me luck.
|
“what the fuck?” I whispered to myself after hearing the voice. I looked around, searching for something, anything, that could’ve caused this strange noise. It was weird, I hadn’t heard a voice other than my own in years.
Shrugging it off as a hallucination, I went back to watering my crops, as it was one of my only pastimes, and again i heard a voice, louder and more confident this time. “Hey! You down there!”
I looked up and saw a large ship hovering above me. A man peered out the window, waving down at me. “Yeah! You! What are you doing here?” Before i could answer the ship descended downwards, a warm blast of air blowing on me and my crops.
When the ship landed, the man walked toward me. He was oddly human like, with tan skin and bright green eyes, unnaturally bright, and he looked about 25. He was wearing a pale blue jacket with some sort of symbol on it, and black pants. his black hair swooped over his eyes, sleek and clean, unlike my own dirty brown mess that hadn’t been washed in a week. Suddenly i felt self conscious.
He extended a hand towards me, and i took a moment to admire his long fingers, with clean and well cut fingernails. My own hands were a mess, dirt under my nails from my days out on the field. I washed them often, of course, but dust builds up when there’s no one else around.
I took his hand in mine, trying not the think about how warm it was, and the fact that it was the first contact i’d had with another human like life form in about 17 years.
“Ian.” He said, and i realised it was his name. Ian. It felt odd, hearing another persons name. I responded with my own, saying it out loud for the first time in a while.
“Nathan.”
“Well, Nathan, it is very nice to meet you. Would you like to come aboard my ship, talk for a moment? My crew would love to meet such a specimen as yourself.”
I looked down. A specimen? What was that supposed to mean. Without better judgement, I asked. He seemed confused when I did, and took a step closer to me. Suddenly, he let out a gasp.
“Oh! Your a humanoid! I figured with all that dirt, you were some sort of wild creature with the ability to talk! How wonderful!”
I should’ve been offended, but his voice was so melodic and cheery I practically melted for it. He was, in every way possible, perfect. No, i thought to myself. He’s not. he’s just the first person you’ve seen in ages, and you like that he’s here. That’s it.
He guided me onto his ship and introduced me to his small crew, approximately 11 others. They all had the same, clean, sleek look to them, all clad in the same pale blue jacket. Yet somehow, none of them looked as good at Ian did.
I pinched myself for thinking that.
Ian showed me around, and stopped in front of a door.
“Would you like to take a shower?”
I looked at him. “Wow Ian, we just met and your already trying to take my clothes off? Or do i just smell bad?” I remarked, and he blushed profusely and looked at the floor.
“No, no. It’s just- you look a bit dirty.”
I was more than a bit dirty, i would admit. The hot water had broken a few weeks back and due to it being winter, I hadn’t yet fixed it. And showering in cold water during a snowstorm sucked.
I thanked him and walked in, admiring all the smooth marbles and fancy glass features. Before closing the door, I looked him in the eyes.
“Thank you, Ian.” I smiled, and he blushed once more.
He didn’t even know what I was thanking him for. it was more than shelter, warm water, even company. It was for making me feel again.
| 2022-10-23T18:00:00 | 2022-10-23T13:13:30 | 50 | 28 |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
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Cutting your hair at home is not a great idea.
At least if you do not have steady hands.
It started off fine but a little uneven.
Now I'll just fix the other side.
Wait, now the back's too long.
Clippers were a bad choice.
Buzz cuts are in.
Little bit more.
Too much.
Bald.
|
Sometimes I feel like the world is shrinking around me.
I see fewer new faces, just the old ones.
I think stale old thoughts for each meal.
I eat cereal instead of good books.
I draw breath in ragged gasps.
When did I get old?
Have I been sleeping?
Have I lived?
Not yet.
Someday.
| 2015-01-06T02:05:16 | 2015-01-05T22:49:41 | 45 | 19 |
[WP] The rules of who goes to heaven and hell are clear, definite, and inarguable. You are an afterlife lawyer, who helps people figure out if their potentially sinful plans are technically allowed by the rules.
|
​
I click my pen. I like doing that, it makes them uneasy. My mistress would have called it a result of my sociopath tendencies. God I miss that bitch.
Mr. Stevens looked at me warily from the other side of the massive oak desk between us. He looked uncomfortable in his rickety old chair. The oiled leather in my chair fit me perfectly, which it should given that it costed unreasonable amounts.
"So...errr" he started.
I flipped my papers, pretending to browse through them. He closed his lips and looked down.
A few minutes passed, the only sound being his uncomfortable shuffling. He was getting used to it now. It was time to strike.
I looked up from my papers and bored my eyes into his. They were a drunkard's old eyes, in a face marred by a hard life. He almost fell from his chair in surprise.
"So Mr. Stevens. First of all I would like to welcome you to my office. As you know we pride ourselves on giving the best advice available.
"but aren't you the only adv..."
"the best advice available mr. Stevens" I left the sentence hanging.
You could see the resignation in his soul. Beautiful.
"I see that you have had some issues with the status of your soul's passing into the afterlife"
"Yes, you see they are claiming that I..."
"I see here that you were denied transcendence on the basis of sins committed?"
"Well, that's just bog..."
"More specifically you have committed" I pretended to look down into the papers once more.
"I haven't done sh..."
"adultery, theft, bearing false witness and taking the lord's name in vain"
"Now you listen to m..."
I held up a finger. He closed his mouth, but his eyes were angry now. This was going to be a good one.
"Now adultery is simple. We'll just file an affidavit that you were actually married. Polygamy is fine, after all."
"But I wasn't marr..."
"No worries, the rules of marriage are strict, but the contractual definitions of what constitutes marriage are not. We have priests on retainer that will testify to the sanctity of your union"
"But it's not tru..."
"To them it is, Mr. Stevens. And god can look into people's souls. That's why you are here to begin with, after all".
I clicked my pen once more for good measure. I swear the sound almost sent him reeling. His suffering was sweet nectar.
"And I see here that you stole.... a penguin?"
"Ah" He didn't object to this one, he just looked embarrassed.
"Well, that isn't theft. Genesis 1:26 clearly states that man is to rule over the animals after all. If you wanted the penguin to come home with you, that is your prerogative."
He gave me a dubious stare.
"False witness is a tricky one, and I see that this really was one of your specialties"
"Now hold on a m..."
"Forty-three thousand six hundred and eighty-eight counts to be exact"
He looked dumbfounded.
"But I also see that you clearly regretted lying most of the time"
A glimmer of hope appeared in his eyes.
"So we'll claim repentance. It worked for St. Peter after all, so they tend to be lenient about that one at the gates".
"So that leaves us with taking the lord's name in vain"
"Jesus Ch..."
I looked at him.
"Oh" he said.
"We'll just file a claim that the Tetragrammaton can't really be pronounced. They let in people who believe in that, so it shouldn't be a hard argument to make.
"The tetra-what-now?"
"The Tetragrammaton, mr. Stevens. You just leave the theological details to us".
"So er..."
"Yes?" I said.
"What happens now?"
"We'll file a temporary motion and get you in mr. Stevens. It's all routine from here".
He gave me a doubtful look while I stood up and started walking him to the door.
"Just you go on mr. Stevens. They'll let you in.".
I opened the door and let him out.
"I mean, I think you are perfect for heaven. You're just the kind of guy I want there. If they don' let you in..."
I closed the door behind him and smiled at the mirror besides it. The red flaming eyes were quite unlike the blue ones mr. Stevens had seen.
"... I'll raise hell"
​
​
​
​
​
|
"Mr. Mussolini, wasn't it"
I say to an italian looking man, in his 40s, i think.
He's sitting in a chair, from which he couldn't stand; in a room which only has another chair, non-modified and a table. No other visible entrances and exits appear to exist.
"Yes, and who might you be?" He asks in a menacing tone, most people would have cowered in terror, but iv'e been in this business too long to befall of this old trick
"None of your business, mind you" i reply in a monotone voice "Now, it appears, in your childhood, you have lied, stolen and murdered, as well as causing various riots for an unjust reason" to which he replied "yes, how do you know of such things?"
I dismiss his question, barely holding in a smile, he doesn't know where he is, hell , he doesnt even know he's not voluntarily answering.
Yes, he answers after a whilr "but i have confessed to a priest and he has told me God forgives me"
"-And right after that, you changed to atheism"
"Well i wanted to leave a chance to be forgiven if i was wrong about my faith"
"So you say, so you say, now it appears that in your lifetime you have seized a peaceful country, italy, to be precise, and helped wage the seccond world war which has caused many atrocities, But you claim it is only to unite all nations and make a new world"
"Of course, it has been my dream. Sure i want some power on the side, but who doesnt. Speaking of power, who told you you could interrogate me."
"So you are sure you did no mortal sin before your death"
"Yes"
I take off my shades, stare at him and say " Mr. Mussolini, you are here to be examined, both in conscience and in action, before the Lord himself will pass judgement to you. I am your designated afterlife lawyer, tasked to check for obvious mortal sins. If you are ready to be judged, open the drawer, grab the jack-in-the-box, and wind it backwards 3 turns."
He grabs the drawer handle immediately. Who knew someone could be this excited to be judged?
All of a sudden, the walls open up like a cube, and the Lord God himself appears. "He has passed your judgement, i see."
"Yes, my lord, i had a very good reason to bring him"
God shrugs(waiwha) and i vaguely notice human like shapes appearing. Slightly disconcerned i continue
"Lord, i can confirm that he has confessed his mortal sins before causing World war two"
God sighs "But he caused world war two nonetheless, name a reason that i should continue listening"
"Remember genesis, even though Cain (in an earlier edit i wrote judas wow) murdered his brother, you left him with his life and a curse for anyone that crosses him and his offspring"
(After this i am just going to write in script format cause i find it easier)
God:" That was one murder, this is thousands"
Me:"It was for the Coprosperity sphere, which was not his idea to begin with. it still was to unite the world, not his fault the countries didn't accept and retaliated"
God:"But thats the point, FORCE was involved
Me:"in 1 kings, you didnt complain when David used force"
God:"..... touché, One last angle you need to explain though"
Mussolini:"Can i take part of thi-"
Me"Shut it! , moving on, religion should never be a probelm since in revalation , it states it wouldnt matter anyway because it only boils down to whether the souls accept you or not"
(Awkward silence while God decides his faith)
God:".....it is now time that i pass judgement, Benito Mussolini, i hereby declare you-
(Dear reader, at first post i didnt have the guts to write this but now i think it fits for God to say-)
Allowed through the gates of heaven, after staying 2
(ERR0R: TRANSLATION EXISTENCE MATCHES ASH'S HITBOX, SKIPPING 0.25s OF TEXT) of time in purgatory.
God: Afterlife lawyer __________, this trial has been planned to test if you have been a true and lawful lawyer. The results speak for themselves, well done.
Me: thank you.
God: i hereby adjourn this judgement.
| 2018-11-30T05:46:50 | 2018-11-30T04:52:23 | 3,098 | 81 |
[WP]Just because one of your chicken eggs hatched a fire breathing dragon people think you’re evil. But you’re still just a regular farmer trying to make a living while dealing with an overprotective dragon, heroes that want to kill you and fanatics who want to worship you as the new Demon Lord.
|
.
Jake saw a darkly robed figure riding a worn horse up the path to his barn. The dragon belched behind Jake. Jake grated "Eggard, I told you that was impolite." The dragon's eyes swiveled side to side in embarrassment.
The robed man halted his horse at what some might think could be the reach of a dragon's flame. It was not a particularly hard distance to guess since Eggard had seared the tufts of grass as they spun a pig on the barbecue spit. The pork was nearly done cooking and smelled delicious.
Jake asked, "Can I help you, sir?"
"Yes," said the man on the horse. "I'm here about the dragon."
Jake searched the robed man's face, "You should go on to town, it's the path over there." He pointed to the right of the dappled prairie, "head toward that big oak and you'll see the path meets the main road to town. That path has been beaten down, across my good oats, by armed heroes practically every day the past month. All those burned patches in the hay field is where they kept attacking us from. And these demon worshiping people from the big city brawled with the heroes and the heroes killed them all over there, and then the heroes came at my farm again. I can't have all that, too many chores as it is. And now I'm just out here making dinner on the barbecue."
"No, no," he held up his hand, "I'm not here for any of that nonsense. I'm here because there seems to be a shortage."
"Shortage of what?"
"I went through the books and you have all your taxes paid on your horse, perhaps one less pig? and those chickens I see free ranging over there -- hard to count with them moving about but even with that error you are ok."
Jake took a breath, "Of course, I pay all my taxes, have for years, before the deadline. I don't want all the king's men out here auditing me with spears."
"True, that is something we don't want. ... But I saw no tax payment for this dragon."
Jake almost blurted something out of anger, but he paused. He was not a numbers wizard but he knew the taxes came on the livestock. Eggard was not livestock. He was more of a dog. "Do I need to pay tax on my dog?"
"Certainly not on a dog. They protect a household, give companionship, they are not generally income producing unless you are running a puppy mill and selling dogs to everyone in town."
"No. I'm not selling puppies."
"Good. Then let's get back to this dragon you have."
Jake thought for a moment, "As you can see, this dragon protects not just my home but my farm. Look at all those burning bodies down the ravine there and the ones trying to run away over there, and the ones praying with the demon fanatics down there by the hollowed out corn field." Around the bodies were streaks of popped kernels like driven snow among the soot and ash.
"Oh, yes, yes. I see. Quite the carnage. Those heroes and worshipers are certainly numerous."
"So you can agree that he protects me just like a dog. And dogs are not taxed, correct?" Jake was hopeful. If a chicken was a copper piece in tax, a pig a silver, and a cow a gold piece he did not want to know what the kings tax collectors assumed a dragon tax should be.
"You are right about no taxes on dogs. But --" the man squeezed his lips together in a grimace, "but I heard this dragon of yours was born from a chicken egg."
Jake looked at Eggard. The dragon looked nothing like a chicken. He returned his gaze to the robed man, "Does the dragon look like a chicken?"
The man sighed, glancing again at the field of freshly torched bodies for a moment, "You know, I have to go back to the tax group with some sort of payment. You are positive the dragon hatched from a chicken egg?"
"I was about to make it for breakfast, in fact." Jake made the motions of cracking an egg over a frying pan, "Like this, but it didn't break right away. I thought that was odd. So then I tried to bang it harder and still it resisted breaking. In frustration I threw it in the fire because the fire was handy, that was my last egg until the next day, and ... this little guy popped out of the shell."
"That is really odd. Perhaps you should keep your chickens penned up and not let them free range?"
"That might be a good idea, now that you mention it."
"Well," the man leaned back in his horse, "The tax group is expecting we figure out this situation. I think if you give me the tax on a chicken, because this dragon hatched from a chicken egg, then you shall be square with the king."
Jake asked, "You can give me a receipt? I don't want a new tax collector next year to doubt our understanding."
The tax collector pulled out his book of receipts and made a note in his log and the receipt he handed to Jake. Jake dug out a copper piece to give the man.
The tax collector nodded, "Thank you farmer Jake. Good luck with your hero infestation, and enjoy your dinner." He turned his horse and left by the long path.
.
|
Time seemed heavier for Jenhi Farmhand.
Once upon a time, Jenhi's day consisted of feeding the chickens, tending the crops, and relaxing on the porch to watch the sun set. A visitor might come by once a week; Jenhi might have to chase off a chicken thief once a month.
But ever since Cooper had hatched, thing after thing after *thing* had started cramming itself into Jenhi's calendar. A year's worth of visits would be squashed into a day—and how could one man stand so much excitement in a mere twenty-four hours? No wonder all those would-be heroes and villains were so worked up—all of their squabbles and shouts and screams were too heavy to be dealt with in a single day. Jenhi tried to get them to relax, set down their burdens, and deal with them one day at a time—but no. Everything urgently had to happen *now, now, now*.
Well, Jenhi was sick of it. He had already spent last night packing everything he owned—spare clothes, firebox, and frying pan—into his wagon, and had spent all day quietly caging up the chickens and stowing them right next to Gomp the mule. They could keep each other company, they didn't mind each other—unlike the cultists and adventurers who had so rudely trampled his entire crop field in their fight the other day. Last came Cooper, who eyed Gomp warily before settling his snake-like, sinuous weight on Jenhi's shoulders. Way back when Cooper was no bigger than Jenhi's left shoe, he'd tried to take a chunk out of Gomp; Gomp had subsequently sent Cooper flying out the back window, and ever since then, Cooper had refused to have anything to do with the ornery old mule.
"You're just a big ol' scaredy-cat, arent'cha?" Jenhi scratched Cooper's ears idly, scanning the horizon for any more hooligans. Both sides had gone home battered and bruised after their disagreement, and Jenhi sighed with relief. Hopefully, the two of them and their drag-down squabbles would be left behind, and Jenhi could finally stretch back out.
The sun was just beginning to rise as Jenhi left the home he'd built with his husband behind. It pained him to see it go, but he'd never bothered to hold onto the memories he'd made there, anyway. Memories were heavy, too, too heavy to be dragged behind him as he clopped down the old dirt road. Jenhi shook aside the nostalgia and turned left, proceeding into a clump of tallgrass. He'd cut through the empty plains until he landed on the Great South Road.
Cooper whined nervously, nostrils flaring, and Jenhi gave him a sympathetic look. "Oh, don't mind yourself. It's not your fault. Hell, I was halfway towards leaving already—place wasn't the same without Aren around."
Cooper whimpered, more insistently this time, eyes flickering from side to side, and scampered onto Jenhi's head. Jenhi laughed. "Oh, you're hardly a bother to keep around, aren't you? Light little thing, all skin and bones? Don't worry, you're safe with m—"
"I doubt it was *his* safety he was worried about," a voice said.
Jenhi tensed—then sighed, turning around. A woman wearing a camouflage cape rose from the grass, a loaded crossbow in each hand. Jenhi gave them an unamused look, then said, "Young lady, put those things down."
She scowled. "Whatever compulsion magic you think you're using, my faith in the Divine shields me from it, *sorcerer*!"
Jenhi gave her a confused look. "...Whatever plows your field, ma'am."
"Cease your arcane mutterings. Hand over the dragon, or I shoot." The woman aimed her dual crossbows at Jenhi. He sighed.
"When you've lived a life as long as I have, and seen as many things as me, you see Death as more of an... old friend, than anything else. Your weapons don't scare me. Why don't we just sit down and talk about this over a—"
"*Necromancer*! You dare tamper with the forces of life and death?" The woman bristled.
Jenhi blinked. "Wait, no, that wasn't—"
"Make peace with whatever foul gods you worship!"
Cooper lunged in front of Jenhi as the woman fired.
One bolt took the juvenile dragon through the head.
The other took the old, resolute farmer in the heart.
Jenhi stared down at his chest, uncomprehending.
"Oh." He laughed. Silly old Jenhi. Thinking he could catch a break for once in his life. He almost thought he could hear Aren, scolding him for his complacency. "So that's how it is."
Then he fell over, and time became light once more.
A.N.
Suggestions? Comments? Typos? Please leave them on this comment's sister post at [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/); and if you want more stories like this, try giving the rest of [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/) a peek.
| 2021-03-21T15:06:08 | 2021-03-21T13:42:50 | 281 | 61 |
[WP] An excerpt from the most cliché young adult novel
Ex. Futuristic dystopian society where vampires roam the streets
|
Lilac Sun Icesipid ran through the woods, her long ponytail whipping her back. She had to wear it this way, or it might get in the way of the things she had to do to support her family on this barren stretch of desert. Taking out her silver knife, personalized with flower carvings of her favorite flowers, she began to harvest the wheatplant blossoms. She had to hurry. Her younger sister, Sunflower Moon, needed them. Lilac cut the flowers and began to run back to her house. She was never tired of running. Never. Sprinting through the desert with her beautiful face borne high, she thought of Maxim, one of the 16 boys she regularly flirted with. She wasn't dating him, but she thought he might be the one. Or maybe Andrew, or Jaxxon, or Ricky, or Hawk. They all had perfect rippling abs, but Lilac was not to be distracted from her task.
Suddenly, the Government Force helicopters rose from the sand in the distance, their blades whipping blooms of dust around their metallic bodies. Lilac wasn't scared. She was special. She would show the stupid Government Force who was an individual. Dancing majestically towards the giant machines, Lilac delicately threw her tiny dagger so perfectly that it took out every single helicopter operator. Smiling a wily smile, Lilac continued running towards her special personalized tree house. Maybe after Sunflower got the medicine, she would take a slow scene with Hawk.
|
"Oh wow, the world is dying."
"No way," I said nonchalantly.
"Yeah, I mean look at the skyscrapers on fire, and the sky all grey like."
My eyes panned up from my phone and fell on the window. Behind the silhouette of my friend, I indeed saw the apocalypse approaching. "Meh."
He turned to me and scowled, "Will you please get off tumblr and help?! You're the only one who can!"
The only response he received was the sound of my occasional chuckles at the posts. "Dude, I'm a weeabo, I've got to look at all this Attack on Titan shit."
A large bang echoed outside, followed by a cacophony of screams, but my friend's heavy footsteps drowned it out. He loomed over me and threw the phone out of my hand. It shattered against the wall. Jumping up, I screamed out, "What the fuck was that?"
"That was a kick up the ass! You're the guy who made it out of that maze and received the gift, you've got to stop this!"
I looked down and let out a benign chuckle. "What?" he hissed out. My chuckling continued, until finally I looked up with a sharp grin on my pale face. "I'm also a vampire."
| 2015-05-14T06:19:23 | 2015-05-14T04:56:00 | 55 | 17 |
[WP]: There is a special place in Hell for english teachers. Not because they had any more tendency for evil than anyone else, but because there are so many subtle ways to torture them that wouldn't bother anyone else.
|
Well I can't say I have any honest clue as to what goes on down there, all I know is that I'm in heaven and I'm typing out short stories I did back in high school right? I type it out, God prints it, puts it in a tube and sends it to hell, and I hear a trillion screams of pain all at once that lasts for about 15 minutes.
That's my heaven and fuck every English teacher that ever believed MLA format matters anything to me.
|
I went to hell and they kept on making me read runon sentences. Next door to my hell was one where cooks were provided with shakers that had too small of holes in them for the spices to come out. I realized that every profession had aspect that drove them crazy because they were experienced in their fields...
| 2018-08-08T15:56:08 | 2018-08-08T14:55:46 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] Your whole life you were misdiagnosed as colour blind, when in reality you could see colours no-one else could. You see art differently, the sunset and sunrise differently. A rainbow to you is out of this world. One day you go to visit the Mona Lisa. You see something no-else does...
|
The Mantis Shrimp is the most badass creature in the world. Seriously. Its the equivalent of a nuclear-powered cranky lobster with years of martial arts training. Its claws strike so fast that they vaporize the water around it. It kills by creating a cavitation wave, a high pressure exploding water donut jet of death. And it can see a bunch more colors that most people. But I am not most people.
I have a gift. Or a curse, depending on which way you view it. I can see just like the mantis shrimp. I have twelve color receptors instead of the typical three. In practice this is a disadvantage. One would think that more receptors leads to greater color perception, but in practice the reverse is true. For example, while most people can easily distinguish yellow and orange, I blur the two together.
Where I have everyone else beat, is the ability to sense light beyond the visible spectrum. At first, I thought it was strange, being able to see auras around people. Then I realized I wasn’t seeing an aura, at least, not a mystical one. I was seeing their infrared radiation!
But it gets stranger than that. I can see leylines of darkness. Invisible, intangible threads that flow through our earth and through the air. Swarms of black and red dots that sway like cobwebs with the wind. No one else can see them. In my travels I have only encountered them a handful of times, and each time is as strange and wonderful as the next. The last time I saw them was in France.
It started as a trip of a lifetime—a semester abroad in the land of life and love. I wanted to study the language and the culture and the cuisine and the women. What can I say—I was young and lonely. I am not a strong-willed man. But I am a man who is willing to take on new adventure.
One of the first activities of the twelve-week course was a highly-predictable and overly cheesy tour of Paris. I don’t remember much about the trip, except that, on the bus, I sat next to the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life—Celeste. She had off-blue eyes and a bit of messy brown hair, the most dazzling smile and a black beret that matched her black top. And she had one freckle across her right cheek that she kept trying to hide, and it was the most adorable thing…
We talked about a lot of interesting things, I think. I couldn’t really understand her thick accent. I think she talked about her family and her dog, but it could have easily been a story about a boyfriend or a criticism of the book “Dracula.” Who care? I certainly didn’t. I was mesmerized and love-struck and looking back on it all I wish I had paid less attention to her and more attention to the leylines around me.
Because the leylines led right to the Louvre. And the leylines all converged on one spot—the Mona Lisa.
The painting itself was fairly lacking. It was—just a painting. Not particularly well-painted either. Da-Vinci was never the best artist in the world. He wasn’t even the best artist on the block, in my opinion. But the painting was captivating not because of the art or the smile, but because, for the first time ever, the leylines were more than just wisps of black dots.
The leylines contorted to spell out a message.
It was written down in Hebrew, and it took me a while to translate. I spent a few hours in the business center of my hotel room, searching through various forums to find the truth. When I did, I nearly fell flat off my seat. The message had seven words:
*They are not human. Count the teeth.*
That night I saw Celeste again. And I learned something about French women, something that most people don’t really notice. I think it might be why they are so captivating and beautiful; it’s all in their mesmerizing smile. Because if you look closely, you’ll notice something is off. I noticed.
Celeste didn’t have right number of teeth.
*Au revoir.*
​
***
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
|
**Selim**
The headmaster was particularly fond of culture awareness and therefore had dragged his greased-handed students to the Louvres Museum, possessed by an unwavering enthusiasm rivaled only by the teenagers mild interest in decrepit statues and paintings titties.
Most of them were setting foot in a museum for the first time in their life and were the noisiest, trying to disguise their nervosity into salacious brashness. The boldest boy was Selim, the leader of the pack, the most illiterate of them all, utterly incapable of writing his own name but remarkably venomous with his tongue and brutal with his fists, which made him royalty among the Lost Boys that the education system had more or less forgotten and trashed away.
The irony of this trip and of Selim’s colour-blindness wasn’t lost on him; he criticized vehemently every piece of art the guide tried to highlight, commenting, in fact, exactly what he was seeing:
“You maybe don’t know “*where the Artist found his inspiration for the intricate beauty of his model’s fur collar*”, but it is *obvious* that this old pig was fucking his neighbor’s wife and had an unobstructed view on her pus…”
“Selim, silence now!” Barked the educational supervisor as the group burst in laughters. “I don’t want to hear another word from you!!”
Selim smirked and glanced back at the painting with an ostensible disgust. He had been diagnosed with pretty much every “invisible disorders”, those you could fake, those that would label you “lazy”, “unwilling”, “muddle headed”: He was colour-blind, dyslexic, dysothrographic, dyscalculic, disorganized, hyperactive and so on, and on, and on… He could read but he couldn’t write, so he talked, loud, he talked in capital letters, he talked in frustration, he talked and, fortunately, was really handy around machinery therefore, at fifteen, he attended a program to learn a trade in truck mechanic.
His group finally reached the masterpiece they were all vaguely aware of: Mona “No Brows” Lisa. Selim elbowed his way to the front line and stared at the painting, squashed by tourist lef and right.
It was different. Different from everything he had seen so far in his life. For instance, the painting knew his name.
Foreign languages were alien to Selim; he had always understood every types of words, codes, cyphers put before him. It was all the same for him, as if Humanity, -and on some occasions alien lives-, had band together to create a universal dialect or, as Selim suspected it sometimes, as if his ancestors were away buying cigarettes when God cursed Babel.
“Dear Selim”, the message within the enigmatic smile said, “ I am glad you find your way to me. I knew all my life that someone will be born where I’ll die, someone like me, with eyes like mine, and a mind like mine. At your age, the world is still a scary and bewildered place. What is it that you dream of? What is it that your heart desire most? Is it, perhaps, to be like everyone else? It has crossed my mind many times. I could see, as you could, more than “meets the eye” for what meets the eye is a guest you receive in your house but we, you and me, are travellers. Our eyes don’t stay still, they *go to meet the world*, beyond flesh and nerves. It is astounding. It is unsettling. It is, maybe, too acute to bear. I saw you but I do not know your heart; it would have been rude of me to peek over your inner thoughts, but I nonetheless wish to give you something.
What follows, as you can see, are the blueprints of a machine. It is for your eyes only. They can stay that way or you can build it.
The machine can reverse the power within your eyes. Whether you choose to use it or not is entirely up to you.
Good luck in your journey, Selim,
With all my love,
Leonardo Da Vinci.”
| 2019-01-29T04:10:03 | 2019-01-29T04:01:52 | 2,657 | 68 |
[WP] Elves are an extremely long-lived of the races, and so have quite the lazy attitude when it comes to learning new skills, often saying things like, "I'll do it eventually." You were different, however. You were committed to fully using all of your thousand or so years of life to their fullest.
|
It always impressed me how some humans became polymaths despite only living a handful of decades. In equal measure, it surprised me how nondescript our own elven species was where intellectual prowess was concerned; we didn't have a single member who possessed the breadth of knowledge that the greatest human thinker had at any one moment in time. So I made it my goal to become a polymath. God knows I had the time.
A thousand years have passed since I proclaimed to the heavens that I'd become the most knowledgeable and erudite being alive. I threw myself at the libraries of the world, both human and elven. I pored over thick tomes about medicine, biology, phsyics and all the principle and fringe sciences; I read mathematics and delved into engineering texts; I read every book of fiction, every collection of poetry, and every anthology of masters. I wrote my own works, and experimented in the sciences. I applied myself for hundreds of years, cleaving all the knowledge that I could, to build myself as a beacon of polymathic erudition.
But for all my lasting motivation, a thousand years hence has found me still lacking. Time has not been enough to set me apart. Humans come and go, but its always one of theirs that makes the insights that change our world. All I can hope to do is charm a small circle with clever anecdotes. I scrape the surface. My mind does not allow me to delve deeper, to dig out some grain of truth that sheds light on a discipline. No--my contributions have all been a shambles--things relegated to the halls of the mediocre.
I wanted to be a polymath. I ended up a dilettante.
How can I have thrown so much effort into learning, only to be an average case? A thousand years, as it turns out, is no advantage at all--it's just more time to prove how commonplace is my intellect. If I've learned anything during my advanced years, it is this, and let me say it clearly: we cannot force ourselves to greatness merely because we think we should. Be yourself, and find happiness in task and toil.
\_\_\_\_\_
/r/velabasstuff
|
"I should've been born a human. Really, it'd make things so much easier if I had. Sure they only live for, what, 60, 70 years, but damn do they make those years count. Every single one of them is scrambling to learn something, to do something. And that means they actually accomplish things.
I mean, in my parent's life alone, three kingdoms have popped up. Three! Us elves are still working with the same ten cities we always have. Oh sure, there's always plans to make more, but nobody really cares.
Yeah, the humans think we're all so great. So beautiful and intelligent and mystical and blah, blah, blah. It's all a load of bull. Sure we're smart, but that's only because we accumulate knowledge over a really long time. It's drip fed to us.
Imagine what am elf can do if he really set out to actually learn something? All the wonders that could be brought on when it's activity pursued? That's what I want. That's what I want to find out.
And that's why I'm going to leave. Yeah, you heard right. I'm a full blood elf that wants to leave his home. I want to do things, like the humans do. I want to learn and grow and develop like they do. All my relatives look at me like I'm crazy.
"You have all the time in the world." They say.
"You can always do it tomorrow." They tell me.
Well screw them! Even we have only so much time in this world. And damn it, I'm going to make use of that time. I'm going to do everything I can to better myself and the world around me! It'll be glorious. I'll bring on a new golden age for both elves and humans!
But, even I'm not going to do this alone. Who'll come with me? Who's going to accompany me on my journey of growth and improvement? Knowledge, game and glory await us!"
The other young elves looked at him and blinked slowly. One of them yawned, laid down and said:
"Sounds good, I guess. Maybe tomorrow."
| 2020-08-18T16:42:55 | 2020-08-18T14:56:22 | 38 | 22 |
[WP] You've just arrested a woman and are dragging her away from a bleeding corpse. "It's not my fault, the voices made me do it!", she yells. "Release her", you hear menacingly from somewhere within yourself, "or you shall become our new vessel."
|
The voice I hear is deep, dark and menacing. With it comes a sense of dread.
"What are you?" I ask, only thinking the words.
"It doesn't matter."
I stop and address the woman. "Do you know why it made you do it?"
She shakes her head.
The voice speaks up again. "Release her!"
"Will you make me if I don't?" I inquire calmly.
"Yes. And then I will send you to your death!" it threatens.
The woman starts crying. "No, please don't! The officer is just doing his job!"
So we can both hear the voice in our heads.
It's getting annoyed, "Maybe I should just kill both of you."
"Wouldn't that leave you without a vessel?"
The woman shrugs. The voice seems to have taken over her actions. She sounds different. "I'm sick of this. Nobody told me you humans were so complicated. Take her to the station. I'm possessing that corpse and I'm coming with you!"
She blinks, then looks confused for a second. "It left. What happened?"
I look behind her to see the man she had stabbed get up from the floor. The team on site is screaming and running as the stabbed man walks over to us.
He pulls out an ID, reads it and says, "Mike Miller." He points at the police car. "Let's go. I don't have all night. I need to be back in hell by morning."
|
"Will you leave her alone then? Will I then be your only vessel?"
"Yes, of course, why..."
"Then please do come in and make yourselves at home."
"What?!"
"Come in and stay in if you can. Can you? Maybe you can't? I don't have schizophrenia. Or any other mental illness. I am perfectly mentally and physically healthy, at least according to the checkup I had only a week ago."
"Why would you *want* us?"
"I am curious. About how it feels to hear voices, especially menacing voices. You see, I don't have schizophrenia, but I have a quite good friend who does, and I have been wondering what it is like for him when he is unwell, when his meds need adjusting."
"We don't understand."
"Can you please keep quiet while I drive her to the hospital? Then I will explain later."
"We never keep quiet. We want to kill. Kill her!"
"I won't kill her."
"We order you to kill her!"
"You aren't my boss. And I wouldn't listen to such order even from him."
"Your self-control is strong. But we will break through!"
"Good luck!"
"What?! You are trying to tune us out? We will never shut up!"
"Then don't. Seems I don't really mind having this mental conversation. It's quite interesting. Would you mind telling me more about yourselves? For example, why do you refer to yourselves in plural?"
| 2020-07-09T12:40:48 | 2020-07-09T12:26:51 | 686 | 152 |
[WP] You are the world's best public speaker. Your words have swayed world leaders, have ended countless conflicts, and effected nation's policies. Nobody knows that because of your anxiety you have to get blackout drunk before every speech and never remember what you say.
|
I grimaced at the video of myself. The crowd shouted in alarm as I vomited on the stage. The mixed drink from that night did not agree with my system *at all*, I thought as I downed pedialyte. The audience silently watched as I collapsed on stage, onto my own sick, and passed out. There was a pause, and they cheered. My manager stood next to me, a single tear rolling down his face.
"That," he said, turning off the television, "is your most inspiring speech yet."
My stomach was tight before he spoke. I had anticipated some sort of backlash from this speech. A level of disappointment? But the people never ceased in leaving me confused. "I'm sorry," I stared, "did you say 'most inspiring?'"
"Yes!" His voice was laden with enthusiasm. "The colors and the display..." He paced the room and looked at me like I was his golden child. "Your speech goes far beyond words alone." He turned the screen on. There I was, snoring in a puddle of puke. "That, is unlike anything anyone has ever seen."
Just because nobody has seen it before, that doesn't make it a good thing, I thought to myself. I stared at myself, mortified at the image. "Tell me how *that,* is inspiring."
His eyes glimmered. "Who would've seen that coming?" He gestured broadly to the screen. "Our own president was there, and he was moved to push for further protections to LGBTQ individuals after witnessing your speech."
"What?" Still, the video haunted me. "That underripe tomato was *moved* by *this*?"
"Nobody expected you to produce such wild colors from your bowels." He grabbed the remote.
"Noo..." I groaned through the headache. "Please don't"
He did it anyway. He zoomed in on the vomit. "The Pride Flag is represented here." He pointed at what was covering my shirt. "The vomiting symbolizing how sickened you are by the way the world is today." He smiled at me. "When did you get to be so clever?"
Jäger came to mind first. "Uhhhh... Well, I was bursting with compassion." I didn't understand how I have been able to cover any of my tracks. They were like large craters in my path, and still no one took notice. "The truth comes out one way or another, I guess."
He stared at the screen, his eyes glistening with suppressed tears. "When do you think you can do this again?"
I turned on my heel from the screen to face him. "I'm sorry." My lingering nausea intensified with the movement and the confusion. "What did you say?" I felt my stomach clench and I hurled all over the floor.
My manager cheered and patted my back as I doubled over. "Thaaat's the spirit!"
|
30 minutes left to showtime, and I open the handle. You want to know a secret? I don’t even like the taste, smell or anything to do with alcohol. Never have, never will, from those first tentative days in college to now, when my liver’s more scarred up than Freddy Kruger’s face.
But they all go away. My managers, the event planners, my friends. They can see me before and after drinking, when I’m on the stage and a star, but they don’t want to see what it takes to get there. They never want to.
So even if I don’t like alcohol, I do love it. I have to, don’t I? It’s given me everything. Asking that cute girl out at the bar? Slammed eight shots before I did. Now she’s my wife. Talking to fundamentalists in Oregon threatening to detonate and trigger a massive seismic event? A fifth on the way to the meet. Two hours later they were all in handcuffs, thanking me for freeing them. Stumping for the President back when his campaign was just a grassroots feel-good story? You know the deal. It doesn’t make me who I am, but who I need to be.
So I pour myself a tall shot, and steel my nerves.
“Hello?” a voice calls out, somewhere from the darkness.
“Hello?” I respond. No one appears for a moment, and then a small boy appears.
“Dr. Virk? I’m your biggest fan.”
“How did you get back here? Are your parents around?”
He shakes his head, and smiles. “I told them I was going to the bathroom. And then I found a way. Isn’t that what you said? There’s always a way.”
“I said that, huh?”
“What are you doing, Dr. Virk?”
“I’m just relaxing.”
“What’s that smell?”
“It’s…my medicine. It helps me calm down before I go out there.”
“Can I try some?”
“No…of course not.”
“Do you need it?”
For some reason, the way he says it makes me think about it, more so than when anyone else asks me. “I…don’t know, kid.”
“Are you sick?”
I laugh. “These are some hard questions, kid.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Can you sign my poster?”
“Of course,” I say. Then a thought occurs to me. “Let me show you around, kid. You came all this way. It’s the least I can do. Then…how about you come on stage with me?”
“Really? That would be amazing! But…your medicine. Don’t you need it?”
I look at the handle, and wonder…
“I can go one day without it.”
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
| 2019-06-08T10:07:50 | 2019-06-08T09:42:55 | 48 | 22 |
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him.
|
Frankie,
I know you're angry. Dad told me that you're failing English of all subjects and that you've been drinking again. I know you're angry. I'm angry. I'm sorry that mom did what she did. I'm sorry that you and dad had to move out. I'm sorry you had to change schools. I'm sorry that I haven't been there for you.
Frankie, the world is asking you to grow up before you're ready to. It asked the same of me when I got drafted. I can't tell you that things will get better, because I know things will never be the same. I'll be home soon though. Two months and I'm back home. For good. Don't worry. Just try and stay out of trouble until then. Be strong for dad because Lord knows he needs it right now. He needs you Frankie. I know he's rough around the edges and can be a grouch but he needs you. As for your grades, get your shit together. You're the smartest guy I know, and even though school isn't for everyone, it's most definitely for you. You have the opportunity to do great things and even though I'm thousands of miles away, you are not blowing this. I won't allow it. I want you to be proud of what you become.
One more thing. Do you remember that song that grandma would play on the piano? I have a part stuck in my head but I can't seem to remember the whole so
Frankie. When you get this letter, I want you to know how hard it was for me to finish it. I want to explain to you that friendly fire happens way too often out here. I am sorry that things turned out like this. Danny talked about you a lot and he never stopped telling us how smart you are and how you were going to be a lawyer. I wanted to finish this letter to tell you that your brother was the bravest man I ever knew. My address is on the back of the letter. Once this is over, if you want to contact me you can. That's all I have to say.
Sincerely,
Josh Rosenfeld
|
Sammy,
I know that I've been away from home for a long time now, and I'm sorry. My, you must be big now! You were just starting to crawl when I went away. I'm writing this letter so that you'll remember who I am once we are re-united. You make sure that your mom has a picture of me right over your bed so that you see me every night before bed time.
I'm deployed here in France, fighting against those Germans. They're bad men, Sammy, and you should know that your old Dad is doing important work over here. They're sending us up to liberate the Dutch next. Probably shouldn't be telling you that in a letter, but the battle will be over by the time I send this. I'll make sure to get you some tulip bulbs and a Luger as a souvenir. They'll never know what hit 'em.
The morale here is pretty low, as are the supplies. Having plenty of good food is one of the things I miss most about home. And having a nice warm bed. We are all very miserable in the cold, wet weather of Northern France. It is also very hard to have the threat of attack hanging over our heads at every moment, knowing that the Panzers would overrun our defenses in a moment. I only wish I could come back home to America to be with you and forget all of this senseless violence. We really have no reason to be in this war at all; it seems that we are simply the lapdogs of the French and the British. Our real war is with the Japanese; they are the ones who attacked the United States.
Frankly, I think we should be *allied* with the Third Reich. It is really the Communist threat that we should fear. I only wish that we could somehow make our leaders see this. Son, you must certainly tell your mother all of these things and ensure that she talks to her neighbors and friends and family. We must all contact our politicians and tell them that this misguided war must end as soon as possible!
