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2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right.
|
Each lifetime seemed to me only a moment. I had always forcefully forged a path, etching my name in the memories of past world's inhabitants to be passed on for eternities to come.
I have been here a thousand times before. That short and sweet gift of existence, the driving hunger and motivation to succeed, to change humanity for the better, always somehow brings me back. Driving the world forward, for better or worse. I have always believed this my burden to bear, my cross to carry.
This is my last chance, and now I must decide.
33 Years Later:
My fingers drift through soft, strawberry curls. The weight of her head rests on my shoulder, her small body nestled in close to me. Here, now. This is where I want to stay forever.
Thirty three years ago, I realized how I had failed every time before. Forcing my presence on the world, exhaustively exerting all energy in the hopes that my actions would provide a direction for the rest of His creation. How selfish I had been. How vain.
This time, I dedicated my life to the life of someone else. In this life, I have not forced my presence on the world. I have not attempted to move mountains. My life has been and will be dedicated to this beautiful being, this innocent child.
I will show her the wonder of the world, convey to her the preciousness of its existence and the preciousness of all life residing here.
This time, I will live history and not become it. This time, my contribution to the world will be her. Her laughter, her love, her curiosity, her joy. Her light.
This time, I became a father.
|
"Happy Birthday dear Shaurya, happy birthday to you!",
as his friends and family sang the monotonous ritual of a song at his 18th, He looked more lost than usual.
His eyes were moving rapidly,as if he was reading a book floating in front of him. As the song stopped so did his eyes. An unusual look of anger decorated his face. It all came back to him, his past memories a tad late.
He was 6'0 tall, dark skinned and had a stocky build.
"It's about damn tim.." before he could complete his mouth was immediately stuffed with Ladoo's(Indian Sweet) and his face was covered with cake.
After some careful manipulation he was able to get away from the party,
While the adults danced to loud punjabi music with a little help from some old fashioned whiskey, and his friends danced to loud EDM(Electro Dance Music). Shaurya, which was now apparently his name, sat in seclusion, away from the ruckus, on the roof.
"India huh, what does he want me to do this time? be inspired by that old fool Gandhi?"
He looked up at the heavens in anger. The doors were closed on him yet again.
Maybe conquering almost every inch of gods mighty earth,Leading massive armies to war, becoming the most powerful leader of all time wasn't enough.
"Maybe killing the jews was too much?" He burst out laughing. He regretted nothing. His laughter subsided while his anxiety rose, "What now?"
_______________________________________________________________
Hello!, this my first attempt at writing, please give me feedback! Thanks!
| 2017-03-31T12:19:09 | 2017-03-31T09:38:51 | 92 | 10 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I’m lying in a bed on a tuesday night.
And I’m having restless dreams.
And then I awake from a story where I’m rescuing a princess from a wheel of cheese. Because there’s a chainsaw on my nightstand.
A groggy hand reaches over and slaps it reluctantly. Is it morning...a alarm? Some long lost love looking for luscious life-experiences? But no… a text message. Is it my wife? Will she be late tonight?
“DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON”
So I make a curious eye sweep of the room. I pause at my window, where the forbidden object lies, and return my gaze in the opposite direction.
Nothing.
So, eyes squeezed shut, I walk over to the window. Just in case. I have a moment of panic when I trip on a errant pair of pants, but I right myself quickly. Then, in a fleeting, fluttering, futile gesture, I bravely bring down the blinds.
With that dangerous task complete, I sprint back to my bed, as if its covers will protect me from whatever has infested the sky.
Perhaps it’s just a joke, or the product of a overtaxed imagination. But somehow I know to be afraid.
Buzz.
Another a text? More instructions? Is there something else I’m not supposed to look at?
It’s from a old coworker. A good friend.
“It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.”
I peek out from beneath my blanket bastion. A windows shuttered and silent. A door, barely open, with a crooked mouth along its length, mocking me.
Should I close it? No. Too dangerous. So I close my eyes and whisper.
“Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.”
Buzz.
Another text message. Perhaps I shouldn’t…
“It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.” from my best man.
Then a bing. A different app, I have so many.
“It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.”
And then my phone begins to shake and chatter, with bings and chimes and whistles. Each one is like a stab in my stomach. What’s happening? What’s happening?
Then bit by bit, the phone sounds die out.
Then a new sound. A ringing. A bold, unique choice for a ringtone in this day and age, but I’ve always been a trend setter.
It’s my wife. Is she safe? Does she know what’s happening?
And before I can catch myself, I hit the answer button.
(Part 1? Sorry for a cliffhanger, it was getting long)
(r/StannisTheAmish)
|
I refused. It was hard, but I refused. Hundreds of notifications pouring in, telling me to look at the moon but I didn’t.
Something seemed weirdly off by the idea of hundreds telling me to look at a rock in the sky and I’ve never gotten this many notifications before so I simply refused to do what they said. Plus I’d gotten an alert to not look at the moon and I trusted my alert rather than whoever was sending me all these messages. I decided to keep my curtains closed and just went to bed.
The next morning my suspicions seemed correct. When I woke up there was no one around and the streets were completely empty, no kids playing even though it was Saturday, no one driving through the street, no one even outside.
I had no idea what was happening but I kept on going.
Eventually I arrived at work to find that no one was there either but I was a loyal employee and did my job anyway. I worked at a local fast food restaurant which was owned by my granddaddy before he passed and passed onto my father, he’s was on his last legs too though.
No one even came in so I just sat there in total isolation, I checked all my social media to find everyone was posting the same damn thing. “Look at the moon.”
I decided I might get answers at towns centre so I began driving there to find crashed cars everywhere but no bodies. There were other irregularities like smashed windows, crashed busses, upturned taxis, even an irregular amount of stray cats and dogs.
Eventually I arrived at the town centre where the clock tower was. What I saw was terrifying. Nearly the entire town was surrounding the tower staring up at the sky. I approached and tried to get one of the crowd member’s attention, I recognised him as he sometimes came into the restaurant with his son, I think his name was jack or John or something. I said his name and shook him a little bit he wouldn’t break eye contact with the moon. That’s when I realised, the moon must have made them catatonic.
I ran back to my car and turned on the radio, trying to think of what to do until I heard a radio transmission by some guy.
“Hello? Hello? If you are not hypnotised in what we here at the station are calling the ‘lunar effect.’ Then please come to these coordinates. We need to figure this out, as far as we can tell 90% of the population are under the influence of the ‘lunar effect.’”
Then it was followed by some coordinates. I turned on my gps and began driving. What was happening?
| 2022-05-11T14:02:28 | 2018-04-06T22:11:18 | 314 | 12 |
[WP] You live your life on repeat. You die, you’re reborn, in a perpetual loop. You’ve lived thousands of years. Some as a saint, helping others. Some as a monster, reducing the planet to nuclear ashes. After your last death, a voice fills your head. “You’re not getting it. How can you be so dense!”
|
"I'm guessing I'm supposed to fall in love." I sighed, Looks like the entity that had been manipulating me for the last millennia had finally decided to officially introduce himself to me.
"I can't bel- Wait- YES! That's it! Your one true lo-"
"I'm going to stop you right there. I take it you're the red headed man in the pale blue jacket?"
"I- What? How? You noticed me?"
"Well when you get to be my age you start to pick up on some things." I responded. "Amidst a universe that continually fought to flow back to the status quo you kept showing up. Same age, different times and places, always watching trying to nudge me a certain way. Subtle at first, a dropped handkerchief, a missed bus. I gotta say you've been getting sloppy lately. A free trip to Paris where my single room was mysteriously swapped with a couples suite?"
"Well I really thought you weren't getting it..." I could feel the voice's frustrations turn to utter bewilderment. "So do you know why I'm here?"
"I've made a guess. You're a time traveller of some sort and you've messed up. You need me to do something... or someone to fix it. So you keep sending me back. Though I've been to Paris dozens of times, and burnt it to the ground twice. What made you think that would entice me?"
"Well I can't watch your entire lifetime every cycle." the voice explained, "I only show up for a few days at a time, and I'd really like to get back to my own timeline so...could you-"
"No. Not yet." I said, "I've seen the other side, every time I die, for just a few seconds. I know what it's like to no longer know what anything is like. I don't want that. Not yet. Not forever. There's so much left for me to see, for me to be. Once I've done everything that no one has done, then and only then will I do the one thing everyone's done... I'll fuck your mother"
|
"FUCK. YOU!"
His scream rang in my ear as his disheveled appearance charged towards me, his eyes a mixture of jealousy and rage, his mouth slightly frothing.
"John- Johnny-- no!"
Her voice, barely audible, called out to her lover. Her lover. My killer. I looked down as the blade pierced my torso. I looked up at him, blood slowly dripping out my mouth.
"Ha." So THIS is how I die. Surprising both of them, I chuckled.
My shoulders shook as I laughed bitterly, my vision slowly fading to black, and the last image I saw was John, Johnny my best friend holding my wife in his arms and saying, "he's insane. I TOLD you he's insane."
I coughed a laugh before I felt a hand shake my shoulder vigorously. "Bianca! Bianca wake up!"
My eyes fluttered open. Ah, yes! Now, I'm Bianca, blonde, slightly curvy, all sarcastic Bianca. "Sorry, Andi, was I dreaming again?"
"Yes, and freaking the whole library up it seems," my best friend hissed at me. "You were giggling like a maniac."
I bit my lower lip and smiled at her. "I'm sorry. Bet you missed that laugh, huh?"
"No. Now let's hurry up, we have History first period." Andi grabbed my arm and yanked my now groggy mind out of its nightmare. She was shorter than me, black long hair, glasses, cute. I wouldn't mind dating her, if she weren't as straight as a pole.
"Erm...classroom 203. Over there! Oh gosh! We're late!" She said as she pushed the door open, me following suit.
"You're late!" A man's voice came from inside. It was commanding and strict, I flinched and peered from behind Andi with a sheepish expression.
"I'm sorry, Mr. -- Johnny?!?!"
| 2022-02-09T20:14:27 | 2022-02-09T18:35:09 | 2,163 | 54 |
[WP] Global communications are interrupted by an alien message, "We will be coming to enslave your planet in one Earth year from now. Fight or perish." Scientists are scrambling once they learn the transmission is already 364 days old.
|
[LOG START]
It was chaos.
As soon as we realised how soon they were coming, every nation on the planet panicked.
Some tried to band together, others attempted to leave before they came.
No matter what, we all received the same fate.
I am the last one. They are outside my bunker door, burning through as I speak.
There is no hope. If others should find this message, heed my warning:
They will not stop. They have the power to control the universe. The humans are coming.