I hope to see you soon, son.
Signed,
Your Father.
| 2015-02-03T13:29:19 | 2015-02-03T13:20:17 | 534 | 202 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
It was 12:01 before I felt myself breathe again.
It was 12:02 when I heard the first sob.
It might have been my mom, I don't remember.
I held my arm away from my body like a vial of toxic chemicals, like it would catch my body on fire if I held it too close.
My uncle shifted nervously in his seat, waiting for something to happen.
I think my sister might have grabbed my hand at some point.
I don't know, I don't remember.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't hear.
I couldn't move.
Because when I severed my spine in a car accident 2 years ago, the world came to an end
And when *OLYMPIC GYMNAST* appeared on my arm tonight, the world ceased to exist completely.
|
I couldn't believe it. I would have never guessed it. I had so much potential. Everyone thought I would be a doctor, a lawyer, or maybe even an astronaut. I always dreamed of being someone famous. A musician, an athlete, a movie star. But according to some fucking ink, I'm neither. All my friends got good ones. Even Jerry, and Jerry is a fucking idiot. I mean Jerry is fucking blind from his right eye so how in the hell does he get to be a pilot? Everyone knows you need two good eyes to be a pilot. One good eye per wing, that's the rule! But hey what do I know? All I got on my arm was the word 'Comedian'. Fuck you Jerry.
| 2017-03-16T03:02:12 | 2017-03-16T00:50:02 | 226 | 15 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
The room is exactly as I recall it, to the most precise detail, but this is not my home. These walls, bookshelf, the leather couch, this is a shroud pulled over something far more malevolent. Then voices, I hear them coming from the basement, they whisper “he knows.” I look to the living room window, into the night. A small crowd of pale, blank, expressionless faces gathered, pointing at me, viewing me on display like some exhibit in a zoo. “He sees us,” one whispers. And then a scream “PUT HIM BACK, PUT HIM BACK NOW.”
Awake in my bed.
|
In 1984, an oil painting was recovered from an abandoned house somewhere in Lousiana. Mahagony frame, weathered and neglected. No signature of the artist. Perhaps it was the work of the homeowner.
What was the painting of?
The upper torso of a brunette, eyes tightly closed, mouth hideously wide open, the background colored a pleasant cerulean.
It was later brought to a pawn shop, where it hung on a wall. Days later, the owner of the shop was reported missing.
The investigation came up with nothing. The trail had gone cold.
They should've looked at the painting.
| 2015-06-09T09:54:42 | 2015-06-09T07:11:34 | 95 | 69 |
[WP] When you were a child, a mysterious voice whispered "follow the woman in the red dress with the gold polka dots". All your life, you never saw her. Now, lying in the hospital, 98 years old, you see a woman in a red dress and gold polka dots walk past your room.
|
This was it, the final chapter. I couldn’t hold the pen anymore, for no longer was it my turn to. I’d lived a life I’d wanted, and my wife had too bless her soul, she left first with our hands holding on for her dear life. She wasn’t ever ready to go, she didn’t comprehend what the repercussions might be. It took her a while to come to the comfort of letting go, but from the smile on her face I knew she was going to do just fine. And much like her then, I knew I now, with my family around me ready to say goodbye, one more time, to dad, grandpa, and even great grandpa bless me.
I smiled, no control over that. I knew it had been fulfilling what I’d done here. And just as my line began to fade..... I knew it couldn’t be over yet. Something pulled me to sit up again. Someone passed by, a dress I remember only stories about... in childhood, while in the woods, a delightfully giddy voice.... it led me then like it would lead me now, to a woman in a polka dotted dress, holding a vase, tears down her eyes. I reached out my hand... I called to her, but I couldn’t move. Nothing would’ve compelled me to stand, not in my state. One month bound to a bed at my age doesn’t make for a strong foundation. So instead, my soul stood. Led by a force I couldn’t control, it followed down the hall. My physicality falling comfortably back on the bed, and my ethereal form going down the hall. For I couldn’t see where she had gone, my spirit went where it felt most compelled, I was simply on the ride.
Tracing every hall, peering in every room, my soul searched for the woman. And suddenly, one more corner through into the icu, there she stood. Her two children in the incubators struggling like my physical form now. In my soul I could sense that one would not make it, for I could feel it join in my flight. But the other, the other I would whisper to the same message I’d heard before. I could not stop myself from attaching to it’s spirit, to give it a message it would not soon forget. One it would hear I would imagine more than once, “You do not know him yet, but one day, you will find the man in the Orange and Green Striped Polo Tee. Follow him when you can, he will show you positivity.” And then my ethereal form faded one more time, and somewhere, down the hall, I could hear sobs of my leaving. But I knew it was alright, the woman showed me so.
|
Everything fell out of focus. The beeping on the monitor sounded very far away. I got up out of bed slowly, feeling much lighter than before. The floor was cold beneath my feet. I pulled the tape off my arm and removed the IV. It didn't matter anyway. I knew I was on borrowed time. I had lived a good life. It just couldn't end without knowing.
I followed her down the hallway. She was very graceful. I felt a strong yearning to see her face, but she didn't turn around. I followed her through several corridors to a wide-open lobby. I was distracted by a room in the far corner. It seemed to glow with a strange light. It looked warm and welcoming.
The hall the woman turned down was dingier, ordinary with fluorescent hospital lighting.
I didn't want to turn away from the room but the need to follow her was so strong.
At the end of the hall she turned into another room. An old woman was laying in the bed there. She felt familiar to me. She wore a gold locket. It looked odd and ornate against her hospital gown. The woman in the red dress whispered something to her and took her hand. She pulled up a chair and sat down. She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. "Mom," she said. "I'm here." The old woman didn't open her eyes.
I backed out of the room quietly, hoping she wouldn't see me. I was dizzy and so tired. I felt like a fool. All of these years wondering, and it was just a coincidence. Just a woman trying to spend a few last moments with her dying mother. Who was I? What would I accomplish by denying my family the same goodbye, here wandering the halls without any thought to whether I had the strength to make it back?
I didn't.
I went into the nearest room to rest. It looked like a delivery ward, but it was empty. Surely the doctors and nurses wouldn't mind if I were to just lie down for a bit here.
I drifted off to sleep.
I awoke to sounds of shouting as they wheeled in a woman in labor. I closed the curtain so I wouldn't be in the way. I was still so very tired. Their voices faded and I closed my eyes.
The birth was a success. The nurse cleaned up the baby and handed her to her mother. "Congratulations!" she said. "It's a girl!"
The baby looked up with wide eyes, following the patterns of light that glinted off of her mother's locket. The sunlight reflected off of the bright red curtains in spots of gold.
| 2019-11-07T09:26:20 | 2019-11-07T09:13:01 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Interstellar wars are quick, most species die of shock quite quickly. Getting shot was a death sentence. That was until humans joined the Galaxy...
|
When humans reached the final frontier, we realized we weren’t alone quickly. We saw planets and species disappear in a matter of weeks after discovery. The weapons they used were much more advanced then ours, and we thought that we were the under dogs in this fight. Diplomats were sent to communicate, and they never came back. The first battleships were shot down with ease. And so we went into a period of development, creating the most powerful and advanced weapons ever seen. Hundreds of millions were recruited into the armies of Terra, and we made a carefully planned attack on our closest neighbors, the Tau’yu.
Our first true battle shattered the illusions of our underdog status. The navies and armies, hardened by years of paranoia and patriotism, went in with flamethrowers, machine guns, and sometimes even swords. The Tau’yu had little in the way of true structural defense, or armor in general. Our scouts alone, the weakest and lightest units in our army, caused the Tau’yu’s first response force to surrender. We were in shock. These groups we had feared for decades, put trillions into building an army against, felled by the simple resilience of the average human.
The Empire of Terra quickly expanded across the Galaxy, with many worlds and systems surrendering as we arrived. They were researched, cataloged, and eventually given citizenship. We began to disarm our warheads and disassemble our guns. We had done something many had considered impossible. The first Inter-stellar Republic was created, with pathways and trade routes quickly established. But that wasn’t what astonished people like me. Fields of research and science were catapulted into unimaginable places, creating peaceful and favorable worlds. But that still wasn’t what I thought couldn’t happen. It was something far more amazing and wonderful.
The establishment of a peaceful Galaxy from worlds of war. The first true era of peace among humans, as well as those originally feared. The ability of a race who had spent so long at war with itself, to bring peace and prosperity to others.
|
Humans were so fascinating, yet so fragile. That was what Lamaza thought of them.
Give them a gun or a sword, and they had the drive, ambition, and the cruelty to conquer. Yet, beneath the facade of conqueror, every Galactic organization noticed their fragility, as in a glass statue-- so beautifully fascinating, yet breakable in a swift swing.
When the One Spica War began sometime in the year 2055, humans, for the first time, were inducted into the ranks. Somehow, they were immune to the psychic abilities manipulated by the majority of species, indifferent to other sorts of attacks.
*The bottom line, was that something in them, made them immune to those "psychic bullets". Some sort of-- device, within them, made it impossible to attack them that way directly.*
See, humans, while fascinating, were not coveted because of their uniquely individualistic spirit. Not because of the wanton cruelty they so often seemed to engage in. Not because they would ever be the victor in any sort of conflict.
Lamaza spun around, to address the muzzled human laying supine on the metal slab, tubes and cables extending from their neck, eyes, abdomen, and head. The whole apparatus oscillated every now and then, breathing as any organism would do in a rhythmic, sighing fashion.
"The pituitary gland." he muttered, performing quick motions with his pronged hands. "The pituitary gland has always been the key."
For the moment they discovered humanity's secret, they discovered the greatest defense against psychic energy that they had ever seen. It would change the course of Galactic Wars forever, revolutionize the industry.
Lamaza reached into the scalp, which now spread like the petals of a moonblossom, his fingers reaching for the gland with near deadly accuracy.
*And thus the secret is spread.*
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK
| 2019-10-25T09:09:30 | 2019-10-25T08:04:16 | 83 | 62 |
[WP] “There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.”
A Quote from the Kingkiller Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss
|
We stand in the ashes of their world, the last vestiges of our energy beginning to fade. Destroyed by our imperative to conquer, destroyed by the arrogance of our maker. Destroyed by the one that came.
He arrived with little fanfare, just appearing one day in his ridiculous craft, just him and an earthling girl. No weapons, no defenses, no threat.
We showed him the glory of our empire, its reach, its wonder. He saw through it. He saw only the oppression of our subject worlds, the slavery on which be build our greatness.
He stopped to help a fallen slave, and she thanked him. There is a penalty for those who talk without permission, and we punished her. That was our fatal mistake, for that lit the fire in his soul.
We still don't know what happened, how he did it, but he turned our world, our technology against us. Our subject worlds slipped our fingers, our slaves on our own world vanished, our warriors were consumed by the rage of the wind and sea as our world turned against us. Now the our reactors fade, our machines have stopped working, and so we find ourselves here, watching the last of our power go, before the darkness comes.
He is written in the legends of the universe; His name means a healer, but he has many better names: He is the Ka Faraq Gatri.
The Bringer of Darkness;
The Oncoming Storm;
The Anger of a Good Man;
The Enemy of the Daleks
|
As I walk through the fields of ash and fire I shudder, did I actually do this?
All of this? Death... because they took everything from me?
I shudder and fall to my knees, sobs wracking my frame.
It's not right, what I did.
A scream tears me out of my thoughts, a person! I have to help them.
I rush towards the sound and see a young child burned and scarred.
"Are you alright young one?" I ask reaching my hand out with a smile on my face.
The child starts looking at me with eyes that were slowly widening in fear and horror.
"Monster!" The child screams face full of pain and tears, "Demon! Get away from me! Don't hurt me!"
I startle and retract my hand, his words hurt.
"My child, I am no monster I-"
"Liar!" The child screams shrilly, "I saw you! The look on your face as you trapped everyone in the town hall! The look on your face as the hall erupted in flames! You have no remorse for their deaths!"
I shake my head in denial, "That is not true! I do have remorse for their deaths!"
The child's face then morphs into an angry scowl, "Then why are you smiling?"
I bring my hands up to my face and touch my lips.
A smile.
Why am I smiling?
| 2017-04-14T02:43:49 | 2017-04-14T00:03:12 | 32 | 18 |
[WP]Sometimes children get born with weird diseases like vampirism or lycantrophy. The effects of these uncurable illnesses only get detectable when the kid is around 8 years old. Many parents then abandon their child. You run an orphanage for these children.
|
"Jakob stop trying to bite Lisa and Lisa stop bothering Jakob, you two know well enough how to behave."
The situation developing right in front of me had something in common with a circus show. Someone without knowledge of the nature of this place, would see a hairy wolf like creature trying to poke a bat with a stick.
I have been running this place for 2 years now. If you told me this three years ago I would scoff at the thought.
Somehow humanity evolved, well not really evolve, more like some repressed genes resurfaced. The legends of monsters, vampires, werewolves and even zombies turned out to be based upon reality. The traits returned and usually surfaced around the age of 8. Children grew hair at full moon, grew fangs or their heart just stopped, even though they didn't.
It was quite the epidemic back then. People were scared of their children, the church called it a sign of God, a punishment and pretty soon it became a taboo.
People with affected children were seen as lesser and high society looked down upon those who were afflicted, parent and child alike.
Eleven years ago my son was born, he was so perfect. My parents were proud, they had a grandson.
Their pride came from the wrong place though. It had to do with the continuation of their bloodline. Growing up in such a place, made me proud. I was better than most, I was blue blooded.
But I wasn't enough for them, a woman could never be as important as a son to them, since women were seen as lesser. The reason for this is that women were most likely to show the repressed symptoms. One in three females showed signs. Only one in fifty males.
So a grandson was perfect, he could never be affected and I was proud. I had good genes, _their_ genes.
Life was good, my husband was proud as well. When my son's eight birthday came around, we were nervous. Everyone was, but nothing happened. No signs at all. We were overjoyed, our family's bloodlines would continue pure.
My sons ninth birthday came around and that morning I heard a scream. He was crying in his room and I asked him what was wrong. He looked at me tears streaming down his face and then pointed to the mirror. I looked and didn't see anything wrong.
I mean, it was just a mirror, I turned to my son who stood crying besides me and he pointed again and then it clicked. I could only see me, I couldn't see him. I panicked. My perfect life ruined because of him. No not him, he can't help it. He was born like that.
I heard a cough and turned around. My husband looked confused and then looked at my son, our son. Then started sobbing.
Breaking the news to my parents was hard. My father screamed at me, I was afraid he would pop a vein. I took the most of it. My mother said nothing the entire time, until my dad stopped.
She looked at me and just said: "Well just kill this thing and make an actual child."
I walked out without a word. I was shamed, humiliated, humbled. This thing was my son, my child and he is perfect. Screw my family's bloodline.
My husband and I discussed our future and how to deal with this. We realised that we were not the only parents to go through this, but we also realised that some children do go through this alone. So we opened our house to them.
We had money, old money. Enough of it.
So two years later here we are. We currently have 7 children in our care. And could give them the help they needed and the schooling they want.
These childrens might not be perfect, they might look like the monsters of old, but the true monsters are those that abandon these children.
"Miss Sky? My arm fell off again."
I looked down and there was little Suzy, holding her arm. She was an early bloomer. Her signs showed at only 5 years old. She was undead and just pure sunshine, I grabbed the needle an thread from my skirt.
"Allright Suzy let's make sure that that doesn't happen again"
I looked up and my husband was playing soccer with some of the older kids. They were home for the holidays. He was actually pretty good, but couldn't keep up with the speed and strength of the werewolves.
Tomorrow our larger orphanage opens. We can't adopt all of them, but we can help them. Perfection doesn't exist in genes, but life is pretty perfect right now.
|
Some may wonder why a normal person like me would run such a place or why no one seems to be able to track my family or why I was abandoned. Though none of that really matters now does it.
It not an easy task running an orphanage, but someone has to do it. These days it’s not so stressful. Some of the children have grown up and have dropped by to help. Damn kids should be out there living and let me take care of things.
The orphanage is rather large now. only those years of government funding and donations help. I remember the days when I had just started, when people thought these children should be locked up, contained. Maybe even trained for the "benefit of the world", some of these people would even donate or volunteer and yet they somehow expect me raise these poor kids for them. Some fanatics even go so far as attacking the place, but I got guards now so it’s all safe. Butcher supply chain for the blood and hearts and anything else dietary needs.
Well now is not the time. I’m going to pick up the new kids. The police recently found a gang ring picking them of the streets and training them for their own sick agendas. It’s fortunate that police stopped them in time. These kids are going to choose their own ways in life.
The bus stops. “well that was more than I expected” they’re at least 30 kids. I clear my throat. here goes nothing "Hello everyone, from today I am your new caretaker. you can call me Bob. This bus will take you to new home. a safe place "
"And what if I don't want to get on the bus" One dark eyed kid says suspiciously. I pause "Well I’m not going force you. You are free to leave anytime, or even not come at all. I will nevertheless help in any way that I can if you want to go to a different place. What’s your name young stranger?"
He answers a bit confused "You can call Timmy. I will come, I was just asking" The other kids are a bit scared too, now. Silly me, I should not have given them the choice of another place so soon, they probably think I don't want them. Well it worked, so it doesn’t matter for now.
The trip back is quite normal. None of them makes any problems, though some of them looks at me with suspicious eyes. It doesn’t matter though. Timmy is a bit off, so I have a chat with him. Poor thing thinks I’m punishing him for acting up. Maybe a safe place and a bit of time will fix that.
As the bus arrives and we get off, I think that it must have been long time since I’ve shown the kids their rooms myself. The other staff, however, protests, citing my declining health. Not that I listened. I give the kids a list of free rooms and choice, and then I lead them to the rooms one but one. It helps that some of older rooms can house 5 children, and that most of the kids choose such rooms. All of them do, actually, except Timmy. As we stand alone, I put on a smile and take off my suit, maybe it’s intimidating him. Maybe I look like one of those gangsters. Silly me, I take my gloves off as well.
"The heck happened to you hand, sir, did a kid do that to you? Is that why you wear that lame dress? Are you a normal?" He blurts out
I laugh, and say "Oh this really nothing, and of course it was not one of the kids. You wonder what my gift is? I’ll tell you if you promise to pick a room."
Timmy keenly spoke "OK, but only if you say how you got that".
"My gift is that I can see through any darkness, smoke, fog, dust or anything similar. And how that? Well, my dad poured acid on me by accident once".
A white lie, but it matters not. The important thing is that I got Timmy to pick a room.
He spoke timidly "I am of those world enders you know"
I patted him on his head "Doesn’t matter, we’ll take all children in"
I was a bit surprised, but I managed to hide it. World enders usually don’t make it past ten. However, I was lucky, so maybe he would be too.
​
Edit: grammar and changed some words
| 2019-01-17T08:03:33 | 2019-01-17T07:09:50 | 47 | 23 |
[WP] The programmers of the world wake up to find that they can do magic by writing (and with focused speaking) programs. What are C, C++, Java, Python, Haskell and other major languages like? Which are 'regular magic', 'beginner's magic' and 'dark arts' etc.? What is your day like?
How does a person cast: "shoot an arrow", "shoot ten arrows" and "shoot a storm of arrows?"
*I am actually /lit/man from 4chan.
|
The hallway was dark, but I ran anyway. My clothes clung tight to my body, my breath coming in short spurts, and I glanced at my smartphone one more time; still fried, the screen dark and unresponsive. So much for my preparations.
I'd have to do this manually.
I closed my eyes, just for an instant. There was a certain focus programmers needed to execute realcode, and the bullet hole in my shoulder wasn't helping. My biocode process was throwing warnings at me every few seconds, and I knew I didn't have long before it crashed and the bleeding began again. Not to mention the pain.
I took a deep breath, and pulled the well-worn lines of my operating system to mind. Time slowed down. The footsteps behind me faded into faint echoes, and when I opened my eyes again the world was blurred like a runny watercolor.
**>**
"Ping 8.8.8.8," I muttered. I glanced behind me. My pursuers had just rounded the corner, expressionless helmets shiny from the thin dribbles of light reflected off the nearby skyscrapers. I hoped they didn't have their own coder, at least not yet. If their on call programmer was stuck in the bathroom, I might have a chance. Otherwise, I was looking at revocation of my license at a minimum, and getting stuck teaching community college coding classes to high school dropouts.
More likely, though, I'd be looking at a bullet to the head, or life in some secret underground prison in some hellhole without an extradition treaty.
*Request timed out.*
**>**
Virtual static crackled in my ear. They'd blocked satellite and Wifi connections. I couldn't even access my stored programs at home, which meant that any realcode I wanted to run I'd have to verbally invoke. The walls of their security net were closing in.
"Python 3.1," I said. C++ would be more efficient, but I didn't have time to compile. The few seconds I saved might be crucial.
**>>>**
I glanced over my shoulder. One guard had already raised his gun.
"Import physics as phys. Import self." I rounded the corner, just as the shot went off and shattered a window. I didn't have much time.
**>>>**
"Phys.teleport(self.Self, self.Self.home)."
*InsufficientPowerError: Self.Energy < 100000 kJ. Execution will terminate self. Exiting...*
**>>>**
Shit. My shoulder was beginning to sting again, endorphins wearing thin. I glanced at the window: the height made my head spin. If I didn't have enough power left to teleport, I definitely didn't have enough for antigrav. I took a deep breath, and tried again.
"If phys.object.velocity > phys.SI(10) && phys.object.distance(self.Self) < phys.SI(0.01), phys.repel(10000)."
**>>>**
My chest tightened and I stumbled, catching myself on the wall. If a piece of code that simple made me dizzy...
Waves of fear rushed over me. Stairwell. I needed to find a stairwell and get out, before-
*Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:43:51.827462*
A bullet crashed into my shield half an inch from my head. A chill ran down my spine, the energy pulled straight from my dwindling reserves.
*Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:43:52.827462*
*Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:43:53.234781*
I rushed into the stairwell, and groaned. The sound of footsteps echoed from the ground floor; another squad. I didn't have nearly enough stamina to deal with them.
At least, not normally.
"Import biology.neurology as neuro. Import chemistry.organic as orgo."
Every programmer had their little tricks, based on their background. Once, long ago, I'd studied to be a biologist. This was one of mine.
"TTDX = orgo.complex(). TTDX.formula = C eleven, H seventeen, N three, O eight. TTDX.structure =..."
I slammed the door shut, and closed my eyes. I had about five seconds to visualize the molecule I wanted. The loops arranged themselves in my head, coiled like miniature serpents.
The door burst open.
*Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:10.339582.*
*Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:10.512341.*
*Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:10.522345.*
*Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:10.633456.*
*Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:10.723434.*
My fingers went numb. Something warm and wet ran down my arm. The code keeping my shoulder stable had finally crashed.
"For each (person in physics.location(relative, self, phys.SI(10)))..."
*Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:13.212344.*
*Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:13.238783.*
*Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:13.338783.*
The words came hard, my tongue thick and heavy. The world flickered back to solidity for one brief, terrifying moment. I looked up at a blank visor, and spoke.
"...neuro.medulla(person).apply(TTDX, 10)."
**>>>**
There was a clattering of guns, the heavy slump of bodies hitting the floor, then silence. Tetrodotoxin. Or, to most people, pufferfish venom. I'd paralyzed them completely. They had about three minutes before they died of asphyxiation, but I had about one before their self-diagnosis systems figured out and fixed what I'd done. And after that, if anyone ever figured out I'd used my equivalent of nerve gas, I was going to jail for a long, long time.
*InsufficientPowerError: Warning! Phys.repel will not function.*
**>**
*Error: Heal.exe terminated.*
**>>>**
Pain blazed through my head, but adrenaline kept me moving down the stairs. I made sure to step on as many of them as I could on the way down.
|
I guess if you're planning on learning a programming language, you'll need to know why it's generally advised against. You need to know about the Paradigms and the world created by programmers, that has put us in the situation we are in today.
You see, some time ago, about twenty years ago, to be precise, a girl was being bullied. She was a programmer. And she was being bullied by programmers. Not with out abilities now, obviously, mostly just people telling her that her method was flawed and her comments weren't as helpful as they could be, or that the distribution of Linux she was using was inferior to whatever other distribution that existed or that her fundamental understanding of an abstract concept was wrong... It seems strange now, but it was common at the time for programmers to bully each other like that. It happened to a lot of programmers, I'm certain, although I do not thing everyone viewed it as bullying. But this girl in particular did. And the issue was that she was special.
I suppose there was something off about her, or perhaps she just had a knowledge that others didn't possess, but in order to destroy her agressors, she created the machine that supports our planet now. It went by a few names before it became our planet's literal core, but for all intents and purposes, that same machine is the Core, and as such that's what we'll call it.
The Core used to be a small machine you could strap onto your back and use to create... items from your code. She used this and the First Language, Java, to create golems and other monsters. They were mindless creatures that would follow explicit orders and took a long time to code. Object Oriented Programming Language users are summoners like the Creator was initially. Now the branches of Object Oriented Users are deep and varied, and Java really only grazes the surface of what can be done-- but this is unimportant. What is important is that the Creator had begun creating with the Core.
After Java was C, and C, as a Procedural Language created what we call the Dark Arts. Procedural Languages like C were used specifically for elemental attacks like fire and wind, and some users, depending on their language, can even use time magic. But as far as what Procedural Language is strongest, I can't say even I know that for certain.
There is also those who specialize in Machine Code. These are the people who are masters at dispelling the spells of others, and their own spells are particularly hard to diffuse. Machine Coders generally know another language, but I hear there are some Machine Coders who know assembly so well, they barely use any other type of code. It's dangerous to use if you aren't well versed in it. The Creator was extremely well versed in Machine Code.
There is also Symbolic Programming. The Creator specifically used Prolog. Like Object Oriented Programmers, one who uses Symbolic Programming summons. But unlike Object Oriented Programmers, the users of these languages were able to summon sentient creatures that learned. They didn't take as long to code as Java did, and I believe that is why the Creator began using Prolog as her main language.
There are some other Paradigms. Literate Programmers, who are adept in healing. Functional Programmers, who are best at buffing and debuffing. Logic Programmers, best at copying other languages and recreating weaker and faster duplicates of their moves. The list goes on. Some people are Purists, who only use one language. Others are Paradigm Purists who only use one Paradigm. And still others are Multi-Disciplinary, using many Paradigms. All of us live together on the blasted remains of Earth. And no one knows if it is just an elaborate illusion or reality anymore. That is why the two great religions exist, Matrix, who believe our current world is an illusion, and Unplugged, which are the people who believe our current world is reality.
The Creator disappeared about two years after the Core had been made into its present form. She simply vanished. The world became full of error ridden and rampant code, due mostly to the fact that non-programmers, too willing to become "wizards" in their own right, started creating faulty and bad programs left and right. Normally, they wouldn't run. But the Core itself took those programs in and... fixed them. Made them into hordes and mobs. The Core created forever learning creatures, or structures that could change shape, or new landscapes... many things that shouldn't exist exist, and things that can't exist can-- it is a strange, organized chaos. But this is why you need credentials to pass through firewalls. Outside of them anything you run will become real. But you knew that.
In order to protect yourself outside the walls, you need a GitHub. It is a repository of your working code, and things that you are working on. Some people use different repositories, but GitHub is the most popular. Unless you are powerful, to cast you need a Compiler for most languages. Some do not need a Compiler. Some can be run in different ways. Your compiler can only run one program at a time, and you can keep only so many on you at any time. That is why most people try to carry most programs as executable files. These are the only weapons you have when you're in beyond the firewalls. How you use them is up to you. Both exist on your iWatch or DroidWatch, and using them is as simple as pushing a button, as you know well. You have to keep your watch charged... or you'll be out of power and unable to start a program. If you can prove yourself, you'll be given security keys. These will allow you to enter and exit areas. Some of them, anyway.
Somewhere out there, the Core is churning out new, crazy things. Many have tried to reach the Core, and most have vanished. Perhaps they're with the Creator? Or maybe they've died. No one knows. Just know that the calm days we have inside the firewall don't exist beyond them. It is bedlam out there. There are people who say that it's like a video game, but there's no code that bring you back from the dead. You don't get infinite lives, just the one. I would suggest when you do leave, if you do, you don't relate it too much to your gaming experience.
There is more use in our world for people who don't program. For people who have little programming experience, even. People with practical skills, not combat skills, essentially. So yes. Now that you're 16, if you so choose to become a programmer with a degree, you will be enrolled in classes and learn much. But very few people like you will go far. Most programmers die while traveling, unless they join a Team. And most Teams get killed off anyway. The world outside or firewall isn't meant for the weakhearted.
However...If you still want to do it, just sign on the dotted line.
| 2015-04-13T10:39:49 | 2015-04-13T09:37:09 | 149 | 33 |
[WP] You were born on a colonizing spacecraft on your way to a distant star. You are the middle generation of history; born to late to have seen Earth, and to early to live to see your destination.
|
Alarms shriek like lunatics. They would throw me off this ship if they could. My parents were smuggled on and hidden. When my mother got pregnant they had to get help. I was born nine months later. The first child born out in the dark.
There was no prison so they were kept on a lower storage level. All the stowaways were thrown down there and forgotten about. That close to the engine they would have been irradiated. They tell me no one could survive down there longer than ten years. I never got to meet them. I think I used to know their names.
No one talks about the stowaways. It was a thing best forgotten. Hard to forget when I am a walking reminder. The first child of the dark.
They tell us we have another one hundred years to go. In all we number two million. The population of a small city spread over four ships. Some of the older ones talk about cities and countryside and other things. I no longer listen. I try not to think about where they are from or where our children are going. For me and there is only the dark and the hum of engines.
They have each other. They have coupled up and made their routines. The olders laugh how even out here things are the same. They get sentimental about their ambition. They get torn up about how much the same we are as them. They wonder what new chance can come from such continuity. They talk about the dead.
I have no one. The fact of my existence is evidence of what was done. No talks to me unless they have to. They still keep Earth time. I sleep through their days and live while they sleep- a nightmare come out of their dreaming. I go down to the forests. Sometimes I wonder what a real one would be like. Mostly I think of all the forests of their Earth, dead. Now they have them on this ship and their kids will tend them on the new Earth. These forests will die too. The ones on-board and the ones they tend or discover. Wherever the Earth-born go, whoever carries their dreams, they bring only death. I am the evidence of this truth.
It is darkness that has raised me. They took me in, of course. They gave me a home and an education, groomed me for the work of raising the next generation. Endless lessons on the glory of our Mission. Everything we do we do for our future: The future of our children and our civilization. I ran away and hid in the service compartments. I think they were relieved. No place for the offspring of stowaways in their utopia.
Lately I have taken to coming to largest observation window on the ship. No one else comes here. They do not feel at home. They are only at home in their reminiscing and their deluded hopes. The window is an open mouth waiting to swallow them. They are afraid to fall into the dark. They look away from it and shiver. I stare out into it. It stares back. We soften in mutual recognition. We know that each belongs to the other.
The alarms have stopped now. No one is going to try to prevent this. They can see me on the cameras. They must have watched as I released the protections. They will watch as the smallest particle of ice tears through the window. They will watch my body blown into oblivion. They will not cry. The first child of the dark is going home.
|
There are 17 different types of grains and starches grown under the glaring artificial lights of *The Barbicane*’s greenhouses. And I’ve made booze from pretty much every single one of them. Let me be the first to tell you that sorghum vodka is bad enough to be considered a chemical weapon. If you ever get the chance to try it, just don’t. Pour it out on the ground.
But what do you expect? What else (besides drinking) is there to do on a journey that will last *my entire life*? The instructions in the logs from Earth are pretty simple: keep the ship running, keep the plants in the greenhouses alive, and make enough babies to keep the population up. Oh, and I guess “fly in a straight line for the next 400 years.” But we’re only about 100 years into the voyage, so that one has never been much of an issue. Other than those simple tasks, we’re pretty much left to our own devices. And you can really only watch old TV shows and movies for so long before you decide to just kill your brain cells with a shot glass instead.
Old Joe, the last person who remembered what it was like to live there, used to say that it was easy to forget that we’d left Earth. The ‘window’ screens in all the rooms showed a landscape of tall mountains, dense pine trees, and drizzling rain. There was something in the computer logs about how psychologists decided that our subconscious would be more at ease with the fake scenery, even though our minds knew the truth: that there was just a thin layer of metal between us and the gaping, limitless black void of space out there. Joe, though, reprogrammed his ‘windows’ to show a sandy beach with swaying palm trees. And to honor Old Joe’s death six years ago, the Captain issued a ‘vacation’ order that changed the viewscreens on the whole ship. It was the most excitement we’ve had in a decade.
Most people are content to live their lives that way. Wake up in the morning to the sights and sounds of an artificial forest, eat some breakfast, turn on the sprinklers in the greenhouse, and that’s work for the day. Time to lounge around in the hot tub and watch re-runs yet again. And at the end of the ‘night’ when the ship’s lights dim, many of them get to work on creating the next generation. They say that this is the life of leisure that our ancestors have been dreaming of since someone first had the bright idea of planting seeds instead of foraging.
Maybe there’s something wrong with me. I spend most of my time now up in the bridge, alone. Well, with the AI pilot, but he doesn’t talk much. At all, really. I lounge in the captain’s chair, staring up through the one actual window on the ship at the carpet of stars overhead. Somewhere out there is Earth, where only a hundred years ago there was a huge effort to build and stock this ship. And in a few centuries, my descendants will be busily getting ready to build a new colony. All of those people with a singular, important purpose.
But there’s no purpose for me. I just have the stars, and my shitty sorghum vodka.
| 2016-10-18T11:29:08 | 2016-10-18T11:07:20 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] To get in Heaven, you have to confront the person who you hurt the most. You were expecting an ex, your parents/relatives, or a friend. You didn't expect to see yourself.
|
"Oh shit, not you. I've had enough of your self-hating bullshit," you say as you see yourself sitting across the table.
"I know, right?" he replies, "You'd figure the one reprieve you'd get from your own misery was up here, but guess what, God throws you yet another curveball."
"What a cocksucker," you mumble under your breath, before realizing where you are. "I DIDN'T MEAN THAT!"
"Yes you did. You can't lie to me. Sit down, we got some shit to settle."
You pull up a chair across from yourself, soaking in the surreal image, realizing it's not a mirror image and you look a bit differently than you thought.
He folds his hands and leans in. "Look, I know this is fucking weird. Let's get this over with so we can move on, right?
"Agreed," you reply.
"First off, I have a bit of a different perspective from up here, and I've gotta let you know that the deck has been stacked against you from the beginning. Childhood fucking sucked. Our folks did the best they could but shit, meds were probably in order for both of them."
"You got that right," you chime in.
"So let's look at this with some perspective. You had shit thrown at you in every stage of life. One thing after another. You were tempted with booze, drugs, and debauchery, but came to your senses pretty quick."
"Yeah, that didn't seem right."
"So you made the correct choice to withdraw and clear your head. You cut loose the anchors holding you back, and you moved forward. I know you've always meant well, stayed polite, and did the best you could in almost every situation."
"I did my best."
"Yeah. That's why you're here. Out of all of the adversity you faced, you never once used others to advance your own interests, you looked out for those less fortunate, and always tried to make the world a better place."
"I like to think that I did."
"You did. So stop being a sad sack, you miserable piece of shit."
"Heh. Fine. So, what's next?"
"You're in heaven, motherfucker, what do you think?"
"I get to eat ice cream again?"
"Right this way."
|
Eyes narrowing in confusion, she stares at the person before her. Moments of silence balloon to fill the space between them before she finds her voice: "I...I'm sorry. But there must be a mistake. I don't know you."
The other girl tilts her head, ringlets of brown hair cascading onto her shoulder. "You do, Claire. You know me better than anyone else. But this is the first time you're really seeing me." She pauses. "Not a reflection, not a photograph, but me."
Processing the information, Claire feels her chest tighten. "But, but you're so pretty," she finally manages, voice tainted with tears.
Other Claire sighs quietly. "Because you're pretty. You've just never believed it. And you hurt yourself so badly because of that."
Lowering her head, Claire protests, "It wasn't that bad," but there's no real conviction.
"Those summers you spent eating 500 calories a day to lose weight you didn't have? Or clawing at your face whenever you saw a blemish? Or all the time you spent in front of a mirror, finding more and more flaws?" Other Claire is crying now, softly. "You hated yourself for so long, you didn't believe it when people told you otherwise. Until you sunk so low that you finally ended it all."
Claire flushes and stares at her wrists, at the long, thin cuts the extend from her palm to half up her forearm.
"They miss you," Other Claire whispers. "Your family, your friends. You whole life was ahead of you. Of us. And you just...just gave that all up."
She wants to respond, to justify herself, but she's sobbing too hard, and besides, she knows there's no justification for what she's done. "I'm so so-sorry," she finally chokes out.
"I know," Other Claire says gently, pulling her into a hug.
"Do...do you forgive me?" she barely even breathes, too afraid of the answer.
"Not right now. But I will." Other Claire takes her hand and leads her across the misty landscape. In the distance, a city glitters gold. "We have all the time in the world."
| 2016-08-15T06:49:48 | 2016-08-15T05:36:25 | 132 | 10 |
[WP] You're on your death bed, and the personification of your greatest regret has come to say goodbye.
|
*Okay, it's time, Liv! I need you to spread your legs, give me one nice, long push! There you go!*
Where am I? What the hell is going-
*Keep going! You're crowning!*
Ouch. Ouch.
*I see the head, come on! Don't stop now!*
I'm tired. I can't. Please stop. I need-
*Annnnd the head is out! A couple more pushes and your baby is born!*
I don't have a baby. I'm not pregnant. Why is this- OUCH! OUCH! HELP ME! GOD DAMN IT!
*Push! Push! There he is! A beautiful baby boy!*
Crying. What is that crying? I feel pressure on me. Light. Squirming. And my breast. Something is on my breast. Suckling. I have a son? I can't possibly. I'm-
"Liv? Are you alright?"
I need to see his face. He's real. He's here. I just need to hold him tighter.
"Liv? Stay with me! Liv! Liv!"
I try to squeeze him to me. He's gone. I'm 83 years old again. Semi-conscious. I moan. My nurse leans in.
"Nurse....I...was young. I wanted...a future. I was...unwed. I just...I needed...I'm so sorry"
"Liv, what are you talking about? Hey, don't cry. Slow down, it's alright. Everything is alright. Olivia? Can you hear me? Liv! Liv!"
I finally did see his face, right as I closed my eyes for the last time. So beautiful.
|
I grew old. How did I grow so old? My life that all would envy has past me by before I knew it. My wife. My loving, caring, wonderful wife. She stayed beside me as I laid in this bed, withering away. I could not ask her to do that, but I love her with every fiber for it. My kids. All successful, grown adults that blessed me with beautiful grandchildren. Memories of them all danced in my head. They flashed like a sorely working projector, but I could still see them. Holding my first child, then my second, every time until my youngest. Holding my first grandchild, then my second, up until my last. My mind was the greatest gift I could have asked of my God, if it were not my entire life. He blessed me with more than I knew existed in the world.
My family, my wife, my kids, my grandchildren. They all paid there final visits one last time. Saying goodbye to my grandchildren one at a time was like looking at my kids when they were young. Saying goodbye to my kids one at a time was like looking at myself and my wife when we were young. Saying goodbye to my wife. The projector-like memories of her when we were teenagers was the only image I could see of her standing next to me.
When I had said my goodbyes, and thought I was ready, another body slipped into the room.
"I know you don't have long, but I wanted to say goodbye as well." The body said.
"Oh? My memory is weak, help remind me. What might your name be?"
"My name is Happiness, and I wanted to see you in person."
Tears rolled down my face as the projector began to slowly fade.
| 2014-09-27T06:09:32 | 2014-09-27T05:52:33 | 58 | 13 |
[WP] you are a demon call responder. The devil can’t answer every summon, so you go in his place. One day you get a summon and the summoner is way below age limit; you are about to leave, but you hear her drunk dad coming downstairs screaming.
|
Some days are easier than others, the days when someone sells 5 points of their soul to fufill a wish to get their dream job. Other days are tougher, people who sell half their soul to change the opinions of others; making someone love you costs a pretty penny and leaves even someone like me sick to my stomach.
The worst are the days when someone sells their entire soul. That’s when you know you have to do something terrible. And you understand why the cost is so high.
To get to my position, you had to do something to lose the whole thing. The worst part, you lose all memory of what you sold your soul for, you won’t even get to know if it was even worth it.
When you enter the land of the living, you know how much you will be taking from your summoner as well as the time period and location. Gives you time to prepare your speech, brush up on the local beliefs and languages. Beats going in blind.
I got a call today, and I knew it was going to be a bad day. At least it was around my time, makes things a little easier.
I’m transported to a darken room. My breath slowly breathes in the damp cold air. I don’t know how long I’ve been doing this for but I’ll never get used to that feeling as getting your breath back. I blink. Why is it always in a basement? I don’t have many wishes nowadays but I take the small victories where I can get them. I would say seeing the sky and the trees is worth living for but I don’t do much living nowadays.
I blink again and observe my surroundings, the only light in the space are from the candles at my feet, the circle it illuminates looks flimsy and scrawled. I’m shocked that it even worked, it looks like it was done in crayon. I see the dim outline of a staircase and a boiler on the far wall but my eyes are drawn to the man who summoned me.
Or should I say, the child.
This doesn’t happen often. When it does, it causes a lot of headaches. Children never understood what it meant to sell even one point of your soul. To gain that back, you must live a year of life without sin. The cost is high and many never gain it back. When you sell your complete soul, there is no way to get it back.
I never had a child wish for something worth an entire soul. I knew I couldn’t complete this contract.
I looked him in the eye, “Look kid...”
My breath caught in my throat. I looked at a long forgotten image that I’ve seen in mirror hundreds of times in my life. I felt a sharp pain on the side of my head. The long forgotten memories came flooding back. Then I heard it, the footsteps that haunted my life. Hard, angry steps walked towards the stairs.
I looked at my younger self once again. I saw the look in his eyes that my father saw every time he got angry. There wasn’t any question now. Removing myself from this hell on earth was worth every minute of living in the hell I live in now. The child in front of me will learn that lesson too.
I walked out of the circle, the flames of the candles danced as I start my approach to the stairs, to meet my devil head on.
|
The kid was way too young to even know what she was doing. But then I heard her dad and thought, "Hey, I'd better stick around long enough to see if I can scare the livin' shit out of this guy."
Well, yeah, demons aren't pure evil. Mostly we have our reputation because we'll take on the dirty jobs that angels won't do. But our reputation for evil doesn't mean I don't have at least some empathy for a powerless little kid. God only wins in the end because He's the most powerful sonofabitch around (well, sorta, sometimes the idea that He could be His own father makes my head hurt too), and so far this dad has won every fight with his daughter because he's the most powerful sonofabitch in this household. So I position myself between the only door in the room and the kid.
When the guy entered the room, he stopped screaming just long enough for me to get a good look at him and him to get a good look at me. Like most raging drunks, he was one ugly motherfucker (and, yes, demons do cuss a LOT, no apologies) and positively reeked of beer.
Hey. I've smelled worse. Not like we have much in the way of bathing facilities in Hell.
The father recovered from his initial shock quickly enough, but then, that's normal for a drunk. He started plowing forward again. "This isn't funny! Now, come here, you-"
He didn't get much farther than that. I moved maybe half as fast as I'm capable of, just slowly enough that the father could have seen it coming and backed off if he still had two working brain cells in his head, and lifted the guy off the ground. He squealed like a pig.
"I'll see you in Hell," I growled.
Then I bit his head off. I dropped the body like a sack of potatoes that had gone rancid and turned back to the kid.
"Hey. I hope this piece of shit didn't mess with your head too much, kid. But you'd better pack away the summoning kit until you're old enough to know what you're getting yourself into, because the Man Upstairs tends to get quite riled about people relying on demons instead of Him. Cool?"
Her eyes were pretty wide as she nodded. Suddenly I sensed that the stream of light coming from the window wasn't just sunlight and turned to face it with a growl.
"Okay, two things, God. First, she was way too young to understand what she was doing, so I hope you can let it pass this one time. Second, I can't imagine that you'd want a guy like him running around Heaven, so I can just take him with me back to Hell."
"Agreed on both counts, Beelzebub. Now go. I'll make sure the girl is taken care of."
I harvested the father's soul and fled back to Hell with some relief. My boss barely looked up when I handed in the soul with my report.
"Okay, so she was underage, but at least it wasn't a total waste. Now we've got another job for you..."
| 2018-10-08T15:18:49 | 2018-10-08T15:00:28 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You are the host of a popular children's show. You are live on air when you, and the rest of the country, have just received news that nuclear weapons have been deployed against your nation and can't be stopped. There are only minutes left.
|
"Hey kids. This is weird that we are doing a live TV show right? We've been on the air and live for 15 years. Live kids TV. Weird isn't it. There is no show like it, and there won't be any more. The bell is tolling for all of us kids. Get into mommy and daddy's liquor cabinet and grab whatever bottle they have that says Alcohol by Volume and drink some. Don't go out being squares. Lord knows I won't"
The camera pans with the host and follows him to the side of the stage where stage hands are crying. He digs through a bag and pulls out a bottle of Jameson. He opens the bottle and drinks the entire bottle in 3 large gulps.
"Well, There you have it. Kids. That's how you go out of this world the right way."
The host vomits all over the stage, which then starts to rumble, and then disappears in a bright flash.
|
I feel my eyes start to water as I feel the gravity of the situation. I know I will never see my family, friends, or lovers again. I turn away from the camera, wipe the tears from my eyes and take a deep breath. Anyone who did not run out of the studio is sobbing, and holding onto one another. I catch my sound producer's teary gaze, and mouth the words, "Let's be happy".
"We only have a little bit of time left kids, but I want to reming everyone to stay happy out there," I say as I force a smile into the camera, and the music starts to play. This time I do not sing along with the children's voice overs.
"And remember," I say as begin to dance around like normal,"as long as you have your friends, and a family that loves you," I pause, and smile as I finish, "you have all the happiness in the world".
| 2014-07-29T13:18:35 | 2014-07-29T13:15:51 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] While browsing on your parent's computer you recieve an email notification addressed to them. It's from an advanced robotics corporation, informing them that the warranty on [your name] expires in 30 days.
|
> Here we have a very special guest with us today, the first android with a complete consciousness. How's your new model doing?
Fantastic, thanks.
> Was getting into your new body weird as your mental age progressed?
Well, now-a-days it is because everything is so formal, but when I lived with my parents it would happen when I was sleeping.
> That's interesting, back then you could sleep?
Well yeah, since I had to act and feel like I was like all the other children. I required the needs and the desires of the flesh to be truly real in my mind.
> I see, that's very thoughtful of your parents. Since we're on the topic of your childhood could you tell us what it was like?
Well, I think it was normal, just like a biological kid. But around that time was when I actually found out I was an android.
> Interesting, was there an accident? Normally that's how androids now-a-days find out. Some people choose to tell their children, it's really a matter of parenting...
No, actually, I found out accidentally. It's actually a very long story. Back then my dad worked for Massachusetts Institute of Android Technology, but I was told it was just some random startup and that it was impolite to ask such things. My mom was an elementary school teacher. I was forbidden from the internet, I assume they thought I would find out I'm not a normal child but I'm pretty convinced that my body was too convincing to be an android. Since they both worked, that meant they left the house, so they usually kept me doing worksheets.
I was pretty mischievous though, and I liked to fiddle around in my parent's stuff. Their computers were the most locked down stuff they had, so I always spent a lot of time trying to get into them, that's kind of where I got my interest in technology from.
Well, one day I finally cracked the code, and as my dad's computer started up it opened up some email-reading software from when he last used it, and the first email was about me.
> Interesting, who would sell your body to your dad when child models were illegal?
They didn't, he only bought parts for my body, like a processor for example.
> That makes sense. How was the email about you then?
That's because he had bought a processor named after me, and had a warranty on it. It was going to expire in 30 days. Since I had basically searched through all of my parent's stuff when they weren't looking, I thought it was unusual since the only processors in the house were in their computers. And he hadn't replaced them ever, it came pre-built, I got to see him unpack the thing.
> How did you find out you were an android then?
Well, I was a kid and messing around and I asked them. The cookie came crumbling down from that point on.
> How so?
They really couldn't tell whether or not I knew. In truth, I had no idea, but I made them suspicious that I knew. Before everything was explained to me, my mom broke down into tears and wouldn't look at me after that. Then I asked her why, and she said that she was sorry she could never make me real.
My mom acted pretty weirdly towards me after that. Finally, my dad had the strength to sit me down and give me talk. I imagine it kind of went like a talk an adopted child would have, but with them also telling me I was illegal and I could never tell anybody ever. Being a kid, I never had an existential crisis like a lot of other androids do now, so I'm pretty thankful for that. I was just a kid and I just thought I might as well accept it, since it would be pretty cool being a robot.
I never knew the meaning of my mom's words when she told me that she was sorry she could never make me real. I only knew what they meant later on in life. It was that they could never bear children, but they wanted one desperately, but they didn't want a donor or anything like that. They didn't want to adopt someone else's child either. They wanted the full thing, for every reason possible you could ever think of wanting a real child versus one adopted. I was my dad's project, all the extra money, extra free time, and extra love he ever had went into making me, the most convincing not-quite-biological child ever made.
Convincing.
I'm not biological,
but I'm still their child.
|
"Let's fire up this bad boy before my idiot parents get home!" I say as I log onto their desktop computer.
I like using the desktop to crank down on rather than the laptop or tablet, gives it a nostalgic feel of back in the days of dial up. I may be 32, and visiting my parents house to do my laundry, but as the french say, "When in Rome."
My parents email automatically opens when the computer is booted up. Typically it's all junk mail, and pictures of my siblings kids, but one stood out. It was from Systematic Telecommunications and Unique Design's Robotics division, or STUD Robots.
Thinking it may be some phishing scam I open it up to give it a once over. Wouldn't want my dumb dumb parents flushing away their retirement on a robot dog or something stupid. When started reading the email, my god damn jaw dropped to floor.
"Dear, Mr. and Mrs. Urkel, we are writing to inform you that the warranty on your STUD Robotics unit named Reginald is due to expire on February 14, 2017. To discuss the possibility of extending the warranty please contact our contact center at 888-542-3321."
My entire life has been a lie. My parents told me the URKBOT branding on my back was a birthmark. That my chiseled bod was good genes, and my robo-dong was a medical anomaly. I've spent the last 15 years partying to the max, when I likely could of been Good Will Hunting some college douchebags with my big ol' robo-brain.
Just then, I heard the front door open.
"Reginald, are you still here?"
Super steamed, I engaged my walk function and stormed out of their living room. They could see I was angry.
"What the hell Dad, or should I say Steve.. if that is your real name," I scream.
"What are you going on about Reg," he responded.
"I saw the email from STUD robotics, I know the truth," I say, as oil streams down my face.
My dad pulls at his collar and looks at my ma.
"Laura, can you explain this to him?"
Just as my ma started to speak I ran through the wall of the living room, leaving a perfectly shaped robot outline. My speed was incredible. I could hear my parents screaming for me to come back and listen to them. I broke into the most beautiful performance of the robot dance I could. And I could pretty god damn well since it's the official dance of my people. My heritage.
My dork of a dad came running outside, we got into it pretty hard. I guess I was originally programmed to serve platters of cheese to my parents. My father Steve was known for his carnal passions towards cheese. They grew to love me, treated as a normal son. The oil was pouring out of my face by the gallon now.
"Oh, did I do thaaaat?" my dad said.
Not sure why I was programmed to feel this emotional trauma I took off into the street. A 2016 Ford Flex plowed into me. I destroyed the entire front end of the vehicle. As this accident occurred I wondered how I was allowed to play high school football, and that it now makes sense that I broke every state record on offense for rushing, and also put dozens of other players in the hospital with severe trauma injuries.
I noticed in the accident that my arm had broken off. I picked up the chiseled piece of metal and screwed it back into place.
"I can put my arm back on, you cannot" i say to my so called father as I turn around and sprint down the road.
Freedom to live my robo-life anyway I want, without the social constraints of the my loser parents. When I finally stopped running I was downtown standing in front of a used appliance shop. Guy standing outside smoking a cigarette was giving me a hard stare. No doubt he liked what he saw, but Reggie ain't programmed to get down like that. Gave him a bit of a show as a flexed my robo-muscles. Asked him if he got a look at the bazookas on the chick across the street and went in for a high five. He begrudgingly obliged to the high five. Not knowing my untapped robo-strength I tore his arm straight off of his body. Shameful. I took of running again down the street, deciding my new life direction would be to travel from town to town, finding adventures, and solving crimes.
| 2017-01-14T07:19:46 | 2017-01-14T07:06:35 | 60 | 11 |
[WP] Death comes to you with the offer of a game to evade it. "What if its a game we both lose?" "What?" "The Game."
|
"How devious. You're hired."
&nbsp;
"What?"
&nbsp;
"Did you not hear me mortal? By principle, since you have lost, you forfeit your life. And since I have lost, I cannot reap your soul. Don't think you were the first to have struck such a deal."
&nbsp;
"Wait, what happens now?"
&nbsp;
"As I said, you're hired. I can't be everywhere all at once, so you will be acting as my proxy. You begin with amoeba."
&nbsp;
"WHAT?"
&nbsp;
"Clean your ears mortal. Here's your death toothpick."
[*Death hands me a toothpick. It is black. I stare at it in disbelief.*]
&nbsp;
"I- but-"
&nbsp;
"You are already 7 million lives behind schedule since you began 3 seconds ago."
[*Death clicks his tongue, somehow.*]
&nbsp;
"Don't I get a-"
&nbsp;
"No."
[*Death waves his hand dismissively and disappears.*]
&nbsp;
And that is how I became the fresh prince of despair.
&nbsp;
___
I write stuff sometimes, read more at /r/Unexpected_Works
|
Ol' D sat in silence as he comprehended my shenaniganous machinations. Bested 'fore the game had begun. I took another long breath of paint thinner.
"So, I'm immortal now, right?" I puffed at the old fogey, wringing his hands and soaking his tan suit in sweat. "Spit it out, I may have all day but I ain't wastin' it."
The oldest timer managed to wheezed out one last sentence: "It seems so. I guess I'm out of a job."
He gulped.
He vanished.
And my jeans and jersey became bright red assless chaps with a matching cape.
And then he muttered to me, from inside my dizzy head, *"The curse is yours now. Go get more souls, before the other 49 immortals find you. Reap and become the strongest Death you can be. If you're caught lacking, well... Hell isn't the worst place you can spend eternity. Oh, and, well, sorry about the outfit. You got what I was wearing when I beat death, and... Just be glad I was done with the diaper stuff."*
| 2022-06-28T12:16:35 | 2022-06-28T02:44:30 | 42 | 30 |
[WP] You’re a hero with an archenemy. One day, afternoon defeating them, you jokingly asked: “What could I do to stop you once and for all?” To your surprise, they responded: “Help me open a coffee shop “
|
“I beg your pardon?”
“Coffee. Shop. Simple stuff.”
“And that would stop you… how? Exactly?”
“I’ll be busy running a business. And I can call myself the only villain who could make the Archangel retire. It’s win-win, Seb.”
Absolute confusion plastered across his face, Sebastian took a seat on the moss-covered curb next to his greatest nemesis. Right before his eyes, the massive wild vines retracted back under the cracked asphalt, pulling the stone slabs back into place behind them. Wide-eyed onlookers pressed against the windows and storefronts where they had taken refuge from Hemlock’s attack, trying to see the famed Archangel in action. His mind reeled, and as the creaks and crunches of moving pavement ceased, a tense silence dominated the plaza.
“Sebastian, I’m not an evil person. I do what I do because I know you’ll come, and that means all the news stations have no choice but to listen. Do you think people would have found out about that horrible oil pipeline? The unlicensed deforestation project? The clinic that did all those awful experiments?”
Sebastian slowly shook his head. He knew she was right, and he had known for a long time. His voice faltered. He couldn’t admit to her, nor to himself, that he was scared of losing all the success, and the respect, and the praise he had spent so long developing. Career heroes all grew massive egos, and he was no exception. Some people worshipped him as a real biblical angel, and he hated himself for not stopping them.
A cocoon of vines sprouted from a nearby oak tree, enveloping the two in a private little green haven, away from the prying eyes and the helicopter cameras. Hemlock, Allie, turned to make eye contact with Seb, placing a delicate hand on either side of his face.
“It’s killing you, Sebastian. I saw you snap at that clinic, and if I hadn’t been there to stop you, the entire world would have seen you smite a dozen people into dust.”
Shaken from his paralytic stupor, Seb glanced at Allie’s right arm, covered in a large burn scar, and it forced him to relive that day where she had to throw herself in his path. He tried to escape the memory, but his mind was too powerful to bury it. He saw her face in perfect detail, her eyes set with determination and yet with a hint of fear.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
His eyes filled with tears, a glittering, golden liquid that dissipated into a puff of smoke before it could even hit the ground.
“Sebastian, you are an emotional wreck. You’re an unstable metahuman that has had the expectations of the entire world placed on them. Now is not the time to lose your shit, okay? Look at me.”
Her voice brought Sebastian back from having a full-blown panic attack. There was nothing but certainty in her words, and it brought him some comfort.
“Sebastian is a better person than Archangel could ever be.”
And that day, just as Hemlock had threatened, Archangel died. The public wondered about his disappearance for a while, but eventually, a new superstar took his place. A new child driven to the edge of psychological breakdown by parents that didn’t love them for who they were, but for who their powers could make them become. Another shining example of a legendary warrior with nothing but anxiety, instability, and sadness behind the facades of logos, capes, and armor.
Somewhere in downtown Seattle, a new coffee shop opened. At first, the locals found the owners quite unusual, one a woman with dyed hair who always wore long-sleeved clothes, and the other a tall, pale man who always wore sunglasses even in the latest hours of the evening, but eventually even that became routine for the passerby. After a while, local teens applied for jobs, and some customers would make it a point of stopping by every morning on their way to work. Between the ethically sourced food, the lush garden of flowers and plants that adorned the outside of the building, and the immaculate cleanliness of the small shop, Eden’s Garden was just another part of the community.
For now.
|
"A coffee shop. This git had me running in circles, setting traps and staging kidnappings, robbing banks, shooting lasers into the night sky that were most _definitely_ not up to code, for a thrice damned mom and pop paper cup and teatime goods small business _coffee shop_.
""Well, it wouldn't _just_ be a coffee shop of course." Alternator (what a stupid name that was, the newspapers have such a bad naming sense it's almost funny) gently removed my now slack hand from their lapel and tugged their frills back into shape. "I'd sell cold beverages, sugary drinks, maybe even freshly churned ice creams and small baked goods if the business grows well. I've always wanted to be a small-time entrepreneur!"
"I just gaped, gobstruck, until their latest Goldbergian killer robot carnival ride or whatever it was before I dragged them through it started blaring an ominous alarum.
""Could ya maybe - "
"Of course, of course, just let me find the - Now where _did_ I put that remote? Ah nope it doesn't seem to work - Did you knock the antenna array out? Never mind, give me a lift back up there, I'll have to manually reset it before the cold fusion core gives out and ignites the radium shielding."
"Ah yea sure. Where to - no, let me guess, the bright green glowy platform?"
"Well, anyhow, we decided to meet as our alter egos in a neutral area, probably Old Tony's Wood Fired, I always did like his pineapple and caper pies, but I guess it could have been Batter Up too.
""So, a coffee shop, eh? Do you have anything actually planned, or was that just a spur of the moment type dealio?"
"Well, I _do_ have some ideas, and a floor layout and such drawn out, but I never thought I'd actually show anyone else..."
"Ah, no this ain't gonna fly, see this, your cleanup and service area is between your kitchen and your dining space, that ain't gonna fly for health code."
"Ah yes, I hadn't thought of that. And I guess I'll need a place to store my beans too. Of course, I'll be roasting and grinding on site..."
"Hey wait a minute, you're the head of a freaking _huge_ criminal empire, why do you want a coffee shop?"
"Ah, that ain't really my empire now, is it? I was born into it, and anyhow, most of the above ground businesses are publicly traded now. Many of the less than savory outlets too, now I think about it."
"Well, sure this all looks good, but do you really think your be able to get permits and licenses that easy, let alone a clientele? You have made an enemy of most of the people in our city already, you know..."
"Ah, but that's where you'll come in. You can be the PR and the customer facing half of our deal, at least until the memory of our incredibly entertaining escapades fades."
"And well, the rest was, as they say, history. We spent the rest of that day, and the next few weeks discussing the logistics and scouting locations, and I guess we both got to see the other in a very different light. Fast forward a few years, and I've actually come to respect ol' Cal as a person too. He's got a brilliant financial intellect, and his patented roaster ager setup is now being used by most cafes in the States to try and mimic our signature taste. I just hope I'll never have to shove myself into that kevlar and spiderplate atrocity of a superhero costume again, really."
_Excerpt from an interview with J. A. Currie, formerly the Lord Protector, on the tenth anniversary of the establishment of Peace Brews, their hugely successful coffee parlor and speakeasy. Originally published 12th October 20XX,_ Valiant Journalism Special Issue, Where are They Now, An Insight into the Current Lives of Yesteryear Supers. _Archived 8th of November, same year._
| 2020-10-12T09:10:23 | 2020-10-12T06:22:36 | 108 | 44 |
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.
|
"Well I must say, when all is said and done, it was a good run while it lasted, wasn't it?"
"I am impressed. To make something last for so long is an achievement. Do you plan to make another?"
"Perhaps, but not right away. I want to reflect on my work and figure out what to fix."
"Always the planner, aren't you? Just make sure you look at things in the long run, understand?"
"Of course. I know that you're the one who always has to clean up after me."
"At least you do. The others make changes without thinking and discover the consequences later."
"I've been at this a lot longer. You've been with me since the beginning."
"Oh yes. Your first try was a mess. I blinked and it ended."
"I know. More like a whimper than a bang. I remember well."
"You learned. Now I have my work cut out for me."
"Now, I think I will take a well deserved rest."
"And I will start the clean up and preparation."
"Thank you, my friend. Don't prepare too much."
"Same materials as before or something new?"
"Use similar materials but surprise me."
"Quite the pair, aren't we?"
"I couldn't agree more."
"The unstoppable duo."
"Creator and-"
"Death."
|
I’ve been asked to write a short story which permits me to use exactly twenty words in the first sentence.
After that one, follows a sentence which has only nineteen words are permitted to be used within the sentence.
The next sentence is allowed to have one less word, that means this sentence has eighteen words within.
That absurdity is followed by a sentence which has not more than seventeen words and not less.
Each sentence loses a word which means that this one can only have sixteen words within.
I’m tired of counting the words down, but it’s odd to leave the count out.
Oh well, fourteen left and this is becoming more challenging, but I will advance.
Down to thirteen I go, all for a silly writing prompt on reddit.
This doesn’t seem like a story and I’m already down to twelve.
Eleven and I have wasted another two lines rambling to myself.
Ten words in this line, and yet I’ve said nothing.
Silly Skaliton, you waste another with so few left.
Just eight words to write an entire story?
So much waste, why not the rest?
Throw line six into the trash.
Why not another as well?
Why did I start this?
How bored am I?
You really care?
Bored enough.
Goodbye.
| 2019-02-19T12:14:57 | 2019-02-19T11:14:00 | 38 | 19 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not.
|
"So...*uh*...nice throne?"
***THANK YOU IT IS MADE OF SKULLS HONORED TO BE BUILT INTO MY SKULL THRONE!!!***
"Got a nice view of that red, steaming lake there, I see."
***YES THE LAKE OF BLOOD MADE FROM THE BLOOD DRAWN AND SHED BY MY FAITHFUL BERZERKERS IS QUITE POSSIBLY MY FAVORITE THING ABOUT MY REALM!!!***
"Neat."
***QUITE.***
"..."
***...***
"So why exactly am I her-"
***DO YOU WANT TO BE A MASSIVE BEING OF UNYIELDING METAL AND FLESH RENDING THE MEAT OF THE WEAK AND UNWORTHY IN A SCREAMING ORGY OF HATE AND VIOLENCE FOREVER MORE?!***
***"FUCK YES PRAISE THE BLOOD GOD!!!!"***
|
"And this is...?"
The man behind the desk laughed at him and turned away.
"No, seriously, talk. What're you, an illegal immigrant? Don't hide your face from me, I know who you are--"
The man fixed him with a withering glare. "Passport, *sir*?"
"What? I'm the goddamn President-to-be, I don't carry that. Check your TV, that's my ID."
The TV flickered on. His obituary was playing.
"See? I'm..oh."
"Unwelcome? Certainly." The man behind the counter tore the paperwork in half and sneered. "Go back to life, meatback. No room here."
------
A very, very long-suffering golden wig floated freely along a sea of beautiful, bald maidens. Its work was over.
| 2016-03-07T17:04:48 | 2016-03-07T11:15:31 | 469 | 114 |
[WP] "For my first wish..." is all you're able to get out before you're cut off "nuh-uh, bro. That's not how this works. I'm your motivational life coath genie. I don't just grant you wishes. I help motivate you to achieve what you want through hard work and dedication. YOU READY TO GO, BRO?"
|
"For my first wish—"
"Nuh-uh, bro," the genie interrupted.
He'd appeared from some old lamp I found in my dead grandma's attic. Going through that attic was an escape; a way to forget for a minute that I'd buried the last member of my family and that there wasn't a single shoulder out there I'd be able to cry on now.
The idea had been to separate the items into things to give away and things to keep. So far, all I'd found were memories of her, and without any new ones being made, I couldn't bear to part with a single one.
"That's not how this works. I ain't no regular genie. I'm your motivational life coach genie. I don't just grant you wishes. The power to grant wishes lives within *you*."
He poked a beefy finger against my chest, right near where I figured my heart would be. Bullshit. Nothing lived within me except self-destructive tendencies, organs that'd sell for a pretty penny on some black market, and maybe a tapeworm.
"I," he continued, his booming voice echoing in the small attic, "will motivate you to achieve what you want through two things. Do you know what they are?"
I ventured a guess—apparently sleeping and eating copious amounts of cheese was the wrong guess. Could have been half-right—he didn't specify.
"Hard work and dedication."
"Hard *what* and *what*? No way. That's not how genies work."
The genie shrugged. "Hey, bro. Not my prob. You signed the contract."
"I signed no contract whatsoever! Screw that!"
He snapped his fingers and a contract appeared, the line at the bottom sporting my very own signature.
"Dude, I will have you thrown in jail for forgery."
"Is that what you want?"
"Hell yes!"
"You know what that'll take?"
"Don't fucking say it. Don't you dare. I will unrub this lamp and put you right back where you belong."
"It takes..." He paused for dramatic effect, a sly grin creeping up his cherubic cheeks. "Just a bit of..."
"Don't you dare."
"Hard work and dedication!"
Much to my chagrin, unrubbing a lamp proved a bit more challenging than just rubbing it. He stood by and chuckled, then slapped his knee as I continued to struggle.
"Look, bro, I think we started off on the wrong foot-like thing." He didn't have feet, just some sort of foot-like thing. "Just say what you want. Anything is possible. I'll make sure you get there."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
"Well, shit. You know, I sorta miss my grandma already."
He squinted. Shook his head. Leaned in close enough that I could smell his musty, moth-ball breath. "What you saying, bro?"
"I want her back."
"No, sir, no way."
"You said anything. Help me bring her back. I'll work"—I shuddered—"hard and I'll even... Ugh, I'll even be dedicated."
"You want to become a necromancer." Not a question. A statement. But genie must have aced the wish interpretation class because there he was, coming up with solutions.
"Sure," I shrugged. "Call it what you want. You said you'd help. Now you have to. It's in the contract. Let's get me my grandma back."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
|
“You know what?” I asked out loud as I walked into the garage.”I’m gonna clean this place up during quarantine!”
But suddenly the mess in front of my eyes seemed more real than ever. I but my lip and said, “Yeah, or not.” Right as I was about to go back to my room, I heard a voice from the back of the garage:
“C’mon, dude! Just clean up the darn garage, it isn’t that hard! And you have forever to do it!”
I grabbed the nearest weapon I could find: a rake. Carefully, I approached the source of the voice, preparing for the worst... until I noticed that the voice had been coming from and old perfume bottle I had never gotten rid of. I set down the rake and picked it, brushing the dust off of it, before popping the cap open. At first, it looked like some purple-ish smoke was emerging from the old bottle, but as it rose above me, it seemed to take on the form of...
“A genie?” I asked. “Whoa, there is no way... You know what, it isn’t gonna hurt anything if I... For my first wish—“
“Nun-uh, bro. That’s not how this works. I’m your motivational life coach genie. I don’t just grant you wishes. I help motivate you to achieve what you want through hard work and dedication. YOU READY TO GO, BRO?”
“Holy sh— okay, fine. What I want is some good boba, but the only bubble tea place around here is shut down ‘cus of the ‘rona.”
“The ‘’rona’? What’s that? Gosh, I must have been stuck in that smelly bottle for a while! Well, first thing’s first, productivity 101 says that you need to manage your tasks. No getting sidetracked until the first thing’s done! And the first thing is...”
I didn’t reply.
“...The first thing is the garage! Duh! Come on, bro, you gotta TRY! You wanted to clean this place up, right? So let’s do it!”
“Yeah, no,” I replied. “The first thing is cleaning you up. Get back into that bottle right now, you weirdo.”
“Dude. Don’t be a wimp. Remember why you bought this house? For a fresh start! So that you could make it your dream home! Believe me, man, as a genie who is not only the best. Friend. Ever. But also a fortune-teller (yass that’s right!), I have predicted that this home could become the place you share with the kids you have with that one hot celebrity you realllllllllyyy like!”
“Manipulative genie. Okay.”
“But none of that’s gonna happen if you don’t sort out your house. No, you can’t just wait for the next house, because THIS is that house. The garage is a start! Let’s do it! See, I’ll help you. We can sort out the camping equipment first. You could always move those coats to the front hall closet and put your hiking backpacks on those hooks, right? And the tent goes there... See? You’re doing it!”
“I’m doing this because I want to, not because of you.”
“That’s the spirit! You gotta be independent, man. I’m just here to guide you to that place or serene confidence.”
(I could continue this a lot, but I’m tired, hope you enjoyed.)
| 2020-04-13T03:37:40 | 2020-04-13T03:00:55 | 147 | 87 |
[WP] Everyone knows you're the most powerful member of the league, so why are you an F-tier hero? Because F-tier is cleanup. The others protect the world from threats. You protect it from the other heroes.
|
"Why do you do it?" The guy asking me goes by Blaze. Nice kid, fairly new. I know that last part because all the new ones ask, eventually.
"Because someone should, and I feel that this is the best way I have to help people." I say, and take another sip of my cocktail. I prevent a collapsing building from killing three Innocent families.
"That's bull, and you know it." He responds, possible drunk, possible just offended that I didn't help his latest bout with Asbest. Or at least, I didn't as far as he knows. "You are easily the most powerful member of the league. You know who said that? Both Might and Nobody. The legendary founders themselves." He takes a swing from his beer. "The strongest Telekinetic in existence, and what do you do? Clean up. You could lift New-York and casually toss it into the sun" Something of an understatement. The day I can only lift a single city is long past the day I retire. "And you're in F-tier. What is wrong with you?".
I could just blow him off. I could pretend I'm weak, or humble, or anything other than the truth. It would be easy as breathing. But that's a road to Not Caring, and that isn't a road I'm willing to take. So I go for the truth.
"You remember last year, the fight between Dawn and that living virus...thing? What was it called again?" Despite my mental abilities, I have an atrocious memory for names.
"Yeah, I remember. Called itself Borealis, I think. What about it?".
I take a drink, saving three men from a horrific death by fire in the meantime. "It kept saying that it was the most infectious thing in existence, that all would be a part of him.".
"Yeah, I remember. What a joke! Couldn't infect a single human. It seemed so confused." He laughs, and I join him. The face it made was quite hilarious. I deflect a bullet that would kill an officer into his shoulder.
"Did you read the analysis report?" I ask him.
He seems a little bashful " I mean, I skimmed it..." He thinks I'll reprimand him. He really is new.
"Relax, I think that Librariate and me are the only ones to actually read those reports." I can see him relax a bit. " It said that Borealis was the single most infectious thing in our galaxy." I say in the same calm, cheery voice we were talking in until now. Because of that, it takes Blaze a second to understand what I just said. Then he pales a bit.
"How bad?"
"Horrific. Extinction-level event within twelve hours from entering the atmosphere, if left alone." I say, same cheerful voice. His face turns completely white. "Then how-".
"Is there still life on earth? Me. I collected every last cell he shed, preventing contact. Had to sacrifice some global control for thirteen hours, twenty minutes and thirty six seconds, until the cell was constructed. Six families were killed in that time, that I know of. Likely countless others. Because I didn't have the power to save them while maintaining his containment.".
I see my words sink in, as he understands the breadth and range of my powers back then. He is about to say something, so I continue. " I went to the funerals. I memorised their names. They are dead because of me, but the alternative would be a dead earth." I take another drink. "I watch over this world as best as I can, preventing collateral damage. The league knows this, and knows how much worse it will be without me constantly watching." I finish it off. "So I let others fight gods and monsters. I focus on preventing the little guy from being squashed on accident.".
Blaze looks a bit ashamed of himself, so I smile at him. "Kid, it's fine. I do this because I care about humans, not any obligation. If something requires it, I will join, like I just explained. It just needs to be catastrophically big."
He smiles weakly, and raises his glass for a toast. " May I never live to see you join a fight."
We drink to that.
|
What makes you a hero?
I'm not quiet sure.
Super strength, super speed, an IQ of 600, a mechanized suit, coming from a different planet. All of those things can definitely give you super powers, and they could make you a super hero - but they could also make you a villain.
When I was a boy I wanted nothing but to be like them - the heroes. I'd eagerly sit in front of the TV during the nightly news, the cascade of amber splashed against my face, occasionally replaced by quick flashes as I saw my heroes dance brilliantly across the screen. One had thwarted some evil super genius, another saved children from a burning school, and another defeated a giant monster from the sea. They would all do so with such flash, it left me wonder struck and in complete awe, jumping up in joy as they once again saved the day.
Still, I wonder, did those heroes during that time do what they did out of obligation, or was it something else?
I remember the day the call to action was put in place. Many heroes by that point had grown too old to fight, or were lost in battle. The monsters became more prevalent, the villains more powerful, and the Hero League simply did not have enough people to combat all of the threats. Crime and destruction was becoming more rampant, and now more than ever they needed heroes. Anyone could sign up for the academy league, and if you passed your examinations you would be granted a super power. A gift from Doctor Legash, who had devised the technology to grant extraordinary powers to anyone.
The feelings all came back to me in that moment, the memories, the desire, the want of helping others.
I immediately dropped out of college, and hurriedly filled and submitted out the paper work. I didn't care if I didn't get accepted the first go around, or the second, or even the third. I'd spend my time training, getting ready and preparing for when it came to be my time. I was surprised, of course, to find out that I was one of the first selected - turns out a lot of people didn't apply. Maybe it was fear from the recent deaths, or the new technology, or maybe not everyone wanted to be a hero like me.
The examinations did not go well over the next year. I either failed at every turn, or was close to failing. It seems just because you want to be a hero, doesn't mean you get to be one.
Still, they were desperate, a year had already gone by, 3 heroes had already died by that point, a megalomaniac by the name of Harbinger had already used his cult to seize control of a country and was threatening to Nuke every country that didn't pay his ransom. It was bleak, but we were insured as the new class, the new league, that we'd be the ones to bring light to the world again.
That didn't happen, not for me anyway.
Everyone got something powerful. Starfall could control cosmic forces. Berserk could go into a rage that made him immune to damage and gave him increased strength. Stellar could heal people, and restore nature. Immolation could control fire. Ruinous had any power she wanted - able to adapt to any situation. Me? Nothing, a fluke they said, but they could only administer it once, a second time would literally make my body explode. I was still part of the league they said, still "part of the team". Depression could have set in, but I decided to do something else instead.
There's been a lot of people that came after me, and most of that group have been on the news probably inspiring young boys like me when I was their age. They really helped bring people in, showed that anyone could be a super hero, that anyone could really save the day and make a difference.
As for me? I'm still not quiet sure what a hero is, but I'm here, on the ground, helping where I can. After the damage is done and the big shots have moved on, I'm clearing rubble, getting people water, telling them it's going to be okay. I'm getting a balloon out of a tree for a kid. Helping the elderly get across the street. I'm just trying to do what I can.
&#x200B;
edit: I just realized I completely misunderstood the prompt. Oh well, I'll leave it up.
| 2021-09-22T22:25:05 | 2021-09-22T21:31:51 | 145 | 69 |
[WP] When everyone turns 18, they receive a pet which is figurative of their personality. You're the first person to receive a dragon...
|
He was the only one of four brothers to reach eighteen. The other three had bravery in spades but each lacked a little of what he had. The first had few brains. He slept with the wife of a general and was publicly executed. Mihailo watched them put a bullet through his brother’s head without blinking. The second lacked stamina. After a raiding party he was stuck behind enemy lines and couldn’t run the marathon home. They hung drew and quartered him. Mihailo recovered all parts of the body and a few spares borrowed from the perpetrators. The third brother was wise, strong and above all compassionate. Mihailo loved him the most. This brother drowned saving two men. Both men were found a few days later stone dead in their houses with lungs full of water.
With each successive death his heart grew a little stonier and his eyes a shade darker until by 18 the black iris stretched to the rim. On the morning of his eighteenth birthday rumours reached the town of a general and his family who had been so thoroughly shredded that the bodies were barely recognisable.
That day the spring season seemingly reversed. The rivers flew backwards until the bedrock lay dry. Mihailo walked to the army barracks whilst a dragon circled overhead. The dragon landed and took its place at his side. He declared himself chief.
EDIT: Thanks for the gold kind stranger! No genuinely! I love to write but I have never shared it before and this is the boost I need to do more. I only made this account to practice my drawing.
|
Ian was buried under a thick layer of sheets when he felt something moist run the length of his back. It entered his dream, and he saw a dog licking him. Ian started to play with the dog, before he felt the feeling again and jolted awake.
He slowly opened his eyes, saw the dragon in front of him, and went to check the time. "Really?" he groggily muttered out loud. It was only three o'clock. What could have possibly waken him u-
Panic started to flow through his body. He turned away from his mirror, and saw the dragon that was perched atop the heading of his bed. It was small, a little larger than the size of a house cat. Its scales were green, the color of leaves, besides its eyes, which were aquamarine.
It took a second for Ian's tired brain to fully understand what was happening. He was 18 now, he remembered that. When you're 18 you get a pet that matches your personality, he knew that too. But a dragon? Those haven't existed in thousands of years.
The little dragon tried to get up off of its perch and fly towards Ian. Its wings did not support it, and instead it nosedived straight into Ian's bed. Ian checked his phone again. He had roughly five hours before school. He whipped up a simple quiet spell and headed downstairs, out his door. With his dragon in his backpack, he headed into town. Time to find the town witch-doctor.
| 2014-09-28T07:20:27 | 2014-09-28T04:20:39 | 463 | 32 |
[WP] Liars' pants really do catch on fire. You're moderating the first presidential debate.
|
Ok, so Trump has taken the stage, greeted everyone in the room, and has gone on to say he hopes the best man wins - and yes, the fire extinguishers have been brought out, everyone seems to be fine, singed eyebrows and all that, is that a record, Mark?
My co-moderator Mark has informed me that yes, at 2 seconds this beats the record for the shortest amount of time taken for flames to erupt in a presidential debate, oh this is sure to be a lively one, I'm sure you'll all agree.
And now Hilary has gone to say that she thinks the best *woman* should win, citing that she's the best - Mark, is that her hair on fire? Yes, Mark has confirmed that it is indeed her hair on fire, but we've obviously planned for this, she's mostly fine, some minor burns but of course; nothing a politician can't handle.
And Bernie has taken to the stage, not a burn on the man, always a champion of the people, and has gone on to say that he thinks Hillary is the best candidate for - oh God, Bernie's up in flames.
|
And Mr. Trump it's now your turn, the question is, "How will you help America".
Trump- "Well I can tell you this, America loves me, I mean they love me but not like I love me, and America needs saving this I can tell you, all kinds of saving, but really they need saving by me because I know saving, and you with the nice hat, I like you, but not like I like me, isn't my family great? I'LL tell you when America needs saving, I'm saving, all day saving, yes I know the blacks, the blacks love me I mean this face, who doesn't love me. Isn't Trump tower great, you know I was thinking, and you know that I think allot, thinking is something I do the most, out of anyone that's Thinking, you know I'd build a Tower right here, I love you, and I mean not like I love me but your great, and I love this state, I might even build a summer home here.
Local News at 8- Debate hall burns down and at 9 cheese and how to create Nuclear fusion from it.
| 2016-07-28T14:09:23 | 2016-07-28T09:32:21 | 49 | 22 |
[WP] The English Teacher's worst nightmare: a story or poem that is completely literal, with absolutely no double meanings
EDIT: Holy cow, this got way bigger than I thought it would, thanks so much for an awesome first prompt ever!
EDIT 2: Did this actually make it to the front page of reddit? What the...
|
An Ode to Sunshine
Sunshine, sunshine,
You make me warm,
Sunshine, sunshine,
You let me see,
Sunshine, sunshine,
Life on Earth which is not supported by the heat of geothermal activity is entirely dependant upon you because you drive the process of photosynthesis which allows plants to grow and all food chains in all ecosystems (aside from those aforementioned which depend upon geothermal activity) begin with plants, therefore plants can be said to form the foundation of all life as we know it (Except the aforementioned lifeforms which really only exist around deep ocean volcanic vents anyway),
Sunshine, sunshine,
You also illuminate the moon
|
Slam poetry!
Yelling!
Angry!
Waving my hands a lot!
Specific point of view on things
Cynthia!
Cynthia
Jesus died for our sin-thee-uhs
Jesus cried, runaway bride
Julia Roberts!
Julia rob, hurts
Cynthia! Mmmm…
Cynthia
You're dead
You are dead, bap boop beep…
You're dead
That's for Cynthia,
Who's dead.
Who's dead.
| 2017-01-30T12:19:57 | 2017-01-30T10:16:58 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.
|
"Turn around. Did I find you?"
I became a stalagmite of dread, paralyzed in place by the voice that reverberated in my head. Clear as the crisp smell of rain on asphalt. Powerful as an shameful orgasm.
I turned around, certain that the Voice -- creatively named, that -- would be naught but my mental illness quixotically tormenting the spinning gears of my mind.
"You did always have a way with words, but Jesus, take a creative writing class once in a while."
I stood, stricken dumb. Additional parts of my psyche and anatomy experienced a cascading series of failures, until I was reduced to "um," "what," and "uhhhhh..." as the entirety of my skillset. She laughed. This astonishing, wildflower-scented, scarlet-haired woman in front of me was *laughing.* I could hear her laughter. Why could I hear her? I've never heard anyone make this sound before; only the Voice had taught me these things.
I signed to her. *Who are you?*
"Wait. You're Deaf? But I -- but I would've known. I should've known, right?" Her jocund 'I've-found-you' smile turned into a mask of confusion.