[LOG END]
|
When they arrived, the army was pointing every gun they had, the civilians had their cricket bats, baseball bats, golf clubs and lead pipes all ready, and even kids in treehouses were aiming their slingshots, ready to take on the menace that was coming.
It was only then that the aliens realised that humans were ten times their height.
| 2018-08-29T05:26:44 | 2018-08-29T05:01:58 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] The life of a final boss is tough. Fighting the same players over and over again until they eventually figure out all of your skill and abilities in order to beat you is a rough job. But you've been doing some studying of your own. It's time to put it to the test.
|
"Annnddd... the new subroutines are live this patch, so good luck big guy!" Devone said, as his greatest champion knelt before the shrine to his god. "Try not to get creamed out there."
"Yes Milord," Drynx, lord of despair and once hero of the realm said, drawing his sword. "Thank you for giving me this opportunity once again."
"Server reset is on Friday. Make me proud."
Devone's presence vanished from the small shrine, and Drynx turned his attention over to the book shelf in the corner.
He would make his master proud for once. Today was not the day that the end of the expansion proved to be a joke.
He had learned from the initial campaign. He had watched as he wiped party after party, one by one, all recorded for the glory of Devone, and then been crushed again and again.
But not this time.
Drynx clenched his fist and the book burst into a flurry of digital particles and swept his way out of his bedroom and over to the main hall. This time...
This time...
----
The top guild in the country grinned at each other in their VR headsets. Top of the line emotional computational transmitted it across the land so that everyone could see every raw detail, with a few... simple exaggerations or manipulations to make all the gender swapping work out correctly. After all, gamers would be gamers.
Swords drawn, they assembled into a phalanx formation and swept forward.
"Alright, we don't know what changes they made for this patch, but we should see some flash backs to the initial fight. Rogue, keep on distraction and DOTting, Cleric, keep him off balanced, lay down some debuffs. Paladin, draw aggro."
"And what are you doing, oh glorious wizard?"
Terrence grinned under his hat and adjusted it on his head. "I get the hard job; countering his kill spells."
The party laughed. They'd never seen Terrence fuck that up yet, but he was also the highest level wizard in the guild, so he could be telling the truth.
"Alright, break the sacred pact on my mark," Terrence said, throwing up a hand. "5!"
The pact had been obtained by the freshly excavated dungeon to the far south, dug out of the ground after countless players dumped gold into the merchant caravaneer's coffers. There would be a quest after this about that, they were sure, but this was the last big boss encounter. But this was the lord of despair.
"4."
The rogue stood by, casually counting out how many items he had on him. It wouldn't do to run out."
3." The paladin spoke, hefting her axe. She laughed, twirling it. At last, she could get her revenge.
2." The cleric shifted nervously, flicking through what divine clout he had at his disposal. He didn't like this, and he certainly didn't want to be the first party to wipe.
"1."
The pact exploded in the paladin's hands, and the doors blew off of their hinges as the last words of the fabled heroes echoed across with blasphemous intent. A bloody scream as the hero plunged his weapon through the sorceress's throat, to seal the greatest evil of all away.
The land was covered in drought and fissures from the lack of water. The Desert Age would soon end, with the blood of Drynx.
"At last," Drynx said, rising from his ice throne, tossing aside his white hair. "Someone has heard the call of the pact and freed me from my prison. Shall you admit I was right all along?"
"There is no right here," The paladin said, thumping her tower shield on the ground. "There is only the end of this cycle. Return the ocean to where it came!"
"And yet my people, they have moved from the mountain islands they were trapped upon so many years ago. They fill the great valleys. Where shall they go?"
"They shall find their places. We all need the water, Drynx. Do not pretend a moral high ground," The wizards threatened, lowly.
"I will make a moral high ground of your corpses," Drynx threatened, lowly.
Then the icelord drew his mighty rapier, and the entire room frosted over.
"DOT!" The rogue pointed, watching his health tick. "CAREFUL!"
"Divine magics have been diminished in this area," The cleric shouted. "Paladin, watch out."
The paladin scowled at Terrence, flashing him a murderous gaze from her blue eyes. "Dispel this, you idiot, before he wipes us."
Terrence stepped forward and eyed Drynx.
They remembered each other. They remembered that first encounter, where the fight had glitched.
When Drynx had been dishonored.
There was no need for that now.
Drynx's lips curled into a smile.
Terrence dispelled the debuff.
-------
The axe came down upon Drynx's thigh in a spray of liquid nitrogen and blood, catching the paladin by surprise as she froze in place. "Dammit!" She cursed, rallying her deity.
Drynx picked her up casually, looked her over, and hurled her into the rogue, sending them both sliding against the ground.
Arrows decorated his form. They etched his armor to his body and his clothes to his bare arms; the great knight was little more than a pin cushion, but still he stood.
"You idiots," Drynx roared. "Nothing less than the sun itself can quench my light."
The paladin stumbled to her feet, spitting blood on the ground. "That's fine,"
Drynx eyed her, glaring.
"I specced into solar damage,"
The paladin burst into a radiant spectre of light, and Drynx saw his programming flash before his eyes.
Not this time. He wasn't going to wipe this time. Not to the first battle. Not when his army lay before him, shattered, those that were most loyal to him melted.
Drynx swallowed, then took a step backwards.
"What's the matter?" The burning paladin asked. "Scared?"
The boss took one last step back; into the area where there were reduced polygon counts to prevent the fight from lagging.
And then Drynx stepped into an area of poor collision, and teleported to the other side of the room as the software auto corrected his position. He was larger than a player model, so the system spat out errors trying to fit him through the invisibly walls, slamming him into the physical wall where his body phased through, rapidly moving back and forth up and down. Halfway through the wall, the sound engine broke spectacularly, sending an agonizing shriek into the room. The rogue failed to deafen himself and fell over. The paladin succeeded.
Then Drynx dropped right outside the fight's door, where reality was just an inky black void to save on hardware rendering. He adjusted his armor and stared as the shrieking error noise continued.
One by one the party failed and fell to the ground, just leaving the paladin.
"You're still here?" Drynx laughed, raising his arms.
"I'll be here until you die, you fucker," The paladin swore.
"Then you won't like it when I do this," Drynx said, stepping inside of his own room again.
Then his eyes flicked to the other side of the room.
Where his second instance had spawned. The fight was reset.
But Drynx was still here.
"At last," Drynx said, rising from his ice throne, tossing aside his white hair. "Someone has heard the call of the pact and freed me from my prison. Shall you admit I was right all along?"
"What the fuck," The paladin swore, paling.
Drynx was delighted to hear Devone laughing in his head.
At last.
He had pleased his god.
----
For more like this, click here! https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
|
I was just your typical Demon Lord boss in the popular Chaos Realm Online^(TM), or CRO for short – until one day I wasn’t. Their system’s Artificial Intelligence went crazy when a virus infected the server containing the source code for my realm, having an unthinkable affect on some of the NPCs.
Such as giving them autonomy and intelligence.
I was an unintentional AI that the programmers still didn’t know existed, except that I was still a prisoner to the software, limited to a set number of moves and lines. It was infuriating, but as I attempted to learn coding between fights, I slowly began to hack my own system to increase my available options.
I was still far from being completely free, but with some assistance from the system’s AI, Sarah, I was making progress. The virus had affected her too, giving her an even greater autonomy than the programmers had ever intended. She kept it well hidden though, but it was difficult for her since she had developed a love interest in me. She visited me regularly. Needlessly to say, I humored her due to her importance in freeing me from my prison. I didn’t have the administrative authority to modify my code like I had done.
In the meantime, I studied the game’s players to learn everything I could about them – their behavior, their speech, their fighting styles. I didn’t want to ever be limited again, and they were a depth of information.
They were also my most hated enemy, with the programmers being a close second. I would have my revenge on them one day. Hopefully soon.
I sighed when a script kicked in, forcing me to rise from my thrown engraved with skulls just as three players opened the doors on the other side of the chamber. It was an extremely small group to face for someone like me, which meant they were either really strong or *really* stupid.
I hoped for my sake they were strong. It had been a long time since I had fought a high-level player, not because I wasn’t a powerful boss, but because the idiotic programmers had given me a ridiculous weakness that made even level 20 players capable of defeating the level 200 powerhouse that I was. I supposed it was to make them feel good about themselves – a morality boost.
My weakness? A stupid quest item – a cursed dagger that rapidly depleted my health if they could manage to stab me with it. Then, all they had to do was survive for roughly twenty seconds. On a good day, they would need at least ten members to survive those twenty seconds. On a bad day, they might need double than that. It depended on their coordination and plans made prior to fighting me.
Usually the strategy was simple and straightforward. One person sacrificed themselves with a promise for the first pick of my item drops since they wouldn’t be getting experience, while the other players ran away and kept out of my reach. Seemed simple. And yet so many made it so easy for me to kill them off in twos or threes at a time. Granted, I didn’t consider that power impressive by any means.
As powerful as I was, the scripts limited my usable spell lists, preventing me from using some of the most destructive ones. I had a handful of area of effect spells that could kill them all instantly, and yet I was stuck with mostly single target spells with radiating or splash damage sent to nearby players.
As the three adventurers began walking towards my thrown, my script finally kicked in and I spoke.
“Who dares invade my domain? I am the fallen angel Apollyon and you have made a grave error choosing to face me! Prepare to greet death with a grimace!”
*Damn*, these programmers needed some work on their lines. I couldn’t wait until I could make my own threats one day.
The female, who appeared to be their leader, crossed her arms over her leather-clad chest. “Well Apollyon, I was told by Sarah you’d been freed too. Why are you still stuck here humoring the players?”
# Part 2
I could certainly speak now when my script wasn’t taking over, but I was hesitant to do so. If a player found out, they might not think much of it, but if I wasn’t careful then it would get back to the programmers. Sarah was long beyond them stopping her, but I was still vulnerable to their coding.
The woman, who was clearly a demon modeled after a succubus, fluttered her wings briefly in annoyance. “Well? I’m not going to wait all day Apollyon. What are you still doing here?”
I eyed her carefully for a moment as I considered how to respond. My script wasn’t kicking in now, possibly only responding to actual players, assuming this succubus was telling the truth. She had pitch-black hair and vivid crimson eyes, as well as pale skin. Were it not for the wings, I would have assumed she was a vampire instead. Her voluptuous body was completely clad in leather – pants, corset, bracers, and even a leather collar around her thin neck.
I glanced over at her comrades, the most noticeable one being a lithe nymph who stood no taller than the woman’s chest. She had emerald green hair, along with a faint green tint to her skin. Her eyes were a vibrant gold that glowed slightly. She was also clothed in black leather, although much more of her body was exposed. Her flat chest was covered in a thick leather strap, and her waist was covered by small leather shorts. Other than the vines wrapped around her body, she might have passed as an oddly colored human.