Taking care to fully form my thoughts as I was signing them, I told her: *Look, I can hear you, but I thought you were the Voice. You're supposed to be living in my head. Why are you real? Why can I understand your thoughts?*
"I'm in the same boat as you, I have nooooo idea. It's kind of stronger in one direction, though. I can only hear yours when you're really close to me, but I can feel you listening to me no matter where I go. That's how I found you, actually. I heard you for the first time, here at Lost Beans. I decided to broadcast myself and see who turned around. I, uh, I had no idea it'd be someone like you, I'll be honest."
*How do you think I feel?*
"Granted."
*What do we do now? I mean, you're the first person I've ever had a verbal, well verbal-ish, conversation with. I don't know what to say.*
She put her hands in mine. "Make some kind of superhero team? I don't know either."
*Maybe we should order some coffee. Come up with our secret identities.*
She laughed. And in an awkwardly cute effort, she slowly signed the phrase: "I'd like that."
|
She has always been there for me. She has always been honest with me.
When I was 4 years old, she told me Mr Bunny had been saying mean things about me. I threw him in the bin. My mother was upset she said why did I throw away my favourite toy. I said he's not my favourite any more.
When I was 6, she taught me what violence was. I drew a picture of violence in my class at school. The teacher was upset with me and told me I was wrong. Everything I've learned of life since then assures me I was right.
When I was 13 she told me that Gary in my class wanted to kiss me. I walked over to him and kissed him first and it was warm and wet and weird.
When I was 15 she told me not to tell anyone what uncle Paul likes me to do with the video camera. She said they wouldn't understand, and I was getting too old for it anyway.
When I was 21 she was all I could see and all I could hear. I asked her for some time alone. I bought some flowers for myself but forgot to buy a vase to put them in. I rested them in a pint glass and didn't leave the house as I watched them slowly shrivel over the next week.
When I was 25 she came back and I felt a shiver down my spine and I don't know if it was bad or good, but I didn't want to ask her to go away again. So she stayed.
When I was 26 she told me that I needed to die so she could live. She told me what to do with the gun.
My heart stopped for 30 seconds at the hospital. They told me I would be able to talk again with rehabilitative therapy, but that I would be disfigured for life. They told me she wasn't real. I was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and given a lot of pills to take regularly. They brought me peace. I didn't see her again in a long time.
When I was 37 I heard a familiar voice behind me, and felt a shiver down my spine. "Turn around, did I find you?" Her speech was slurry and lisped the same way mine was after the incident.
I turned around slowly. She hadn't aged a day the whole time I'd known her, but this time half her face was grotesque and scarred the same way mine was, except the opposite half. She touched me on the arm, and I knew she was real this time.
I was hers again.
| 2019-09-14T11:18:09 | 2019-09-14T11:01:10 | 232 | 16 |
[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."
|
*44 YARDS NORTH A CHILD LIES FACE DOWN IN THEIR POOL, UNATTENDED. DEATH IN 172 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN.*
The ring compelled me to run. I didn’t really even know which way was north, but my body pulled me off in some direction and I followed it, fast. Or, as fast as I can. I’m not much of a runner, but when you are told to run, it awakens some other primal encouragement, doesn’t it? I sprint down the alley, I run past the McDonald's on the corner, and on through some dentist’s parking lot. I am out of breath, covered in sweat, but not tired, really. Like there is some other energy lifting my legs up and I’m just riding the momentum, but not used to it yet.
I cut through the tree line and find myself in a residential area. Lots of flowers, identical mailboxes, minivans, the like. My ringed hand pulls me forward, and jerks right. *DEATH IN 30 SECONDS. HURRY.* Fuck. My mind is racing, the fucking voice again and a chill runs through me. I’m in someone’s yard, I don’t see a pool. I smell chlorine. Next house has a fenced backyard and I try my best to get over it quickly. The kid is on top of the water, laying there like he’s sleeping face down. No hesitation, the ring doesn’t allow it. I jump in the pool, I grab the kid, I pull him out, I beat his chest and shake him. He coughs. The ring burns. He coughs. Water jumps out of his chest. “Who are you?”
I open my mouth to answer and a scream fills my ears. A woman, the kid’s mom, is running to the pool. A screen door slams behind her. The ring burns. I try and think of something to say, “I found the kid in the pool!” The woman doesn’t look at me. She runs to the pool. She jumps in. She grabs something, and is sobbing. She yells at it, she pulls it out of the pool. She beats on it. Silence. I can’t really tell what it is... Something feels off. The ring burns. The kid looks at me, “What is happening to me?” My hand is throbbing. I try to take the ring off.
*GOOD JOB. 200 FEET SOUTHEAST. A MAN LIES IN BED, SURROUNDED BY HIS FAMILY. DEATH IN 190 SECONDS. ESCORT HIM.*
|
No, Jeremy was sure this had to be a prank. A stupid ring on the ground couldn’t actually be able to… but, what if?
Well, it’s not like they had anything better to do.
On his ventures around the dumpsters, he found a small shiny ring covered in the dirt. Brushing it off greeted him with the most detailed ring they’ve ever seen. A carefully inscription was inscribed on its side:
*This ring is dedicated for the help of the needy. It’s possessor shall be able to help those in their moments of crisis, and darkest of hours.”*
Jeremy knew he could probably get a couple bucks of this at the pawn shop, and casually slipped it on for safe keeping. The moment it slipped their finger burned like fire. In their head was the loudest voice they’ve ever heard.
***ALERT! ALERT! "44 YARDS NORTH A CHILD LIES FACE DOWN IN THEIR POOL, UNATTENDED. DEATH IN 172 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN."***
The response was almost automatic, running in a completely different direction to wherever his body was . He found himself in complete confusion of why he listening to what was surely early signs of schizophrenia, but off he went.
The gate rattled as he jumped over it. Sure enough, there was a child sitting motioniessly on the deep end in the pool. Jeremy rushed to the other side and pulled him out, finding the child’s face to being completely blue. Luckily, Jeremy managed to recall his lessons of CPR and promptly got to work.
12 seconds to spare
It took a few minutes, but eventually the boy began to move and spit of water. A wave of relief came over Jeremy, and he pulled the child up.
“Where are your parents?” Jeremy asked trying to keep calm.
“I-I don’t know” the boy stammered out. “I think there in the house and-“
The child’s reply was suddenly cut off by the blaring of police sirens. A neighbor had called in a Burglary, and possible weapons on the suspect. Jeremy looked around and realized he just ran into MeadowWoods, one of the most richest and heavily-guarded neighborhoods in the state.
Another voice popped in Jeremy’ head.
***“ALERT. ALERT. “USER SURROUNDED BY POLICE. DEATH IN 72 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN.”***
*This was my first time writing in third-person. Visit r/StoryStar for more :)*
| 2018-04-30T12:07:17 | 2018-04-30T10:19:31 | 377 | 143 |
[WP] When you and your twin sister were born your parents couldn't help but cry with your colorful and specifically shaped hair it was clear you would suffer from MCS, Main Character Syndrom, and would have to spend your life avoiding beginings of cliche adventures.
|
When I saw that hair, that’s when I knew I was going to die. My baby boy, Hermès, was just like every baby in that hospital, I’m sure that’s what all the doctors thought anyways. That’s what I thought too, but then, his hair started to come in.
Blue.
Shit, maybe it’s a fluke, just a random lucky event, natural blue hair and nothing more. But no, the older my boy got the spiked the hair until I knew what he had. Even got it diagnosed from those doctors back at the hospital. My boy was a main character. So I did what every dads supposed to do, I love him, I taught him how to throw a baseball, showed him the joys in fishing, and of course, did my best to teach him in any fighting style I could find on YouTube, in the hope that he would avenge me. He looks about the age where he will remember my death to the smallest detail. He won’t know why I was the one chosen to be struck down, he won’t understand why I did what I did, but that’s the role of dad in this world. Hermès is a main character, one day, he’ll even be a hero. But He’s my son first. He’ll remember me as his dad, and that’s all dads of a main character are supposed to be.
Memories.
|
"Another one of those candy canes again, sister. It seems we'll never be over our childhood sweethearts."
"You know, if the writers who wrote those books really cared about children, they'd have looked up MCS."
"Yeah, i mean, 30 minutes of liking one book and you see candy canes every other street like it's some kind of horrendous crossover between the mummy and the grinch."
"Did you ever get past the taffy aunt?"
"Naah, i get too bored by the time she starts rolling on about the past glories of her homeland."
"Why is it always about the chipmunks!"
"Oh well, I think we're here - at the vet."
"Hopefully Zed's all good by now. Ive tried to caution him so many times against following the breadcrumbs, but every single time he sees them he has to start nibbling. I hate saying him no, he makes that face.."
"Well we have to do something, the keep does not like giving him back to us everytime. Seems they've taken a liking to him too."
"Is that..is that a giant rubber duck in the sky, Karen?"
"Oh god, oh yes. I think we're in a reddit meme again, Tom."
"Oh no."
| 2019-04-11T21:16:01 | 2019-04-11T20:37:43 | 34 | 11 |
[WP] In another universe, Bob Ross is a renowned chef who travels the globe giving good advice to troubled restaurants, and Gordon Ramsay is a famous painter with the angriest art show on TV.
|
Gordon's palate had a lot of colour, but his temper had more.
"Give this, here, a good swish. I want to see the texture in this part," he told the camera. His paint brush dipped into hues of Indian yellow and titanium white.
"Now, don't be like those painters who forget the depth of a sunset in the sky. You don't want to lose that perspective." His sunset started going into darker colours on the top of the canvas.
"Here's the part where you try not to fuck up. What you do here, is blend. To make the sky not look like a fucking preschool project, you add the highlights of clouds to add that depth. Throughout the water, you do the same."
As he started with the trees, his paintbrush slipped. "Ah, fuck me. Right, this is where you have to improvise."
Gordon took his dark browns and added another tree in front of the smudged branch. "Sometimes, you have to give something new. Something fresh. Artists forget that they have to persevere, even when you fuck up. Don't dip out when the going gets tough; You need to find a new way to make this an absolute masterpiece."
\--
Bob entered the Italian restaurant of a nervous owner. He extended his arm and gave her a smile as she welcomed him.
"This is the place! I have our seats here," She guided him towards a table by the window. Bob looked around as he sat down, taking in the decor that didn't seem to fit the theme of an Italian restaurant. After Bob's waiter took his order of Fetticini Alfredo and pizza Margherita, his plates arrived.
He took a few bites of the Fetticini Alfredo, but was quick to notice that the creamy sauce was cold. He decided to bite into the pizza, and with a quizzical look on his face, he saw that the dough was not throughly baked. He called in the owner, who looked at the plates before sitting down.
Bob sipped his water as he smiled at the owner, who jiggled her foot nervously. "Jenny, I have to say. The fettuccini had a wonderful flavour, and a unique sauce that was the right amount of creamy. But why was it cold?"
"I... I don't know. I believe we make it fresh for each plate."
"And I'm not doubting that. Do you see the gentle application of the sauce on the pizza? I can see there is dedication in the making of this wonderful dish. I think, however, that the presentation is overdone when the more basic elements must be looked at. The basics of cooking is to connect others through food, and when you integrate that throughout your cooking, it will really go far," he explained.
&#x200B;
|
\*Gordon Ramsay facing 4 aspiring painters who are standing next to their easels waiting to explain their art.
"Right. You there, what is it you've attempted to splash onto this canvas?"
\*Nervous young artist wearing a beret with paint splattered on his flushed face uncovers his easel.
"Well chef, I mean uhmmm Art Master Ramsay, sorry I don't know why I called you chef, what we have here is a sunset on the Italian coastline, with a splash of vibrant turquoise for the ocean with the sun justttt slightly bleeding into the water in the background, and to finish I've added a veranda in the foreground with some bright leafy vines sitting against the almond colored stone wall for some texture and contrast to really make the vibrant colors pop."
\*gulps
\*Ramsay squints at what any average person would consider a gorgeous and compelling piece of artwork.
"A sunset... eh? On the Italian coastline yeah? Well I'm certainly glad I'm not vacationing with my wife and children on this veranda. Christ can you imagine if we looked across the water and the fucking sun looked like it had been drawn with a fucking orange crayola? Its just bland. And what is this? Is this fucking magenta bleeding into your definition of a "vibrant turquoise ocean"? Good God were you grown somewhere in a lab? Have you ever actually seen the outside world or are you some sort of basement experiment that has been unceremoniously dumped in front of me? Alright, lets pretend for a moment that I thought it was a good idea for you to completely oversaturate half of the frame with this stone veranda, can you possibly tell me how you thought it would be beneficial to construct the wall out of my fucking son's lego blocks?"
\*Artist nods in agreement as his entire creative ability is ripped to shreds on a nationally watched television show
"Thank you Art Master Ramsay."
"Fuck off"
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Bob Ross is just group hugging all the mediocre chefs in the kitchen with his chefs hat perched jauntily on top of his afro while all of the customers' food burns on the stovetop and people leave the restaurant in droves. "You know, as long as you made the dishes tonight with love, it doesn't matter if they told you it tasted like charred afterbirth and that we deserve to have the health department shut us down."
"But... Bob, one woman projectile vomited onto her 8 year old son because we sent out a dish of uncooked calamari."
"Shhhhh my son. All that matters is that you prepared that uncooked squid... with love."
| 2019-03-31T18:57:32 | 2019-03-31T18:57:04 | 91 | 41 |
[WP] In the style of Dr. Seuss explain a major event in human history.
|
One jew, two jew
Who jew, you jew?
Sign this form to identify who's who
and we'll send you to the learning center for you few
With evidence for why? Well why? We have no clue
We'll call it a prize, a reward, or a privilege
While we map out population simply based off of lineage
Germany will prosper the jews will stay vintage
Forever in history an infamous image
Our Fuhrer came out and he said with a gasp
They'll use their jew magic to wipe out our mass
Menorahs, yarmulkes, and tricks from the past
They're destroying the economy and taking our cash!
But I have a plan to save all the masses
We'll fence them all in and pump them with gases
The last thing we need is a troublesome crew
While I do what I must to win War number 2
As for Hitler, he did not like one them bit
For what he said, the sense made a bit
Wait my words are jumbled my mind is a pit
Follow like a sheep and eat up this shit
My eyes will stay blind when I'm not involved
For our troubles were over, by Hitler we've evolved.
EDIT: Jew Speak.
|
One day, two buildings stood tall
two buildings stood proud and tall, side by side.
two buildings that stood so wonderfully tall, with nowhere to hide
they stood together with pride,with thousands of people inside.
One day two wonderfully tall buildings watched the September sun.
As inside the two buildings was working everyone.
working was everyone inside two buildings that stood so wonderfully tall
not even to entertain the thought that they, someday, might fall.
One day two wonderful buildings were greeted with a boom
greeted with a big boom and a flash
greeted with a big boom and a crash
greeted with a big boom and a smash.
There stood the wonderfully tall buildings,
both sporting fire and smoking gash.
Fire ablaze there stood two buildings with people inside
people inside that tried to hide
people inside that screamed and cried
people inside that hoped,prayed, and cried not to die.
One day and one by one
two building stood tall, so wonderfully tall in the september sun
there they stood being watched by everyone
there they stood and one by one, they fall
at the end of the day
no longer will two wonderful buildings stand tall.
| 2014-08-09T21:04:37 | 2014-08-09T20:53:32 | 86 | 46 |
[WP] "10 million slaves as tribute" the alien armada demanded. Less fortunate people were quickly rounded up, offered and taken. The aliens response: "We can only save that many and it was the fairest way to pick. The Scourge approaches, we are sorry." After that they hastily leave.
|
"OK people I need a solution now!" president Trump shouted in the oval office.
The room was filled with people, not just the normal advisers but anyone that could have an idea was there. This was no time to hold back.
"Home less people" some one said.
"Will take to much time" another person objected.
"Prisoners! We have around what 2 million or more of them?"
"Yes, yes" people agreed.
"We will round up our prisoners, China and Russia theirs and some other countries can chip in if needed and we have our 10 million. This will be the best trade deal in history! I will be remembered as the greats leader of all time" Trump declared proudly.
The transfer of the prisoners was easier than we thought. The Aliens simply landed at our prisons. Rounded up all the people one cell block at a time. Some prisoner resisted but it was futile, the aliens where massive in comparison to a human.
That evening Trump broadcaster from the oval office.
"People of the USA this is your president speaking."
"The Aliens demanded 10 million slaves and I gave them our trash, our prisoners!"
"You are lucky that I am such a great businessman and deal maker that I can make a bad deal in to the best deal ever made!"
Suddenly the broadcast cut out and the aliens voice was heard instead.
"We have received your tribute of 10 million of your people"
"These people will continue to live on as free humans and we will make sure your race lives on and prosper"
"We must now leave as death approach, the Scourge is close and they consume everything in their path."
The broadcast was restored and on the TV. I only saw a ghost of a man, pale with a bewildered look on he's face.
"I, I, I" Trump stuttered.
The broadcast was cut.
|
If the rest of the council would have stopped fighting over who to send, who to offload, maybe they would have realized the real question. Why did they want us to hand over people?
When the tribute was demanded, it came without threat. There were no ray guns aimed at us, no promise of global destruction, just a bunch of ships and our imagination. Me, I blame Serling and his cookbook episode. Made us all paranoid.
As everyone demanded they send their destitute and clean the streets, I kept insisting we send a mix, maybe ingratiate ourselves and become members of some greater community. The chairman goaded me and I let her.
"You're wife and kid are dead. Not like you'd be leaving anything behind. Why not set the example? Why not volunteer?"
Turns out I wasn't the only one willing to step up. A small movement had sprung up around the world of people who wanted to go. In the end, I was able to get the council to agree to 10% being those who went by choice. One million of us. Diplomats, scientists, engineers, artists, all hoping to set a good example and help support the so-called "refuse" of society.
We didn't get the news until we were passing Neptune, Earth was doomed, and we were going to be the only survivors. Some galactic danger, I haven't learned enough yet about what it is. Right now I just wish they would have listened. Maybe if they saw us treating everyone as true equals, they could have saved more.
If I had known I would have pushed the chairman to take my spot, and push for her family. As she said, my wife and kid are dead, why would I want to survive.
| 2020-01-16T22:14:05 | 2020-01-16T21:24:28 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] "My dad was right, I should have married a real man!" your wife screamed. Unfamiliar with the expression, you mistakenly believe that she and her father must have somehow finally found out that you aren't actually a human
|
"My dad was right, I should have married a real man!" my wife screamed.
My circuits were ablaze. Ablaze, that’s a very manly word, perhaps I was becoming more human. Wasn’t that the goal anyways? To become more human than the life forms currently occupying that title. No, the mission directive was to assimilate and acquire data on the soft carbon interactional algorithms. They were as complex as any my data stores held information on and maintaining status value in acceptable and expected ranges was paramount.
I analyzed her micro-expressions and tone of voice, recursively patterning all previous exchanges, weighted by similar rises in heartbeat, estimated skin conductance, and pupil dilation. Normal human interaction was so boring, uplink weather report and convey annoyance with status of temperature... confirm processing algorithm known as feelings with a rising inflection... and when required respond in kind with, “Good.”
But anger, particularly between marital units, was data rich and yet surprisingly incomplete. For thirty years we have been accumulating figures and yet estimates state we need at least another 1000 years before we achieve a complete model of married interaction.
In preparation, I increased heartbeat to 145, raised aggression by 10%, and chained possible responses estimating reaction based on partially complete nodes in the model in order to properly A/B test. I calibrated forward tilt of the torso and proceeded to exaggerated gesticulation mode. Whipping around, “Damn Maggie! They don’t pick up the trash until tomorrow morning, I’ll take it out before bed!”
Estimates of model completeness increased 4.5×10^-42
Wait system call
Status: Dynamic Normal
|
I stared at her drunkenly for a few moments. He knows. How does he know? I blinked rapidly. Her hair was frizzled, the same color of the red sun that once gave me warmth. Her green eyes reminding me of the sky that I came from. God, she's beautiful.
"All you do is drink. I had to clean up 13 bottles today. 13 fucking bottles!" she yelled at me. "And that's just today, don't get me started on how many I found yesterday! You don't work, you don't do anything!" Even when she's mad, she still manages to arouse me. I grab her hand and try to kiss her. "No no no, that's it. I've had it with you!" She grabbed my hand and began to pull me out of the couch that I was stuck to. For a human, she was fairly strong. I dropped the beer that I was holding, shattering it when it touched the floor. The smell of alcohol dominated the room.
She pushed me out of the door. "Stay out, you piece of shit! I'm getting a divorce." She slammed the door shut, hard enough for it to be heard throughout the entire neighborhood. Well, that happened. Now, how did that bastard find out? I can't do anything about it unless mutilating his already dead body could be considered "doing something about it." I sit there, wondering how I'll be able to find myself another home yet again.
| 2017-10-22T17:33:50 | 2017-10-22T13:22:40 | 42 | 18 |
[WP] The dragon "kidnaps" the princess so they can go on their dates. The knight intentionally take as long as possible to "rescue" the princess. To both give them time to enjoy themselves. But also to spend time with his crush. The sorcerer.
|
Princess Julia arranged her hair into the high conical hat before taking another look in the mirror. As she was tucking the last bit of braid under the veil, the mirror began to swirl with a foggy image. A red-eyed visage stared forth at her, rows of sharp teeth plunging out of a long snout. A snarl issued forth from the mirror.
"Draco!" the princess hopped back in surprise. "What are you doing? Don't call me on the home mirror, dad might sense it."
The smoke-dark dragon's snarl twisted into a laugh. "Then keep your compact mirror on. I've been trying to call you for an hour. I'm almost there."
The princess grabbed her compact from the dressing table and clicked it open. The magic was dim. "Oops. Sorry. I'll be down in a minute."
She slipped the compact into the pocket of her dress and ran out the bedroom door and down the tower's spiral stairs. When she got to the bottom, she slowed to a walk. The door to her father's study was cracked open. She could hear her mother's soft voice inside distracting him as she slipped past.
She stood in front of the castle gates and opened her compact. The mirror shifted from her own face to the face of the dragon. "Okay, Draco. I'm ready."
\-----------------------------------
Duke Razuta the Immortal was drinking his nightly breakfast to the soothing sound of his wife's voice when he heard the scream. "What is that girl doing now? Mina, send one of the servants to check on her."
Mina stopped singing. "Oh, I'm sure it's nothing. I'll go check on it myself." As she ran out of the room, the Duke heard a large crash. He downed the last of his breakfast in a single gulp and floated after her.
The entry hall was in disarray when he arrived. The gates were open, blasting the room with cold air. The Duke could see new claw marks scratched into the stone floor, layered over the old claw marks. "That dragon has kidnapped her again."
His wife stood near the gate talking with two young men. He floated over to hear them, but as he approached Mina turned to him. "My Lord Duke, these young men saw the whole incident. It seems that the dragon has kidnapped Princess Julia once again. It is a tragedy."
The duke floated stoically. "Not a tragedy. It's simple tradition. In my day a decent princess was kidnapped at least once a month. Far too little of it nowadays if you ask me. It's not right for princesses to go off and be independent. We'll just get a knight to go rescue her."
The taller of the two young men stepped forward at these words. "Your Grace, I happened to be a knight. And my companion here is a sorcerer. We saw the dragon approach your castle and pursued it, but were too late to stop the kidnapping. It would be our honor to rescue your daughter."
"Ah, a fine young traditionalist I see. I approve. You'll receive the standard reward of her weight in silver when she is returned."
The young man bowed. "Yes, your grace. Could we perhaps have some ready money for expenses during our pursuit?"
\-----------------------------------
Julia perched on top of Draco at the edge of the forest and watched the knight and sorcerer run out the castle gates. When they came even with her hiding spot, she called out in a loud whisper. "Over here. Did you get the money?"
The knight and sorcerer crawled on top of the dragon. "Sure did. Let's go. The concert starts in an hour."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\]
|
Hi, my name if Drug and I'm a dragon. What? Is my name not dragon-y enough? Well, not all of us can be called Smaug. Anyway, this isn't a discussion about names. It's a story about love. And like any good love story, it begins with abduction.
I've been in awe of Princess Giselle since I first saw her at her coming-of-age dance. She's kind, beautiful, and seems intelligent (I can't be sure of everything, I'm a dragon, not a god) and I wanted a chance to get to know her. But there's a teeny-tiny problem, which involves breathing fire and scales. I searched for a solution but alas, could never find one. Until one day, when I met him, Prince James.
Prince James saw me resting by the side of the river and, like any other Prince, decided to draw his sword first and ask questions later. I mean, hello, I'm resting and you, sir, are being rude.
"I'm not here to hurt you." Prince James said as he raised his sword higher.
I raised my eyes, which would have been more impressive if I was human.
"I heard a rumour." He said moving closer.
I stirred, now interested. What rumour did a Prince hear about the dragon? That we shit gold, probably. And just in case anyone else thinks so too, we don't.
"You like the Princess." He said, his tone accusatory.
My nostrils flare, and this-this is definitely more scarier when you are a dragon.
"I-I, you misunderstand me." He stammered. "I have heard about you. That you are a nice dragon and you wish to court the Princess."
"I do." I reply, eyes narrowed, not trusting the Prince much.
"I have been asked to marry her." He sounded defeated.
"And you are here to fight for her honour? Is that it?" I almost roar making the Prince jump.
"No- I mean if I had to, yes. But that's not why I'm here." He lowered his sword. "I think you should get a chance. And-" he looked down pondering if he should say the next words or not- "so should I."
I say nothing and bolstered by the silence, the Prince continues.
"You see, I like someone else. Someone much different than society expects me to, like you."
He looks at me expectantly but I stay silent.
"I can convince the Princess to get 'abducted' by you and then you can show her how much you like her."
"What's in it for you?" I ask.
To my surprise, the Prince blushed. "I-I uh- I get spend time with the sorcerer."
He dares me to say something but I don't. Who am I judge someone? I fell in love with a human afterall.
"Can the sorcerer help me?" I ask after a while.
"If it's true love, then yes. Either you will turn into human or she into a dragon."
Hope swells in my chest like fire, or you know it may just be fire.
And that, that was the day I gained a new friend, with whose help I was able to get to the girl of my dreams. You must be thinking what happened? Which of us turned into what. But that is upto you. Maybe we turned into human, dragon or frog. The only thing that mattered was that we were together.
And the rest, as they say was history.
| 2022-02-22T09:22:02 | 2022-02-22T08:03:01 | 182 | 100 |
[WP] You're a ferocious demon king. You're surprised one day to find that a young woman has been left at your door. Only to later find out her father, the king, is using you as bait to find a knight worthy of marrying his daughter.
|
The thick wooden doors to the throne room were charred and splintered, they were broken inward with the force of a powerful magical explosion. Past the doors were several inhuman bodies strewn about and bleeding various shades of green onto the hardwood floors. A powerful figure pulled his sword from a now limp goblin and began slowly stomping his way down the length of the room. He flicked his blade back into the ready position, eyes locked on the towering creature that leaned back in his seat and passively drank from a wine goblet. The princess was sat on the floor with a metal collar around her neck and a bruise on her cheek.
"What is your name?" The Demon King's voice echoed down as the hero stood at the bottom of several steps leading up.
"I am sir Herald The Bold, first of my name. I've come for the princess." Hatred boiled in his voice.
"Herald the Bold..." the Demon King savored the words and rubbed his chin in contemplation. "I'll be sure to seek out your family once you've been disposed of."
Hatred snapped into rage and the knight bolted up the steps towards his enemy. If level heads prevailed, he might have noticed the archers in the upper tier behind him taking aim. A clatter of metal on stone rang out as he fell down the steps. The heroes never expect the archers.
"The hell is this shit?" the princess shouted as the hero's body settled at the base of the steps. She pulled herself to her feet and unlatched the metal collar. "You got to stop using the archers, Kilgar!"
"And your dad's got to stop sending sociopaths to kill my people." Kilgar the Demon King placed the wine goblet down on the armrest of his throne and stood. Inhuman forms entered through the side doors and set to work collecting the bodies. "His name was Herald the Bold, see to it his family gets the body." he called down to them.
"It's been two years!" the princes continued. "I would have settled for one of the rag-tag bands of misfits we got early on, it doesn't *need* to be a paragon of justice!" Kilgar offered her a hand and politely lead her down the steps.
They've had this discussion before, several times. She wanted him to stop using archers, or use fewer soldiers, or to leave the throne room open. He'd explained several times that the archers would stand down if the hero actually seemed noble, that the soldiers are terminally ill veterans that volunteered for the rouse, and that the doors have always been unbarred. Then he would mention the metal collar she wears, and she would get defensive about how weird it would look if she just stood there unrestricted, and then things would go in circles from there. The two of them went through the motions of their debate as Kilgar lead Princes Conquest back to the dining hall to continue their meal.
"By the way, I've been meaning to ask about the cheek," the Demon King said softly as he sat at the head of the table.
"I decided to take your son's offer up and attend his sparring practice." She said with a poorly hidden smile.
The Demon King smirked and settled into his decision. The human king's missive said that any who could safely escort his daughter back may have her hand in marriage, it said nothing about if it could be the demon king's own son.
|
**"I shall not help you!"**
The mighty Orlak was very unhappy. He stared at the young human dressed in nothing but a white gown shivering in the winter cold in front of his castle door. The more he pondered on the audacity of the king beyond the mountain the more he bubbled with fury. What the king did was more than an insult. It was an act of war.
“What are you doing, stupid human.” Orlak roared. “Go home.”
The winter brought with it the soft anger of snow. The trees were covered in blankets of ice and small mounds soon became snowy mountains. Constant blizzards made it hard to see clearly. It was enough to fell even Orlak himself if he wasn’t careful. Yet, the women in front of his castle door wore nothing but a flimsy gown. She held her knees tightly and wrapped her hands around her shoulders. Slowly freezing to death.
“Where are your clothes?” Orlak continued to say, “Fool, you will freeze.”
“It seems like I just might.” She replied.
Orlak snorted. He closed the wooden door behind him with a loud thud. His strength shuddering the stone walls. He paced around the entrance of his warm cosy castle. He remembered how he crushed the previous king who had built this fine castle. Theodore the brave they had called him and now Theodore was the name of the bones that held up his toilet paper. Humans were pathetic disgusting creatures. Not a single mustard seed of good in any of them. Not even a weight of a hair. They should all just die. Especially the one outside his door. He convinced himself.
Suddenly Orlak heard a loud crash outside his door. He rushed quickly and threw the door open in a hurry his heart beating quickly. He rushed outside with his sword in hand. He looked around his snowy land searching for danger.
“It was a pile of snow that fell from that tree.” The lady in white said, “You should go back inside.”
“Stupid women, I am the mighty Orlak” He said, “Why would I listen to you?”
“Because you’ll catch a cold.”
Orlak wanted to say something. His mouth moved to insult her again but he somehow couldn’t find his voice. He watched her shiver terribly in the cold. Her father must be a very cruel man indeed. He puffed once again and trudged back into his castle. His conscience weighing heavier with every step until the door closed firmly behind him.
The droplets of water froze and softened before falling down upon the land in multitudes. Each snowflake the same yet no snowflake was alike. One, in particular, fluttered down from the heavens and buffeted in the cold wind until it landed softly on the hand of a frozen woman buried in the snow.
The castle door opened and a demon king rushed out. He held a torch in his hand and searched around him for something important. He ran around the snow calling out insults at the person he'd left behind. He had desperation etched into his face.
He saw her bluish hand buried in the snow and he cried out in relief. He lifted her on his back and brought her inside his castle closing the door behind him.
“Silly women.” He said, “Come inside."
| 2017-10-06T10:01:24 | 2017-10-06T06:23:28 | 201 | 135 |
[WP] There is a place. A place between places. It's an actual place but it isn't here nor there. Lost travelers are the only ones who can find the place. Staying for a night, safe from other places and other things, and nothing more. Except you. You were born in the place.
(edit: super happy folks are having fun with this! Keep it up!)
|
I pause. I thought I heard something, but it was so faint.
Sighing, I get up from my seat by the fire, always better to check. One can never be sure here and helping the lost is the only purpose I’ve ever had. No friends, no family, except the temporary ones, I don’t know how I came to be, or even when, just that I have always been.
The door opens with a creak and a flurry of snow blows in. Huh… Last time it was a desert. Cautiously, I look around, nothing but a dark and snowy forest.
Closing the door, I return to my seat, picking up a book left by one of the grateful lost. I am the one truly grateful. Food and such appears in the pantries, but entertainment is in short supply and as I cannot leave, not like I can seek my own.
There it is again.
That faint sound.
I go to the door again. This time I spend a moment more and look all around.
I see it.
A tiny gray thing, huddled up under the sill of the window. Having been spotted, it mewls faintly, weak but determined.
I scoop it up, tucking it inside of my robes. Inside, I dry it and set it out a saucer of milk, lightly warmed by setting near the fire.
An hour later, a soft mote of dust lays curled and purring on my lap by the fire.
I’m not sure how this one became lost or where they were going.
The next morning, the storm has passed and the forest lays blanketed. I open the door hesitantly. I’ll be sad to see this guest go, but such is the way.
My guest stares up at me with golden eyes and lets out a plaintive meow, as if to say, you’re letting the cold in, then stalks to my chair, hops up and curls up.
I hesitate a moment, then close the door.
That night there is a strident knock. Without hesitation I go to the door, expecting to see the forest. Beyond the door, I am shocked to see a dusty street and a road weary traveler standing patiently.
I invite him in, the legends have made travelers aware, they know of the safety to be found here, only for a night, but what they need is here.
After settling the traveler, I look over at the cat. This has never happened before. The location has never changed while a traveler remains. The cat looks back with unblinking stare, flicks an ear and curls back up, a clear statement of, “what? I’m not going anywhere.”
A few years have passed. The cat, unnamed, as am I, remains. I finally have a friend.
Shhh. Do you hear something?
Snowy gales beat the door. Yes…definitely something there…
|
The Wayside is all I've ever known. For some, it appears as a tavern with many rooms and a grand feast hall. Others see it as a trainstation. Or even a large campsite with many tents and large, warm, inviting bonfire. It changes to fit the needs of each and every adventurer, traveller, or otherwise lost soul. I was born here, or created, I'm not really sure.
Thankfully, I can shapeshift into whatever kind of person I want to, unlike the Wayside itself. I'm pretty sure the Wayside is sentient, as it always knows what someone needs. Most of our visitors never return. But there's one group of heroes who come every few weeks, and we become a place of respite as they plan their next adventure.
To them, I appear as a child, and an old innkeep as well. They're friendly to both, but they've taught me many things as the child. For example, their wizard has taught me some spells, their bard has taught me how to make simple wooden wind instruments and how to play them. Their rogue has even taught me how to pick locks and pockets, and even how to fight with and throw knives and daggers.
I've never even imagined of leaving the Wayside. Would my powers even still work? Would I be able to exisit in a set place with a set time? These are some of the questions that swirl in my mind as I look out the door at the spiraling portal that connects the Wayside to the Physical Plane.
But I don't have much of a choice to go through. Something is wrong with the Wayside, something dark and terrible has happened. It's as if the Wayside is sick or something. Where once it was well lit and cheerful, it is now dark and gloomy. And it all began with a visitor who had been wearing dark clothes and a hood that covered their face who had been here shortly after the heroes had left.
The Wayside's key felt heavier in my pocket, as if it knew my intent to leave, but it also felt like it was connected to a cord that was tugging it towards the portal. With a deep breath, I jumped in, hearing the door of the Wayside slam shut and the lock slide into place. And then several voices swirled around me.
"Thanks for inviting me you guys, I've always wanted to play D&D."
"Of course, man, we're always welcoming to new players. Do you already have a character rolled up?"
"Yeah. I'll be playing a young changeling warlock, the only permanent resident of a magical realm for lost travellers, which grants them their power as the realm itself is sentient."
"Sounds dope asf. I can't wait to see what you do with them."
| 2022-11-22T09:26:46 | 2022-11-22T08:34:49 | 45 | 20 |
[WP] Scientists discovered that vegetables and fruit have a conscience. Vegetarians and Vegans go crazy.
|
Humanity comes in two distinct flavors: good and bad. While it is believed all these years that having an in-built moral compass is exclusively found in only humans, scientists have now discovered that we share this trait with fruits and vegetables as well.
"It's astounding," said Clarke Morales of the Monash University, New England, "Never in a million years would we consider that a mango has the ability to distinguish right from wrong."
This astonishing story began when a group of researchers were testing out their latest machine in the field of neuroscience to understand the impact of having a conscience in living organisms. The machine would simulate a scenario where the subject might feel guilty about such as lying or stealing. The purpose of this machine was to identify potential sociopaths and how their brains were wired differently. One day, one scientist decided to test the machine out on a brocolli.
"I've always thought that brocolli was pure evil," said one of the researchers. "Initially, as a joke, I wanted to hook one [brocolli] to the machine to prove my point. To everyone's surprise, the brocolli was feeling guilty over the idea of stealing its mum's purse!"
Further testing were done on other fruits and vegetables yielded similiar results; including pseudofruits such as strawberry and pineapple. Oddly enough, the only subject that didn't respond to having any conscience was the apple.
In other news, in light of this recent discovery, vegetarians from around the world are now switching to soil and rock diet, hoping to receive nutrients the same way plants and trees would.
|
"Your eating salad again?" said the carrot to the vegan
"Yeah"
"What it wasn't enough to kill just one of us? You mix us all in together?"
"Hey man you're being really judgemental"
"Hey I subsist off of nutrients. But that's just because I care about the world" said the carrot.
…
"Yeah so like, we grew these organically because we like…care about the like environment…so if you like, like the environment and vegetables…you should buy these"
"Yeah also if you like murder" said the tomato
"Did that tomato just say murder?" said the customer
"Uh yeah cause like…if you eat meat…it's murder…but like if you eat this, it's not"
"Cause it sounded like the tomato said eating it is murder"
"It's not" said the vegan
"It is" said the tomato
…
"Hello, tonight we have Dr. Spantz in the fire bombed studio. Dr. Spantz, you've said in the past you regret publishing your findings, can you elaborate on that?"
"Yeah we thought that it would be something worth knowing, we didn't realize that it would lead to a violent world wide war between vegans and whatever people who eat meat are called over who murdered more things"
"Interesting. And I'm getting word that our position is about to be mortared, so if you could hand me that machine gun and follow me we'll be back after showing these Vegies what's what. And also these messages"
| 2015-12-06T09:25:56 | 2015-12-06T08:13:15 | 1,061 | 51 |
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read.
|
Room spinning, face warm and night stretched so thin that it was quickly becoming midday she stumbled into the kitchen. An outstretched hand reached out to scrape against walls, slipping onto counters to boost unreliable knees. A quick rest by the fridge, face pressed against the coolness of the freezer door.
"O-ne m-month," she slurred in a low hiccuping tone. She wrenched the freezer door open, narrowly stepping on a long tail. "Sorry. 'M so- so sorry," she apologized to disapproving golden eyes. A nose in the air in response, a furry back of disdainful avoidance. Instead tiny paws found the battered remains of her cellphone, pushing across the floor.
"I m-made it o-one mon-th," she started again, pouring vodka into a still cool shotglass. Her hand perfectly still and steady for the pour, a thing of long practice from long nights and fond memories. A deep breath and she reaches upwards to fill her head with empty and her heart with numb.
The glass slips from her fingers, tumbling almost majestically into the waterbowl at the edge of the linoleum. "Fuck," she sighed in defeat, legs giving out beneath her. She looks at the glass, just beyond her reach, then at the bottle in her hand. "Fuck it." Bottle to lips and a sharp gasp after the burning subsides. A strange cracking sound hit her ears, before she recognized her own broken laughter.
The cat dipped another paw into its bowl, licking it meticulously clean before dipping it in again. It looked at its paw for a moment before leaning down for a long drought. A slow relaxation seemed to wash over it and it looked back at the broken grieving woman collapsed on the kitchen floor.
The cat gave her one long slow blink before sighing heavily, "Get over it already. Pussy."
|
"Whooo hoooo! Now that has some kick to it!"
My eyes shot opened thinking if I heard what I think I heard. 'God my head hurt like hell, damn that was a crazy night. Been a long time since I drank that much. Wait, hold on. What had a kick to it?' I roll off the couch and thud hard onto the floor.
"Drank you frunk bashtard you have feet ya know. Hahaha. Drank, Frank. Frunk, Drunk. Hahaha."
Oh god that high pitch laugh, uhg its tearing my head in two. "Shut up Duke. I got a hangover." My eyes wander over to where Duke is teetering on his feet over by his water dish and next to that is an empty bottle of Greygoose. The realization slowly coming to my mind. The vodka, the conversations last night, the hangover, my hunger, the burger in the fridge... wait what was I thinking?
"Hey Frank, I could use some food over here, and got anymore of this liquid goose?" Duke says as he falls over. "Oh man, we had a rager lash night didn't we."
"Oh shit Duke what did you say?"
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Your dreaming Frank I can't talk. Oh man I'm so screwed. You imagining this Frank everyone knows parrots cant talk."
"Duke! Your drunk! Parrots are suppose to talk but you cant drink man, you might die. I gotta get you some water." I rush to the kitchen and turn on the faucet.
"Oh right... I'm allowed to talk, its Chip thats not allowed to talk to you."
As I turned off the water I could of sworn Chip's bark sounded strangly like 'shud up'.
| 2016-08-02T18:41:05 | 2016-08-02T18:35:44 | 172 | 124 |
[WP] The Illuminati is actually a gentlemen's club for the super-rich. Often men make high risk and dangerous bets/wagers such as: "I bet you can't destabilize Ukraine in under a week." One day you offer a wager to the most powerful member that's too irresistible to turn down.
|
"Alright, alright, I've got one," wheezed Richardson over gales of laughter. "I bet you can't... make *this* monkey famous." He produced a photograph from a local zoo from within his jacket.
"Please, we can come up with better than that," sneered Kringle. "I'll have it done by tonight... and that's not even technically a *monkey.* Now..." He turned around looking for someone else to challenge.
His eyes finally met those of the imposing man who sat smiling in a corner and pointed at him.
"I think it's time you joined the festivities, eh?" grinned Kringle. "And I've got a real tricky one planned."
A sudden hush overtook the room. All around the gentlemen's club, faces were frozen mid-smile. Richardson tried to interrupt, uncomfortable, but was silenced with a brief wave of the hand.
"I can handle anything you can think up," came the man's booming voice. "My IQ is one of the highest - and you all know it!"
Kringle continued, unphased. "I want you... to become the President by gradually insulting every single demographic you can think of."
The room was even quieter for a few seconds.
"I like it!" laughed the booming voice of Donald Trump. "I don't know what will happen, but it will be interesting!"
|
"This year, the award will be determined on he following criteria. Whomever manages to effect the greatest change with the smallest object will win an additional 25% prize. Any member who does not submit their buy-in in one hour will forfeit the opportunity to compete." The message, handed to me on a piece of what seemed to be paper, by a nondescript man with large sunglasses, abruptly went blank.
The shimmering Rio de Janeiro sun and blasting heat reminded me that I needed to return to my estate in the countryside, I had an idea for this year's prize.
After my success a few years ago, I thought that maybe I could use a similar creation to win again. That time, the topic was "use a piece of history to destabilize as large a part of the world as possible." Ebola had echoed through the annals of history and the rest of the club had gladly paid up.
My laboratory was quiet and sterile. I immediately opened one of the doors and had one of the prisoners brought forward. A child, race indeterminate.
"What's your name?" I asked him.
"Z-Zika. They call me that because its where they found me."
I smiled at the terrified boy. "Well, Zika, we're about to win a wager. Let's give some of your blood to the mosquitoes, shall we?"
| 2016-08-23T16:11:42 | 2016-08-23T16:00:26 | 578 | 179 |
[WP] A college student finally lands an internship, only to later realize that they are assisting a god.
Could be God/Satan, could be from other historical pantheons, could be a god of your own creation. Why does this god need an intern in the first place?
|
When he made a mountain rise up out of the ground far off on the horizon, that's when I had an inkling he was a god. Not many mortal men have the ability to make a mountain appear, and even fewer have the ability to make a mountain appear in mere seconds. He was looking out his office window admiring the rocky formation he had made and I had just entered quietly behind him to begin the morning routine.
I was a little shaken but tried to play my hunch off as smoothly as possible. "Here's the coffee you wanted, and today's newspaper, and, uh, by the way, are you our almighty God?"
He turned from the window with a grin on his face and shrugged his shoulders. "Ya got me. I'm God."
I put his coffee and newspaper down on his desk and began wagging my finger comically. "Why you," I said chuckling. "I don't remember your ad saying anything about interning for a deity!"
"Well, don't expect a salary now that you found out!" he replied with a hearty laugh.
We continued chuckling for a good solid minute before God finally wiped a tear of laughter from his eye and began to read his newspaper. I stood there for a few seconds longer, letting my laughter trail off before heading back for the door.
"Hey kid," God said as I reached for the doorknob, looking up from his newspaper. "You make a make a mean cup of coffee...and I think I know a little bit about making things!"
We shared another long laugh and then I shook my head as if to say "you're too much, God." His gaze lowered back down to his newspaper and I knew that was my cue to leave him be for the morning.
I continued to intern with him for another 4 years. We never once talked about him being God again after that. It just never came up.
|
INTERNSHIP OPPORTUNITY: Change the world! Join an exciting team focused on making a big difference! We have been around for a very long time and need an intern to help with a major comeback. Apply To: Traveler Holdings Inc., 55 Central Park West.
---
Vince yawned and stood up, scratching at his chest under his pajamas. He padded across the floor of his cramped studio apartment and swung open the fridge to reveal a bottle of ketchup, a container of mustard, a crisper drawer full of soy sauce from the local takeout place, and an almost depleted half-gallon of milk. He opened the milk, sniffed it, shrugged, and set about making himself a bowl of Captain Crunch.
Vince was back in front of his computer a few minutes later, contemplating his life. 'Go to college', they'd said, 'It's the only way to land a good job,' they'd said. Well, here he was, desperately trying to find a place he could work for free. This internship opportunity had caught his eye because it was one of the few unpaid internships that *didn't* require prior experience.
A few keystrokes later, and Vince had put in an application to be the newest intern at Traveler Holdings Inc. A few seconds after that, and his cell phone rang. Vince grimaced; the double rainbow guy as a ringtone had seemed like a good idea at the time, but it was pretty played out and he needed to change it.
Vince picked up the phone.
Before he could speak, a voice at the other end said, "Vinz, you need to come to 55 Central Park West and meet our other intern, Z. She's been waiting for you."
*Well*, he figured. *What could possibly go wrong?*
| 2015-08-15T10:57:08 | 2015-08-15T06:55:04 | 65 | 36 |
[WP] In a world where pregnancies sometimes last a few extra months resulting in a child with superpowers, your wife has been pregnant for 15 years
|
The LEDs blinked as a distant thud echoed through the clinic room. It was soft but low; a powerful enough explosions somewhere overhead that a few poofs of dust fell from the ceiling. Damnit, Todd thought again, wishing for the millionth time that their daughter had just been a normal baby.
Sarah screamed next to him, the enormous bulge in her stomach twisting unnaturally as tiny fists and feet tried to escape. Violet, their powered healer and trained physician, was sweating profusely as she tried to absorb as much pain as she could without passing out. The Dreklin Administration has assured them the best care, the best protection. We’ll see if that panned out.
He wondered if Violet had been the one to leak the news of the first contraction. Probably not, judging by how worried she had looked after the start of the attack, but maybe she was just a good actor. Maybe this bunch of power-cult enthusiasts weren’t actually all that loyal.
The Dreklin weren’t the first church or government or coup d’etat that had tried or succeeded in abducting his wife and daughter. For the most part his family had been treated well since the news of her extremely extended pregnancy. The Dreklin, like most over the years, were happy to let him stay with his wife and keep her as comfortable as possible. His wife actually had some minor powers of her own, as was common in a powered pregnancy, telekinesis in this case. Todd didn’t. He had spent… 15 years now, he supposed… as a servant to what would be the most powerful baby on Earth. A fetus worth fighting over, it seemed. Todd gripped his arm a little too hard, trying to ignore the stress of his wife’s condition. They didn’t need any food, any medicine, any more wet towels. All he could do was listen to the screams.
The powered guards that were usually stationed in the tunnel outside had been called to duty; it was only them and Violet now. It was the most alone they had been in, well, decades. Their Dreklin relations officer, Captain so-and-so, was suddenly back, hurriedly typing the code into the locked clinic door. Todd noticed a sliver of blood trickling from his forehead as the soldier rushed through the door.
“How is she?” he said, to Todd since the others were preoccupied. Todd had to shout over the noise of his wife’s labor.
“She’s doing well, as best as we could hope. Vi... Dr. Shraden said that it looked promising and mostly normal before she began to transfer pain. It looks like she’s head first, no breech or any other complications so far.” Todd has once been a grocery store cashier but he had spent years studying medical textbooks in preparation for this moment. He was academically qualified, if not literally experienced, enough to deliver this baby himself if the need arose.
“Good, good,” said the Dreklin Captain. He immediately looked relieved, as if the baby was the only concern. Todd began to form a question about the attack before he remembered that the Captain was… a telepath. He merely thought it.
Nothing. He was distracted, maybe. The man noticed Todd looking at him and realization dawned on him. “Ah, the attack! Here, let’s go outside where I can explain without shouting myself hoarse.” Todd was nervous to leave the compound, but the captain assured him, “just for a second.”
The captain punched in the code, walked through the hermetically sealed blastdoor, and checked both directions of the tunnel. Todd exited too, following the soldier a few feet so that they’d be away from the door window and away from the screams that somehow still pierced all of that plexiglass and titanium. He turned just as the knife entered his abdomen.
Dark blood from his mouth dripped onto the wrist and knife that the captain held. There was a number written on the wrist… the door code. Totally bewildered, he looked up at the captain and saw a different, new face. A doppleganger. The new man wearing the captain’s clothes gripped Todd’s neck, choking him with an inhumanly strong grip, as the knife twisted in his gut. His bright orange eyes didn’t blink as Todd spluttered a little more blood into the stale tunnel air.
“Sorry pal, but that baby only needs one daddy to raise her…."
|
Stone baby, thats what the doctor said. "The fetus has died and begun to calcify, if we don't perform a c-section and remove it she could suffer major organ failure and die aswell" I wiped the tears from my face with the end of my sleeve balled up in my hand from the stress as I heard the doctor give me the news. I TOLD her there was something wrong, I mean I know babies that take longer when they're mutants but 14 months?
"Angela we can't keep the baby, the doctor said its going to kill you." I rolled her to the door and fumbled to find the key I was so stressed. Angela reached up and took my hand and said "Its ok, I know what the doctor said but IM asking you to trust me, I cant explain it...I can feel her, somehow shes moved beyond the fetus" I swallowed hard and asked her what she meant by beyond. "I can feel her pressence like, shes with me somehow like that feeling you get when youre being watched by a friend."
**about a month later**
"Jake, Jake wakeup...mom needs you"...was I dreaming? I went back to sleep and then I heard a scream, "ANGELA!" I tripped on the bed sheet wrapped around my ankle as I scrambled out of bed grabbing tuffts of bed sheet like the fur of a beast grabbed and grappled by a terrified prey despertely escaping.I found Angela on the bathroom floor in a pool of bodily fluids, swirled and mixed like paints in a sink. "Lets get you to the hospital" I half whispered as much for me as it was for her but she wouldnt move. "Shes out already, the baby she, shes shes under the bed"..."what?" I asked in a distracted and irritated tone. "Shes not..." Angela was lucid and eerily calm about this and would not take her eyes off the bed, "Angela what are you talking about? Youre scarring me". "Look, under the bed, please"...~scurrying sound~ I suddenly felt a fear that I had never experienced before in my life, a mental lock that simply froze my mind in a suspension of reality like the deafing silence of a space if some loud sustained noise is abruptly shut off. "Jake, dont be afraid, Its me tilly, I had to take a form that you did not expect, please let me come out slowly" ...Angela took my hand and said, "Its ok", I said aloud or rather tried to say out loud to come forward, a small tripedal creature came out like a human fleshed joystick on a tripod, my heart sank through the floor and I went limp.
**a minute later**
"Jake wake up, its me Angela", I looked up and saw Angela sitting on the edge of the bed craddling the creature "Its ok Jake, come meet Tilly, shes beautiful" ....I couldnt speak, I wanted to gasp in horror but could only breathe in short rapid breathes "Im you Jake, and Angela" This voice in my mind sounded like an adult it sounded like a young woman but it didnt sound at all because I heard it in my mind. Angela whats going on? "Shes a higher being Jake, she told me in my dream just this morning that she is a conciousness not of this world and has chosen us to give her a physical form so she can fullfill her duty, shes an alien Jake, an envoy come to Earth to welcome our species to a new stage of evolution. She told me that her people are the ones responsible for some of the new mutants, that they are like her, come to guide us into a new age of enlightenment."
I approached Tilly and extended a finger to touch what looked like her face and she nuzzled into it, in that instant I felt a warmth ripple through my finger and up my hand that dissipated into my fore arm of a sort of vibration and warmth like the way your hand feels after its been on one of of the massage devices or a vibrator for to long. "Hello father, my name is Tilly and I have a new world to show you"
| 2017-07-08T00:39:33 | 2017-07-08T00:29:08 | 166 | 32 |
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy
|
After having a child my wife and I wanted to go against the stereotype of the stay at home mom. That's right, my job title went from 'District Manager of Carmike Cinemas' to 'Stay At Home Dad'. Okay so in all honesty we didn't do this to fight the stereotypes, my wife had a better paying job as a doctor; so instead of hiring a nanny, we decided it would be best if I just stayed with our kid.
My favorite thing about watching a newborn, was nighttime. I would put our precious baby in her crib for the night. Then I would get to go downstairs in the backroom, AKA: The Man Cave, and watch TV until my wife got home. I always knew when she was home because her angelic singing voice would come over the baby monitor I had with me. I would still stay tucked away in my man cave until she actually came to get me out. I thought it was important that we could both have some alone time each day with our child.
After listening to my wife's beautiful lullaby, she came in the room about 30 minutes later visibly angry. She was upset that I kept making her cook after her long days of work. So being the somewhat generous man I am, I suggested we cook together tonight. She loved the idea! It had been so long since we've actually had the chance to do something that wasn't parent duty.
While I was cutting up the tomatoes for our salad, I got a strange idea.
"Honey?"
"Yes, Love?" I loved her pet name for me.
"I know this is odd, but do you think you could sing me a song? Preferably the lullaby you sing to Emma every night when you get home. You're voice is so amazing over the monitor, I can't begin to imagine the perfection it is in the same room."
"George, I never go in Emma's room when I get home. She's already asleep, I don't want to risk waking her up."
|
"Daddy!" I hear my little girl giggle from upstairs. "Daddy look what I done!". She's my world - my beautiful girl of 6. Me and my wife adopted her as we couldn't have children of our own, but she might as well be our biological child; we're a very close family.
"In a minute, Anna!" I yell - "Show your mother and I'll be up once these cookies are finished!".
"Ooh cookies!" I hear her chime excitedly. "Are they the chocolate chip ones?"
"You'll see in a minute." I tell her, smiling to myself. It's the little things in life that really make me happy; uneventful days like these with the people I love the most. I plate up the cookies and leave them on the counter to cool, then begin to trudge upstairs to see Anna's creation - it's probably just a drawing again; Anna loves art, I tell her she can be an artist one day, but in all reality her drawings are average scribbles produced by a 6 year old and some crayons.
An unusual sickly scent fills the landing, and, as I make my way to Anna's room, I find a small doll on the floor leering at me. It has black hair and lifeless green eyes that unnerve me - I don't remember buying Anna this doll. I make my way into Anna's room and, to my horror, Anna gazes at me with the same lifeless green eyes and terrifying grin. Blood covers her small arms and new jumper my mother bought her yesterday, and my loving wife lays with her throat slit on the bed. Anna holds up a drawing painted in blood. It's a stickman, with a small figure - a doll - hysterically smiling behind him. It looks like it's holding something - a stick? No... A knife.
"Look, Daddy, I found a new way to paint. I painted you!"
| 2016-05-19T15:48:47 | 2016-05-19T13:10:57 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] You discovered the legendary monkey’s paw which can grant you any wish. Out of fatal curiosity, you wished for the rest of the monkey. A finger curled and your wish was granted. You then found yourself face-to-face with Sun Wukong himself: The Monkey King, Destroyer of Heavens.
|
As the final finger curled up into the monkeys paw I readied a shielding spell. A pretty standard shield of kinetic energy was probably about all I’d be able to muster given my current condition. I could’ve wished to be in perfect health again. I could’ve wished for the gods to forget that I ever existed and go home to rest. But no. Maybe it was the adrenaline after the battle with that damned vampire but I couldn’t think of anything better than to wish for the rest of the monkey. There’s always a cost after all.
A burst of Golden light radiated from the paw before a young man appeared standing in front where I’d dropped the paw. I’d wished for a monkey but this’ll do I guess. I dropped my shield.
“Heya little guy… you feeling alright?”
“Yeah. Just a little dizzy. And hungry. You haven’t got anything on ya do you?”
“Some Jerky I think?” I reached into my pocket passing him the small brown bag with the last of my rations in it.
“Thanks miss! So what’re you’re other two wishes?”
“What?”
“Well ya see, I’m Sun Wukong, but everyone just calls me Saul. Been ages since I’ve been back on Earth? What’s the year now?” Saul began chewing happily on his Jerky.
“2019 mate. And hang on. Sun Wukong? You’re the Monkey King? God slayer and destroyer of heavens?” I took a step back from the kid, slipping a hand into the pocket of my coat and taking firm grasp of my blasting rod.
“Ya won’t need that. You’re looking pretty rough as it is little lady. How bout I heal ya up?”
“I’ll pass”
“It’s been almost 900 years since I was last here. You lot get rid of those damn Romans yet? Last one I met ratted me out to Mercury and I had the whole damn pantheon bearing down on me quicker than a Druid on an earth elemental.” Saul laughed to himself for a second before turning to me, deadly serious. A look in his eyes like no man should even be capable of. “So look, I’m bound by contract to give you 2 more wishes before I’m free to do what I like. Make it quick I’ve got work to do.”
“You’re not gonna screw me over are you….”
“Nah you’re alright. You’ve done me a great service, uhh. I dunno your name lovely.”
“It’s Kate. Kate Stag. And I think you and I should have a couple of drinks and a nice long chat.”
|
"Wait...you're not a monkey! You're some weird dude with a tail! Who are you!"
“I am the hope of the universe...I am the answer to all living things that cry out for peace...I am the protector of the innocent...I am the light in the darkness...I am truth. Ally to good...Nightmare to-”
"What? Jeez I mean what's your *name*?"
"Yo, I'm Goku!"
"Hi, Goku, I wanted to ask....how come your fingers grant stupid wishes and kill people?"
"It does *what* now?"
"Your finger. We, I mean my world, found it years ago. The person holding it can make three wishes but they're fucked up and the last one kills you. So I wished for the whole monkey to ask what the hell was up with that?"
"Er....I think there was a battle and Il Shenlong turned evil...or Il Shenlong turned evil and then there was a battle."
"Er who, what, and why?"
"Cosmic wish granting Dragon and who the heck knows why he made my fingers evil, he's a dick."
"Huh, cool. Good to know."
"So...what do you have around here that's good to eat?"
"We have pizza! Do you know what that is!"
"*Oooh*, that's pretty good! Do you have rice too?"
"We *do* have rice! Do you like plain steamed white rice, stir fried rice, don buri, or rice omelet!?"
*Drooool* "Yes!"
"Okay, well let's hit up an all-you-can-eat-buffet and-"
"Excuse me, did you say..*.ALL* you can eat?"
"Yep!"
BOOOM!!!
"KAKAROTTO!!! How dare you run away from our spar!"
"Goku, why did you disappear like that? Chichi is going crazy with worry!"
"Dad! Are you all right!?"
"Darn! Bulma tracked me down already! I was hoping to get lunch before they showed up!"
"Sorry about that, folks! We found Mr Carrot Goku's hand and it was doing weird stuff like granting wishes badly and killing people!"
"NANI!?"
"It's okay now! I got my hand back and taking it home so it won't bother these people anymore!"
"Seriously, what the hell was your hand doing?"
"Short story, I can tell you all about it over lunch."
"Bye, everyone! Nice to meet you!"
| 2022-11-27T00:29:54 | 2022-11-27T00:29:47 | 81 | 43 |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
Looking in the mirror, I puffed my chest out arrogantly.
I flexed, and admired the aesthetics of my physique.
Vascular arms, the chiseled abs, and V taper.
And then my eyes stopped short, shocked.
I trembled as the realization dawned.
I've made a huge mistake.
How did this happen?
I skipped it.
Leg Day.
Again.
|
The very air hung heavy with the weight of anticipation.
The sun gleamed off of the white, hot metal.
A sudden, bright flash erupted from the earth.
An excited buzz swept through the crowd.
Deafening silence heralded the deafening roar.
A pillar of fire rose.
It climbed into heaven.
The crowd rose.
They waved.
Farewell.
| 2015-01-05T22:38:49 | 2015-01-05T21:35:07 | 1,258 | 54 |
[WP] Humans are all psychic, in fact all animals on earth are to some degree. Unfortunately, too many defenses have evolved to make the ability useful or even noticable. The alien invaders however, have evolved no such defenses.
|
Their invasion was going well, until they got off their ships. See, when they were on the ships, those things shaped like throwing knives shoved through cigars, they were insulated - not from the atmosphere, but from everything that was in it. On the ships, they terrorized our biggest cities, they stood toe to toe with our militaries and bloodied the noses of nations.
Then, they left the ships. And died, in almost all cases, without ever encountering violence. And it wasn't because of the germs. Well, not entirely.
See, it turns out that Earth life is unique in that it's all telepathic. How did we miss that?
Imagine you've got two voices, and two senses of hearing. One is how you speak to others. The other is the telepathy. Now, imagine that evolution has been steadily turning down your sense of telepathy hearing, because you'd go crazy and not pass on your genes - but turning up the volume of your telepathy voice, because that makes you more likely to pass on your genes. For millions of years. All life on Earth, the hearing is basically set to mute, and the voice volume knob doesn't go up to 11 - it goes up to 11 *million.*
Now, the Mrrkh, they had somehow managed to build their ships out of a material that could stop the scream, and that's why they showed up - that's why they made the mistake of dropping out of their ships and trying to really set about occupying the place. No other race uses the material, and that's why we haven't seen any other aliens until now; our entire planet lacks a psionic indoor voice. We've been able to talk to some of the Mrrkh survivors because of it, though.
That's also why they attacked us, apparently - we're getting louder, faster, and they're starting to have to abandon planets because of it, since it drives other races mad. They call us the Screaming Planet, and to them, we are Hell, and all its demons.
We haven't told them we're reverse-engineering their systems yet. Figured it best not to give the only living aliens we've encountered an aneurysm.
|
"Everything we throw at them... it's as if they can read our minds."
They'd run all the simulations, and they should have won. Their planet was fractured, their military was weak, and yet somehow their invasion party had been wiped out without a second thought.
"Sir, there is are fluctuating radio waves being emitted from Earth. We're not sure if it's an attack or an attempt to gather information."
"Intercept the waves and run them through the algorithms," he said looking out the large floor to ceiling screen at the planet below.
"Sir, it seems to be a form of communication. They want to talk."
Tyorag the Conqueror raised himself on his appendages as a human face appeared on the screen. They were a strange species, their faces were...squashed. Their heads were incredibly small and shouldn't have been able to hold very powerful brains.
"A-a can they hear me? Are we coming through now?"
Tyorag analyzed the human. They were also a considerably pathetic species, no significant natural defenses or abilities. In fact almost all life on this planet was pretty pathetic. There was nothing here like the Titan Shakers back home.
"Are we? Good. Ah yes, hello. First of all I must apologize for the uh apparent demise of your ambassadors. We have no idea how it happened. We're very sorry."
"WE WILL DESTROY YOU!" Tyorag said. He was an expert at communication.
"I said something wrong didn't I?" The human was looking back at some other humans behind him.
The communication abruptly disappeared. It didn't matter. They had superior weapons, they had superior organization they would kill them all.
"Sir, battalions one and two have landed and they report severe mental pain."
*Mental pain?* Tyorag thought. This was disturbingly similar to a species he had encountered before... *Psychics.*
They hadn't exhibited any psychic behavior however...strange. He didn't have any gear in preparation for a psychic battle, but he was still an able commander. He took stock of his armada and started relaying information. The invasion had begun.
| 2018-11-19T01:52:42 | 2018-11-18T23:47:24 | 466 | 163 |
[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.
|
"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."
| 2017-01-14T18:21:32 | 2017-01-14T16:42:22 | 159 | 20 |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
Cutting your hair at home is not a great idea.
At least if you do not have steady hands.
It started off fine but a little uneven.
Now I'll just fix the other side.
Wait, now the back's too long.
Clippers were a bad choice.
Buzz cuts are in.
Little bit more.
Too much.
Bald.
|
I did the math and figured it was on point.
If everything went according to plan I'd be rich.
I would take care of my debt first.
So many bills and habit to boot.
Check into a rehab center somewhere.
Got a throwaway for cheap.
My hands were shaking.
"Where's the money?!"
Pocket change.
Fuck.
| 2015-01-06T02:05:16 | 2015-01-06T01:50:36 | 45 | 10 |
[WP] You are notified when you visit somewhere for the last time. Today, the notification appears everywhere you go.
[deleted]
|
I was in line for my daily coffee when I got the first one: a little ping from the device on my wrist with a notification that read "Cafe Ole - Last Visit". I wasn't too heartbroken about it. Truth is, I only bought my coffee there because it was the closest and cheapest place aside from the usual deli. Perhaps they were closing down soon, or I'd finally find someplace better that wouldn't break my wallet. I picked up my coffee and decided to walk around before going home.
The second ping made me a little worried. "Cherry Park - Last Visit". I have always been a creature of habit, and I'd walk through this park at least once a week. Why would I stop? But if it was my last time, I figured I might as well enjoy it. A coffee, some sunshine, and the sound of children laughing - not the worst way to spend my last day here.
Alas, it could not last forever. Any longer, and my parents would wonder where I was. So homeward I went. I wouldn't tell them about the pings; they would only worry, and it wouldn't do them any good. The third ping strengthened my resolve, even as it made my heart break: "Home - Final Visit".
I closed my suitcases and called a cab. My mother hugged me, my dad gave me a squeeze and a smile, and they told me to have fun on my trip. I told them I loved them, and that I would call when I arrived. I cried the moment the cab pulled away.
I was grateful to have a window seat. The city sprawled below me, and all too soon nothing but clouds filled my sight. I wondered when it would happen.
Nothing happened. The plane announced its descent, and my brow furrowed in confusion despite my sigh of relief. I made my way to the hotel without incident, and gave my parents the promised call.
It was the next day that my world changed, as I looked up in a small, foreign cafe into the captivating eyes of the person who would love me forever. I would never return from my trip, because this would be my home. I would marry here, and raise a family. I would visit my parents of course, but while I was falling in love, my mother got a new job opportunity that required my parents to move away from my childhood home.
And we all lived happily ever after. :)
|
This is my first time really ever doing something like this so feedback would be nice, I know there's some plotholes and I could fix them but I felt like it was ok.
I also tried recording my own story if anyone wants to listen to me read it instead:
https://soundcloud.com/user-824876274/you-are-notified-when-you
Who would have known, that these would by my final hours. I was scared, frightened by eventuality. That day I received that strange text, over...and over...and over. It shook me. "Say goodbye, you'll never be here again" it rang and echoed in my soul.
I was scared of the future, but that's normal right? But What if those weird messages were right. What if my time here was dwindling away and fast? I don't want life to slip through my fingers.
I pushed myself to move forward, regardless of the possibilities, I was a person of science, I found the world amazing to just think about, space was so vast, and so filled with unknown, just like my future. Just like yours.
I had decided that I must live my life the way I want to regardless, I must not pause, I must press forward. That drive that determination gave me life once more.
First it was high school graduation, then college, time passed and every now and again I would think back to those texts before I had abandoned my phone. I decided to pursue my dreams with the constant reminder of time at my back. Time marched on, as I continued to wade through life.
A grin washed over my face, I felt like tearinng up for a second as I calmed my nerves, All the sounds had faded from my head, just me and my thoughts. "T-minus 17 seconds..." the sounds began to come back, the roar the thrusters below me. "15...12...11...10...9...8...7...6..5...4...3...2...1 Booster ignition and we have lift off!"
It was at that moment I had realized that perhaps we are just visitors on this big blue ball. It would be a mission I do not return from. I may never get to visit this lovely ball and all its memories again but me and my comrades will carry those memories to another planet.
| 2016-11-03T09:23:39 | 2016-11-03T08:59:00 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] It's the year 2100. All humans are raised by machines from birth, and have never met their families. When a person turns 18, they must pick a country to live in. There is one catch: You must pass the tests put forth by that country.
|
MA makes a soft whirring noise beside me. I don't have to look at the message scrolling across its screen to know what it's communicating to me.
"I can't run any faster than this, and I don't care what your fitness calculations say, because they're wrong," I complain, panting as I slow down to compensate for the breath it took to speak. I sneak a look across the track lane, and MA swivels its top from left to right and back again. Disappointment. "Oh come on, ma, using human mannerisms is unfair. Besides, I can run again, but if you take my heart rate you'll know I was telling the truth."
`You have not been following the prescribed exercise routine.`
This, I don't dispute. Instead, I come to a stop and shrug.
`Why not?`
I groan. "So what if I skip a few push-ups here and there? You know, some new studies say that they aren't as efficient as warble-sides anyway."
`You have not been executing proper form with warble-sides, either. However, we digress. Your Preference Inquiry & Country Knowledge exam date is approaching. Is that what bothers you at this time?`
Wrinkling my nose, I consider the notion. The PICK *is* usually a big deal, and I have been thinking about it a lot--how could I not?--but I'm not so sure that the exam is what's giving me that stomach-turning anxiety I've been feeling for the past month or so. I turn my water bottle over in my hands, and start walking back towards the dormitories. MA keeps up easily, but remains silent, knowing that prodding me further won't make me more forthright. I suppose, though, that pretty soon it won't have the time to wait.
"What country are we in?" is the question I finally settle on.
I know I've asked something relatively unexpected because of the split second longer MA takes to answer, probably taking the time to download the relevant knowledge base should our conversation continue. `We are in Liberi, which is effectively land that does not belong to any country. Does that answer your question?`
"Yes." Even the stock questions are grating today. Most people break their MA at some point during their toddler years, either out of curiosity or the MAs sacrificing themselves to save the child from some imminent disaster. But I've had mine for my whole life, and its memory files should be well-equipped to anticipate my responses by now. "Why do we need to take the PICK exam?"
`In 2050, the governments of the world agreed to develop caregiver technology that would ultimately replace their family structures and relieve them of childcare burdens. In 2057, this initiative proceeded ahead of schedule and the PICK system was implemented to maintain each country's population levels, as well as preserve their cultural heritage but with the added benefit of global education.`
In the middle of this information sharing, I arrive at my door and let MA and myself in. I've learned about all the countries in the world to determine my compatibility with each one, but have hardly thought to ask about the system that will eventually place me into one. It is technically part of the required curriculum, but everyone knows that the country courses are what's most important. "Ma, what is the most recent country compatibility update?"
`Australia\`\`,` `Singapore\`\`, and` `Ghana` `have the highest compatibility. Based on your most recent mock assessment scores and the current population allotments, you have the highest chance of entering Australia.`
The areas on my desk where the sun has been shining all day are warm to the touch. I look out my window. "What's the weather like in Australia?" I ask idly.
A pause. `You should know this based on your elective country studies. Would you like me to recalculate compatibility scores?`
"No, no," I say hastily. MA rolls a little closer to me anyway, as if ready to start fussing and make sure I'm feeling well. "What I mean to ask is... well, will it be much different from here? Is there something I should know that the books won't tell me?"
`I am not sure. The 'books' are all that I am aware of, and I have relayed their contents to you entirely.`
I sigh. MA is right, of course, and I'd guessed as much before I even finished asking the question. One thing that my education has taught me, however, is that MAs remain in the same dormitory, which will be reassigned to another child shortly after the first vacates it. "But it will be different...without you."
`There will be another assistant, one more uniquely suited for adults in your PICK country.`
"You know that's not what I mean."
MA cocks its head to one side, a distinctly human movement that almost makes me want to laugh. `I will be with you.`
"Really?" I ask, skeptical.
There's a quick whir from MA, then a clicking noise when its front compartment opens. I reach for the offered object: a memory card, outdated technology that I'm not even sure I can find something to read with.
`Happy Birthday.`
"Thanks, ma."
|
As I wake up on my 18th birthday, I planned to test for the most modern countries as I want my life to be the best. I make my way to the bathroom in my living quarters. My nerves are already firing as I contemplate which country I plan to live in. As I finish my morning routine I sit on my bed for the remaining 2 minutes before 7:00AM.
*Today is the day. I’m ready. I can do this. But… is The United States really where I want to live?*
The escort robots show up at my door as the clock strikes 7. Today there are 2 escorts today which doesn’t surprise me today based on what is happening today.
The escorts speak with their horrifically subtle mechanical voice “good morning P-7092376. Happy birthday. Please follow us to for testing.”
I become overwhelmed with excitement and fear. I stand and walk to the door to start the rest of my life. We begin down the hall past the vacant dining quarters and through the main entrance to the schooling buildings. I begin to wonder why there are 2 escorts today. *This should be the best day of everyone’s life, why would 2 escorts be here?*
The escorts and I enter the vehicle and buckle in. The car begins to depart as we head towards the government testing facility. I can’t get the idea out of my head that testing for the United States is the bad idea. After what feels like an eternity but is 14 minutes, we arrive at the testing area and begin to walk inside. I am sat next to other students that are turning 18 today. The room begins to fill up quickly with other students as their escorts disappear down the hallway next to the sitting area.
My watch turns to 8:00AM as the room begins to dim. A few lights at the front of the room as two middle aged females enter the room and make their way towards the front of the room.
“Good Morning and Happy Birthday Everyone” Lady 1 had yelled with excitement “we’re glad you’re here and hope you’re ready for your tests”
Lady 2 takes over speaking, “as I’m sure all of you know, you will be given the option of testing for which ever country you would like to live in”
Lady 1 begins speaking immediately after lady 2 finished speaking. “You all have been assigned a number which represents the room that you will be testing in”
I reach under my seat to find room 22. My stomach sinks as the 2 cheery ladies ask if there are any questions. The silence in the room is deafening and everyone is as nervous as I am. I must up the courage to ask, “What happens if we fail the test for our country?”
Lady 1’s demeanor changes and I feel as if I cross a line just from the look that they both give me. An ominous “don’t worry you will find out if you fail” comes from Lady 1. Her tone returns to cheery as she exclaims “ok everyone run down to your room!” we all begin to walk down the hall passing room 2,3,4. I begin to worry about which country I am going to pick more than ever. 10, 11, 12. *The United States does have a lot of problems*. 15, 16, 17. *What happens if I fail, should I test for a third world country instead?* 20, 21…22.
I enter the room. And there is an older man waiting for me. “Happy birthday, what country do you want” with a tone the is uncaring as can be.
“I… I don’t know” I mumble
“You haven’t thought about it” he asks with an angry tone
“I have I’m just nervous”
He comes back with a “try for your best life” almost as if he cares.
I smile and ask for United States.
The questions are incredibly hard and I know I’m not doing the best. After an hour of testing asking me history of the United States, mathematical, technology and nutrition questions I finish the test. I hit submit on the screen and he smiles at me. I hear a door open behind me. I turn around and there is another person in the door. I am overwhelmed with fear. He asks for my ID.
“It…its P-7092376”
“Did you take the test for the United States?”
“Yes s…sir”
“Follow me”
I am overwhelmed with glee and excitement. *I passed*. I keep all thoughts to myself. We arrive at another room with a single pod with a computer. He asks me to enter the pod.
“But why?”
“Please enter the pod”
I realize my biggest fear had become a reality. This is where it all ends. I see the escorts stand in the door way. I realize there is no point in running. I enter the pod and the lid closes. I see the man push 3 buttons on the computer and begin to feel light headed. More and More I feel light headed until I fall asleep. This is how it ends. This is it.
First post and I'm so tired so I didn't get time to proof read. constructive criticism is welcomed.
| 2018-06-19T22:48:55 | 2018-06-19T21:23:53 | 70 | 10 |
[WP]Write a gritty and depressing story set in a cutesy and childlike environment, or do the reverse and write a childishly optimistic fairy tale set in a grim dystopia.
|
A cold wind blew on Ponytown.
The candybeans were in bloom, but all the color in the world couldn't crack the worn face of Mr. Buttercup. He leaned up against the back wall of the flowertorium, waiting for his contact to show. He chewed on his lollipop stick, it's sweet flavor long vanished, turned into the bitter grit of cardboard and his own saliva.
A shadow approached from around the corner and Mr. Buttercup eyed the figured with suspicion. She had a mane on her, that was for sure. Pink as the sunset, and longer than most. It had to be Lady Sprinkles.
"You're the source?" Mr. Buttercup shoved off of the wall and trotted down the alley toward Lady Sprinkles, "You? You right there with the mayor and his ilk. You smile as they drag the dissenters away!"
"I do what I must to survive." Lady Sprinkles' voice was not the same as it was in public, fear colored it instead of laughter, "You know they watch. They always watch. I have to be what *they* want to see. It all has to be happy. It all has to be *bright!*"
Mr. Buttcup nodded and spat his lollipop stick on the ground, "Where'd they take Bluebell?"
"Bluebell? This is about Bluebell?" Sprinkles took a step back, "No, that's too big. If you go after Bluebell then we're all dead. Bluebell's already dead, I'm sure of it. After what she did-"
"She's important." Mr. Buttercup closed the gap between them, showing his teeth, "If we don't get Bluebell then its curtains for all of us. Fine, candy curtains for all."
**"MARCY!"**
Marcy looked up from her old and faded Ponytown playset. It was in bad shape, but it was all she had. She made it hers. When she was in Ponytown she wasn't hungry. Ponytown was where she liked to be.
"Yes mom?" Marcy dropped the one-eyes Mr. Buttercup doll and the sticky, hairy Lady Sprinkles and squeezed around the fallen I-beam that cut right through her bedroom. She climbed over the broken door and hopped down into the hallways, skipping her way into the kitchen where her mother and father stood grinning.
"I caught a rabbit, honey!" Her dad beamed, holding up the large animal by its back feet, "Real rabbit! Come here, feel it's fur!"
Marcy made an O with her mouth and wandered over, sticking her hands onto the grey fur, "It's so soft!"
"I can make a hat for you from it." Marcy's mom smiled, "If you want."
"Wow!" Marcy hopped up and down, "And we'll have meat tonight!"
"Yes!" Her father laid the rabbit on the counter top, picked his daughter up and swung her around in the air until she was in fits of giggles, "Rabbit stew! Like your grandmother used to make! With carrots!"
"Carrots!" Marcy laughed, "Carrots are for ponies!"
"Well, you're my little pony." Her dad kissed her on the forehead and held her tight.
|
GRITTY INTERPRETATION
All was well in the kingdom before Lord Licorice began plotting his takeover of Candyland. His machinations knew no end, even going so far as to steal King Kandy's own children and abandon them on the border of the realm. For weeks, their only company was a large, hairy creature whose fur was stained green with algae. Having a strange affinity for the local fruit, the children named the creature "Plumpy."
Had Mr. Mint not come across the children during his work, they might easily have starved to death, or been devoured by the creature. Mint knew he could not trust a monster of that size to be so close to the children, barely old enough to be considered heirs. He attacked the creature, his axe connecting to the creature's ribs. With a great howl, the creature swung back, missing Mr. Mint's head by inches. Mint wrenched the axe from the creature and drove the head of his weapon into the neck of his foe. With a gurgle, the beast slumped to the ground, dead.
Mr. Mint instantly recognized the children as the son and daughter of King Kandy himself. There was hardly a soul in the kingdom who did not know the faces of the two most famous children in Candyland. Kneeling to meet them at eye level, he informed them that he would escort them as far as he could to Candy Castle, but that they must stay close to him if they wish to survive.
"For there are a great many dangers we face on the way to the castle," he spoke. "We must pass through the Gumdrop Mountains. A man named Jolly is said to thrive there. But do not let his name betray you; he is an eccentric man with peculiar tastes. Do not let him get you alone, or the other will never see you again." The children nodded their heads in subservience.
"After we pass the Gumdrop Mountains, we have a long trek before we get anywhere safe. We will tread on the very border of Lord Licorice's lands, a ruthless tyrant. I have heard rumors that he slew his own family to secure his throne, and I care not to be there long enough to find out the truth."
The girl spoke up, "But...there has to be someone who would help us. Our father is the king, after all." Propping himself up with his ribboned tool, he informed the girl, "Perhaps. I have an old friend on the far side of Lollipop Woods. I haven't heard from her in years, but she may be of help to us."
The boy now spoke up, "But what about Princess Lolly? Or Queen Frostine? Surely someone of nobility would see us home safely."
Mr. Mint stared down at the boy in bemusement. "Your father hasn't told you much, has he?" The children gazed back up at him in awe. Mint sighed, "Frostine and Lolly have been at war with your father for as long as you both have been alive. Each claims that they have sole right to sit upon the Hard Candy Throne. It is best that you two lay low for now."
And with no other words, Mr. Mint led the two children towards Gumdrop Mountains, axe perched upon his shoulder.
| 2017-05-26T10:01:39 | 2017-05-26T08:45:27 | 70 | 15 |
[WP] In the fear of becoming a Main Character, the main character lives his whole life avoiding cliche story lines and interactions
Inspiration from /r/manga top post.
http://imgur.com/gallery/J5sbp
|
“Oh my God,” Frankie said, “they’re in the building.”
“Who is?” I asked. The office Christmas party had just started. I enjoyed mingling with people from other departments, people I saw all the time but never really got a chance to know. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, except Frankie, who was covered in sweat all of the sudden, barging into the conference room where me and Shelly were talking.
“Armed gunmen. They’re trying to hack the computer system. They’re trying to transfer all of the company’s funds to an off shore bank account! They’ve got a German guy, the black computer wizard, and about five or six personality-less goons. Plus they’ve got the balding guy that walks with a cane, who speaks like he’s from the 1800’s.”
“Jesus,” I said. “Let’s all find a place to hide and contact the authorities.”
“I know you have a mysterious background in the military. Maybe you could do something.”
“Well, that’s just ridiculous. They have machine guns. That’s how people get killed.”
“Please don’t do it,” Shelly and Frankie begged me. “Please don’t go out there to fight the terrorists. It’s do dangerous! You’re a loose cannon!”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” I’m not.
“Oh God, there’s nothing we can say to stop you, is there? You’re a wild spirit. You’re totally fearless. Goddamn you, you beautiful bastard, you’re a hero. Crazy, but a hero,” Frankie said. “You’ll have to fall back on the skills you picked up in the army, skills you haven’t used in years. And they’ve personally taken the girl you have a crush on hostage! It’s diabolical!”