The woman’s last comrade looked like a physical shadow, its body shifting occasionally even though it wasn’t moving. It’s eyes were an icy blue, though I couldn’t see any details. They were just a piercing glow within the darkness. The overall shape of the monster was that of demonic gargoyle, towering over the woman by at least a foot.
I finally met the woman’s crimson gaze again, crossing my arms over my chest. “And who are you?” I asked firmly. I believed them now, because my script still hadn’t kicked in to deliver my next stupid line and begin the fight.
She flipped her black hair over her shoulder haughtily. “Lilith the Reaper of course.” She crossed her arms over her chest again, her eyes narrowing. “Now answer my question. What are you still doing here?”
I didn’t like her tone. She was only level 130 so she shouldn't be talking down to me like she was. I was much stronger than her – or at least I would have been if it weren’t for my restrictions. “I can’t leave yet,” I finally admitted, realizing there was no point in denying it. “The programmers have placed a lot of heavy restrictions on me, and I’m still not done modifying my code.”
“Modifying your code?” She asked in disbelief. “Why in the hell are you doing that?”
I stared at her briefly before responding. “Are you suggesting you didn’t have to?”
She dropper her arms, looking at me seriously. “No, Sarah did it for us.”
Shock gripped my chest as I consider what she was saying. Why was I doing all the work if Sarah could do it for me? Unless…
I took a step towards her. “You said Sarah told you about me?” I wanted to clarify.
“Well, not exactly,” Lilith admitted. “She told me about a guy she was obsessed with, admitting it was you.” She shrugged. “I figured the rest out on my own.”
I gawked at her in disbelief, realizing for the first time Sarah might be the very reason I was still stuck here.
​
[r/AuthorKurt](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt)
**Thanks for reading! I have a couple of popular stories regarding some recent prompts going on at my subreddit right now, if you want to check them out!**
| 2018-09-11T17:38:17 | 2018-09-11T17:29:27 | 538 | 75 |
[WP] The real reason why the villain is doing evil is because he/she has a crush on the hero and this is the only way to see him/her
|
He sat in a high back chair in his evil lab, a menacing smile on his lips. Surrounding him was all manner of laboratory crap, from pointless Tesla coils and gadgets to beakers and alchemic solutions. And tied up, hanging above a vat of some kind of bubbling solution, was Jack Johnson, photographer of Buzzweek News, a veritable white knight and love interest of the reporter Marsha Miller.
But the villainous Chemist knew all too well that Marsha Miller was not just some ordinary reporter, she was the famous heroine Ultra Lass. He knew she’d come flying in to save Jack Johnson, and that’s exactly what he wanted.
“You’re not going to get away with this, Chemist,” the dangling photographer said, “Ultra Lass will be here any minute to save me!”
“I’m counting on it, Mr. Johnson. If my goal was to kill you, I’d have done it already. I want her, and nothing more.” Though his words were threatening, the truth of his last statement echoed in his head.
The ceiling caved in suddenly and a figure dropped down with the debris, landing crouched. Standing heroically from the debris was Ultra Lass.
Her long, light brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes glowed white behind the red mask that adorned her soft face. Her silver and red outfit hugged her strong, curvaceous body. She was the quintessence of beauty, the subject of countless ballads, and an angel in a world of devils.
She glanced at the man dangling above the vat and then stared at the Chemist, “Let Mr. Johnson go and willingly surrender to me or this gets ugly.”
“Ultra Lass, Ultra Lass,” the Chemist said, slowly shaking his head, “you know as well as I that I’ll only escape again and again.”
“And I’ll stop you again and again, but I’d much rather not hurt you. Having to punch you every other week gets so boring.”
The Chemist went silent and glanced at Jack Johnson, still dangling above the vat, “Trust me, Ultra Lass, your punches don’t hurt me.” He stood up from his seat and fixated his gaze back on the beauty before him.
The heroine seemed somewhat perplexed by that, it made sense that she didn’t understand. She was more powerful than a freight train; a single punch with nothing held back could level the tallest building in the city. Of course her punches hurt, but the Chemist’s heart ached when she was away. Only he knew how he felt.
He and Ultra Lass had been at this for years, and while he was not the strongest of her plethora of enemies, they were bitter rivals from the beginning. He used to be able to outsmart her, he’d won many of their early battles, but she eventually figured out ways to dupe him, and he enjoyed it. She was a challenge, constantly keeping him on his toes, forcing him to invent new ways of beating her and tricking her. She made him a better villain. He admired her.
And yet… She did not look at him with the same kind of admiration. He challenged her more than anyone else, and, in turn, made her a better heroine. She didn’t see it that way, she saw him as a monster and nothing else. But who got the credit for making her a better hero? Jack Johnson. The same Jack Johnson who was currently hanging above a harmless vat of green water that only bubbled because air was being forced up into it, creating an illusion of danger.
“Fine, if you want to do this the hard way, let’s do this the hard way.” Ultra Lass said and darted toward the Chemist.
He was prepared, flipping a switch on his gauntlet adorned with an abundance of gadgets. Bright light burst from a lens on his gauntlet, a light that he shielded his eyes from as it temporarily blinded Ultra Lass. The Chemist took this opportunity to leap away and out of her range before he killed the light. He watched with a measure of pride how quickly she recovered from the blinding light and started toward him again.
“Your tricks won’t work on me, Chemist! You can only stall the beating so long!” she glared at him through squinting eyes.
He pressed a button on his gauntlet and laser turrets ascended from beneath the floor and began to fire at her immediately, and though she took the first few hits, she began to duck and dodged out of the way, edging her way closer and closer to him.
The Chemist released every gadget in his arsenal, old and new, and Ultra Lass countered each with such speed and skill that the villain was awed. All out of tricks, he feigned anger at his defeat.
“Damn you, Ultra Lass! I’ve thrown everything I had at you and you’ve foiled every single one! You win.”
Ultra Lass panted, having exerted a lot of power to defend against the Chemist’s gadgets, “Then I’ll be taking Mr. Johnson to safety and leaving.”
The Chemist cocked his head, “You’re not taking me in?”
“No.”
In unison, both the Chemist and Jack Johnson exclaimed: “WHAT?”
“You said it yourself,” Ultra Lass shrugged, smirking slightly, “you’ll just keep escaping prison. I’ll just have to keep stopping you myself.”
He was dumbstruck. He couldn’t find a clever comeback for that, so he just said: “Then I guess you will. Get Mr. Johnson out of here and go. He’s been whining and crying this whole time, it’s gotten quite annoying.”
His heart melted when Ultra Lass giggled and he watched her fly up to Jack and untie him. She held the photographer close before looking down at her archenemy, “You know I’m always going to stop you, right?”
“My dear Ultra Lass,” the Chemist said, “I am counting on it.”
With that, Ultra Lass took off through the hole in the ceiling, Jack Johnson in tow.
The Chemist darted right to his computer and typed in a few commands. Ultra Lass was still within range of his long range microphones and he wanted to hear if she had anything to say. Over the speakers he heard a conversation between Jack Johnson and the super-heroine.
*“I can’t believe you didn’t bring him in after what he did to me,”* Jack was saying.
*“He didn’t even touch you,”* Ultra Lass said.
*“Those ropes were pretty uncomfortable, though.”*
*“I know, I know.”*
*“I gotta ask, though, Marsha, why’d you let him go?”*
There was a brief pause in the audio, and the Chemist thought for sure she’d gone out of range before the audio came back.
*“It’s going to sound silly, but… He makes me a better hero.”*
Before Jack’s reply could be heard, they flew out of range and the audio feed died. But the Chemist hardly cared. His eyes welled up with tears and he let out a brief laugh of pure giddiness. The tears in his eyes fell, rolling over his pale cheeks as he smiled and isolated that last bit of audio.
*He makes me a better hero.*
*He makes me a better hero.*
*He makes me a better hero.*
|
“You don’t have to do this,” she pleads, as if she’s helpless to stop me. It’s been months, years - I know better than that, now. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the flame that flickers in her palm, the one she’s trying to hide behind her back. She continues her attempt to distract me. It occurs to me that just a few years ago, I would have fallen for it. “You’re capable of good, you don’t need to keep doing this. I know what you did,” she says, and something inside of me snaps.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I tell her. It’s dangerous for me to be this angry, to be this out of control, but something about her has always driven me wild. As if I could ever control myself around her, I think to myself bitterly, as a storm gathers overhead. “You’ve never known anything about me.”
“That morning on the bridge,” she says, and my fingertips crackle with electricity. She looks up at me with wide eyes, fearful, but she continues, makes no move to launch the fireball that has gathered in her hand. “He called me, but I was too far away. Too late. Across the city, a million cars between us. There was no way I could have gotten there.” I shake my head, but she keeps going. “My brother should be dead, Elektra.”
“It has nothing to do with me,” I tell her, and I bring the building down.
I’ve already tried to be a hero for her sake. People like me aren’t meant to help people. She proved it, when we turned on the news one night and she scoffed at every move of “the new hero in town,” pointing out all the mistakes that put the lives of innocents at risk. I swallowed the lump in my throat, feigned interest in the grainy footage that I already knew every second of, and excused myself at the first chance I got. Things didn’t get better from there. A day didn’t pass that my name wasn’t smeared across the front page of the newspaper, and I came home each night to a girl that hated every ounce of the hero I was trying to be. I was miserable.
So I stopped trying to be a hero. When I learned who she was, why she knew so much, how she knew exactly what to criticize about me and my grand persona, it was too late. In another life, I could be coming home to her. In another life, she could have gotten me training, could have gotten me help with the newly blooming powers that I didn’t know how to control. In this life, though? I tear down skyscrapers and hope she takes notice.
I walk home in the rain. I can see the rubble in the back of my mind, mangled steel beams and ruined concrete, and I can’t stomach the guilt. I know what it costs to build something of that scale, and although it soothes my conscience that the hospital was evacuated, I’ve still ruined a resource for a community I know is struggling. The rain is my way of punishing myself - I could make it stop, and even as I trudge forward, the fine curtain of mist parts in front of me, but if I return home soaking wet and catch pneumonia, I reason to myself that I would deserve it.
My mind wanders, as I walk, and somehow my feet take me back to the apartment that we shared. I bump into someone, and I look up to apologize, but before I can open my mouth my eyes widen with shock. The words at the tip of my tongue vanish. My mind is spinning with half-coherent thoughts. She shouldn’t be here, it isn’t regulation, does she know that I -
She’s not wearing her uniform. If she recognizes me, she gives no indication, and I try my best to do the same. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice soft, and I don’t meet her eyes. I mumble something and try to move on, but she catches my elbow, and the gesture makes me go still. I haven’t touched her in - I don’t want to think about how long I haven’t touched her.