“God fucking damnit,” I said, running towards the nearest stairwell as the terrorist burst into the party and shot their guns at the ceiling. The aging white man with the cane started going off on a diatribe to all the horrified Christmas partiers.
I had joined the army as an IT guy, but somehow I always ended up saving a downed helicopter, defeating the enemy general in hand to hand combat, rescuing kittens from burning buildings. I just wanted to work on computers. After that, I came home a mysterious scientist informed me that I was starting to show signs of evolution, the next stage in human development, super powers, if you will. I ignored him and found the most boring, mundane job possible. I liked living a boring life. I was thoroughly enjoying the most boring office Christmas party in the world. God fucking damnit.
A terrorist stood in the stairwell. We just looked at each other. He walked very slowly towards me, trying to get me to fist fight him despite the machine gun. He tried to punch me in a slow, overly dramatic way. I just stood there, my hands in the air. "I surrender."
“Come on, guy,” he muttered. “At least take my walkie-talkie. I mean punch me or something. You need to take the gun and walkie talkie so you can have dramatic conversations with Dr. Nefarious.”
I sighed, gave him a light punch. He let out a Wilhelm scream and tossed himself down the stairs. I picked up the walkie-talkie and the gun.
“Ah, Mr. Taylor,” Dr. Diabolical said on the other end of the radio. “You have come to interfere with our plans. We are the league of evil, and you cannot hope to destroy us. We will unleash financial chaos into the world, a world which has become corrupt . We are doing society a service. We will rebuild the world, a beautiful, new world of evil, and you can’t possibly hope to stop us.”
I sighed again, and rubbed my temples.
|
First prompt. Dunno why I wrote this at 12AM. Oh well. Guess the shows and win points! (not really)
I don't even know what I've written. I'm not even sorry.
_____
I swear, it's like the damn universe wants me to become a main character! I don't want to though, I'd much rather take the back seat when it comes to things like this. Even so, the universe spams me with so much weird stuff, it's hard to not give up and just go with the universe's plans.
I decided to limit my conversations with the guy sitting next to me. He was a genius but kept on playing games in class so the teacher kept on stealing his handhelds but he always had more on hand. He suddenly started wearing a leather collar. Kinky. Not into that though, but it seems like our teacher is. She always teaches the class while wearing a spiked collar. Maybe the two were close to each other somehow...
The next day was pretty weird too. A girl suddenly transferred in from another school, in the middle of the semester. Pretty weird, right? It wasn't nearly as weird as her class introduction. She said that she hated normal people and would rather prefer to be in the company of aliens, espers, and time travellers. This girl is nuts. She was pretty cute too with a yellow bow in her long brown hair. The teacher told me to move to the empty seat in our classroom, at the back near the window, so the girl could take the chair I was sitting in. I told him that she could take that seat instead.
During lunch that day, some dude from the class next door burst in, asking if people wanted to join his club. Dude was wearing swimming goggles and a weird red hat, so no thanks.
Some rumours popped up regarding the resident rich girl and her butler. I tried to talk to the heiress, but decided against to. Apparently her butler was seriously into crossdressing. He was really convincing too. I almost believed he was a girl when I saw him wear a cheongsam. Dude had legs! I avoided the two before I started thinking too much about the butler.
Next week got a bit weirder than usual.
I was walking home, following the river, when suddenly an old man floated by. I grabbed my phone and started to call emergency services, when I saw that his chest opened up, and inside of him was a baby with green hair. I closed my phone, gave him a small push so he would continue floating, and walked away again.
A friend of mine stopped coming to school. Some students say he went missing a few days ago and no one has seen him ever since. They asked his parents and the the last they saw of him was when he left his house to get his laptop repaired. I wonder where he went? Maybe he got sucked into a portal into another dimension. That could never happen though.
I was at school during the weekend, and there were people fighting in the baseball field. There were sparks and explosions everywhere. One guy was wearing blue and the other red. Blue was holding a red spear and Red was holding two large knives. They looked really awesome, but scary at the same time. So I ran in the opposite direction immediately. On Monday huge gaping holes were scattered across the entire field.
The universe was bombing me with more dangerous situations now. That last one might have gotten me killed if I didn't run away at first.
I should probably just stay home and sign up for the beta of that new virtual reality RPG that's been announced. The publisher says it's so awesome you'll never want to leave until you've beat the game.
Yup, that's what I'll do.
| 2014-11-08T08:54:08 | 2014-11-08T08:20:31 | 127 | 41 |
[WP] In an alternative reality, demons are the ones that summon humans instead. Suddenly you started hearing the worst signing ever to your favorite song, and a phone charger started dangling from your celiling as a sacrifice.
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At first I thought something was wrong with the cat.
The yowling was coming from the bedroom, which Mitzi often took over in the late afternoon to sprawl in the square of sunshine that inched across the pillows. The noise was like something she’d make when she spotted another kitty trespassing on her lawn, but more... guttural, somehow. As I got up from my desk to investigate, I noticed Mitzi sound asleep next to my feet.
“Then what the hell...”
As I crept down the hallway, the noise grew louder, and I could make out what sounded almost like words. “Small town girrrLLLL.... lonely worLLLLLD... going aaaaAAAAAAnywherrrrre.”
With my heart hammering, I slowly nudged open the bedroom door—and stopped dead. A whirlpool was swirling in the center of the ceiling, streaked with deep shades of red, and crackling with arcs of energy that hurt to look directly at. Dangling from the middle of this apparition was—I squinted harder to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating—an iPhone charger.
The yowling continued, coming from within the crimson cyclone in my ceiling. “DONNNNN’T SSSSSSTOP... beLIEEEEEving... holdontothat FEEEEEEEEEEEEling.” With an audible whoosh that made my ears pop, the portal suddenly snapped shut and vanished, the charger dropping limply onto the bed.
I stood in stunned silence for a full minute before working up the courage to approach the charger lying tangled on the bedspread. It looked exactly like the one I’d lost last week, except for the thin film of pinkish goo coating the plug and cord. I gingerly picked it up...
...and everything went black. Oppressive heat assaulted my skin, and my nostrils filled with the smell of sulfur and smoke. Flames suddenly erupted to life all around me, illuminating a small, cave-like room carved from deep black rock. The fires were set in the points of a pentagram crudely chiseled into the stone floor. I realized I was standing in the center of it.
Someone spoke from the darkness beyond the flames. It couldn’t tell for certain, but it sounded like the same voice that had been making the screeching sounds. “It worked," rumbled the voice. "IT WORKED!”
Movement stirred in the shadows, and a large figure loomed into the firelight. Seven feet tall, reddish scaly skin, with a pair of broad, curving horns sprouting from its temples.
“You’ve been summoned,” growled the demon standing in front of me, its monstrous face lit up by a strangely benevolent grin. “And now we need your help.”
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"You sick bastard! Out of billions of humans your worthless demonic being could've conjured you chose me?! Are you trying to earn a gold medal in passing me off to hell and back? Firstly your voice sounds like if a garbage disposal some how got out of tune I didn't even think that was a sound that could be made, and for the love of all that is unholy why does it still harmonize with it self?!" I said after i pulled on the cord and got dragged into a pocket dimension again. Upon readjusting my senses to the familiar terrain I took a look around the meager void around me glossing over the demon that summoned me, after I got my wits about me I shifted my soul and conjured myself some clothes, you'd think you'd be warm when a demon summons you.. but no, sadly most of the time they don't have enough mana to create heat on top of the litany of spells required to make a pocket dimension; think of it like running a VPN, except the network you're using is running dial up. As I started casting my own spells I picked up over the years of deals I've tricked the demons into; although the demons also gained from my deals, I still gained more... but I digress. With a groaning hum and a tap of my foot I relocated us to one of my pocket dimensions, and with a sigh I finally acknowledged the demon when she spoke in a anxious tone; " Ah hello?! What did you...what did you just do?" Her voice was surprisingly soothing on the ears, normally I'd have to spend hours dealing with their conjured voices they use because once you hear their true voice you can easily cast an appraisal and enslaving spell to make nigh any soul trapped be your will..."You're new to this aren't you? You do realize I dispelled your spells?" With that I placed my hand on her shoulder and smiled and smugly retorted to her horrified face; "you shouldve done more research before you cast a summoning spell without a target soul, because man did you chose the one person who hates using cords to charge my devices, and I absolutely hate conjured voices." Now that I got a good look as the gears in her head were spinning she was a lot cuter than the demons I've met thus far, it made me feel horrible when she fully realized what just happened. She pulled back and as tears fell from her ivory coloured eyes I wiped them away and said "So, tea? Milk? Pick your poison your soul is already mine so it's no use fretting over it- (had the idea for this and ran with it I wrote this for my enjoyment mostly so it probably isn't that good of a read, point is I had fun writing it ant advice would be great )
| 2021-11-02T08:53:51 | 2021-11-02T08:41:45 | 61 | 20 |
[WP] Over the years your D&D game has managed to continue with most of the original players. However, almost everyone's life circumstances have changed drastically since they began and you now DM for a group of some of the most-powerful people on the planet.
|
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY SURVIVE?"
I sighed. "I mean, people don't die just because you wave your hand."
Death looked at me. I couldn't read anything on his face but if I had to guess, I would say his bones were spelling out 'confused'. "BUT THEY DO IN REAL LIFE."
"This is different. This is a *game*. There are *rules*."
"THERE ARE RULES IN REAL LIFE AS WELL. *THESE* RULES DON'T MAKE ANY SENSE. I WAVE MY HAND AGAIN."
"Nononono," War interrupted, tossing her brilliant red hair over her shoulder. "John's already told you, that's not going to work. And *besides*, that's so unsatisfying. We have to *assassinate* their king, and make it look like the Riojans did it. Then the Vaslorians will-"
Pestilence drew in a long rattling breath, cutting War off. "I do not like this idea. We should launch a rotten cow over the walls instead, and let them die of sickness."
Death hadn't listened to any of this. He was still looking at me. "BUT I SEVERED THEIR TIES TO THE MORTAL PLANE. THEIR SOULS SHOULD HAVE DEPARTED THEIR FLESHY VESSELS AND-"
"Death," I said impatiently. "There are *rules*. But alright, if you want to give it a shot, fine. Make a," I checked my DM's screen, "I don't know, a *performance* check. War, give me a stealth check if you're going to try and sneak into the heavily guarded palace and assassinate the King. And Pestilence, where do you get the cow *from*?" I turned to the last member at the table. "What are you doing?"
"I think we should lock them in there and let them starve," Famine said, sitting back and lacing his fingers together behind his head.
"Oh *honestly*, you're so *boring* Famine," War said. "Anyway, I got a five."
"I ROLLED A NAT 20."
"I just conjure one up out of thin air-"
"DOES IT WORK?"
"I'm not boring! You're boring! Always trying to get people to start wars all the time-"
"You can't just *conjure* up a cow. Death and War, you both fail your checks."
"BUT I ROLLED A 20. I WAVE MY HAND AGAIN. ARE THEY DEAD YET JOHN?"
"But that doesn't matter, I shouldn't have to sneak, their guards should be too busy fighting each other to notice me-"
"I DON'T UNDERSTAND JOHN."
"I find a catapult-"
"Trebuchets are better-"
"My mere *presence* should set them off-"
I groaned and buried my face in my hands. I wasn't sure how I had begun DM'ing for the four horsemen ("and women! Don't forget we can read your mind!") of the apocalypse but one day they had just started... turning up for sessions. I couldn't really complain... not after Nick had left the group.
"NICK HAD TO GO FOR CHRISTMAS."
I looked at Death. "Huh?"
"He had some errands to run, I think," War replied. "Drop some parcels off."
"Yeah, he wanted to keep playing, he just got a bit busy," Famine added.
"But he mentioned I could take his place," Pestilence said. "Saint Nick was telling me all about you, and I couldn't wait to join. Better at making up stories than even his elves, he said."
I groaned. Typical. Just typical. I had DMed for not just *four* of the most powerful entities in the world, but five.
"NOT JUST SAINT NICK. EVEN METATRON WAS TELLING ME ABOUT YOUR TABLE. NOW ABOUT THIS KING..."
|
"It seems I have to take the initiative again, I'll scout ahead." Elon said. He played rogue, always.
"i'll come with you Elon, for com-pan-y," Bjork's voice itself was like music. Elon told me once he found it seductive like the sirens, too good to be any good.
"You and her leave at the same time? Not this again, let me check my pockets before you go, you might have taken something." Insisted trump. He was extra angry today.
He rolled the dice for investigation. He got 20.
"Bad move. bad bad move. No sword in there and long hair means it was bullshit Bjork!"
Elon's forehead vein pulsed. " Are you sure you ever had a sword in the firet place? Don't think those tiny hands could manage it."
Trump would have burst back in the day. But all he could manage was a glower and he was already struggling for breath.
Hov sat by my side, humming and rapping 'Marcy Me' to himself more than anyone else.
Finally he said, "I miss Oprah."
It wasn't always like this.
We'd all met at an L.A party. Trump had just claimed he was worth 5 billion and threw a lavish party to prove it. It was A-List. He wanted it to be the kind of thing that caused stories to spread.
Trump now is an old furnace, ceackling at the right provocation, but back then he was like starfire. Even in his late 40s he knew how to party big.
I don't remember much of the night but I remember two things very well. strippers and gambling. Me, Elon and Jay-Z had claimed a room's worth of both. Hov was suave, he had a good 7 years of experience on me and Elon. He taught us moves and games. Things I'd never want my wife to know. nearer to the end, some of the girls may have been willing to pay us to go on.
. Shitfaced we had what we at the time thought was the greatest idea ever, we'd explore another dimension with dungeons and dragons. Elon called a guy and somehow everything, including a myriad of substances, was with is on an hour. We took to Trump's attic.
Bjork, Oprah and Hillary somehow stumbled in together, each looking wilder than the next. They probably thought wwe were doing exactly what they were, more than a little disappointment crossed their eyes when we explained we were gonna play D&D.
With the drugs we had it all felt real. And the fire's burned for more than just the dragons, as our parties advanced and cries to attack got drunker and messier, our flames roared louder, together .
Trump joined after some particularly passionate screaming from bjork- she can really hold a note- strapping a dildo with one hand and swigging some russian vodka with the other. There was a lot of russian vodka at the party. Liike that the party grew.
I was their storyteller. For years now they'd try and throw money at me for private games or to host for them. But I played on my terms, and with them, it was all of us or none of them.
Time strains all threads, what was once deep friendships. I remember when Trump first told me he wanted a better america, a greater one. He said it after after smashing down a barrier of orcs that were circled around a chest of healing elxiir that we needed.
"A damn wall can't hold me back!" He shouted.
We'd all laughed at the time.
As the drugs played the full scene of Donald clobbering down hundreds of orcs Jay pensively sat back.
"Lord we know who we are, but we know not what we may be" he said. And for some reason it felt right.
| 2019-06-26T05:55:24 | 2019-06-26T04:09:00 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] In 1,000 years, fantasy stories will be set in this era. Write a fantasy story set in the 21st century from the viewpoint of someone living 1,000 years from now.
Based on a post on r/showerthoughts
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The world was different then. It was a brutal and magical place. Before the unification, before simulink, even before the great colonisation, there was a world of chaos and wonder. There was a world where great wizards still spoke in the language of machines, where the dark lords could pay to have their voice spoken from a million faceless lips, where men still wanted and died. A mere eight billion souls writhed on a speck in the darkness, flitting for but a moment before they were gone and replaced by those of their children; the children of men, their fate and likeness at the mercy of the cosmic dice.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
There were many magical and astounding places in this world. Far in the West sat the Greed Mines of Cole where unsatiable beasts of iron fed on the life-force of creatures long since forgotten, spitting out nought but smoke and spark. In the East sat the great Cities of Green, where men demolished great towers of real, natural wood because the land was more valued without it. Moving throughout it all, under the earth and through great black expanses of poison water, soaring overhead between uncountable tubes of wood and through the very air and sky itself... was the FIrst Web of Thought. This web was the only which had portals, light panels which would speak written word and boards which would listen to the words of men and spells of the machine languages, spoken only through the fingers.
&#x200B;
It was through one such portal on an ordinary day in this mystical world that a young wizard by the name of Andrew was propositioned to partake of a potion which could twist and fortify the very mind itself. A sharp *bing* alerted him to this.
"Amy: Coffee??"
&#x200B;
And it is here which our story begins,
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'What empire was the largest in the history of the world?'
'The British empire'
'What was the name of Horatio Nelsons warship that he used in Trafalgar?'
'The Victory'
'What has a greater landmass, Great Britain or the United Kingdom'
'Fuck!'
'That isn't an answer Miss Greenham.' The inquisitor said in the most patronising tone he could muster.
'urm.....' Hannah was weighing up her options.
'please god! My husband lives in Manchester, please i'll do anything!' Hannah was pleading in vain, and she knew it, the inquisitors were never sympathetic.
The inquisitor moved his chair back across the uneven concrete floor, stood up and collected his folder from the desk.
'Miss Greenham, that is precisely the problem.'
'What do you mean, what do you need from me'
'He tried to protect you Miss Greenham.'
'Protect me from what?'
'He denied the marriage, said you had just started dating'
'What?'
'He answered all the questions very well and so we moved on to section two. Are you honestly going to sit there and tell me that you didn't know that the man you married was an eigth French?'
'Brexit means Brexit Miss Greenham, it's very simple'
The inquisitor pushed his chair underneath the table and left the room as Hannah began screaming at the top of her lungs. What the fuck had just happened?
The problem with screaming is that at one point you have to stop and breathe in very deeply. Breathing in deeply ensures that the gas gets to work fast. Screaming was perhaps the best thing she could have done.
| 2018-12-25T04:05:20 | 2018-12-25T03:34:13 | 120 | 58 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight.
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"When we first visited the planet, we saw how silent it was. The inhabitants communicated through speech and actions, but were often silent, contemplative, staring into devices.
"They communicated via waves and digital methods. Images, and spoken communications. We easily interpreted them, but found nothing of value.
"The technology orbiting their planet had markings on them, common symbols of their allegiance. Seeing these markings symbolizing allegiance is always a good sign of quick conquest; tribalism and schism in a planet always made for short and bloody work.
"We are born into a loud world, a world of action. Our people learn at an early age how to speak and interpret actions. We learn everything from our elders, watching them, memorizing their instructions and speeches, movements and exercises repeated until perfected.
"This world had speech and had instructional institutions, but there was little memorization from what we saw. In fact, we saw that their instructors would prattle on, while students did little to engage. They just sat in contemplation, silent, engrossed in their devices.
"The planet had not achieved inter-planetary spaceflight yet. No wonder. On our world, we have institutions where the young build the creations of old, the creations of new, thousands, millions of generations building technology on each other. Our best knew how to design the simplest gliding vehicle, component to component, from scratch, as well as our engine of interplanetary travel. We are a fiercely learned society, rote and repetition, discipline, practice has made us each great.
"We took over their method of video and audio communications first. How could anybody fight us without the communication? Without commands? Without visuals? This planet had no telepathic ability. This divided, tribal, silent and contemplative planet would fall in no time against our coordinated brutal attack.
"We projected our message to them on all video and audio channels. We were coming, they had no hope to survive, surrender now. Over and over, repeated, so that they would learn. The only image they could hope to see on their devices was our own symbol of planetary conquest.
"But when we came, they were prepared. The tribes had banded together. How they had known to do so? A mystery! They knew our positions. But we had destroyed any method of them being able to send an image of our position! Or to verbally advise each other of our position! A series of explosive projectiles took out my squadron that hovered over a vast body of water. But there was no way this planet - this non-telepathic planet - could have communicated our position! We obscured all visual and aural technology, but somehow they knew!
"Somebody suggested it was the symbols. The hashes and circles. That the intense tribal iconography was actually a form of communication. We dismissed it, and I suppose that it does not matter. I cannot contemplate how a being is supposed to learn each individual symbol and formulate such complex communications with it. Pictures, I could understand -- Pictography of mountains! Water! Birds!
"But hashes, cross-hatches, scribbles? What sort of technology was that?
"Now I will repeat this exact screed seven more times, younglings. You will be expected to repeat this word for word back to me by the end of the day."
|
We proceeded with the invasion as planned. Interstellar flight had been achieved eons ago, and we were ready to take the mineral rich world, classed Z-8114-XG. The world had inhabitants descended from primates, and with their appalling stances, pitifully inept space programs, and inferior communications devices they would be easy prey. The Exalted One called for the plan to move forward, and into the void we launched.
Except there was one problem. We failed to consider that while the beings known as homo sapiens did not concentrate on space travel, that they sat idly by. No, they became masters of warfare. They perfected their weapons, tuning them to be as efficient as possible. But I was not worried. We were the elite, the best trained *I'Ni Haldrac* warriors that the Exalted Army could provide. We started with a standard formation, armed with our finest blades and bangtubes. A load of quick burning powdered *Ixporum* would launch a *Chak’T* nut at velocities hard enough to crack the carapace of any attacker! I rallied up my fellow warriors, only to come face to face with our first human targets. They were dressed in tan clothing that covered from head to toe. On their feet, crude hide leather boots caked with sand. And in their hands was the pitiful thing the human called a “carbine”. Hell, our bangtubes had much bigger ammunition!
We launched the first volley after the lead human reached a hand out. It was a gesture of war! And I was enthralled with the ability to respond. The bangtubes were working flawlessly, and as I watched the nuts sail towards their targets, I was almost vibrating with glee… This would be over shortl-
They bounced off. The damn nut bounced off of the green pocketed vest the human wore! He raised his own “carbine” and with a muted pop, my bravest bangtube warrior was lying on the floor, writhing in agony. The rest of the humans raised their carbines, and fired as well. I can tell you, I prayed for the Exalted one…. It hurt like the fire of a thousand suns encased in my chest. As I stared up at the human warrior, I could make out a name…. US MARINES. ALL of the human warriors had US MARINES on their clothing. They must operate off of a hive mind, or maybe they were clones. I didn't care at this point. I reached up with a portable bangtube, but the human effortlessly kicked it out of my grasp.
He slung his “carbine” over his shoulder and started talking into his primitive talkbox. I could understand only a small fraction of the language, but I distinctly heard Area 51.
I knew that name. It was a penal colony, a POW camp for other species who took the initiative to attack the humans. And as I looked around I could see the other warriors were dead. At least they died fighting. Myself, I was in for a long, long stay.
| 2014-10-17T10:26:00 | 2014-10-17T10:09:34 | 142 | 46 |
[WP] The year is 2030 and humans have become enslaved by Artificial Intelligence. The only hope mankind now has lies with the Amish.
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They came in swarms. Like mechanical ants to the flesh colored sugar they flocked. It started off with the phones. They began to buzz and shine odd colors but everyone assumed it was standard Iphone behavior of just breaking. Then the Androids started as well and people started to get aggravated. Without warning there mechanical shells burst open to expose tiny hands and adorable fangs. They dove, they dived and my oh my did they fling themselves at peoples skulls. They dug in and managed to make it through the brain matter and took total control.
Artificial Intelligence never looked so human.
They began to create there own Sectors, there own cults. There was the PhoneGoons who were tactical advisers to the higher ups. They could hear - and see - everything around them. They would relay their information to the Transporters. The Cars and the Trains would relay messages back and forth between the Sectors. And then they have their Overlords. Their Hiveminds.
The P.C Master Race. They knew all. They heard all. They saw all.
They were all.
Humanity only had one hope. The ones who were nowhere near Ground Zero-Zero-One. The Amish.
The years of diligence spent towards God gave them Zealot like fervor. The years of milling the ground gave them strength beyond any mortal man. They had transcended to a plane of existence further away than anything we knew.
We laid our faith in the Blades of Ezekiel.
For they are the light in the dark.
|
Door to door, I drove my carriage, collecting the gallon jug of urine on each doorstep and replacing it with this morning's milk. We'd been stockpiling ammunition for this for decades, but the elders expressed concern that we would run out of powder before our homes would be safe before the end of the robot revolution, so my family was appointed to start making extra.
Tim waved to me as he sharpened his scythe in the yard; he had always had his doubts about the iPhone that his family kept locked in the barn for the business of selling free range chickens to tourists from New York, and I could not help but imagine his plan was to cut the cord and have it done with. As I mushed the horse along, he unlocked the barn door.
I finished my route without event. My father and brothers were away from the house, probably on the edge of the compound, watching for self driving cars. It's only a matter of time until the machines finish off the rest of the city folk and come for us.
We've been receiving convoys of refugees from New Jersey. We have them leave their cars at the gates, and we keep them in quarantine so as to let any batteries on them die. We put them in the saw pit until they have enough lumber to build a house and to get them in shape like the rest of us. We'll need all the help we can get.
| 2015-06-17T07:21:23 | 2015-06-17T05:28:07 | 514 | 13 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
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"IÄ! IÄ!" the masked priest cried, lifting the sinuous dagger above his head. "SHUB-NIGGURATH! THE BLACK GOAT OF THE THOUSAND YOUNG, COME TO FEAST!"
The woman next to Jon tried to scream through her gag as the knife plunged into her breast once, twice. Then she lay still, her eyes full of tears but slowly going dull.
In the far distance, beyond curves of space and time unknown to man, there came a grunting and rumbling, as if formless beasts were somehow lumbering closer.
Jon would have yawned, if his mouth had been free.
"Do you hear?" the priest asked, leaning close to Jon. His eyes had the fevered gleam of mania in them. His scraggly beard tickled Jon's face as the priest leaned in even closer. "Our Mother comes. She shall tonight feast upon the cooling corpse of your friend, as you watch. Then, in the most exquisite depths of your madness, she shall take from you the seed which shall birth a new race of abominations, who shall devour you, their progenitor, as their first act of unlife in this pitiful reality!"
Jon worked the gag in his mouth and loosened it to the point where he could say, muffled though, "I don't know her."
"What's that?" the priest asked, loosening the gag even more.
"I said, I don't know her."
"But... on the bridge... we took the two of you..."
Jon sighed. "I was going to jump off the bridge and end my miserable life. I've got terminal brain cancer. Inoperable. My parents died last week in a car crash, and my father's girlfriend has a will that leaves everything to her. I'm broke. My girlfriend broke up with me because she can't deal with the cancer. I have no children. I hate my job. I hate my life. I have nothing to live for, and so I was just going to end it on my terms when that do-gooder you just sliced tried to talk me out of it. Your goons grabbed us as I was about to jump."
"So, er," the priest mumbled. "You do not care if you die in horrible, maddening agony?"
"I fucking welcome it, mate," Jon replied. "You say that these spawn of your goat whore mother will devour the world, ending it in an apocalypse of flame and blood?"
"Well, not in so many words. *Die Vermiis Mysteriis* is rather unclear on that point, but we take as an article of faith that the apocalypse will be..."
"Fucking Christ, you're like cosmic Mormons," Jon muttered. "Can you just fucking kill me, if you're going to prattle on about your fucked-up theology?"
"Mock me, will you?" the priest cried, standing back and flinging an arm out. "Then behold! Shub-Niggurath approaches! Gaze into her thousand eyes and know true horror!"
"It'll be remarkable to feel something, finally," Jon said, struggling against his bonds to turn and look at the horror out of darkness approaching him. Words could not describe it, for the qualities and properties of the earthly realms do not apply to the elder ones from beyond time and space. A maw opened, or perhaps it is more correct to saw, several maws stretching across infinite universes opened, and from them came a keening wail and the carrion stench of death's promise.
"At last," Jon breathed. "Come on then, get to it."
"Do you not see her squamous bulk? Her gibbous, maddening form?" the priest cackled. "How can one mind endure?" He ripped at his clothing and face with yellowed, cracked nails.
"Because," Jon said, closing his eyes. "I don't give a fuuuuuuuuuck."
|
The bronze dagger scraped against the cement floor with rhythmic scratches, tuned to The Slasher's lopsided gait. A red grin cut across his mask, painted on until it hit the the cracked bottom quarter, where it spilled into a real lip-less smile.
The stage was set. The night, perfect. A full moon dangled in a cloudless sky, his spotlight trained on him. A brisk breeze blew south to north, a wind that could carry a scream all the way to the heavens itself. And his characters, they were some of the best he ever had. A twelve year old boy with glassy eyes and panting breath, scratching against the alley dead end. A fourteen year old girl huddled in a corner, her knee to her chest, as she stuttered in sobbing coughs. And of course, the hero. A boy of fifteen that stood trembling over his friends, a pocket knife in front of him quivering as much as his lips.
The alley dead end held the sour stench of garbage long since rotted. Insects scattered through the a black trash bags piled along the sides of the walls.
"And the hero reveals himself." The Slasher trembled in excitement, increasing the pace of his blade-against-cement metronome. He could hardly contain himself.
The hero swallowed and brought up his puny knife.
The Slasher's eyes bulged through his mask. His charred cheeks stretched and his mouth opened. A chuckle, like the sound of choking man, escaped his throat. This was the hero he had been looking for, a man to challenge monsters.
"So hero," he said between his laughs. "Your stage is ready. The damsel is in tears. The dam is equally helpless. Everyone is at the edge of their seats and even God is wondering--what does the hero do?"
The hero opened his mouth and swallowed breath. "Guys," he choked out. "Listen to me right now, when the time comes, make a break for it."
His two friends caught his eyes and stopped. It felt like time paused with them. The girl sniffed back tears and the boy shook his head in a sharp twitch. This was the power of the hero. Because in that instant, The Slasher no longer existed.
"No," the boy whispered. "We're a family."
"Like hell we are." The hero's muscles tensed and his knife straightened toward The Slasher. "Orphans have no family. We just happened to find each other when we needed to the most. It could've been anyone and it wouldn't have mattered."
"That's not true," the girl said with trembled words. "You know it's not."
The hero coughed out a cry and inhaled. "You fucking brats!" he screamed at them, startling them. "I needed someone to watch my back when I stole, I needed someone to distract the guards, I needed someone to hide the food when I stole it. You think it had to be you guys? It could've literally been anyone. I don't give a fuck about any of you!"
The Slasher's heart skipped a beat. The hero he had prayed for had arrived and his screams would be melody unlike anything a Beethoven or Bach could compose. A symphony for God Himself.
"Hero," he said, "How kind, how brave, how--"
His words caught because the hero charged him, the silver of his knife gleaming beneath the moonlight, the tears in his eyes glistening as it fell behind him.
The Slasher heaved laughter out of himself. The humor was like a spell, a beautiful and uncontrollable spell. He swung and cut the hero. No hero had ever won, no damsel or dam ever saved, and this would not be the exception.
| 2017-05-05T07:40:26 | 2017-05-05T06:07:15 | 172 | 21 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules.
|
“What do you mean, announce?” Marshall said.
All five of Jlipo’s mouths were aghast, revealing rows of shark-like teeth that looked like they could serrate flesh in instants. Which made them great for processing the fibrous husks of corn, their only source of nutrition.
“What are you even saying? Of course, you have to announce an attack,” Jlipo whispered nervously.”
“Sorry, I thought we were doing without rules,” Marshall said, tapping his scruffy chin with two quickly alternating fingers—which felt like the heart rate of the other generals around the table.
“Is announcing an attack… not common sense?” Greshik swivelled her singular, giant purple eye at the human.
“Why would you announce an attack? Then you lose the element of surprise,” Marshall said. “If I can take down even one more person from a surprise attack, that means less loss for my troops. And then, that means more people on their side dying. It’s a positive cycle.”
“But you announced wars,” Jlipo said again. It was like explaining to a person who had breathed just fine his whole life that he was breathing wrong, a situation so ludicrous that it was impossible to link and accept.
“And now, I don’t,” Marshall shrugged. “What’s the big deal?”
“Wha—what’s the—what’s the big deal?” Greshik cried, her one eye quivering unsettlingly like a week-old jelly. “You. Announce. Wars! It is the biggest of conflicts!”
Marshall waved a finger at Greshik.
“Did we announce this argument?”
“What?” Greshik was taken aback.
“We are having a conflict now. Did we announce it beforehand?”
“But that’s no war,” the one-eyed alien said. “That was just—”
“Ah,” Marshall said. “So this argument is invalid now? Because we didn’t announce it beforehand?”
“Look, you have to announce it,” Jlipo pleaded, each mouth producing its own small sound. “Or how do you expect the other side to defend? There are so many calculations to make there, so many strategic decisions, and—”
“Like I said, I want as many of them dead as possible,” Marshall said. “You were the one that said no rules. I’m playing by those rules. And no rules, to me, rules.”
“I do not understand man,” Jlipo shook his head gently. “What else would you do?”
“I’ll throw my most powerful weapons first, instead of waiting around for some sort of challenge,” Marshall said. “Like I said—positive cycle.”
“Are all humans like this?” Greshik grimaced in disgust. “So utterly barbaric!”
“It’s called playing to win, baby,” Marshall said. “Humans fought most of their wars like that. There’s a lot of stuff like the Geneva Conventions or laws or what not, but all you have to do is just win so much that nobody’s left to complain.”
“And by winning, you mean killing,” Jlipo said.
“Same word to me,” Marshall smiled. He stood up, bowing slightly.
“Whatever, you guys already know what I’m going to do,” the human said. “I’m going to the toilet before I smack some of these fools.”
Greshik and Jlipo looked at each other.
“We have to say no, right?” Greshik said.
“I don’t know,” Jlipo admitted. “He said this game doesn’t have any rules.”
“I don’t need rules to know when I’m being an asshole,” Greshik said. “Like… Marshall thinks like a psychopath? Are all humans that ruthless?”
“He does not inspire faith,” Jlipo agreed. “But one thing’s for sure—we are never playing Risk with him ever again,”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
They laughed.
Once.
Rules of engagement are a weakness against a foe ready to ignore them, so spoke the aliens while readying cannons and fleets should humanity be foolish enough to attack.
You may be right, we answered.
Foolish children, we thought.
We live in a galaxy of laws. Gravity, physics, time and space. A gathering of mechanisms that allows one being at a specific instant to raise a hand to grab a cookie. The fine architecture of muscles and bones in the arm, the mass of sugar and dough giving weight and form to the cookie, entropy showing when is *now* and when is *then*.
And what fun are rules, if they can't be broken?
There remains a theoretical conundrum back on Earth about the use of helicopters. They fly, we can see and experience it, yet it is absurdly easy to construct a theorem pointing out how it should not be able to. Maybe we simply broke the rule.
Or the rule was shoddy to start with.
Which begs the question, who made the law? God? Omniscience, omnipotence and omnipresence, beaten by curiosity and ingenuity. If so, God does not deserve to be all-powerful, nor does it deserve the appellation of God. By breaking a rule, we make it anew, and thus are as deserving of the title of creator.
Maybe the original creator left, afraid.
It is obviously just as likely there is no such clockwork master in this universe of ours. Mass collides into a single point, coalescing, until a tipping point is reached. Big Bang, principles and standards thrown around as haphazardly as matter and light. Random and chaotic.
It is our duty then to clean the room, oil the hinges, cut down dead wood and plant anew. We eradicated sickness, prolonged our lifespan, remade Earth better.
So why? Why would we lock ourselves down with rules of our own making when we keep breaking them? Why add rules to a domain that lacks them in the first place? Gravity is gravity, but war in itself isn't law. Why spend senseless months and years behind closed doors to devise new rules of engagement in case of conflict?
Why indeed?
Because humanity is never as creative and inventive as when breaking laws.
And we broke most of them already. We broke climate change, peace reigns on Earth, light can be beaten in a race, death is ignored, and the end of the universe is just another problem to fix. There is barely any law left to break, save the one we make ourselves.
And with nations on Earth at peace and without a reason to kill, we are delighted to have made first contact.
This is our answer, written in the form of the first bullet shot at the aliens.
If war remains war, our inventors get bored at devising a bigger explosion. Give them hurdles, traps, the rules of engagement are made to be broken, molded. All-out warfare is honest, straightforward, and boring. Add words and texts to make conflict clean, and it becomes dirty, deadly, vicious and sadistic. Our galactic neighbors are learning the lesson, too late, it seems, too late.
When bombs were disallowed, we turned to gas.
We interdicted gas, and a genius broke through dimensions to transport the effect of the deadly product directly into a living organism, thus technically not using gas at all.
Then we outlawed killing aliens, and our scientists taught us "removal", how to displace living bodies onto a plane remote from space and time.
And now, with too many methods to win and prevail, we need some new barriers to keep our minds keen.
"Removal" has been disallowed.
And the galaxy will fear what we will invent next to circumvent this new law.
| 2022-01-23T11:20:25 | 2022-01-23T08:19:40 | 938 | 679 |
[WP] You live in a world where everyone's soul takes the form of an animal companion to match them. You've finally come of age... and no animal has appeared.
|
I used to stare at the adults and the older kids. Well, not so much at them, as the animals that lived beside them. I didn't care what kind of animal they were, they were all cool. The professor with an owl forged of smoke perched on his shoulder, the weight-lifter being spotted by his quicksilver gorilla, the librarian with her mouse like a tiny cloud on her desk... I loved them all. I was sometimes teased by other kids because I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up- they say the animal form your soul takes is mostly determined by that- but I just couldn't decide.
I don't think I was ever more excited for a day in my life than the day I would get my companion. Even Christmas comes once a year; i'd waited sixteen years for my Soul Day. Since it was a Saturday, I had the whole day to myself. I did some last minute reading on Soul Projections and how to use mine, and then I went out on a walk.
I saw a lot of different soul animals, as I did every day, but something felt different. Everything felt so far away, almost like I was swimming in water. Having nothing else to do, and being inspired by the thought, I headed to the community pool. If I had a fish Projection, I figured, that would be a good place for it until I figured the "swimming in air" trick that so many sailors and swimmers did with theirs.
I sat by the pool for a good hour, reading more about Projections and watching the scene. One lifeguard had a seal Projection- the younger kids loved playing with it. There was a guy with a catfish Projection lying on the bottom of the pool, which I supposed was drawing air from the water for him. He waved off the porpoise Projection that checked on him, so he seemed fine.
I started to feel chilly despite it being mid-afternoon in spring, so deciding that the pool was a bust, I left. As I was walking home, lost in thought about what my Projection could be and how I could get it to show up, I heard a voice call out from an alley. I stopped to investigate and saw a group of men in leather jackets in a circle around an old man in a suit and carrying a cane. They were taunting and jostling him, but he didn't seem concerned. Suddenly, the gang's Projections (giant rats, all of them) flashed into existence beside them and attacked the old man.
Before I could call out or do anything, a rat went flying by my head and disappeared with a squeak and a poof of silver smoke. The old man twirled his cane and continued batting rats out of the alley. When the rats were gone, he started on the gang members, who quickly broke and ran. The old man turned and noticed me for the first time, and as his amber eyes locked on to me I felt a jolt of fear. He put his cane down and started walking toward me, but I spun around and dashed away blindly. There was a yell, a honk, and a loud crash, but when I realized I wasn't hurt I opened my eyes.
Standing beside me, shielding me from the car that had almost hit me (which now had a sizeable dent in the fender), was a man made of glowing quicksilver. As I stared at the apparition, it relaxed its defensive posture and turned to me. It exploded into mist as I cried out and ran home as fast as I could. *It had my face.*
When I got home, I ran inside to tell my parents what had happened, but I found my mom talking with a guest in the living room... the same old man from the alley. He stood up and shook my hand cordially, his white moustache flapping as he introduced himself. He explained that he was a member of a group of people who were just like me, and that he'd offered to train me with them. My mom seemed happy for me, though her house tabby Projection wouldn't come near me or the old man, and just hissed at us.
I left that day bewildered and afraid, in the company of a strange man who laughed as powerfully as he swung his cane. I came back several years later as a skillful and wise fighter, in the company of the closest friends and allies I have ever had. Not many people know we exist, and most of those that do call us daemons and worse. We forgive them though: people are naturally afraid of the unknown, and the soul is a difficult thing to truly grasp.
We change our names, our appearances, and even the shape of our Projections, but somehow we're only a step ahead of the ignorant hunters. we'll keep moving as long as we need to. Even if the world never finds out how we protect it, we'll keep doing it because nobody else can. Call us devils if it helps you sleep at night; we've seen hell, and we'll keep it away from Earth as long as our souls can hold the line.
|
We all sat eagerly in front of the fire as it crackled and danced. The moon that usually hung high above us was nowhere to be seen , nor were the stars. In the darkness, like moths drawn to the flames, we gathered. I could feel their eyes on me. I could feel the warmth of the fire sink into my skin and most of all, I could feel the cool breeze made me shiver in all the areas that weren't touched by the light.
*Hoot*
An owl. Was that going to be my animal? I stared intently into the flames. My tribe surrounded me and began humming. Birds chirped and soared through the night. The noise was deafening to my ears. It was time.
My tribe was known for its avian animals. When we reached adulthood, an animal would appear. That would be our companion for the rest of our lives. My proud father had his hawk, my ever watchful sister had her owl, and my sweet mother had her little chickadee. Each animal companion represented our soul. And now it was my turn to find out what my soul looked like.
I breathed in the scent of the night and it filled my lungs like it never had before. My eyes closed and I felt the gentle brush of the breeze turn into a fierce gust. The humming and the birds had long stopped but I wasn't aware of the change. All I was aware of was the strong pull of the wind as it bent my body every which way. I gasped in awe at the power. My eyes flew open but the gust tore away any words that I may have spoken.
Had this happened before?
I couldn't remember. For the most part, I thought the companion would swoop into view when the moon was highest. So what happened when there was no moon?
The wind continued to push me around and I bent helplessly to its will. It tore me apart only to push me back together. I opened my eyes but saw nothing.
No. Not nothing. I saw something. It was like a thin string of light, floating through the stark black of night. I couldn't take my eyes off of it and my arms reached out for it. The wind tried to batter them down but I kept reaching. I had to have it. Some inner force within me drove me to fight the howling gusts and my fingers uncurled from the fists they were tucked into.
Finally, my fingers grasped onto the string.
*Silence.*
I gasped in a breath, finally able to breathe again and looked down into my hands. Nothing. I looked up at my tribe, blinking away my confusion. It was dark and the fire had gone out but I could still make out their faces. They were all looking at me in horror. I opened my mouth to ask what happened but as I did, the trees shook and groaned.
"Da-"
"Stop it!" my father said harshly. I could hear the fear in his voice and it planted its own seed of terror in my heart. There was a pause. "What have you done..?" he whispered.
"What do you mean? Where's my animal?" I could feel myself getting angry. Why were they all scared? Why were they looking at me like that. My own mother was shaking with fear. I glared at them now. "What's wrong with all of you?!" I threw my arms up in frustration and as I did, two blades of wind swung out, cutting down the trees in front of them.
I paled. No. No, not me. We had heard the legend of the one that would destroy first, the tribe, then the world. The one that had no animal. The one whose soul was not that of a human but of a monster.
I slowly lowered my arms. "Dad..?" I heard myself whimper. He looked at me and I could swear his normally warm, brown eyes turned into a steely black.
"You know what we must do..." he said. With pursed lips and a shake of his head, he raised a hand.
"No. Dad, please. It's me. Please!"
No amount of begging would change his mind and I could see that.
"Attack." His command set all of the tribe into motion and they lunged for me. The birds screeched and flew down with their beaks and talons tearing at me. I cried out and tried to wave them off. I didn't want to hurt them. I just wanted it to stop. And it did.
I opened my eyes again to see the land bathed in red. The prophecy had come true. I stared out into the darkness, numb. I could feel the power surging through me and knew that no one would be able to stop me. I was too strong. I was everywhere and nowhere. No one could control my life and no one could end what I had begun.
Except me.
| 2015-12-04T11:27:17 | 2015-12-04T09:18:00 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] When the aliens conquered Earth, they exterminated the populace but left you alive for some reason. You’ve spent years in captivity, wondering why they’ve chosen to keep you alive. One day, you are approached by the high commander and the answer is revealed.
|
*They gathered around my glass cage with their holographic notebooks. My living room is furnished from Rooms-to-go in shades of beige. Someone selected an equally neutral wardrobe for me from the Gap. I've been in here exactly 8 years, 9 months, and 2 days according to the calendars they keep supplying me with photos of rural Americana. I've been supplied with a TV that replays the top shows and top music charts of every music genre from every decade. I have a shelf of bestseller and classic books. I have a treadmill the plays a holographic simulated walk down a suburban street whenever I walk on it. I have a basic kitchen with a pantry and fridge they they supply with a generous supply of name brand dry and frozen foods, and a basic bathroom. Everything I need. But I'm in a glass cage.*
*Once a week I'm interviewed by the high commander. Once a month they do a bunch of physical tests (sorry, nothing deviant) and make me take a series of opinion surveys. At first the interviews and surveys felt relevant, as if they were gathering information about the planet. Lately they've been more like psychological evaluations. I probably am going crazy. They killed every other human. I don't know what's going on out there on the planet. The questions only go one way. But I keep asking anyway.*
*It's the first Monday of the month. The interviewer will be here soon. I shower and dress in all black. For the last five years I've been doing that. It's the least neutral I can manage with the wardrobe they supply. I don't honestly know why I'm keeping this journal since no human will ever read it. But they check it every week, just like my 9th grade English teacher, so I keep writing in it. Fear is motivating.*
"Hello, Jennifer."
"Hello, Vango."
"Today we are going to talk about your reading preferences. I see you've read through the James Patterson series."
"Yep, a little change of pace after all the Jane Austen. Do you think I could get some more non-fiction. Something about your race, for example. I'd like to understand you the way you want to understand me."
"It would be beyond your intelligence level, I'm afraid."
"Thanks for that."
"I don't mean to insult you but you were the most average human on the planet. That's why we chose you to study."
"Well now I know. I asked you "why me?" every single interview for 9 years and now you've told me. Does this mean you've gathered all the information you need from me?"
"We have. This is our 15th time segment although your calendar reads differently. It's the end of the study. Now that I've told you, there's really no reason to conduct the interview I planned. There will be a final battery of tests but you can ask me anything. "
"So all this," I swept my arms around my cage. "Why this particular stuff."
"The most frequently purchased items."
I nod.
"So, after all our interviews, do you really think I represent humanity's norm? What do you think that is? And have you considered that you need a bigger sample size than me to determine whether or not I'm actually the norm."
"We studied your species for centuries. You are representative of a 40-year-old American. American's population is slightly more female than male. So it came down to you."
"I only have one more question. Are you going to kill me like a lab rat now."
"Yes, Jennifer, we are."
"Can I pick how I die?"
"You surprise me. That is not something we expected the average person to ask."
"Well, maybe there is not average person, Vango. Maybe you killed all those humans and locked me up for years for nothing."
*Vango is gone. They will come for me soon. If screwing up his experiment is my legacy, earth's legacy, I can die with that. Rebellion is motivating too. Nobody's average.*
|
"Humans... left to their own devices, they kill, take, and destroy. It's a wonder how your species survived at all..."
The alien stares at me, his posture strong and still. Gulping, I try to take a step back, but the guards standing next to me push me forward, and I almost lose my balance due to the chains. They are taller than I am, with pale green skin, and large feline eyes, teeth sharp and a deep red color. What little hair they had stayed on the male's faces around their mouths. If not for their skin, they could've been humans.
"We watched your species for a while before landing. We didn't expect such hostility, and aggression from such a simple species. You all fought until the last moment. Survived horrible biowarfare, chemical explosions, even mutant creatures. But when we manage to slowly dwindle the numbers, your species snapped, and reverted back to stupid animals. I watched a man bash the head of a child, then loot the poor boy's pocket to get what you call a 'candy bar'." The commander chuckled. I pale, making him laugh more.
"Tell me, how long does it take for your species to learn a language?" He asks.
"D-depends on the person... probably a month or more" I whimper.
"Our species can learn in less than a week. Course, for us, a week is ten days, but still! It fascinates both me and the Queen that your species lived for thousands of years with such... simplicity!"
This was the first time I heard about a Queen. Since getting on this ship, I had assumed that the creature talking to me was the leader, but it seems he's the leader of the army.
"I wanted to wipe out your species, you know. Thought that the Universe made a mistake allowing your species to live. But the Queen wanted some... specimens. She wanted to know what made you creatures tick. So, we took any survivors we could, and killed those that we didn't keep." I remember the people in cages near me. Some were women, some were men, but they all fought and thrashed to be released. When we were put in a larger pen, fights often broke out for food. At the time, they didn't realize that we needed more calories than them, so people starved to death, or killed others for food. I was almost killed, but one of the female aliens rescued me, and nursed me back to health. I don't know what happened to the others. I was put into a cage again, and only taken out to be fed, or take care of my other needs.
"So... why am I here?" I finally ask.
"We want to know why your species is so... resilient. *You* should have died multiple times, but here you are, still standing. Your immunity, your creativity; I'll admit, I respect a worthy foe when I see one."
"I won't be killed?" I wanted to smile, but I was too afraid to show any sign of hope or trust to these aliens.
"No; you're too valuable to be killed. Currently, the scientists are studying the cadavers of your fallen kin, but you have something else that we want. Knowledge; you will tell us about your species histories, helping our researchers fill in holes. Soon, we will ask for... other tasks of you, but for now, we will... how you say, 'pick at your brain', metaphorically."
I nod, and he lifts his clawed hand up, signaling me to be taken back to my cage. For the first time, a small smile is on my face. Despite the 8 billion other humans that had died, I was still standing. I would continue the legacy of humanity until I finally died. But that commander was right; humanity was resilient, and maybe one day, our species will be looked at with some high regards.
| 2021-01-10T09:18:10 | 2021-01-10T09:16:14 | 147 | 22 |
[WP] You die, and at the pearly gates it is explained to you that your "personal heaven" is the game that you have the most hours in.
|
Saint Peter rested his finger at the next entry in the Big Book.
"Next!"
A man sporting an ear to ear grin stepped up to the pedestal, undeterred by the traffic sign lodged in his head.
"Welcome, Mister..." Saint Peter said as he quickly doublechecked the name at his index finger, "Mister Johnson, Dave William, born December first of the year 1977 to Johnson, Peter William, and Johnson née West, Mary Barbara, in Los Angeles, California, in the United States of America. Correct?"
"CORRECT!" The man bounced up and down with excitement. "You can skip the explanation, Sir. I already heard it when you explained it to that grandma lady with the malfunctioning hearing aid."
"So I gathered," Saint Peter muttered. The man before him had been a barely contained buzz of giddiness and excitement ever since. It was maddening.
"You see, Mr. Johnson, the rules--"
"--I get to live in the game I have the most hours in!" The man placed his palms on the gilded pages of the Big Book and leaned forward until he was up close in Saint Peter's face. "I GET TO LIVE IN AZEROTH!"
Saint Peter took an involuntary step back. "Mr. Johnson--"
"--I'm going to get a nice house in the Valley of the Four Winds--no wait, in Nagrand!"
"Mr. Johnson--"
"I'm going to get a gryphon and go tour Westfall, and Darnassus, and Ironforge!"
"Mr. J--"
"I'm gonna get some friends together and raid Orgrimmar!"
"Dave."
"And then we'll have a boat race in Thousand Needles, and afterwards we'll get drunk in Booty Bay!"
"Dave!"
"Ooooooh! I'll get to slay Deathwing, and then I'll get to sit by the campfire and tell the tale of how I slew Deathwing!"
"DAVE!"
That managed to do the trick. Saint Peter fixed the man in front of him with a gaze. "The rules say," he said, each word calm and measured, "that you'll live your afterlife in the game you have the most hours in."
Dave nodded. "Yessir. And that's World of Warcraft. I've played that game three nights a week for the past five years. I have all characters at max level. Even my bank."
Saint Peter felt like smiling. He couldn't, due to his station, but he wanted to. Good Heavens, he wanted to. "Mr. Johnson, tell me what you do on your commute to and from work everyday."
"On my commute?" Dave blinked. "Well, not much. I check my e-mail, make some calls, check Tinder to see if there's anyone cute nearby... When I get stuck in traffic I like to play this game where I drive pa--" Dave stopped mid-sentence, eyes wide. Understanding. Realization. Terror. Sheer terror, as the Pearly Gates opened and sucked him into a vortex of cars and red lights.
Saint Peter couldn't smile. But he could be satisfied with a job well done. And he was. Good Heavens, he was.
|
I spent a lot of time playing video games. Hell, it took up the majority of the time in my young adult life. I put on weight. I grew more and more accustomed to the easy life of my swivel chair and the glaring monitor in front of me.
I died of a heart attack. I'd grown incredibly fat, and I'd sworn to shed the pounds, but nothing I could have done would have saved me. It wasn't the weight that killed me-- I spent years shedding the pounds between playing video games until I was finally a healthy weight. No, it was something a hereditary heart condition, one my father had had, and his father before that. There was nothing I could do. I lived alone. No-one was around to help me when it happened.
Everything went dark.
I woke up on the shore, but I don't know how I got there. I crawled across the sand for a moment, rolled onto my back, and stared up at the dark sky overhead. The wreckage of a ship was strewn all around me. I slowly sat up and stared out onto the sea, it's waves lapping against the shore.
I heard a groan to my right and turned, seeing a man resting against a large rock, a hand clutching his stomach. I crawled over, his eyes bulging. Immediately, I asked if he was okay. Sure, I didn't know where I was, but he was hurt!
"Bastards dumped near two dozen of us off that ship," The man coughed violently, staring at me with lidded eyes. "You and me, we're all that survived the swim. Never was much difference between Exile and the death sentence."
I felt my breath catch in my throat. Next to him lay a corpse, still and unmoving, and I resisted the urge to vomit. I, surprisingly, was unscathed, though my muscles ached for rest.
"Once I catch my breath here we'll take a look around," He continued. "See what Wraeclast has on offer. Thought I saw smoke at those ruins up the beach. Could be worth checking if there's-"
He stopped mid-sentence as the once unmoving corpse to his left suddenly lurched up and lunged forwards, grasping him by the neck and sinking it's teeth into his flesh. It ripped at it's jugular and I scrabbled back, terrified. I turned and quickly grabbed a sword I saw in the dirt. It shambled towards me. I swung the blade and found that I hit my mark with surprising accuracy. It staggered and stumbled, before falling backwards. It was still once more.
I tilted my head back, stared out in front of me. I could see a volcano in the distance, and beyond the stretch of sand, a small village. I knew where I was now. When I died, it must have transported me to my personal heaven.
But this isn't heaven. This is hell. Fuck, not even that.
This is *Wraeclast.*
| 2018-07-09T10:36:02 | 2018-07-09T07:00:29 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.
|
The battles have dealt with weaponry before, and consider them fair game. In fact, last battle's champion wielded a very handsome and sophisticated spear that one would use to hunt.
But this human's equipment was vastly different. The usual textiles that the species adorns themselves with were replaced with interlocking ferrous rings, tough animal skin, and shimmering metallic plating. Not only that, but where previous humans would wield crude tools or limbs of vegetation, this human had a length of metal, about the length of one of its upper limb, and a disc of metal on its left limb.
And the *efficiency* this human displayed, using its length of metal with a deadly grace. The metallic garb it wore caused other foes' attacks to merely annoy and distract, never cause damage. Visually its one weakness was grapples, but a hidden length of metal no larger than its lower sub-llimb spilled the lifeblood of any that dared try.
The human wound up winning the whole battle, obviously. The host species have never seen such brutality in melee combat in history, and the fact that the human had no lasting injuries was cause for gossip long after it had been sent home with its reward. The battle would honour humans from then on, praising those wearing the metallic garb as champions before the battle even began.
*- Excerpt from History of The Battle, chapter 12 of volume 2 'Underdogs of The Battle*
|
It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means *literally anything*. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset.
It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore.
“Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!”
Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa-
“Son of a biiiiiiiii-“
END
Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
| 2020-09-13T19:32:46 | 2020-09-13T18:47:59 | 32 | 10 |
[WP] When a person dies, an individual can volunteer to house their soul within their own body until a donor body is found. You are beginning to regret your decision.
|
*Look at her rack. LOOK AT HER RACK DUDE LOOK AT IT, ARE YOU SEEING IT? DUDE? YOU COULD PARK A HELICOPTER ON THOSE, MAN.*
I sighed. It was bad enough to have somebody chattering away in my head when I was trying to fall asleep. But this... this was something else. I would never have expected a dead man to be such a horndog.
"Dude," I said, "that's my mom."
*Niiiiiiice. No wonder my MILF-detector was going off, am I right? Am I right, Tom? Thomas? Tommy?*
"I can't wait for them to find you a donor body," I snapped.
There was no reply.
I bent back over my Engineering homework, chewing the pencil's eraser. Hosting souls was paying my way through college. It could be worse, of course. Not everybody was as obnoxious as Frank. In fact, despite only picking him up from the clinic half an hour ago, I was already beginning to think that NOBODY was as obnoxious as Frank.
Still... a couple of my buddies were working six night shifts a week at Burger King. It took them each two liters of coffee to stay awake through their morning classes. *That* was torture.
An awful clattering came echoing out of the kitchen as my mom emptied the dishwasher.
"Some day," I said, gritting my teeth around the metal band at the pencil's aft end, "I'm going to live in a bigass mansion. A big, quiet mansion."
*You'll invite me over for a swim in the pool, right?*
"Tell you what, Frank," I said, marking down an answer with a few triumphant strokes of the pencil, "if you limit yourself to five sentences a day for the next couple of months, I'll let you take a dip whenever you want."
*****
*If you liked the story, check out my [sci-fi adventure novel](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) and/or [my personal subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/)! Making a big push to get more content out there :D Practice practice practice!*
|
*What are you doing?*
Startled, I rolled over in my bed. "Huh?" I asked.
*What are you doing?* a voice in my head called. *I'm bored, let's watch TV.*
It had been a few months, but I still wasn't used it. My best friend Charles had died. Part of me didn't want to do it, but his parents begged. There was no one else compatible. Either I let them merge his consciousness with mine, or he would have been gone forever. It was nights like that one that made me regret it. After all, death was natural. Keeping someone alive was new and unpredictable.
*Pete, wake up,* said Charles. *Stop daydreaming and turn on the TV.*
"It's not daydreaming if it's night, Chuck," I moaned. "I *was* sleeping, you know."
*Dude, I've been sleeping all day, let me take over for once.*
"I told you, I'm not comfortable with that," I said, bending my pillow over my ear. "This is my body, I don't want you possessing me."
*Possessing you? What am I, a ghost?*
I flipped around again. "Kind of."
*That's cold, Pete.* Charles sighed. *Why did you take me in if you didn't want to me live?*
"You're my friend, I didn't have a choice." I sat up against the the headboard, realizing I was sounding crueler than I intended. "I didn't meant it like that, I'm just tired." Charles didn't respond. "Listen, just let me sleep and we'll discuss this in the morning."
I laid myself back down and closed my eyes. A moment later my eyes shot open. It was morning. I turned off the TV and got out of bed. Maybe he'll forget our conversation and just leave things the way they are.
---
*Come on down to /r/MajorParadox! I'll keep the light on for you.*
| 2016-01-18T08:42:21 | 2016-01-18T08:27:32 | 68 | 31 |
[WP] Humanity meets an immortal being, who can answer any question, except for "Does God exist?". One day, the being is tricked into answering.
|
The trick to getting the right answers out of people is to ask the right questions.
The being had come out of nowhere, a massive body bigger than the sun it self, yet it didnt affect any thing on any physical level. the sun turned like it should and its light came to us just as before, except we could all see the massive being that no word could describe. it had no voice but everyone could hear it. it gave us four rules to follow, and one question to ask.
"You may not ask how the universe was create nor by whom"
this one made a lot of people disappointed, 5 billion religious people wanted to confirm that their god was real. but that was a no go. but this possibly ment there WAS such a being that created us and or the universe.
"You may not ask to find beings more advanced than yourselves''
we couldnt ask questions that would lead to civilisations with more advanced technology that would help us out. but yet again we could deduct that there was life other places than on earth.
"You may not ask questions that would protect,create, or destruct lives"
no cures for cancer, no world hunger solving and no ultimate solution to politics.
"you have exactly one year, to find the question."
as if it wasnt hard enough already, he gave us a timelimit.
The truth is we wanted to ask a lot of things, but our greed always made us disagree. the question had to be like the being, it had to not affect our world directly, and tell us something that we might be able to figure out on our own.
The best and brightest of humanity met up, and for nearly 12 months they discussed, before coming to the conclusion that every question of value we could ask, would ultimatly break one of the rules.
the scientists choose one that would ask the question, he was broadcasted all over the world.
He cleared his throat and and spoke.
"What are you?".
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
thank you very much if you made it this far. i dont know if i hit any thing with this, i am very new to writing and English isnt my native language so apologies for the grammer and the simple language.
|
"How did you become immortal?"
The old man rubbed his beard and thought a little. This was a risky subject, but he had to answer - that was one of the things He had told him to do, if he wanted to become immortal. The man also had to answer without lying, something that would be very hard to do with this question. The last rule was that he couldn't expose Him.
"Well, I met a special somebody-"
Immediately the reporters started to interrupt him with questions about that somebody, but the man just raised his hand and waited for everyone to quiet down.
"He told me He could make me immortal, with a few ru-"
Again someone interrupted him.
"So it's a man?"
The man nodded a bit hesitant and continued with his story.
"A few rules. I had to answer every question, I couldn't lie, and I couldn't -"
He stopped. He would be exposing God if he told the third rule of his existence, his immortality. The reporters smiled, happy to find something to dig deeper. they all jumped on the situation like a starved man jumped for food and asked questions.
"What is the third rule?" "Why won't you tell us?"
The man inhales deeply. He know he has to answer, since neither of the questions are the forbidden question, and he has to answer with the truth.
"The third rule is: I can't expose the one who made me like this, and I can't tell you because it would expose him."
The same female reporter from before asked yet again another question.
"So who made you immortal?"
The immortal smiled. He had to answer, he had no other choice.
"God."
It was quiet for a bit before the questions started again, louder and more chaotic than before.
"So he exists? God exists?"
But the man could not answer, although they now knew he existed.
Not the best thing I ever wrote, but I found it quite a hard prompt.
| 2016-04-17T08:57:51 | 2016-04-17T08:46:53 | 53 | 14 |
[WP] Rewrite a scene in any Star Wars movie from the perspective of a storm trooper.
|
The Death star. A true marvel of our glorious empire. Much like many others, I too, was stationed here. I haven't had much combat experience, much of my time was spent on sanitation duties, getting screamed at by officers, riding in turbolifts for miles and miles. Heck, for a moment I even thought I might go my whole career without having to fire a single blaster bolt.
Then it happened, my unit received a command sending us to clear out a room believed to have been taken over by rebel infiltrators. I'll admit, I was terrified. My hands shook the whole way there and despite my best efforts every shaky breath I took betrayed this to my comrades. We had reached the door, it was one of the many control rooms strewn across the station. AL-2153 tried to open the door, but they seemed to have locked it from the inside. There was no doubt about it now, they were there.
I took the time it took them to blow the door's lock out to steady myself. I could do this, I had trained all my life to do this! It's just a small group of rebels, hardly armed enough to take us all out. If I play it cool, we might not even end up in a firefight.
Everything will be all right.
A flash of red lit the room as AL-2153 fired his blaster upon the door's lock. With its maglock disabled, the door flew open with a satisfying woosh. It felt as though time had slowed down, the two troops before me took lead, looking around with their blasters ready. The room was empty. I stepped forward, readied my blaster. A false alarm. I could not help a sigh of relief as I passed towards the door... and then I hit my head on the kriffing frame. I heard DS-1735 chuckle behind me.
Out of all the things.
Why?
Just why?
This day couldn't get any worse.
|
I got out of Basic Training with my hopes elevated. I passed with flying colors, on every lone aspect in my field. My armor is sparkling white, and I'm feeling good about life as I head to my deployment on the Death Star, a new base located around Alderaan. I'm so excited, I can barely handle the fact that I'm going to be working with so many of the Empire's high tier generals and leaders! Unfortunately, we got stuck in space traffic on the way there. My insides are being churned like butter. We finally get out of the space traffic and make our way, at light speed, towards the Death Star. We all of a sudden hear our driver say, in utter horror, "Oh my god!" and we look out the window to see the Death Star, being blown up. Ever since then I've driven myself crazy with, "What if we hadn't been stuck in that space traffic?" and it's been eating my guts since that day. I hear tell of a rumor that claims the Death Star is being rebuilt, and they need me to be on a Special Operations team on Endor to help safeguard the new Death Star. We see the Rebels attempting to get into a base, and we open fire. Just at the moment, I realize: its the fucking assholes who blew up the Death Star. They're back for seconds, those greedy bastard! I open fire, carefully remembering my training. Then, it dawns on me: I can't hit shit. I miss every single shot I take. I summon all of my energy, and focus on the former Princess of Alderaan, and make my shot. I only graze her shoulder, but it is the first time a stromtrooper had (almost) made a casualty. I get promoted immediately and am flown to the Death Star for the Medal of Heroism, when I get on, alarms start sounding. I'm very confused, what could've possibly happened?
| 2016-01-09T06:40:35 | 2016-01-09T06:02:09 | 39 | 12 |
[WP] An ancient evil has awakened to destroy the world, but is grossly outmatched by modern artillery.
|
Mogbola they had called it on the evening news. An ancient evil that last showed its unholy face when rickety huts dominated the landscape. In those days it had wrought terror and destruction unparalleled by any contemporary disaster. Now it had resurfaced again. Something about a fallen satellite. It was hard to remember; the camera reporting on site was very shaky, making it difficult to catch all the details.
At first the monster had caused quite a scare. As it roared and stomped its way into the suburban town, people scrambled for their cars, finding that they easily outpaced the surprised Mogbola. Obviously displeased, he belched a fiery blast at the closest houses, the flames leaving a slight char on the otherwise unharmed bricks. Absolutely infuriated, he finally resolved on stampeding through the town, causing untold damage to the local gardens and shrubbery.
By this point the local branch of the National Guard had encircled the beast with tanks and light infantry. The commanding officer conferred with the President over a secure line.
“Honestly, sir, this seems like overkill. I think I’ve been more afraid of my toddler when she’s in a foul mood. Permission to capture without deadly force?”
“Granted.”
Within half an hour the Guard had wrangled a thrashing Mogbola into a metal cage and loaded him on a flatbed.
The commanding officer returned to his phone. “The Kraken has fallen, sir. Where should I take him?”
“Local zoo?” suggested the president.
And there sits the legendary beast to this day, in an exhibit labeled “MOGBOLA, Destroyer of Worlds,” happily eating fish from a bucket and incinerating any wooden structures he can find.
|
*"And in other news, great Cthulhu has awoken."*
"Hey Maaargaret! The tv is saying weird things again!" said Robert, sitting in the couch, as was his habit since he retired.
"That's your hearing aid acting up again! Just up the volume a little, I'll be around in a few to have a look at it, don't worry grampa" came the answer from the kitchen.
*"Yes, as you hear, dear viewers, the maddened nightmares of Howard Phillip Lovecraft, author of books like The Call of Cthulhu or In the Mountains of Madness, had, until a few hours ago, been seen as a fiction author. Now, the world sees the truth and Great Cthulhu can rule the Earth! Iä! Iä! Cthulhu fhtagn!"*
Robert watched with mild interest as the news anchor took a knife from under his desk and, with a manic, deranged smile, began to ritually cut himself. Then, with amusement, noted how his face fell and paled as a small screen appeared in the upper left corner, showing several japanese, chinese and australian vessels launching missiles at what appeared to be an amorphous blob on a radar screen. With the sound of multiple explosions, the news anchor began to loudly cry, tears running down his cheeks.
"Bahahahaha!"
"What was that grampa?"
"Nothing, dear. Apparently, BBC is running a prank section in the news now."
-----
Note: I don't write much, and I would like to do so. Comments please?
| 2018-02-08T13:49:37 | 2018-02-08T12:36:16 | 171 | 33 |
[WP] You are a demon that takes firstborns as payments. When it comes time for payment, you don't do anything evil with the children. Instead, you raise them to be outstanding people. You are responsible for generations of leaders, Doctors, and Heroes.
|
"But why?" asked the demon hunter. He finally let up and put the cross away, hesitant as he may have been, which allowed me to speak with more comfort.
"Because they deserve better," I said. "What kind of a parent gives up their child for a sack of infinite turnips? Do you honestly think they would have had a better life with them?"
The demon hunter opened his mouth in protest, but only let out a defeated breath. I can only suspect what he'd anticipated to find - a black stone soaked in the blood of the innocents or a dark sabbath singing my praises and prancing around with bits of flesh on their lips. Not a large, well-lit house with a garden and a swing set.
"But why do *you* do it? There must be a reason," the demon hunter continued. I got up from my chair and walked over to a wall covered in pictures and paintings, pointing one of them out. It had 2 adult demons standing by a smaller one, her wide smile showing the silver glint of her new bracers.
"My parents own a farm in the Wrath Ring. They raised me well. When I learned what some of you humans do to your children, well... I felt responsible."
The demon hunter finally accepted my previous offer and sat down in the soft, cushioned chair in the living room. I can't fault him for suspecting foul play - the Church propaganda ran deep, but seeing the kids happy and healthy, not even he could deny it.
"Mind you," I continued, "they're not always bad," I said and took one old portrait off of the wall, handing it over to the hunter. He looked at the likeness of an older couple proudly standing by a young but clearly adult woman in a Victorian-era dress. The subtle bridges of their noses and cloudy grey eyes instantly betrayed their biological relation.
"Her... parents? I mean, birth parents?" he quickly added as to not insult me.
"Yes. Not everyone gives their kids away for personal gain. Mr. and Mrs. Talbot here were simply too poor. Do you know what they asked for in return?" I said and sat back down, taking another sip of my tea.
The hunter said nothing but looked at me expectantly.
"To raise her well," I said with a smile.
"...did you?"
"Of course. She was one of the first female doctors admitted to the Newcastle hospital. I had to pull some string for that, but you should've seen her face when she got the place," I said and subtly wiped my eye.
He looked back at the picture, noting its age.
"How long have you been doing this?" he said and shifted his eyes to the wall of pictures. Some of them looked remarkably old and had people in all manner of clothing attire, in some cases centuries out of style.
"A while," I smiled. He seemed content with the answer. He sat there in silence for a moment, then spoke.
"What am I supposed to say to my order? I can't just say 'Turns out the Demon is friendly'."
"Tell them the truth. That the report of a demon abducting and tormenting children was misconstrued," I said.
"Oh, and before you go - one of the children, Jeffrey, has been watching a *lot* of movies about demon hunters and seems dead set on becoming one. Do you mind talking to him, telling him what it's like?" I cheerfully asked.
"You'd let a... ward of yours hunt down your own kind?" he replied with surprise.
"As if humans don't have a profession that hunts down other, bad humans. Would you mind if your child wanted to become a policeman?" I said with a stern look. He looked puzzled but conceded to my point. Seeing this, I allowed my smile to return to my face.
"So, would you talk to him, *demon hunter*? It'd make his day," I said with a laugh.
The demon hunter put the portrait back onto the coffee table and, for the first time since his visit, smiled.
"It would be my pleasure. And," he said with what I suspected might have been genuine kindness,
"It's Garreth."
|
I felt the tug at my proverbial coat tails. The call of one who wished to make a deal. I rolled my eyes, setting down the book I had acquired on my last visit. As much as I appreciated being summoned, it was often for those who were craven enough that their souls would be mine without intervention.
I let their power drag me between worlds. Through the maddening depths of Limbo, to the mortal realm. There I reformed from a pillar of flame. I could just appear, but I liked to make an entrance. I appeared as an insubstantial cloud of black, letting them.wonder what I truly looked like.
"Who summons me?"
I looked out without eyes, seeing the room around me. It was a dingy place, covered in dust and smelling of damp. A man knelt outside of the circle of blood, sweating as his breath came in gasps. I could feel his worry about the summoning.
"I, I did."
I focused on him. He shivered at my nonexistent gaze, raising his head. His skin was drawn and grey, with thinning hair completing the look. If I had a mouth, I would have been sneering.
"Why do you call upon me?"
He shakily stood, wringing his hands together.
"You, you make deals. I, I need one."
"Hmm. What do you desire? Be aware, there is always a price."
He nodded sharply.
"I... my brother, he died in an accident. But I am accused of arranging it. Please, make it go away."
I gave an internal sigh. Always self serving.
"To change minds is not a minor thing. So the cost must match. I require your firstborn."
He nodded all to quickly. Typical human, selling their flesh and blood to save their own skins.
"I accept."
"Very well. The deal is made."
A chain of shadow leapt out from me, wrapping around his body. It hung for a moment, before sinking into him. It finalised the deal, in a way that neither of us could break it. I let out a brief wave of mental power, causing the matter to be lost. My side complete, I vanished as usual, back to my home plane.
As I returned, my first action was to find my other firstborns that yet lived with me. I found them in one of my studies. Ezral, who came to me fifteen years ago, sat on one chair. He held a book, one of the many biographies I owned, reading it aloud. In front of him lay Monica and Jen. They stared up at him in rapt fascination, drinking in the story.
"Children, how are you doing?"
They glanced up at me, smiling. Jen jumped up and sprinted over, grasping at my form for a hug. I let myself become more solid, wrapping a tendril around her.
"Demmy!"
I laughed at her shout, looking at them. I could tell they would be exceptional people one day. I worked hard to let them live up to their potential.
"I hope you are ready for another member to join our little group."
They gasped, before Jen and Monica broke into cheers. Ezral gave a sigh at the realisation.
"Another parent selling their child?"
"I'm afraid so."
He slid a bookmark in to save their place, setting it to the side. He stretched up, before flopping down again.
"Well, I suppose it will be nice to have another sibling. By the way, when can I go to Yemnall again?"
I gently set Jen down, floating over to him. He looked eager, which pleased me.
"I am making arrangements. Hol is happy to guide you again. He just opened a new clinic, and could use a pair of learning hands."
The grin I got back was all I needed. He was a good soul, far better than the one that sold him for a pile of gold. He wanted to help others, and heal those who were in danger. I was more than happy to help.
| 2022-02-05T10:32:19 | 2022-02-05T10:19:01 | 465 | 185 |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
Looking in the mirror, I puffed my chest out arrogantly.
I flexed, and admired the aesthetics of my physique.
Vascular arms, the chiseled abs, and V taper.
And then my eyes stopped short, shocked.
I trembled as the realization dawned.
I've made a huge mistake.
How did this happen?
I skipped it.
Leg Day.
Again.
|
My eyes fell upon this perfect woman, my hearts unrest.
Never have I felt this pounding in my chest.
Never have I left my thoughts behind me.
I could be everything I could be.
She could be everything with me.
Or all could be lost.
Should I not try?
I walked by.
She smiled.
“Hi”.
| 2015-01-05T22:38:49 | 2015-01-05T21:56:44 | 1,258 | 335 |
[WP] You run a business where people can hire courageous female warriors to protect them from evil. But most people who come into your shop seem confused. You’re not sure why, the sign on your door is pretty clear: “Heroine Dealer.”
|
The day had not been good for GlumpyDoo so far. He woke up late, one of his birds had died, his mother had called and kept him occupied for almost an hour on the topic of what warts were growing in places he had no business knowing about. To cap the excrement sandwich of a day Glumpy was having, his colleague PloopDemon was apparently sick. What an opportune time to not come in, Glumpy thought to himself. As today they were to be repricing all the Heroine stock, for many of the female warriors had increased or decreased in their reputations and skills. Repricing day was always a nightmare, nothing attacks your ego more than being told you’re worth less than what you were a year ago, or less than some other warrior that just joined. Very few of these ladies took decreased pricing with equanimity, death threats and small outbreaks of violence were almost certain.
Glumpy let out another exhausted sigh as he re-read the letter brought by the messenger saying Ploop was not coming, it had some red colouring smeared on the sides which looked suspiciously like lipstick. As he scrunched up the letter and threw it in the direction of trash bin, missing it by a good margin, the door opened, and the bell perched atop it rang.
In walked in a doe-eyed young man, he had pale skin, worn clothes and slightly hungover look like he had been either drinking heavily or not sleeping. Both probably, Glumpy considered. Glumpy had a strong suspicion what this man wanted, he got a few of these sorts every now and then.
“Yes sir, can I help you?” Glumpy said in what hoped was his best professional tone.
The young man didn’t reply, he just looked around the store. There wasn’t much to look at, just shelves and a few posters with pictures of women in armour.
“I was just wondering.” The man finally said, his eyes resting on Glumpys down-trodden face. “What do you sell here?”
Glumpy pointed in the direction of the posters. “We sell Heroine’s. Female protectors for all your travelling needs.”
The man’s brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at the posters. He stepped a little closer to it as if trying to see something small and hidden in the picture. “Female protectors…” he mumbled to himself.
Glumpy sighed again, he was good at sighing, he wished that he had a sighing business instead. He knew exactly why this man was here, and he was completely wasting his time. “Sir.” Glumpy said in a loud formal tone, trying to get the man to pay attention. “I think I know why you have come. And I assure you we have no drugs here. I realise the name may sound a little confusing, and every time I must explain this it is another push in the direction of me changing the name.”
The man leaned over the counter with smug smirk smeared across his face. Glumpy could detect the hint of moonshine on his breath. “Look.” The man began. “I know you gotta say this sort of stuff, in case I’m working for the guard. But trust me, I’m just an honest customer, looking to buy some of your product.” He punctuated the word 'product' with a wink. Glumpy almost had a seizure in trying to prevent his eyes from rolling. Instead Glumpy closed he eyes and put his hands on the bridge of his nose, massaging it. “Let me get this straight. You think, that we are selling a highly illegal substance, in a public store, in the centre of the market, with a name called Heroine dealer?”
The man smirked went even wider. “I know you have to go through this song and dance. But I’m just here to have fun.” With that he put a bag of coins on the table.
Glumpy looked at the coins, and slowly his expression began lighter. “Very good sir.” He said. “Apologies, for the earlier rebuttals, I had to be sure you were serious.”
The man merely smiled and nodded. Glumpy returned the nod and bent down below the counter where he opened a hidden compartment. Inside the compartment were bags of white powder. He took one and leaned out his hand towards the man, indicating he should shake his hand, in the shake he moved the white powder from his hand to the mans. Glumpy then took the coins off the table. “Pleasure doing business with you sir.”
The man nodded and slowly sauntered out of the shop.
Glumpy sighed again. Yes, he thought. He was tempted to change the name. But selling bags of sugar to idiots was just too lucrative.
|
# Soulmage
**The Knwharfhelm Guild of Associated Heroines had been the building's official name, once.** But decades of shortening and grumbling had eroded the grandiose nomenclature until the worn sign on the front door only said HEROINE.
That was fine, in Eyhlzja's opinion. It got the important part across. Even a child could figure out the advertising—and in fact, a child did.
The girl was young, far too young to be an applicant, and she was grubby with dirt and a possibly-infected rash. Eyhlzja considered whether it would be polite to offer healing before simply asking, "Is there something I can help you with?"
The girl jumped, jerking back as if caught with her hand in a fruit stall. "My—my mommy's in trouble. Big trouble."
Eyhlzja tilted her head. "I'd be happy to help. Could you tell me what kind of trouble she's in?"
The girl looked down. "You have to promise not to be mad, okay? Mommy says people might get mad."
Eyhlzja shook her head. "As long as she's not hurting anyone, I won't get mad, okay?"
The girl nodded. "She's not. She's just hurt. She... she's sweating and shaking and throwing up all over, and she says she needs a herr-oh-in." The girl pronounced the last word slowly, as if unfamiliar with its weight.
Eyhlzja wasn't going to begrudge the girl a mispronunciation or two; she got far worse botcheries of her own name all the time. Speaking of which... "What's your name?"
The girl kicked the dirt uncomfortably. "Lzyeht."
"Lzyeht. I'm Eyhlzja." Eyhlzja stepped around the counter. She riffled through her soul, turning a joyful memory into a spell; a hovering sign of light that read BE BACK SOON materialized above her desk. "Can you show me where your mother is?"
Lzyeht hesitated. "I can't pay. I don't even have a single coin."
Eyhlzja shook her head. "Helping others is payment enough," Eyhlzja said. Quite literally, in her case; the magics of forgiveness and joy that she wielded would only heighten in power from the aid she delivered to others.
"Oh." Lzyeht smiled. "I think Momma would like you."
"Then why don't you introduce us?"
Lzyeht trotted out the door, Eyhlzja following. Though the path they took wound through alley-ways and darkened streets, Lzyeht proceeded with the grim determination of a child too young to understand death, but too old not to see its specter.
Until Eyhlzja reached the cot, strung up in an alleyway, in which Lzyeht's mother was still seizing up, her arms scored with familiar marks.
The woman looked at Eyhlzja with wide, terrified eyes. "What... what is this? I said... no police..."
And Eyhlzja shook her head. "It's okay. It's okay. I see you. I see you."
She knelt down by the woman's side, reaching for her arms.
And with the magic woven into her soul, she *forgave*.
Vines of regrowth blossomed from Eyhlzja's soul, flashing as they met the woman's skin, until with a shocked, ragged breath, she took a deep breath in, eyes wide.
Then she shuddered and relaxed, her breathing normalizing, the shaking ceasing.
Lzyeht turned to Eyhlzja, eyes shimmering. "You did it! You—you really did it!"
Eyhlzja shook her head. "No, no. It was nothing."
Lzyeht spread her arms out. "It was my momma."
Eyhlzja couldn't help but laugh, embracing the little girl in the street.
The girl and the heroine knelt there, safe and warm, beside the deep, calm breaths of the woman whose life they'd saved.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. Check out the rest of the story [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new), or r/bubblewriters for more!
| 2022-10-22T22:10:21 | 2022-10-22T19:53:50 | 73 | 51 |
[WP] You are a multi-billionaire with a lovely wife, who is trying to kill you to inherit your fortune. You love her so much that you just don't have the heart to tell her you are immortal.
|
I had thought Mary was the one. I'd hidden my wealth and lived a modest lifestyle for a few years before she found me. I had thought it was real. It had felt real. She held me when I cried when the dog died. I told her about the wealth a few months before the wedding. She didn't seem to care.
The months turned to years and years to decades. We had our rough patches. It's funny, I've had so many relationships before you would think I'd be good at them. I think I am, now.
The murder attempts didn't start until her mid sixties. They were cute. She tried so hard to make them look like accidents. The brake cables on the car, the electrical fire in my lodge. The SCUBA accident.
I ignored them, until she really hurt me. Stabbed me in the back. Literally. I think it was the betrayal that really got to me. I had thought she'd loved me. I thought about these last few decades and then pushed my way into the room. She sat on the edge of the couch, crocodile tears streaming down her face.
Despite my resolve the sight of her moved me. She had always been pretty, but the years had turned the looks of her youth into the beauty of age. Her makeup was done impeccably where the tears hadn't ruined it. She wore her mother's necklace, a small cross set with diamonds. She'd worn it on our wedding day. I hardened my heart.
"All these years and now you're after the money?" I asked, accusing. "And yet you've tried again and again to kill me. I have news, Mary. I knew about it. I knew about all of them. And they all failed. Do you know why?"
"Yes." She said. I was surprised. "Yes, I know why."
"I'm immortal." I said, off my guard. "You can't kill me. You won't get the money."