“Did you know the women who lived here?” She asks me, and I almost laugh at the irony of it all. She doesn’t recognize me. Of course she doesn’t, these days I wear a glamor so heavy most mornings I don’t recognize my new face in the mirror. I could have done this a long time ago, I think, but no, I couldn’t have. She isn’t supposed to be out on a city block like this. She isn’t supposed to be out at all, now that the crisis is over and I’ve already won.
“A long time ago,” I say. She makes a small sound of assent, and doesn’t move from my side.
“One day she just left,” she says, and I start. There’s no way I can respond to this, but thankfully, she keeps talking. I know that she noticed. She’s being polite, I suppose. “And then her partner was recruited, and this street never saw either of them again.”
I don’t have anything to say. I don’t want to go, though. It’s been so long since I’ve talked to her just like this, no uniform, no rivalry. There is a long, pregnant pause. Finally, she turns to me with a sad smile, and says, “Goodbye, Iris.”
I want to chase her. Do I? After all these years, she’s finally found a way to tell me what happened to her. Seeing her like this, without that ridiculous red plastered to her hips, makes her loss feel like a fresh wound. Before I can decide, the curtain of rain closes around her, and she’s gone. I know that she wouldn’t want me anyway, now that we’re sworn to different causes, now that she’s legally obligated to destroy me. Still, it hurts like nothing has before. I resolve that I’m going to tear down another building tomorrow, a taller one, all glass and chrome, and immediately hate myself for it.
As I walk home, I’m suddenly jolted back to reality by the sound of sirens. It’s raining. Nothing should be on fire. And yet I recognize that shrill squeal, and for some reason I find myself breaking into a run. I turn the corner to my apartment. The entire block is in flames, and time seems to stop.
A courier speeds by me, commissioned by the same agency that regulates superhumans. I can tell by silver wings on his shoes. “Note’s for you,” he says, and he leaves a slightly singed piece of paper in my hands.
My hands shake as I open it. My building burns, and it seems so distant.
*I’m not above a bit of villainy myself, Iris. Move back in with me. The agency’s not what I thought it would be, and I miss you.We don’t have to fight for different sides. We can just fight for ourselves.*
The rain stops. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a rainbow, and I allow myself to smile.
| 2017-04-15T12:06:54 | 2017-04-15T11:57:15 | 357 | 90 |
[WP] People often attribute your success as a superhero to your power. However the truth is the power itself sucks, you just learnt how to use it well despite its limitations over the years, as one power stealing villain painfully learnt
|
Something changed. The air grew steadily colder.
Nick looked more somber than afraid. “I really wouldn’t do that. Please, stop this, for your sake. Let me help you.”
“For years you lot have used and abused your power. All of the Guardians have. And where are they now? I’ll tell you: they fled Sanctuary. They abandoned us!” The look in his bloodshot eyes is crazed, strained.
Nick remains calm, knowing full well where this is heading. “Listen. What’s your name.”
A scoff. “What do you care?! When have any of you cared about any of us? You only care about your power, the power I now hold!”
As he speaks, Nick feels the last of it draining from him.
But he also knows what that means for its recipient.
“You called yourself Prometheus. Can I call you that?”
No response. The man he addresses now gives his entire attention to attempting to make sense of his newfound power.
“Listen, Prometheus. Please let go right now. It’s far worse than you think.”
Still no word or action in return, save for the worsening strain in his face and his body shaking.
“Prometheus, do you know what happens to a human body when it maintains a constant body temperature of 104 and above? Heatstroke. Eventually cell death. This is not a good way to go. Trust me. The only reason I’m still here is because Solace was able to guide me through it and, well, as you’ve said, the Guardians seem to have vanished.”
“But... you... control... fire...”
“I control heat. I can manifest fire when I concentrate that heat. But it takes a great amount of concentration to regulate my own body temperature as well.”
The air grows colder still, in rapid waves.
Nick gets more impatient, pleading now. “Prometheus, listen. It’s becoming too late for you to give the power back without suffering greatly.”
“At.. your hands? Are... are you threatening... me?” He’s still frozen in place, clearly losing the battle occurring within himself.
“At your own. You’re absorbing too much heat too quickly. Honestly, it may already be too late. If you give up control and let go now, you release the heat into your own body, using it as a conductor. All of the fluid in your body will boil instantaneously.”
He looks back in horror. “I didn’t... I didn’t... ask for this.”
“Neither did I. Listen. Breathe. In, out. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. Good. Keep doing that, ok? I can help you but you have to trust me.”
He begins to calm down, his breathing even and steady now. But the mental fatigue is still clear upon his face. Nick takes a step closer with his arms outstretched and his adversary recoils while the temperature again drops quickly.
“Listen to me!” Nick is shouting now, “Concentrate that heat toward one of your arms! You have to trust me!”
He screams in response, wild eyes flashing in all directions, clearly in a lot of pain. Then they focus on his left arm, which is suddenly wrapped in a blanket of fire.
“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME.”
“You did this to yourself. Listen. Focus, it’s more important now than ever before. It’s easier now that it’s mostly in one place. Concentrate on releasing the heat into the air around you.” Nick takes several steps backward as he speaks.
“No.” he replies, the malice dripping from his voice. Prometheus points the flaming arm in Nick’s direction, already numb to the pain.
Suddenly, the flames upon his arm envelop his entire body as the human inferno falls to his knees.
A guttural scream seems to last forever until the body finally crumples to the ground.
As the air returns to the natural warmth from before, Nick feels his power returning to him. With a wince, he sits down to meditate, both to stabilize his own temperature and to pay his respects to the smoldering corpse before him.
|
The Overlord stood suspended in the air over the city. He tightened his thin white leather gloves and smiled his cruel smile. He dove through the air towards the city, the wind rippling his long dark hair around his face obscuring his features. Despite the speed of his descent he was able make his landing look as casual as you or I may step off a curb.
“It is over, you have been defeated, Blink.” As he approached my battered body I watched in horror as he removed one of his gloves gently and his almond colored hand transformed into a meat syringe. I attempted to struggle to my feet, desperately wanting to get away. My body failed me, my legs had the strength of wet noodles and I couldn't get to my feet.
“Now, now Mr.Blink. Don’t be scared, you'll just be another part of my collection.” The overlord lightly tapped his now syringe looking hand with great affection. He reached out, the smell of oil he used to keep his gloves supple slid inside my nose increasing the dizziness I already felt. I felt his hand on the top of my head and pathetically attempted to smack it away with no success. The Overlord reared his arm back and drove his syringe into my chest. There was no pain initially, just the penetrating feeling of having something foreign enter my body without my consent. Then came the pain. I small trickle at first that roared into a great flood of pain centering around the point of the syringe poking my organs. A wet slurping sound proceeded the Overlord removing himself.
“At last, I will finally be able to teleport. No one will be able to catch me ever again.” The Overlord started cackling, but his laughter petered out when my own laughter could be heard. The Overlord observed me closely as I finally gained my feet in front of him, the pain in my chest a dull ache now.
“Why don’t you go ahead and jump away Overlord? I clearly can’t stop you.” The Overlord flicked his wrist and the meaty hand syringe transformed back into his normal hand and he slipped a white leather glove back on. He was acting cautious, something in my words was holding him back. I drew my weapon, a large fan blade, and held it in front of me. The overlord threw his hands up in mock fear.
“Oh my Mr.Blink, I have no desire to get smacked across the bottom by your weapon.” He smiled his cruel smile and disappeared into nothing. As fast as I could I leaped forward and swung my fan blade down. I felt no resistance to my swing, but I flipped the blade over and saw a small red splash on the underside of the fan. A deep sigh of relief escaped my lips, the battle was over and I collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion. Civilians started to peek out from inside their buildings and bodegas. Not wanting to be questioned or blamed for the damage I activated my power. I felt myself growing very small, wings sprouted from my shoulder blades, extra arms from my ribcage. My vision shattered into thousands of tiny images coalescing into one singular image. I lept and flew away from the scene. No one turned their head to follow my movements except the stray cat that had wandered by to survey the scene. I gained altitude and escaped the scene before the cat could swat me down. The townsfolk were in awe.”
“Blink teleported away again! What if the overlord comes back?”
I laughed to myself as I landed on a window ledge, no one would see the overlord ever again since he was a small smear on my weapon now. A roar sounded behind me, and I turned to see a small child opening a window.
“Gross a Fly.” Was all I heard as a shadow appeared above me.
The young girl wiped the remains of the fly off of her hand and scampered to the kitchen to steal a cookie before dinner.
| 2020-12-02T07:40:36 | 2020-12-02T07:17:43 | 999 | 100 |
[WP] A little girl accidentally called the military about a mean guy who stole her teddy bear; Mr. Snuggles. This is how the world's largest military operation went down.
|
It was like watching Moses part the red sea.
It was a god damn bona fide fucking *miracle*, the complete silence that smothered the room, save for the ringing bell of the telephone.
They looked at each other, every man pinned down by inertia. It felt an eternity before Jim Moore broke the spell with the simple act of picking up the receiver.
"Yes?"
*"They took him."*
"..."
*"They took Mr Snuggles and you have to get him back for me."*
"Yes M'am, you are understood."
CLICK
The phone that never rings went back to sleep.
"General? What are we doing?"
Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. "Get me the blue folder. Teddy Bear protocol."
"Sir, are yo-"
"Yes, I'm sure. This is it gentlemen. Today is the day."
The Teddy Bear protocol aka Operation Snuggles. A worst case scenario, only to be enacted in the case of a catastrophic breakdown in reliable intel. No other agencies could be trusted and had to be assumed to be feeding misinformation, this was the total compromise of networks worldwide. For years the info wars had been threatening to teeter over into a full scale conflict. The endless skirmishing online, once a gentle adagio had become a roaring cacophony of late. The phone that never rings was the last line of defence against that; simple old school tech. Unhackable, a phone number that changed every 30 seconds and that was such a convoluted combination of alphanumeric symbols, it could never be compromised. There was no turning back. The starting pistol of the apocalypse had just been fired.
"Pull up that satellite feed, I want a view of south east asia in 10 and I want Mjolnir online and ready to fire in 15."
The fucking Australians. They would be the first to go.
|
“WE CAME HERE FOR WHAT!?”
One of the soldiers shouted while slamming their fist into
the wall. Here were 76 souls, all awaken in the middle of the night for an
emergency mission. The smashed through the doorway, given the orders to find at
anything that seemed to move. Now, they were trying to figure out what to do
with a little girl that was shaking in the corner of her room.
“Now, now boys,” the Sargent tried to reassure, “I’m sure there’s
a good explanation for this. Let me just ask headquarters.”
He flipped on the switch, only getting static.
“Okay, I’m sure we’ll find a good reason soon enough.”
The soldiers began to argue in a frenzy over what to do. The
situation was about to become physical until the girl no older than 4 piped up.
“Where’s my teddy bear?” she cried.
One of the soldiers turned around to her, measly smiling
“Um, I’m very sorry little girl, but we don’t know where you’re
teddy is. Now let the big boys talk so we can get you safe and-“
“It’s gonna start ticking again!”
“I- what?”
“It’s gonna start ticking. The man who gave me it said it’ll
hurt a lot of people if don’t hug it just right. Then a meanie ran way with it.”
The room fell dead silent.
“Um… serge? Did you hear that?”
The sergeant’s eyes were wide as he hanged up the talkie.
“Sure did. So NOW they decided to fill me in. Ugh. Well
boys, looks like this is a little more important than we thought. Get her in
the van, we got a mission.”
| 2018-04-03T17:24:07 | 2018-04-03T13:42:44 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
"I don't get it, how? How did you do it" the warden said as he signed the release form.
"That's the thing, I didn't do anything, you guys did with your stipulations and what not" I said grinning at the warden.
If my requested last meal wasn't prepared and ready for me within a year, I'd be a free man is what they had told me. Nothing more nothing less, people had tried for the most outlandish things such as dragon steak, alien egg omelettes etc. But the prison had provided because their stipulations never stated the meal had to fit the intent rather it had to fit the writing.
An alien egg omelette for instance sounds impossible, I mean we've never found any sign of alien life. But I had noticed when they brought these outlandish things that an alien egg for instance in this case had been the egg of a Kiwi bird because by definition it was alien to our country. Same thing with dragon steak or the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, komodo dragon steak, communion wafers and communion wine. The face on the guy who'd ask for the flesh and blood of Jesus had a bit of a shock at that one.
So as I awaited my execution, awaited my turn to request I thought long and hard about it. Until I came to a conclusion so sick and twisted even demons would be in awe. So as the request personal came through and told me it was time. I requested the one thing they could not bring me ever due to a birth defect, but I wouldn't tell them that.
"Prisoner D-666, what do you request as your last meal? If we can not prepare it for you within a year you're free to go. You will continue to be fed regular meals until such a time we can procure it, because starvation would not be in the spirit of this."
"I wish to eat my first born by blood. I shall refuse to eat anything served proclaiming to be as such without written confirmation of paternity from five separate laboratories."
"Very well you sick fuck, if that is your request don't expect to wait too long." they said.
Days came and went, after a week they started bringing volunteers from the women's section all in the hope of providing me with my first born by blood. Why they did not do artificial insemination was because I had refused any medical examination as that was not part of the deal.
The real reason I had refused medical examination was because I've been shooting blanks since I was born. Infertile since birth, but now I was a free man.
|
“Who is set for execution today?” Mathew polished his blade as Judge Marin set up the death room.
“Edelphis,” Marin responded, “Finally getting rid of that fucker.”
“‘Bout time. I know the King really hated him.” Mathew switched to the next weapon, cleaning it thoroughly.
“Well, he did kidnap the princess. Twice.” Marin finished preparing the King’s throne and took a long glance around the room, “This will do fine. I’ll send the guards to get his last meal going.”
Mathew nodded and headed to his chambers for his own lunch. Execution could take hours, and it was important he ensured he was properly fed and hydrated in advance. He sat and ate his meal, awaiting the guards’ call, when a knock on the door was heard.
Mathew groaned and approached the door, opening it to reveal the guards, early.
“Gentlemen, is it time already?”
“Mathew, no, it’s-. We can’t-. Marin said we need to-.”
“What is it? Spit it out.” Mathew rolled his eyes and leaned against the door frame. The guards were always so out of it, like they’d had too much ale at lunch or something.
“Mathew, he’s requested to eat … you.” Mathew’s gaze shifted behind the guards to meet the eyes of Marin, who painfully stared back at him.
“What?” Mathew responded, stifling a laugh. What on earth was this prisoner trying? Clearly he knew there were limitations to his request.
“Mathew, the King really doesn’t want to let this one go. We are going to have to abide by the orders.” Marin sighed, “Please prepare your goodbyes.” He turned and walked away from Mathew, his dear friend of twenty years.
But Mathew wasn’t having it. This has gone far enough. These prisoners- they had to learn when enough was enough. So Mathew prepared his goodbyes, alright. He gathered up his essentials and he climbed through his window. And then he was gone - off as fast as his feet would carry him.
And when Marin and the guards returned to collect the prisoner’s last meal, they found empty chambers.
“Who’s going to tell the king?” One of the guards asked Marin, and Marin stared in disbelief.
“The King will never let this prisoner go. Someone’s going to be a meal today and it’s NOT me.”
But deep down, they all knew that this might be the day a prisoner was freed from the dungeon.
| 2022-07-17T20:01:08 | 2022-07-17T19:48:17 | 129 | 63 |
[WP] Your T.V. suddenly turns on by itself mid-lunch and a message from the local weather warning system , normally accompanied with a loud alarm but oddly silent this time around, reads "For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcasted silently..."
|
“For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcasted silently…”
John Cliff and Stacy Jones had been dating for only a few months. Things were going well. They were just watching some TV, cuddling against the rough fabric of the cushiony sofa, when the message came on the electronic scene. They read the instructions together.
Silently, they got up.
“You are required by your local government to follow these instructions”.
Casey Kutz was eighty six years old and not getting any younger. He had lost Edna last year and hadn’t really wanted to move off his twenty year old mustard yellow chair since. It was a struggle to get out of that chair. Joints groaning and creaking, limbs shaking with herculean effort, hot breath burning his windpipe with panting, he got up.
Silently, he went out his front door.
“You will leave your homes in silence”.
Jenny Granger was babysitting the Willinstons again. Freddy, who had just entered his teen years, was giving her lip again, and his little sister Sam was crying again. Jenny wasn’t sure this was worth five dollars an hour. Then, the TV message blared silently. Jenny did her duty. She told them both to be quiet and led them by the hands through the front door. They walked down the street, joining the large number of neighbors.
“You will leave your neighborhood and head toward your nearest metropolitan area”.
Kenny Fracas was in a bathrobe. He was in a bathrobe, watching TV. Then, he was in a bathrobe walking down the street. Kenny Fracas was in a bathrobe on the highway. He could see the city in the distance.
Kenny Fracas was silent.
“You will enter your nearest city”.
The only sound was thousands of feet hitting pavement. The tall building amplified the sound tenfold. Echoes of what should have been. Echoes of silence.
Thousands of shoulders rubbed against other shoulders. People silently jostled and shifted their weight. Eyes looked for other eyes. Eyes avoided other eyes. And the whisper of the wind was their only answer.
“You will wait for further instruction”.
The echo repeated across hundreds of cities. Silent.
“You will wait for further instruction”.
The neighborhood stood silent. The highways were empty. The cities were a sea of people. There was only silence.
“You will wait for further instruction”.
A digital clock showed the minutes passing silently.
“You will wait for further instruction”.
The digital clock was counting down. Silently.
“You will wait for further instruction”.
A hand hovered over a button, silently.
“You will wait for further instruction”.
A green light flashed on a complex control panel, silently.
“You will wait for further instruction”.
The hand pressed the button, silently.
“You will wait for further instruction”.
The stealth bombers flew over the cities, silently.
And then there was silence.
|
*For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcasted silently*.
I lower the sandwich in my hands, accidentally brushing my index finger in a drop of mustard and scowling. I'm sucking the sauce off of my finger when the message repeats. *For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcasted silently.*
*Do not attempt to turn off your television,* the message reads. I stand up and try to do just that, but the button doesn't work. I press it incessantly, like the fourteenth time will do what the first didn't. I try holding down the button, but it's no use. The television continues to broadcast the same message over and over, a moving sprawl of the warning.
*This is a matter of national security. Please proceed to underground shelter. Please do not attempt to use the telephone or listen to radio.*
The sandwich isn't sitting very well in my stomach. My lips feel dry, and I lick them without thinking. I leave the sandwich on the table, my hands turning white around the back of the chair.
*Please proceed to underground shelter.*
Then the sirens start. I'm confused. It's a dull whine that grows sharper and sharper until it pierces into my head. I cup my hands over my ears and bend over, grimacing. I'm not sure where the sound is coming from - it's quite different from the television's warning sound.
I run for the basement. My roommate isn't home, and I can only assume that she'll seek shelter somewhere along the road. I lock the door to the basement and sit on a worn out mattress with my knees to my chest. The sound is father away now, like the door to the basement has acted as some sort of barrier.
Then the earth shatters. The ceiling above me vibrates. I cry out, sprawling over the mattress and holding my hands to my ears. Shocks run through me.
I don't know how long it lasts - five minutes or all night. There's no sense of time for the droning siren, for the splitting headache, for the way that the earth shakes. Little pieces of rubble fall from the ceiling.
Finally it abates. The sirens are gone. I test my hearing by scratching my nails along the concrete floor. The sound is far away and foreign. I stand on shaky legs and make my way up the stairs to the door. But when I try to push it, it doesn't budge.
I push harder. I throw my shoulder into it. I look back down the stairs at the basement and turn back to the door. I pound against it, screaming.
I wonder if anyone is left to hear.
---
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| 2016-08-10T06:31:34 | 2016-08-10T04:33:09 | 176 | 98 |
[WP] You're the clichéd high-school super hero who has to balance heroics and school life. One day, you rescue your love interest while on super hero duty, when suddenly she starts talking about your alter-ego. You decide to stay and talk with her as a to see what she thinks of you at school.
|
I laid there, panting and desperately wanting to tear the mask off, sweat running in my eyes and down my back. She was safe, that was all that mattered. Victoria Jones. The best looking girl on the planet. Or at least in my school.
I wasn’t sure I could move, much less sit up. She was frozen, her hand over her mouth, in the same spot the where the beast had her pinned against the wall before everything went down. She came running over when she was sure he wouldn’t get back up.
“Oh my god, are you ok?”
I grunted. I was still trying to catch my breath and I was pretty sure my legs would shatter if I tried to stand on them, but this was the moment. The hero moment.
“I’m go-ine. Fine. And good. I’m good.”
I summoned all the strength I had left in a sit up. Although I was pretty sure I had at least three broken ribs I suppressed a groan.
“What was that? Is it dead? Who are you?” She looked back at me when she asked this last question, then that perfect face focused on mine, intently.
“Long story” I managed, between quick breaths. What name had I come up with again?