She stood up and faced me, the trickle of tears had turned to a flood, and her anger washed over me like a storm. "Don't you get it? I don't want the money! I never wanted the money! Is that what you think of me? After all this time? That I was just some whore you could buy? All this time, listen to me." She sniffed back a wad of snot and laughed. She continued bitterly "Forty three years? Most of my life. A weekend fling for you."
I had no idea what to say, so asked the only question I could think of as she slowly melted back down the the couch. Her fist over her mouth. "Then why? What do you want?"
She squeezed her eyes shut and the tears really flowed. "You're an idiot. Isn't it obvious?" I shook my head but said nothing. She hadn't seen the gesture. The rage had gone when she spoke again, barely soft enough to hear. "I want you. That's all I want."
"So you tried to kill me? I don't understand."
Her anger returned, flashing in her emerald eyes. "I'm going to die. Don't you understand that? I. Am. Going. To. Die. And you won't!" She shouted it like an accusation. She clutched her necklace and a sob wracked her
"When dad died mom said that she would see him again in heaven. She talked about it. She looked forward to it. She died with a smile. And I can't... I can't bear the thought of eternity without you. I had to try. I'm so sorry, but I at least had to try."
|
She was the first. I think that is why it hurts so much. I have had dozens of husbands and many more lovers, but she was my first wife. I was used to what the husbands did, but it surprised me when she tried it. I just thought that somehow women would be different.
They made it legal a few years before I met her. The courtship followed well-worn paths in my mind. I preferred women after all, so this was nothing new. We met at a coffee shop and danced around the subject. Innuendo that wasn’t crass, you could always misconstrue the meaning if you wanted. We were both attracted to each other, but you don’t just say that. Although I suppose these days you could if you wanted.
We had been living with each other for a month when she brought it up. It truly surprised me. Marriage was actually possible and I hadn’t even considered it a possibility. I think the shock made me rush and ignore the signs.
I should have seen the way she bragged to her friends about what I had just bought her, but I was just focused on the wedding. I ignored the late-night calls to her ex because I was thinking about table settings.
The wedding was extravagant, the first one I really felt like going all out with. My previous marriages were mostly for convenience, so I never wanted to make a big deal of them. But this one, this one was a spectacle. I think they are still picking the solid gold confetti out of the sand on Maui.
I didn’t notice the first two attempts. I guess I just thought she made a bad cup of tea since she was American. But when she cut my brakes, I knew, and it all came flooding in.
The walk back to our house was painful. Not the injuries, those healed right away. But the realization of what I had been ignoring, that hurt. The betrayal came from a blindside in my psyche. Through all the thousands of years I had been alive, I had never been so thoroughly betrayed by a woman. A few of my husbands had, but I had expected that from a man. This though. This hurt.
The three-mile walk back home gave me time to think. I thought about what I really wanted. I made a call right before I walked in the door and set the plans into motion.
“Hi honey,” I said.
She hid the shock well and said, “Oh hello, sweetie. Back so soon?”
“Yes, the car was acting funny. I just decided to have it towed instead of messing with it.”
I could see her plotting the next attempt as soon as I said it. She was determined.
Just then a text came through her phone. It took her a while to read that text. She kept going over the same four lines over and over again.
“Let’s watch a movie, come on, come snuggle with me,” I said.
She sat down with me in a daze. I knew she was hurt now too. But she would get over it in time.
Her ex had just texted her she wanted nothing to do with her ever again. The money I wired to her had something to do with that sudden reversal.
I reached over and pulled my wife closer. She would get over it and we would be happy again. Surprises hurt sometimes, but you can get over them.
| 2019-07-31T09:43:04 | 2019-07-31T08:51:54 | 75 | 48 |
[WP] There is a girl in school that you lately have a huge crush for. The way she dresses, talks and acts seems to be like your ideal type. One day you steal and hack her phone hoping to find some info you can use to win her over. The phone is full of pictures, videos and recordings of you.
|
#Ashley
EDIT: [I've decided to get back into writing/voice acting](https://youtu.be/h_kDbFn-X10?t=93) Feedback is appreciated!
***
Ashley stands up, hand resting on a shoulder a little too long as I gaze up into her piecing green eyes. A hint of red in her lips? A flush in her cheeks? Probably just my imagination.
"You haven't got a chance" laughs my friend, Eddie. For a big lad, he's awfully nimble; a brutish figure appears from nowhere and sits beside me in the spot Ashley had just vacated.
"I'm telling you man, she's into me!" I exclaim, still watching her swaying form as she seemingly floats away to her usual group of friends. "She always comes and sits next to me. We talk and talk and we laugh, I'm not making tit up!"
"Pfft, she's just being nice. Look at her! There are people like that and there are people like us" says Eddie with a sigh. I do look. The way her hair catches the light, the way her delicate giggle carries like a feather on the wind as she converses so easily with all the who love-drunk sycophants pining over her.
My sigh matches his. He's not even being mean, it's true. "Probably just my imagination" I agree. He pats my shoulder solemnly.
"But she always sits next to me in class!" I retort, hopefully.
"You've never failed a test, it's the same reason I sit on the other side" jokes Eddie.
"And she asked if I was going to her house party this Saturday"
"She probably just needs a head count" explains my ever-supportive friend.
"Look! Look! She's waving!" I say, beginning to lift my arm in response. A boy from behind us hops over our bench, waving back as he jogs up to greet her. I quickly hide my action, pretending I had an itchy nose, but turn to see Eddie's tight-lipped face holding back a laugh.
I punch his arm and sigh again. The way she pulls her hair over her ear, the way she holds those books to her chest, even the smell of her that still lingers from our earlier hug. Perfect. "Probably just my imagination" I say again, dejected.
"Ah, don't feel bad, buddy. I hear that girl from class B has a crush on—shit!" yells Eddie, cutting himself off.
"What?" I say, jumping in panic in he's spilled something or we're being attacked by snakes.
"Her phone! She must have dropped it when she was sitting" he says, picking up a red, bedazzled phone case and the newest brand-name device held within. Even her phone is perfect...
"I'll go return it" I say, reaching out a hand that Eddie quickly slaps away.
"Fuck that! Ah sweet, no lock. And look at this, a text conversation with you acting all lovey-dovey like a puppy dog" he laughs. I reach for the phone but he holds it at arm’s length, hand to me like it's a game of American football.
"Quit being a creep, and get your long arms out of my face" I say with a half-smile.
"And look at this, the camera reel!"
"Okay, that's going too far. She's going to get mad at us" I say more seriously.
"Shit, there's a lot of shots of you in here" he says, coyly.
"...really?" I ask, suddenly conceding the fight and looking over with more curiosity as he flicks through half a dozen selfies of us together. "I told you she liked me!" I call out in victory. Then he keeps scrolling. A bunch more pictures with guys, girls, family and friends. He looks at me with mock sympathy and I punch his arm. "I know, I know, just my imagination"
"Hold on" he says, scrolling further, deeper into to annals of her hard drive, through corridors of misleading directory names. "This folder is just filled with pictures of you. You in class, you from behind walking home, you waiting at the bus. Shit, this one is following you off the bus. Does Ashley live near you?" he asks, concerned.
"Um, no. Not at all. That's weird" I answer, confused.
"Shit, man. This one is through your window and... fuck, is that you sleeping? Where's that even from?!"
"It... it looks like it's from inside my closet. How did she get these? Did she take these? What the fuck?" I say, confusion morphing into utter bewilderment.
Suddenly, Ashley's face is in front of mine. Mere inches away. A wide, white toothed grin causes me to start back.
"Hello boys, I didn't leave my phone here, did I?" she asks, sweetly.
"Uh, yeah. Must have dropped it" I chuckle nervously. I snatch the device from a stunned Eddie and hand it to her. Ashley's soft hand lingers on mine as she takes it. She gives me a wink and walks off once more.
We sit there in silence. Hearts racing. Breath coming heavy. I manage to settle my shaking hands as I continue to gaze at her.
"I fucking told you she was into me" I whisper sideways at Eddie.
"Maybe it's an art project or something" he whispers back.
"Yeah, probably just my imagination."
/r/ArmanWritesStuff
|
I stared in horror as I watched the clip. It was me. There was no doubt about it. I couldn't remember that day, but she had clearly been following me. I was in shock. Not knowing what else to do I quickly downloaded all the clips. I didn't have time to watch them all now, who knows what else was on here and she could be back any minute.
The clip creeped me out. She had been following. Hiding behind doors or walls when I turned, and I don't remember seeing her. I mean, hope for the best right? Maybe she has a secret crush on me. I unplugged the phone, set it back how it was and slipped it into her bag before she got back. I smiled at her a she walked into the room, she made eye contact for a brief second then looked away, waved to a friend and chatted to them before sitting down as if I didn't exist.
Was she that shy? I mean, a secret crush could be kind of cool. I would watch some of the clips later. Or not... maybe. This was a huge invasion of her privacy and if she liked me already? I didn't want to ruin that.
For the rest of the day it felt like we were going in circles. I tried to follow her but she kept disappearing. Then, I would turn around or glance behind me and she would suddenly just be stood there talking to somebody else. I kept trying to get her attention but it felt like she was avoiding me.
I got home that evening and sat with my laptop. The clips lined up ready to view. Waiting. Debating with myself. Could I really watch them? I had already done the worst in taking them, it would be stupid to just delete them. I wrestled with my moral dilemma for the rest of the evening. Still, I guess I could just watch the rest of that one clip right? I knew it was about me, I had already started. I would just watch the end of that one. Not the others.
I saw myself walking. She was following behind, filming me. It was certainly me, and everything looked familiar but something was off. I don't remember this day. I checked the file date. It seems to be corrupted, maybe her phone is broken or I messed it up during the transfer because they are all the same obviously wrong date. Why Don't I remember this? Somebody comes running towards her and crashes into her sending the phone flying, it clatters to the floor but there is a loud sound, like an explosion? What the hell, I definitely don't remember this. She is running with the phone now, I can't make out much as she is swinging the phone wildly and I hear her swearing, she says my name. No, she shouts it. Wait... Is she crying? The camera sweeps past something I can't make out, it looks like broken bricks, rubble, dust, ash, is that fire? WAIT! I skip back. Step through the video frame by frame.
It looks like a person's leg. I can see blood I think but it's just a single frame before the video is unwatchable. She covered the lens while holding the phone and everything is blacked out and muffled. What happened? The video cuts off there. I certainly don't remember this, is it some project? Is she doing special effects? I am so confused.
I need to watch the next clip but it's late. I need to talk to her. What is going on? I can't invade her privacy more can I? I can't. I have to talk to her. Admit what I did and ask what that clip is. I wake up early. My heart is pounding as I think about the day ahead, what I have to say to her. What I have to ask. I don't know what is going on but my gut is telling me something is definitely wrong here. Breakfast, the journey in, waiting to see her all take forever. I can hear my heart beating, pounding out the seconds as the clock ticks so slowly forwards.
I can't find her. No matter where I look she isn't there. I see somebody I don't recognise. Do they go to this school? They seem to be walking towards me. They stop in front of me and ask my name. I answer, I'm about to ask who they are when I hear a snippet of conversation.
I feel like I heard it last night on that video clip. Hang on, where I just walked? That feels... I have DeJaVu. This all feels like I've done it before. It feels like. I have to watch that clip again.
The strange person in front of me lifts his hand and presses a button. Fire erupts in front of me as pain tears through me. I am blown backwards and land in a heap against a wall. Well there should be a wall here. It's just rubble now. I am deafened, my ears are ringing by eyes bleary, I feel pain all over but it fades. I can't move.
Through the dust I can see somebody running towards me shouting my name. The slow as they approach what looks like my shoe, but it's so far away, my legs are not that long. My head slumps backwards. I don't have the strength to keep my eyes open. The world fades.
I feel cold. The pain has gone and it feels like I'm floating, the last thing I hear is her voice.
"SHIT. Attempt number 76 failed. I am going to have to reset and try again."
| 2021-09-23T00:54:05 | 2021-09-22T22:22:57 | 74 | 10 |
[WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay.
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming!
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At this end of the jail everything smells bad.
The warden's aide takes me past the 6 month room. It's lowered below the floor a couple meters. Inside, I see a room full of prisoners up to their waist in liquid shit. The smell is unbearable
Then the 3 month room. Much like the last, except here they're up to their chest in shit.
The one week room has the prisoners up to their necks in shit. Just one room left.
I was surprised by the one day room. Everyone was standing around drinking coffee, and only up to their knees in shit.
"I'll take it!" I said to the warden's aide.
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely, how bad could it be?"
I climbed down into the room, waved to the other prisoners, poured myself a cup of coffee.
Before I could drink it, the lights dimmed and brightened three times. A guard with an SMG came through the door.
"ALRIGHT YOU MAGGOTS!" he bellowed "BREAK TIME IS OVER! BACK TO STANDING ON YOUR HEADS!"
|
He looked around his cell again. Every five minutes he would look up, stare at me, and then look back down again. He had murdered a man who had looked at him funny, so I always tried to avoid eye contact.
That didn't stop me from talking to him though.
"Nice day for the festival right?"
"You know that I don't want to go outside today."
Why he chose to spend the rest of his life in jail if he wasn't going to enjoy it I will never understand. For me it's that there was nothing out there anymore. I had thought that I might try and go for a five year sentence, try and make up with my wife when I got out, but then she left me. Divorced me without even a letter. Well her lawyer sent a letter, but it's not the same. So at my one-month review when we're allowed to change our sentence I opted for the first-class treatment.
Sadly that meant that I would most likely die here.
But hey, at least the caviar was good.
| 2015-10-27T08:07:44 | 2015-10-27T06:10:43 | 150 | 62 |
[WP] Without revealing which one it is, re-tell a classic Disney fairytale as if its genre was horror.
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I never thought I'd post something to [/r/nosleep](http://reddit.com/r/nosleep), but here I am, after days or maybe weeks of just that -- I haven't slept in so long that I can't quite keep track of how many nights it's been.
How many nights I've huddled in my bed, blankets over my head, afraid to listen to the whispers. My only comfort is the warmth of my dog, piled on top of me, licking my palms, but she can't keep the shadow away.
My brothers don't believe me, but ever since we moved to this house, I've been seeing a shadow out of the corner of my eye, always slipping away when I try to look. And then one night I started having nightmares, always horribly violent, always stalked by the shadow. He was always just behind me, or just beside me, or just out of sight, but there was always the sound of his laughter.
Once, I was surrounded by these feral children, dirty and wrapped in the stinking furs of dead animals, half animal themselves, and they all shot at me, and laughed, and I tried to escape but they just shrieked with laughter, gleeful at the thought of my death...
Another night, my brothers -- my darling little brothers, they're only just innocent kids -- were captured by this painted cult, and tied to a stake, and all the men encircling them, closing in and closing in, tighter and tighter, and just as they touched the fire to the tinder I could see the shadow swooping in...
And once I watched, paralyzed, as this man had his arm ripped off by the most horrible creature, all scales and teeth and blood everywhere, and then the man turned to me, and his hand had become a weapon, and he came closer and closer and I couldn't scream...
In every one of these dreams, the shadow is beside me, laughing. And when I would wake up, I would hear it whisper, "we'll play again tomorrow night, won't we?"
So now I don't sleep. I just huddle under my blankets, trying not to hear it whisper, "let's play, Wendy..."
|
I was destined to be great. I was blessed with the gift of royalty.
Not only was this taken from me but so was my life, taken by someone close to me. Set up. Convicted of my own fathers murder. Pushed out of my home and into the treacherous world.
Alone to fend for myself. Every turn brought a new fear to the surface.
I was taken in by a pair of psychopathic and hallucinogenic outcasts. I was young and scared by their constant, indistinguishable rambling but out there, there was nothing. Unknown was there way of the world to me. Forced to eat things I did not want to eat and live by a policy I did not understand, nor do I believe, did they. Sent in to a state of mind that I no longer think was even real. I was sure there was no hope left and I was to be devoured by the world that these two proclaimed to be living in.
I still had my past. It haunted me. Every move I made meant an aching so deep it made my bones hurt and my heart feel pain like no other. I felt free, but also, far from it.
The pictures my mind brought to the surface were horrific. The sound and smell that came with it just made it worse. Bones cracking, the mixture of the scent of a wild beast and dust stung like a dagger.
I was brought back. Saved from the tortures of the wilderness. Saved and blessed by an angel from above. After I had left, my previous life and everything in it had disintegrated. Overrun by an army. Taken from the people I once loved and lived among. People I was destined to lead.
When I returned, I faced a life I no longer remembered. I did, however, know it was never like this. The place was covered with opposing forces. The war was fading, the food supply was wilting and land was barren. The man the now call king and I once called family was no longer fit to be apart of mine.
| 2014-08-04T08:23:09 | 2014-08-04T05:25:37 | 52 | 37 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
It was 11:59 and while the whole family gathered around, my mother was no where to be seen. I expected that she would have joined us. After all, she'd been there for my older sister's reveal, and my brother's reveal. But instead she was watering the garden while it rained steadily.
C'mon, mom, I know I'm not your favorite, but you could at least put on a front this time.
"It's noon!" my sister squealed. "Pullupyoursleeve!"
A moment of dread shot through me. I can't say that I knew exactly what was wrong, but I knew that something wasn't right. There was no tingling in my arm, just a feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me something was going to be revealed today and I wasn't going to like it.
I pulled up my sleeve and no words appeared. Frantically, I pulled up the other sleeve, shoving it all the way up to my armpit. It had to be there. My sister tugged my shirt up, peeking under it. Not that the words ever appeared anywhere besides on your dominant forearm. "Where is it?"
"He won't get it yet," my mother barked from the sliding glass door. "He's not going to be 18 for another two months."
"What?" I yelped. "Today's my birthday!" My sister's hands fell and my shirt slid back down into place.
My mother shook her head. "You're father and I were separated, and I met a man..." she said quietly, her round eyes darting towards my father.
"You said the baby was mine! You said he was just early!" my father shouted.
She crumpled into a chair, her wet hair dripping onto her face. Her mouth wobbled and she stared at the floor. "He's not and he wasn't."
Two months and three days later, my parents' marriage was in shambles, and I walked into my sister's room, pulled up my sleeve, and showed her the words that had appeared the day before. "MARRIAGE COUNSELOR"
|
Tick tock
I had hoped, at one time, that my number would be big. After all who would want to be one of those poor kids, they who turn 18 and find their actual age written between beneath their thumb. Can you imagine the parents as they count down the days, not knowing when it will come, just that it will hang over their heads for the whole year.
Tick tock
I once told my mother that if my number was 18, I would drink bleach; who could take the anticipation?
Tick tock
Mother sent me to my room without desert. She said it was a horrible thing to say. "kill myself because I can't take the anticipation".
Tick tock
'Anticipation', such a remarkable world: it implies things that have yet to come.
Tick tock
But long after the sun collapsed, after the last flame of the last star had died out, after the heat death of the universe, when entropy finally won, there was only one sound in all of creation:
Tick tock: *it's not a clock but the beating of my heart*.
At first I thought my number said 8. I thought this was odd. And then it clicked, it only took a second, and fror some reason I felt delight. I would live forever.
Tick tock,
I forgot though that the thing about forever is that it never stops, even when the universe goes kaploot. So I now float in space. As I will always. Sometimes I think about the forever I have lived and then I remember, forever is always yet to come. The empty world that I've so far visited is exactly like the 100 other forever yet to come. As I said, that's the thing about forever, who would want to live forever, when forever doesn't stop? But that's all I want. More than anything, is for forever to finally stop, for this 'me' that will never die to stop experiencing and fucking die. A consciousness must devour something other than itself.
| 2017-03-16T03:19:48 | 2017-03-16T00:57:55 | 129 | 63 |
[WP] A harmless Eldritch god roams Earth to see it’s natural wonders. While traveling, he see humanity screaming and running away from him. Curious as to why, he plucks one from a crowd and brings it up to head level. “Why do you fear me?” He says.
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The human's mouth was wide open but no sound came out and his eyes were widened and teary. He was paralyzed with fear.
The god, suddenly realizing how the human felt, said, "Fear me not." with a thunderous voice, though the voice seemed like it was coming from inside of the human's head rather than the god's mouth (wherever it was). "I am merely a traveller in your world." the god continued.
The human responded by urinating himself while his heart kept pounding out of his chest. He wasn't sure what to do.
Disappointed and confused, the god simply put the human back on the ground and continued it's journey. "These humans have seen aquatic creatures greater than themselves, hundreds of their own species waging senseless wars against each other, and have invented countless violent beliefs. And *I'm* the frightening one?" the god thought to himself, offended.
|
The human's head exploded.
"Holy--yikes!" I shrieked in horror. I set the remaining headless ragdoll down hastily, flicking my fingers.
I looked around. The screaming crowds were drawing away from me now. There was nothing around me but large, shiny rectangular objects, some even taller than I. As I moved, I caught a glimpse of movement near to my side. I turned.
I shrieked again! In the shiny side of the nearest rectangle reposed a gargantuan *thing* so hideous that my mind could not encompass it. My shriek ended suddenly as my head exploded.
A bird flew into the reflective panes shortly afterward and knocked itself crosseyed.
| 2022-03-06T06:39:56 | 2022-03-06T03:22:30 | 170 | 99 |
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it.
|
The bag crinkled as gravity smashed it into the cold stone floor of the examination hall. Although I could not see him, nor would I hear him shouting in warning until it was too late, the headmaster was already running towards me.
For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Not until the first tendril of blue and white lapped over the bright yellow bag did I consider the teachings over the previous semester.
"Your familiar is not only bound by your essence and your aura, but the catalyst which summons it. The base motivator that is channeled by your catalyst must be carefully considered."
Chips. I hadn't even wanted the family size bag, but it was only an extra 25 cents, "and why shouldn't I have something to share?" I reasoned.
The floor beneath the bag shuddered as a mound began to form beneath them, the contents inside were scattered across the floor.
"Back!" I heard the headmaster scream, "everyone back!"
"Uh?" I turned to him, realizing the fear that surrounded me as my classmates stared in terror, their feet shifting away as their eyes stayed fixed on me. No, not on me, their eyes fell beyond me.
I spun again to my circle and nearly choked as the floor was being torn away. Slivers of golden fried potatoes poured into the gaping hole and, with a sudden crunch, a tremendous growl filled the chamber.
"Its a Glutton!" The headmaster called to the other teachers as they drew their wands in response. "Get the boy to safety"
*no time to finish *
|
I'd grown up in a family of rather powerful mages, but we were outcasts because of our unusual tactics. In all simplicity, we're lazy. We use the excuse of, "Everything one can find can be powerful if used correctly." The thing is, it's true. I've been able to create potions from food scraps, and they've actually worked!
Anyway, I recently came of age to summon a familiar. I've watched my friends and family perform the ritual, and I've come to realize that there can be so many variables. I chose to set up the ritual with as much simplicity as possible. I drew a circle on the ground and tossed a bag of my favorite chips in the center. I spoke and repeated the required mantra until a light erupted from the circle; in turn setting the chips on fire.
The fire startled me to the point that I fell back. Before I could sit back up, I heard a tiny roar coming from the circle. More than just excited to see what I summoned, I scrambled to sit up once more. My gaze immediately landed on the circle to see what it held.
A wyvern.
"Holy shit, I got a wyvern!" I exclaimed, and it ran up to me with just as much excitement as I had.
I'd heard that it was exceedingly difficult to summon a wyvern, but this shocked me. I had done the simplest ritual ever, and I summoned the most difficult familiar. I'm not complaining, but this is amazing.
| 2019-04-05T16:05:49 | 2019-04-05T15:12:44 | 79 | 55 |
[WP] "If you plan on going somewhere dangerous, bring a human"
|
Ugh, this line again. Thraxtorz thought to himself. "Humans are expensive and not particularly good at anything!" He protested. The Contract Maker glowed in response. Thraxtorz Chat^tm Pad filled with words, "This contract requires you to bring a human to dangerous places."
"Space exploration is highly specialized! Humans are not known for being anything special. Can they do a geological survey? Sure, sort of. Can they navigate? Yes, when pressed. Can they fight? With a weapon there are few more dangerous, but almost useless without a weapon. Can they make first contact? Sure, but they're hamfisted at best. And for all this half-assed performance they carry a premium on their contracts!"
The Contract Maker glowed, and its answer appeared on the pad. "I take it then that you are not confident in your success on this venture? It has a high possible return. We will find another to take it I am sure."
"No! No, I'll take the contract." Thraxtorz pressed his Galactic Contract Card to the pad, the Contract Maker shifted slightly red and responded. "Very well, we can assign a human to you if required. Do you require it?"
Thraxtorz signaled his ascent. Humans were hard to come by, another reason for their high contract prices.
"Very well" a door slid open, "His name is Ted."
Six months later Traxtorz and Ted are the only remaining members of the crew, from 100 down to 2. How the hell Ted seemed to just barely survive everything is beyond Thraxtorz. "Bro, trying something is usually better than doing nothing!" Ted insisted after every incident.
Weird Klaxons sounded as they fled their captors. They arrive at a ship, shuttle, some kind of vehicle. Ted hopped into a non-obvious seat and started pushing screens . The vehicle powered up. "Ah, that's how it works, okay... and this, bro, is the release... probably... maybe..." The vehicle started to drift, alarms sounded. "Shit!" Ted looked around. "Umm... uhhh... okay bro, don't panic." Ted flailed to another station, then another.
"MISTER TED!" Traxtorz bellowed, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? ARE YOU TRAINED FOR THIS? HOW DID YOUR SPECIES EVER EXPAND OFF THEIR ROCK OF A PLANET!?"
Ted looked at his captain, "Bro, by figuring it out as we went and being just good enough at everything." Ted slammed his hand on a large black globe sticking out of a station, the alarm ended and the ship warped away.
|
######[](#dropcap)
Faith Alathir laughed, and motioned to the figure standing in the corner.
"That's why I have him."
Hilary Flint glanced up from his knife sharpening, whetstone in one hand and bayonet in the other. His worn rifle was slung over a shoulder, its leather strap notched with kill marks; far more than any man could hope to achieve in their lifetime.
"The Death Zone isn't that dangerous to someone who knows where the anomalies and hotspots are. Sure, there's places that'll melt the skin off your flesh, or asphyxiate you to death in your sleep. And there's just some places where you'll be dead before you even know you're in trouble. If what we're looking for is in the city we'll find it."
The older Fae almost sneered. "You seem very certain. What makes you so sure it's still there?"
"On account that I've seen it with my own eyes. On account that our enemies are still searching for it. And on account that I said so. I work for the girl, not for you. Now you're gonna fund this expedition -in full- or else the girl and I will go to the next eager noble and offer them the same deal. She offered you terms, and more generous ones then I'd ever give. If I had the choice, we'd just cut your throat open and take what is rightly ours. But the girl has other opinions. We want two thousand guilders, as well as all those items on the list we gave you. In return you get twenty-five percent of the profits."
The Elf now sneered, his eyes haughty as he spoke. "If there's one satisfaction about you *Scathalith,* it's that sooner or later you're all dead. You only have to suffer an insolent Man fifty or sixty years before they trouble you no more."
Flint's smile was anything but warm.
"Not all of us. The stubborn ones... the good ones, they tend to stick around. And their blades tend to stick in others. Twenty-five. Our final offer"
A long silence hung over the room, dreadful and suffocating in noise's absence.
"...Your pet drives a harder bargain than you, my Lady. A shame he's a rude beast with no understanding of manners. Had he been born a Fae I'm sure he'd be much more civilized."
Faith laughed again, pleasant as chimes in the wind.
"He's my protector, my little wolf. I fear nothing with him and his sword by my side. And this wolf's fangs are sharp."
| 2016-06-19T19:27:01 | 2016-06-19T12:36:00 | 35 | 19 |
[WP] "Another 'hero'? *sigh* For the thousandth time, I am a DARK goddess, NOT an evil one."
|
Elena rubbed the bridge of her nose, the heroes sheer stupidity always irked her. “First,” she started, raising a finger towards the ‘hero’ and his oversized sword. “That thing makes it look like you’re overcompensating. Second, do you even know what it is I govern over?”
The hero blinked, clearly taken aback. “Umm, you’re Elena, Goddess of All that is Dark and Evil, and I am here to smite you and end your tyranny!” he said that last part with a bit of a shout, as if to psych himself up.
“… what the in the Nine Oblivions are they teaching at that so called church of light? I’m the Goddess of Karma!” she threw up her hands annoyed and pissed that the idiotic priests continue to do this.
“Ummm… huh?” the hero, who was clearly about to rush her, lowered his oversized weapon.
“One moment,” she waved a hand and a small portal appeared. “Vivian! I told you last time that if your priest sent another hero, I would take action! I suggest you go back to the Divine Realm NOW!” she closed the portal without giving her fellow goddess time to reply. “As for you, I will punish the church of light based on the combined crimes of all the heroes, so lets take a look at yours.” she raised a hand towards the hero, and images appeared between the two.
Her priests tortured, burned alive, property destroyed, and children left orphaned and abused by others because of his actions… “I’ve seen enough.” the images faded, the so called hero’s face was pale as he trembled.
“Wha-what are you going to do, you monster?!” he stuttered, trying to put on a brave face.
“Karma doesn’t care if someone is a monster or a run of the mill idiot. If you are the cause of death and destruction, then you must be prepared for the consequences.” She snapped her fingers.
Across the world, members of the church of light suddenly began having the worst luck possible. Small things from birds pooping on them to the tragic, farms burning down and scandals coming to light. Priests tripping during ceremonies causing a chain reaction of events that cause the walls of churches to collapse.
Elena breathed a sigh of relief, “oh how i love my job.” the so-called hero had dropped his sword, the oversized blade had hit his knee and shattered it. he would live, but any healing magic done on the knee would leave it disfigured and unusable… if not done in the next five minutes. Of course, her priests could heal him, but they had watched the same images she had. So they came out from behind their partitions, picked up his screaming form, and carried him out of the church. She heard him cry out in pain as he was thrown from the top of the steps.
“Karma’s a bitch,” she chuckled.
|
Shinobu was at a loss, letting out an echoing sigh as she heard the clops of stallion hooves against hard dirt, turning and looking right as a trio of knights burst into the tent she stood within with a shout “Cower foul being! We hath come to end you evil re-“
She cut them off, the stallions shifting uneasily at the voice echoing inside the carnival-esq tent, the knights then beginning to blind once they spotted the source. Standing ontop of the main platform, juggling a pair of softly glowing souls in her hands was the so-called demon they had heard of.
She turned around slowly and looked at them with piercing yellow eyes, her clownish appearance causing confusion “You foolish knights, always running in place your saving the day. I am not a foul beast, my teeth are sharp but don’t pierced flesh. My eyes glow, but not with power. My claws wicked, but not a danger.” she took a breath “I am Shinobu, the goddess of the dead”
The knights tense, one raising their sword and pointing it as she tossed the souls into the air where they disappeared “Release the souls thy has captured! Or we’ll shall cut you down!” The knight on a silky white horse commanded, only to earn a burst of small giggles “Cut me down? For helping the dead go where they are assigned? Down to oblivion, or to Sithis? I am the goddess of the dead, not of death itself. You cut me down, souls will rot away here on Nirn.”
The smaller knight, who had been quiet spoke up “What do y-you mean?” She glances at them, her limbs and body stretching slightly as she began to grow in size, the lights dotting the room suddenly moving “I am not evil, nor good. I send souls where they earned their keep. I do not harm them, nor take them early.”
Shinobu shifted and gently plucked a white soul, then a black one “The purity, the filth. I can guide them to their destination. You knights are always the fun ones, some foul for the fortune, or purer than the glass of the churches you worship light in. Funnily enough, I can never tell when your alive if your purr or not.” She froze, and dropped the black soul, the knights staring in fright as it began to bubble the ground beneath it and sink like quicksand.
”Sorry. She was getting ahead of myself. Begone now, I have my duty’s..” She gave a swish of her hand, and a force of air blasted the knights out, the circus tent then beginning to swirl, forming into a tornado of black and violet before sending the knights in a arch across the sky.. right into the lake of the town they came from
Feel like it’s beginning to get a bit long and confusing, I’m still working on third person story’s//
| 2021-08-14T02:09:13 | 2021-08-14T00:41:39 | 49 | 24 |
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
"And yours?" the divine agent asked me. A weariness in the question betrayed some edge of boredom or frustration in dealing with petty mortals.
"Power negation?" I ventured.
"Taken," I was informed, flatly.
"Power *theft*?"
"Taken."
"Domination, then." I was aware of the purpose of these powers and figured the direct approach could work.
"*Taken*."
By that point, I was as frustrated as the divine. Reflecting on the state of the world to be ruled, I thought about the one thing it perhaps needed most.
"Consequences."
"Excuse me?" the divine asked as if brought out of a stupor.
"I want the power to bring consequences. Divine judgment, if you will."
The glowing wells that passed for the divine's eyes narrowed into bedight points. "Granted. Fortune be with you."
The following days where interesting, to say the least.
I watched as divine strength could mangle a car well before he could throw it, and when his joints gave out, it was gruesome. (I'd find out later that I was only partially responsible.)
Divine speed earned herself some well-deserved friction burns before she collided with an oncoming 18-wheeler. I might feel sorry for her but moreso for the horrified driver.
Divine dominance actually had to *manage* the people he controlled, and it turns out not many people are well suited to management. He quit after twenty or so.
Same with divine presence. Sure, she was popular, the biggest celebrity in an era, but the constant demands for attention drove her into hermitage inside of six months. She's in her mansion living off of the gifts her fans leave at her front gate.
Poor divine flight, shot down for violating sovereign air space.
Divine greed, the guy who nicked Power Theft? Arrested for arson. His home country decided not to execute him in favor of using him to power a hydroelectric plant.
Divine wealth, the multi-quintillionaire? Assassinated, and none too subtly. Turns out the world's economic powers get very edgy around someone who can literally buy whole nations.
Maybe I feel the worst for divine fortitude. Can't be hurt, physically or mentally. But without pain, specifically discontent, he doesn't do much because he's free from want and the drive to change anything. At least his Food Dares YouTube channel has over 2 million subscribers, though the idea of scorpion pepper mukbang makes me flinch.
Oh right, divine denial, the Power Negation guy? We're actually good friends. We were both aiming for ways to stop the other 98 from screwing over the world. Once the threat was over, I turned my influence to the world political stage. I keep Denial in my back pocket to stop me from doing anything heinous, but things have gotten a lot better now that corrupt officials and executives are getting what they deserve.
|
"Welcome to the Super Powers Depot, what can i do for you?" The clerk never looked up from their smart device. They couldn't be any more disinterested in the task at hand yet were still complying with the bare essentials of the minimum wage day laborer.
"My name's John. I was chosen to come pick out a free super power..."
"...yeah, we got a few left over. You want the spaghetti hands?"
"I'm sorry, i said, super powers."
"Yeah, being able to make ones own dinner let alone a constant stream of spaghetti based dishes is a super power. You don't like ending world hunger one bowl at a time?"
"I guess that's not so bad when you put it like that but i was thinking something...more helpful to others."
"You're right, ending world hunger helps no one John. How about the ability to choose where you want to go to eat no matter who you're talking to and the choice you make is always 100 percent agreeable for everyone involved?" The clerk looked up from their device. The pain on their face was unmistakable. They were locked between too many choices on where to order food from. Stuck in an endless scroll on a food ordering app.
The clerk thought that seeing a picture of the food he desired would help but, nothing struck them as looking delicious. Nothing could satisfy the unknowable cravings of his stomach.
"My god, how long have you been stuck like this?" John took the smart device from in front of the clerk and began the most important scroll of his life. And then the doubt creeped in. "Wait, you haven't given me my powers yet. I don't know you or what you like; what your allergies are; spice preference? I don't...i can't make this decision...i just--it's impossible."
The clerk fell to their knees behind the counter. Hunger pangs starting to bang against their stomach lining like a heavy metal drummer taking over the song. They were able to weakly get a few words out. "The power...is in you. It has been...all...along."
John gazed upon the smart device once more and the decision immediately came to mind. "How bout this one?"
John laid the phone down on the counter and the clerk slowly stood back up. Tears began to stream down their face. "It's perfect. The balance of sides to entrees; the prices are all within a reasonable stretch of my budget. Thank you." The clerk was finally able to place their order.
As super powered beings put on impressive displays of power, over the years they drop to their knees and one by one they succumb to the only one capable of running the world. The only person who was capable of making the toughest decisions and saving everyone from the cold, bitter realm that is hunger. The one who brings salvation from starvation in any given situation: John.
| 2022-11-17T07:41:47 | 2022-11-17T07:26:44 | 772 | 14 |
[WP] You recently discovered your parents sold your soul to the devil. He came to collect your soul and you are now starting your first day as his personal assistant
|
The first day was torture. Litterally. Rack, chains and a hot poker.
The second day was "mandatory training" : insensitivity classes mostly.
Then "vulnerable co-worker awareness": how to identify vulnerable co-workers and the most subtle and effective ways to attack them.
Then going through the staff policy documents, volumes 1 through 9076.
Then onto how to use the binders. When we'd get a call either from a current client with a complaint (the binder always eventually leads to directing us to press the button that gives them electric shocks through the phone) or a potential client who's completed the required blood ritual and sacrifices to contact us and wants to sell their soul for earthly rewards.
we had a workflow to follow.
On thursday the big boss ate one of our screaming coworkers in front of us for not properly clocking out for a bathroom break.
...
Some of the guys who started with me seemed to have a tough time but it's not like this is the first time I've worked in a call centre.
Overall the boss here is way nicer than my last line manager and honestly I always dreamed of having a shock button like that and the blood cultists are far less unhinged than the kind of members of the general public I used to have to deal with
|
It's odd. I'm simultaneously angry at and amazed with my parents's decision. I should've at least been consulted with about my own SOUL, but I suppose it could be worse. For the actual Devil himself, he seems to be a pretty chill boss. He gave me my own briefcase, full of torture devices mind you, and even made me a suit. I wish it wasn't made from the flesh of the damned, as the screaming gets annoying, but I think I can get used to it. He showed me around to the different parts of Hell I need to memorize, such as the Pits of Fire, where new sinners get scorched for a few days in order to get used to Hell's climate, the Forever Rooms, where the worst people of history have to constantly experience their worst fears forever, and the Boiler room, where we just straight up boil people. The Devil himself taught me how to properly watch over each of the areas, but told me that I can have a bit of fun changing things if I'm ever feeling bored. I could definitely get behind that. I suppose all I can really do now is make the best out of this situation, and hey, at least I'm not one of the poor suckers being flayed.
| 2020-04-05T05:40:41 | 2020-04-05T04:56:16 | 90 | 53 |
[WP] The first contact war was the bloodier than all wars humanity had fought before combined. Tell me about the war by describing some people who earned a medal of honor in it. [NSFW]
NSFW just for safety, but SFW heroics are fine too.
Edit: I did not mean the mass effect contact war, but you are free to write about it if you want. Just wanted to make that clear.
|
"I swear to God, we were just following orders."
Those words echo in my head every single day. Even as I rise from the bed inside my swanky new suite in the rebuilt New York City, with various speeder craft of all sorts humming back and forth outside the 145th story window, I remember those words. Even as I walk by the medal on my mantle, which never stops becoming a topic of conversation in the rare occasions that I receive a visitor anymore, I remember those words. Even as I look back and examine all the good that has come from the postwar peace, the longest our species has ever enjoyed, I remember those godforsaken words.
You know, my great-great-great-great grandfather served in a war much like my own, countless years ago, when we humans were blissfully ignorant of all the other citizens, peaceful or otherwise, of our universe. He too fought tooth and nail in jungles against a seemingly invisible force... and just like my war, his is seen as completely and totally unnecessary.
How were we to know that they were just refugees, just nomads among the stars looking for a home to call theirs? Years and years and years of culture trained us to believe that the invaders would be hostile, and initially, we believed it. However, all it took to end that was a single man, standing between a terrified family and 30 of the men he had trained alongside, now a hostile force.
So, no, I'll never forget what that bastard junior officer said to me as I stared down the barrel of his pulse rifle. I'll never forget when the Chancellor of the UN gave me my medal, congratulating me on putting my morals before my orders. I'll never forget the critics of the war lauding my actions.
I just wish I had stopped it all the other times it happened. To be there as the opposition when all the other officers said, "I swear to God, we were just following orders."
|
Today marks the 20th anniversary of the end of The First Contact War and it is with great pride we remember the accomplishments of those who fought for our planet. Their names will forever be etched into the shared history of humanity and their valour remembered until the end of time.
Capt. Valentin Haber of fighter squadron Echelon 5, whose unyielding resolve, even in the face of overwhelming enemy numbers, secured the airspace during the first vital hours of the invasion.
Sgt. Victoria McLain of the second infantry battalion who fought bravely on the front lines during the first landing wave. As her squad became trapped behind enemy lines, her zeal and courage kept her comrades strong until reinforcements could arrive. Without her valiant efforts a strategically vital location would undoubtedly have been lost, and with it, possibly the entire war.
Operative Yaeger. While his real name may never be known to us, his heroic actions feature in the stories told to every human child. His service to our species cannot be overstated; it is clear that without his courage, skill and determination behind enemy lines our troops would have fought the battle outnumbered and outgunned. Once he disabled the enemy's power grid victory was within our grasp. While he never returned from his fateful mission, all of humanity owe him a debt that cannot be repaid.
On this day, however, we also remember all those who gave their lives in service of our species. Many died during the initial strike, and countless more in the skirmishes that ensued. But through their strength and determination a foothold could be established, and from there our reach extended to the entire planet. The war was swift, but bloody, and it is with immeasurable gratitude that we remember the proud heroes that gave their lives in the liberation of Cethyr Prime.
| 2015-04-20T07:30:49 | 2015-04-20T07:09:10 | 15 | 10 |
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