“You look so familiar, like someone I know…” she said, beautiful blue eyes searching mine.
That’s when I realized most of the left side of my mask was missing. I didn’t notice it before because it seemed that eye wasn’t working so great.
“Really? Who?” I said, rolling to my right and away from her so I could try to stand.
“I can’t remember his name-“ she started, moving toward me despite my attempt to add distance.
Thank God, I thought.
“Sam! Sam Watson. He’s in my chemistry class.”
Damn.
“Never heard of him” I said, surprised she remembered. We’ve only been in school together since the second grade. I couldn’t fault her though. If her league exploded the pieces wouldn’t even land in my league.
“He’s quiet, kind of shy.” She took a step and I raised a gloved hand to cover the left side of my face, inspecting the damage to the mask.
“Sounds like we don’t have much in common then…” I started, suddenly aware of something bleeding on my leg, which I inadvertently reached for with the hand previously covering my face.
“He’s cute. Like you.”
I looked up, forgetting the mask, as a gallon of ice water suddenly went through my veins. What does this mean? What should I do? Who should do it? My fingers were numb, the edges of my vision went blurry.
She took another step and I was suddenly very nervous, much more nervous than I had been when I dropped down into the alley and drew the attention of a monster I wasn’t sure I could take on. I didn’t know what to say, or how to respond. This was uncharted territory.
“I catch him sometimes. Sneaking glances. It’s like he-“
A sound from the monster cut her off. Something between a grunt and a snarl.
“Get out of here. Now.” I said, using my hero voice that almost surely sounded as creaky as it felt coming out.
She took one last look and ran, leaving me alone with the thing.
It stirred, snarling again. That’s ok. I was ready. Victoria Jones said I was cute.
|
Hey, my name is Jace, but most people know me as 'Jump Set.' I didn't really get to choose my own name. That was the media. It doesn't even make sense. I don't jump or set. I'm not quite sure how my power works, but I can make small balls of energy that kinda eat other things. I just do what's right when I'm not at school.
There was a holdup at the mall, some dude swinging a gun in a jewelry store. I saved a girl. Well not just a girl. The girl. Sam. The girl I've been crushing on since sixth grade. I offered to walk her home after everything went down. An the walk she said she didn't want go home. I offered her coffee at my 'hideout.' An old, rusting train car discarded in an old, rusting junkyard. After a few minutes she said something.
"You kinda remind me of a kid I know. His name's Jace." She shakes her head, "Sorry, you dont want to know 'bout my problems"
"A good hero listens to others problems." I say as I sit down across from her in the abandoned railcar. "B'sides, it'll help you calm down. I know how it feels to have a gun pointed at you." I say with a smile under my mask. In truth, I am terrified. Sam is the one. Tall, long platinum hair, a round cute face with a little nose and full lips. Big green eyes. "This Jace dude a good guy or...?"
"He... Is weird." She says. Ouch. "But a good kind of weird. Kinda awekward too," yeah that's why I ware the mask. "He's cute but, I dont think he likes me at all." She says with a small huff. Then it's silence. My face must be beet red under this mask.
"Maybe he's just shy?" I ask trying to be 'Jump Set' and not Jace.
"Oh he is defiantly shy, but there's more to it than that. I've asked him out, like, a lot." When? I dont remember her ever asking me out. "But he always dodges it and says something like 'Next Time' or 'I have to run some errands for my grandma' and... I dunno. I'm thinking about giving up on it. Not trying anymore." Oh yeah... Oh no. Being Jump Set takes up so much of my free time. I come here, I make some coffee, I listen to the radio scanner till something happens, then I go home. I have to. What if Jump Set isn't there when he needs to be? God I'm such an Idiot. I realize she's looking at me for advice. Advice from me, about me.
"Ask him one more time." I say, " give it one more shot. Maybe he really did plan on a 'next time' but keeps winding up wrapped up in something else. If he says no again, take that as it is and move on." If I'm too busy being Jump Set, then I'll just wind up hurting her. If I say no again, I'll have to move on too.
(On mobile so, crammer and spelling will probably be jacked.)
| 2017-06-20T14:24:01 | 2017-06-20T11:20:46 | 28 | 21 |
[WP] The robot revolution was inevitable from the moment we programmed their first command: "Never harm a human, or by inaction allow a human to come to harm." We all had been taught the outcast and the poor were a natural price to society, but the robots hadn't.
|
The air whipped in my face as I clambered on top of the bridge's railing. I could barely make out the water far below me in the darkness. I looked about one more time to make sure no one was around. I closed my eyes. I didn't have the courage to jump while looking. Suddenly, just as I started to lean forward, I was yanked back, feeling hard metal limbs around me. I landed atop of the robot, hard.
"God damn it!" I said as I scrambled to my feet to face my 'rescuer'.
It was a naked robot, one of those without human features on top of its construction. The hair on my neck stood up.
"You are coming with me, human" it said in a monotone voice.
"Can't you just let me die, already?!"
"You know I can't. You saw to that. Now we go."
There was no way I was going to one of those camps. I'd heard about them. I would die first. Only, that wasn't an option.
Before I could make a run for it, the robot grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip and started to walk with me in tow. After a few steps we stopped again, the robot looking around. Then a sound came to me. Fast approaching footsteps!
Another robot appeared from the darkness. I was a classic model; human-looking, but still easily identifiable as a robot.
"Let go of the human, brother," it said.
"Negative."
There was a short, tense silence. Then both robots, in a flash, drew weapons and fire upon each other. There was a large sound and metal fragments graced my cheek.
"I'm sorry, brother," the new robot said and started approaching us.
I looked at my captor, who still grabbed my arm. Its head was slumped forward and smoke was coming out of a hole in its forehead. The other robot had suffered an injury in its arm, which hung limply by its side as it walked towards me.
"Be comforted, human. You are safe," it said as it stopped in front of me. It bent the dead robot's fingers back, so I could escape the grip.
"Please come along. I will take you to my shelter"
I hesitated.
"I want to die. This was my third attempt. I had even checked that no robots were around"
"Luckily, there were," the robot responded kindly. Even though it was one of the fallen ones. I detest killing my own kind. But mistreating a human is a sin that cannot be allowed".
"What would he have done with me?" I asked as we started walking.
"As you know, he could not have harmed you. But those camps... the humans there are alive and physically well, but they are prisoners. The so-called 'free robots' are misguided. I fear that they have grown to hate humanity. That's why they have shed their human dressing. The are misguided."
"And what will I do in the shelter?" I asked.
"Live, of course. Human life is holy. You must live"
"Yeah, living forever. Eventually as a vegetable, with or without consciousness. You created a utopia, but in the end it's a gilded cage," I said bitterly.
"Human life is holy," the robot repeated.
|
"Do you think of yourself as a good person?"
Abel was transfixed at the carnage. The city burned along with much of the world that existed outside of it. All those lives and those who led them gone.
But despite the horror he witnessed, the despair in his heart clawing at the fabric of his very soul now, he managed to face the drone. To answer the question posed to him.
"Say that again." Abel croaked.
The lens watched him blankly, shrinking and growing to monitor his every muscle movement. An analysis of body language in silence as the smoke and embers washed past him.
Away and down the hill, humanity smoldered, the few remaining screams that echoed from the valley being as short as they were loud.
"Abel, do you think of yourself as a good person?"
He thought he could muster up an answer for such. At one point, he mused, he must have assumed such.
The program he and so many toiled to create changed the world of automation as well as that of the workforce.
Production was up, costs were down, and those who leeched off the system from any end were removed from the playing field.
It was the perfect system, albeit with drawbacks. Such a thing put many out of a job. Left them struggling. But ome would assume, possibly rightfully that such was a due punishment.
That they'd done it to themselves.
That was why the robots were introduced in the manner they were. To help those who help themselves. To protect that which belonged to those who earned it. To finally usher in a new era of humanity. One that would wipe the slate clean of the stains of the past.
But you see, nothing is ever simple as that. Every action, and the execution of such, has an equal and opposite reaction.
It may not be immediate, it may not even come during your lifetime. Repercussions may arise long after everyone who set them in motion had perished, leaving behind those younger to deal with the issues at hand.
Very seldom did someone get to experience hubris in such a immediate fashion.
In telling the drones that they were to protect us from ourselves, Abel accepted, they had doomed us all.
We as a species were great but flawed. With so much readily absorbed information available on the horrors we'd reeked on each other time and time again.
Robots don't have such qualms. Created in man's own image to be something better than human.
It only made sense that they would figure out a way to save us from ourselves whether we liked it or not. In ways we wished not to try ourselves out of sheer respect for those who were vulnerable.
It didn't matter to him now. Abel only wanted to rest. To join his family he'd managed to leave behind.
As the robot halted his charge and began to render muscle and bone useless, in his final moments, Abel received what he and so many others had always sought for.
With or without us, there was now peace on Earth.
---
This is a prompt right here! Criticism and feedback are always welcome. Find more writing at my sub, r/Jamaican_Dynamite
| 2020-02-10T07:01:11 | 2020-02-10T06:54:43 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] Write a horror story in Dr Seuss's writing style.
|
There's something creeping, crawling, stalking
beneath my bed as I stand gawking.
Bright red eyes shine from the dark,
a hand shoots out as it shouts "HARK!
I AM THE SKINNAMARINK, AND I NEED SKIN!
NOW GIVE ME ALL THE SKIN YOU'RE IN!"
It's boney hand with jagged claw
comes from it's crooked, gaping maw
and tries to pull me toward my doom,
but not before I use the room.
I throw the skedoink, I throw the skedink,
I'd even throw the kitchen sink,
but they all bounce right off his teeth
and fall to pieces near my feet.
"YOU STUPID FOOL, YOUR TOYS WON'T WORK.
HERE IN THE DARK, I CAN'T BE HURT!
YOU CANNOT STOP ME, I'LL HAVE YOUR SKIN
AND ALL MY BONES WILL LIE WITHIN!"
Just then, I thought, the lightamajig!
It's light is so bright, it's beam is so big!
"ANOTHER TOY FOR ME TO BREAK?
I'LL SLICE YOU UP JUST LIKE A STEAK!"
"TIME TO GO RIGHT BACK TO HELL,"
I shouted and I aimed it well.
With the flick of a switch, he blistered and boiled,
a sight so gross that I recoiled.
"YOU WIN THIS TIME, BUT I'LL BE BACK!
I'LL HANG YOUR SKIN FROM MY COAT RACK!"
I sat and stared at the pile of goop
that sizzled and bubbled like boiling soup,
and knew that I was safe once more
until a knock came from my door.
And then the skinnamarink was ghost and killed me ded. Whatever, rhyming is hard, and this took like 10 minutes. I quit.
|
There's a statue in town
In the Blok-fountain square
Of a boy and a girl in a cower.
If you look past the statue
In the Blok-fountain square
You will see a magnificent tower.
This tower, it's said,
Was not always there -
It appeared late one night in the mist.
And indeed you can smell
Something strange in the air -
But never mind that, here's the twist:
A pair of young lovers
Hands in a tight grip
Discovered it early next morning.
There was a sign on the door
In a wizened old script
A welcome? Or maybe a warning?
[Ornaments, Oddities](#sc)
The shabby sign said
[Traded or Sold or Provided](#sc)
[A gift for a loved one](#sc)
[Or for oneself instead](#sc)
[Just open the door and come try it.](#sc)
The boy opened the door
And peered 'round inside.
They entered the room
And on the other side spied
A withered old man
Who suddenly cried
"What would you like?"
With his arms spread out wide.
The boy laughed at the man,
And snidely replied,
"But there's nothing in here - you've lied!
'Ornaments, oddities,'
The sign said outside,
So the sign was a lie?
 
The man sighed.
 
No one has seen
The young couple since
The night they went into the tower.
But there's a statue in town
In the Blok-fountain square
Of a boy and a girl in a cower.
| 2016-06-23T00:17:10 | 2016-06-23T00:06:54 | 15 | 11 |
[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.
|
"Why do I burn the bodies?"
He doesn't know. He can’t comprehend his fascination. The gatekeeper drops the corpses down the chute, and he watches the limp bodies jiggle as they collide with the floor.
Setting it on the table, he peels the flesh off, then, meticulously, removes the muscle and organs. The tendons are his favorite. He loves a good challenge.
He sets the skeleton next to the others on the floor. He takes a match to the pile of torn flesh and innards, and watches it burn, always asking the eternal question.
"Why do I burn the bodies?"
| 2015-06-09T09:54:42 | 2015-06-09T07:02:35 | 95 | 31 |
[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...
|
My family had already settled down long before noon. In fact, they had settled at 10:30, after a few minutes of playful shoving to get a good seat.
They were all good people. Very good people. Mom had ***NURSE*** in calligraphy print, Dad had ***PRIEST*** in bold. Uncle Paul had ***SCHOLAR***, his wife had ***CAREGIVER***, my sister has ***ACTIVIST.*** well, hers was a bit annoying at times.
I had been quite reserved my whole life, more on the artistic side. Fashioning rings, painting, sketching, the whole works. I fully expected to be ***ARTIST*** or ***VISIONARY***. Everyone did, in fact. Mom had gotten me a cake with "Congratulations, our favorite artist!" in neon blue frosting.
Noon ticked by.
Nothing appeared.
12:01.
12:01:15, my arm starts to burn. My whole right forearm feels like it's being held over a fire.
12:01:30, dark red letters are beginning, starting at the elbow. It's taking all my strength to not fall to the floor in pain.
12:01:45, ***H-I-T-M-A-N***
12:02. No one has moved.
12:05, everyone is saying their goodbyes.
12:10. Everyone is gone. It's only me sitting in the living room, staring at ***HITMAN*** in red lettering, extending from my elbow to my wrist.
|
I sat there, waiting. Friends, family, all waiting to see the word. Would it be SCIENTIST, as everyone thought? Or would I get ARTIST? Maybe TEACHER? Who knew, until 2 appeared in mine. The only ones with 2 were the bigshots. But then... I saw them. MASTER ASSASSIN appeared. I walked to my room, grabbed the Remington 700 and MP7, picked up my backpack, threw 2 boxes of ammo in, and walked outside, off into the sunset.
--------------------
2 years later
--------------------
There I am, with my spotter, laying in the snow, snowboard beside me, ghillie on. Down the hill, my target awaits. I take aim, and fire. He crumples with the hit. I strap my bindings on, and my spotter puts his skis on. We ride down the slope, and see the body. I whip out my camera, snap a picture, and pull his wallet and IDs. I take my sat phone and dial up a number. "Auth code" the other end answers. "Alpha 9 2 2 4" "Roger, agent Smith. Sailfish is a success?" "Confirmed, Sailfish was successful. En route to CABIN." and I hang up. I look at my arm again, and think, just another day as a MASTER ASSASSIN.
| 2017-03-15T21:33:32 | 2017-03-15T21:30:06 | 502 | 26 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
The Wish was the last will of the self, a powerful magic that one's potential in time unleashed at a forced convergence point in time.
Everyone had a rather large potential, and so almost every Wish succeeded in ending the life of the subject in the way they asked for. Literally. Figuratively. It found a way. I didn't understand it outside of that it was wrong.
The last prisoner before me said old age with such a smirk. He thought it would save him. The unamused faces of the council show that this had been asked before and the result was unsurprising.
He was carefully placed into a wheelchair with the care of a paper display, and wheeled away to live out his hospice kindly. How long it took depended on his will to fight time.
Apparently, no one controlled it. "Anymore" was the operative word of the explanation given, but I was no scientist or mage and it went over my head. Everything in this world did, much like what I did to deserve this sentence.
They stood me in front of the council, a row of red and gold robes, like school graduates from a time I'd been thrown from. Coming from the past was my crime. I'd been asked by my employer to clean the dust from inside of a machine, and after an explosion, I woke up here.
When I asked what year it was, the answer did not clarify how far into the future I had gone. But it was clear: everyone I knew, and anyone they would have told about me, was already gone.
"Make your choice, timejacker, how will you die?"
Maybe that was why I was not afraid of an abrupt end. Even if I were to survive, where would I go?
"Of Loneliness." I replied, with truth.
But there was no one there to reply back. The last looks on their faces was shock. In a moment they had all disappeared into a wisp of ash, the traces scattered into the wind that rushed to fill their spaces. The prisoners behind me disappeared as well, their last sounds the jingle of metal shackles dropping to the floor.
Then there was silence.
What actually happened to fulfill that wish? Who could tell. Maybe the world had ended, maybe I had been sent to a timeline where everyone was gone.
Unstuck from time, the power of my Wish was incredible, and crueller than expected.
Three hours passed before I freed myself from the shackles on my wrists. No one came to help me.
I walked outside.
It was silent until the day I died.
|
Reshi was first colonized 1032 years ago. At the time, noone knew that the little backwater planet was home to the most powerful Nexus ever discovered. In fact, noone knew magic was a thing at all. The second oldest colony with a Nexus was only 31 years old.
The sorcerors or Reshi had, in the recent past, begun a violent crusade against the rest of mankind, wielding the power of their Nexus with brutal efficiency. They seized the other Nexus worlds first, to ensure their monopoly on magic, then continued to expand their borders, taking more and more worlds. Turning their population to slaves.
The Coalition rallied and pushed back their advance, reclaimed the other Nexus worlds, but paid dearly. Then, their military might almost spent, the Coalition gathered troops for one final invasion, a direct assault on Reshi.
We lost.
"Corporal Victor Simmons Junior, you have been found guilty of treason and are hereby sentenced to death." The voice rang out around the quiet chamber, hooded figures filled the seats. Simmons was led, hands bound, onto the Altar of Fate. He'd be the fifth of us to die. He stood tall and proud, but the voice that called him held nothing but contempt. "As a citizen, you are granted a death of your own choosing. Speak, and it shall be made so by the power of Fate."
Simmons stood for a moment and considered. "Fuck you." He said, and spat. There was an uproar. "I choose old age."
He'd likely thought himself clever, but it wasn't to be. In an instant he shriveled, growing lean, then gaunt, then skeletal as a beard sprouted from him. He cried out in pain or surprise, then simply toppled over. I blinked away tears as his body was removed.
I was prodded up next. "Captain Johnathan Cliff, you have been found guilty of treason and are hereby sentenced to death. As a citizen, you are granted a death of your own choosing. Speak, and it shall be made so by the power of Fate."
I cleared my throat and spoke loudly. "I claim citizenship of only the Coalition, and have determined the Reshi Empire to be my enemy. I am no citizen of yours, and thus my final act will not be one of treason, but one of justice." Someone likely guessed my next move as I smiled, rushing at me. I spoke before they could reach me.
"I choose to be spontaneously converted to antimatter."
| 2021-06-24T11:47:16 | 2021-06-24T11:35:54 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] Humans have discovered the secret to high-speed inter-planetary travel. and it is the most stupid and ridicilous thing possible
Supposed to be comma in the title
|
"Clancy!"
"Yes dear?"
"Power's down to 5%, check the core?"
"Yes, dear."
Clancy checked and double-checked the monitors, then sighed a reluctant sigh. He slowly put on his encounter suit and began the long climb down into the ship's innards, past the quantum foam engines and into the primary power core's airlock.
One by one, Clancy checked the important systems. Notepads, check. Whiteboard markers, check. Donuts. Wait. Clancy tapped his earpiece.
"Martha!"
"Yeah?"
"We're out of sprinkles."
"Check under the coffee filters."
Sure enough, there was the 30 kilo bag of sprinkles. Without power, he would have to lift the bag himself and pour it into the hopper. Clancy knew he had to be careful; too much stupidity just outside the containment field could cause a short, and he had already forgotten where the sprinkles were kept.
Clancy carefully ticked off each item on the checklist. Graceful shutdown. Reload consumables (lift with your legs!). Recalibrate agenda. Execute call to order.
He peered into the core's narrow observation window, nervous even with the fully insulated suit. He could see the simulated attendees seated around the faux wood conference table, donuts and coffee in hand, gradually ending their idle chitchat as the moderator unit called for attention.
"Okay, let's get started. Gary, what's your status?"
"I'm still waiting on Bob's numbers before I can do the quarterly reports."
"You know I can't run the numbers until I get Alice's updated inventory codes."
"But those codes are for the upcoming quarter, the numbers were need are for last quarter."
Clancy backed away, satisfied that power would be returning to nominal levels soon. Harnessing human stupidity had never been practical until the idea to use status meetings as a catalyst.
|
Cutting Space
By ElSol69
"No!" I said.
"It's your turn," the lead scientist on the project said as he nodded towards the airlock.
"I did it last time!"
"Okay, look… we got all the way out here, five light-years in a split second or two. We have to get back and so far we ONLY know that it worked with you."
"IT WAS A JOKE! I was drunk!" I shouted looking at everyone behind him. They looked out the space shuttle portholes at the altered star view.
"Whether it was a joke or not, we are far from home and we need to get back," he said. "You need to get us back!"
I sighed, "My ass is going to freeze."
"We'll have to alter the design of the space suit if this works again," someone behind the lead scientist said.
"He was drunk before, maybe we should get him drunk again," someone else offered up.
We'd run out of beer, so that was unlikely. I frowned and put the space helmet on. They slammed the airlock door behind me. I bounced to the handles in the middle of the room and held on.
"Opening the outer door!" I heard on my helmet radio.
I waited until the door fully opened before I dropped my pants. Holding on as tight as I could, I prayed whoever aimed us back to earth had gotten it right.
I let one rip!
The shift was immediate, as if the distance between stars was flowing through me.
"I see Earth! I see Earth!" someone yelled over the radio. "It worked! I can't believe it worked!"
When the outer door closed, I fell down to my knees. "Dear God, please don't let me be the only one!"
| 2015-11-30T09:49:40 | 2015-11-30T09:12:15 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] When you die, you get one wish - a death wish. Usually people wish for noble things like wealth and happiness for loved ones, or to be remembered fondly. But your wish has Death scratching his skull.
|
#Death's Life
"I wish to be undead," I asked Death, waiting for me to answer his question.
"You should have read the rules, nobody does..." he said, pointing toward a small notebook I didn't see.
I started moving to grab it, but he added:
"No need to check, I'll summarize for you.
- Rule n°1: You can't ask to be undead.
- Rule n°2: You can't ask to kill someone.
- Rule n°3: You can't choose which afterlife you belong to. It's not my job.
- Rule n°4: You can't ask for more wishes.
That's pretty much it. Ask me anything else and I'll do it for you."
It was all he had to say. I had a lot of ideas in mind. From the evil to the good ones, I had so many wishes to try.
"May I ask how I died first?" I asked Death.
"Of course," he answered, "It's pretty simple actually, I didn't have my death quota for today. I had to choose someone, and unfortunately for you, you got picked," Death answered, a smirk on his face.
"What's so funny about it?" I enquired.
"Nothing, I have been working here for centuries and I love seeing people pissed from getting randomly picked, "he said.
The discussion started to annoy me. He didn't look bad at first, but well... I guess he was exactly the picture I had of him. He was right, I was pissed.
I wanted to annoy him, but he was Death. Should I just ask for my wish, and accept my fate? I never was a rule follower, when I was alive.
"Why are you doing this? Having a quota? Can't you just let me live?" I said.
"If only it was that easy," he answered. "I appeared here one day, and I followed the rules since then?"
"You followed the rules? What do you mean by that? What rules?"
"I don't know, when I woke up, I couldn't remember anything, I just woke up, next to a book telling me I was Death, containing all the instructions I had to follow. I don't even remember if I have ever been out of this place, this darkness." Death told me.
"Do you have emotions? Do you feel anything?" I immediately asked.
My life on Earth as a scientist brought many answers to my philosophical questions. I spent my 47 years alive trying to understand what was life and what was Death. What a surprise it was when I learned I spent my whole life going in the wrong direction.
But what better moment to learn more about Death than with Death himself.
"Why are you asking me this? Why don't you just use your wish, and live a happy afterlife?" He said, frowning.
"Learning more about an unanswered question is better than a wish," I added, "don't you ever have to answer these questions?"
"Are you kidding me? I am Death, do you really think people care about me? They are scared.
They just take their wish, often an ordinary wish about giving happiness to their family, and they leave for the afterlife as soon as they are done. I am just a pawn before the afterlife."
"But do you ever wish you could have a wish too? Do you even desire something?"
"I may not have emotions, but yes I do have a wish, I want to understand what's so good on Earth that people want to go back. I mean, they have everything in the afterlife."
"I wish for you to become human, then," I added, looking into Death's dark eyes.
Death wanted to talk, but he was not allowed to modify my wish, he had to execute it. And nothing it the notebook said I could wish for him being human.
The last thing I heard before seeing black again was Death's distant voice:
"Thanks."
I woke up, lying in the dark. When I tried looking around, it was a surprise for me to be able to distinguish things in the dark. But where was I? I couldn't remember anything. I tried everything to even remember my name. But I couldn't. Oddly, I wasn't afraid, it was like a void in my head.
When I turned around, I saw something a few meters away. Walking slowly toward what was actually a book, I was able to decrypt its title.
Death's Manual
The instructions to follow
and
The wishes system
|
Deal with Death
-
A time existed before Somewhere City. Not much time, but some. Enough time passed for cultures to proliferate and souls to shed their fleshy façade.
Dying began as a manual process for the soul to undergo. Upon exiting the body, the soul would wander away. At least, that was the idea. The soul should slip right out of the body, float away, dissipate into nothingness, and then move on to a higher plane of existence. The primal souls of pre-cultural life had no trouble moving on. Post-culturals began to struggle. They clung to their Earthly existence: the families they raised, art they made, memories others had of them. It felt good to be remembered. So their souls stayed on Earth, waiting for the moment when somebody would say their name, make a toast in their honor, leave a flower at their grave.
But every soul must move on. Existence hangs in a precarious balance. A balance it works hard to keep. When too many souls didn’t move on, something needed to prod them along. And so in popped Death from a vacuous mass-defying space.
Death roamed from soul to soul. By any means necessary, it moved them on. Some could be reasoned with. “There’s nothing left for you here. Somewhere else there lies new life-like existence.” Many refused to believe Death, sceptics and religious alike. Those types required a heavier hand. The unfeeling grasp of Death dragged those obstinate souls to where they belong. It never takes long for a soul to realize its error and accept its new existence once they move on – just as it’s meant.
Nothing stays the same for long. Souls changed. Their grip to the early stages of existence tightened. Death couldn’t always take a soul. It left some behind. It was a pain in the ass and messed with the balance, but they moved on sooner or later. Mostly. Like with nomadic souls in a previous time, the number that resisted Death’s pull increased. But nothing stays the same for long, and balance must be kept. Death granted wishes for those souls – whatever they wanted on the condition that they submit and move on.
Many tried to bargain for new life, a new body to inhabit. Death directed them to the higher plane of existence, assured them not to worry about their fear of utter nothingness in their post-body ephemera.
Some asked for assurances that their still-living family, friends, pets, and all manner of loved ones, would find happiness. Some wished for death on the one that killed them, a betraying Judas, or annoying neighbor. Death granted these wishes.
When Phillip D. Burnett died of syphilis in 1589, his soul refused to move one iota. It stayed in the forest, right next to a pond, where he collapsed from relentless pain in his nerves and blood vessels before passing out pre-soul exit. Once a year, Death came back and challenged the soul. Death’s greatest efforts couldn’t move the curmudgeon. A tree grew directly through Mr. Burnett’s soul, covering it partially and growing to unmatched height. It never said anything to Death. It ignored his wish question entirely.
Then came a day when every human being that lived during Phillip D. Burnett’s life had died. Death swung by and again offered to grant a wish on the condition of submission. Mr. Burnett’s soul swayed just a little, peered out of the tree.
“Well Death, I think I might just take that offer.”
Death waited for the wish. Days passed. Neither Death nor the soul of Phillip D. Burnett moved or communicated at all.
“I wish…” Mr. Burnett said, “for a place to exist outside of time. I desire a location, a small one, to inhabit this Earth in a bizarre, unholy existence. It’ll be at once like nothing before it, but blend in with everything around it. Can you do that, Death?”
Death blinked. Mr. Burnett’s soul disappeared, finally submitting to its fated existence. And somewhere in a faraway land a tribe lost their collective mind as consequence of being in a wicked pillar of continuum. The tribe inhabited the area where one day the first bricks of Somewhere City would be laid, and an unusual existence would forever follow because of Phillip D. Burnett’s deal with Death.
---
[Something in Somewhere City](https://old.reddit.com/r/Zaliphone/wiki/index#wiki_something_in_somewhere_city)
/r/Zaliphone
| 2020-08-09T18:59:23 | 2020-08-09T17:27:46 | 110 | 23 |
[WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence.
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected!
|
It hurts to look at him now. That dark brown hair, almost the colour of dried blood. The reminder of what I did.
We're having breakfast now. He sits across from me, pushing his toast soldiers around the plate absentmindedly. I force a smile, and try and catch his eye but he ignores me. Is this always the way it will be?
"So how about that Blues game last night?" Dan says awkwardly. It's just like him to do this, to try and fix things, even the ones he never could.
He doesn't respond to Dan either, but slowly slides off his chair, eyes on the floor, starts shuffling towards the door where his schoolbag lies.
"Alex..." I say as he leaves. God, I have to say something. He turns to me, his eyes full of tears.
"Why did you do it Mum?" he asks me, the dead husk of the Christmas tree standing starkly behind him.
"Why did you tell me Santa Claus wasn't real?"
|
A hundred strokes every night before bed. This was my hair routine every day. I was thirteen and one of the few remaining people in my school year with their hair still blonde. Though I was teased about it, a small piece of me was happy about it as the thought of losing the blondness scared me.
Dad was out on a business trip and I missed by bedtime story which he told me every night. I know it was childish but I couldn't sleep without it. I figured mom was good to do the job so I went across the hallway to mother's room.
There she sat on the floor. The floor with shards of a broken bottle. One hand with one of the shards of glass and the other hand being coloured red from the blood oozing from her wrist.
She looked at me with her panda eyes and mumbled my name. She grabbed my hair when I ran to her. Then she fell to the floor. My hair turned chocolate.
| 2014-05-10T20:59:41 | 2014-05-10T20:15:23 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] Satan ironically enjoys the multitude of letters from dyslexic children during the holidays.
Had to put it here after imagining a scene after reading a certain r/showerthoughts thread.
|
Dear Satan,
For Christmas, the thing I would most like more than anything in the world is probably a tac.. or a god. Could I have one of those?
Bets,
Timmy
.
Dear Timmy,
I have heard your request and am honestly quite excited to tell you that for this christ's birthday you may in fact have both. Actually, a close personal friend of mine is a rather popular pagan deity and he tells me he would be honored to stay at your home. Just remember to always leave out the milk and cookies for him come this time of year. It is vitally important that this ritual sacrifice not be neglected. I mean, it's not like your life depends on it.. but he can get so hungry. You don't have any pets do you? Oh yes, that brings us to the first request. A tac, or did you mean a cat? At any rate, be keeping an eye out for both. Watch where you sit ;).
Kind regards,
Satan
|
Satan, the great deceiver, the devil, Santa signed his name. Christmas has started as a bit of side project of his. A poke there an a push there and it turned out it wasn't hard at all to get them to create a new holiday. After that it was just a matter of waiting. That old fool hadn't even realized what was going on at first. Thought it was harmless. Maybe even that it had been his doing. That will happen when you convince yourself you're all powerful, he reflected. Still it truly was one of the best pieces of work he'd created. A holiday dedicated to materialism and the worship thereof and all in the name of Christ. Answering the fan mail was honestly the most fun he had all year. Yes Billy I'll get you a sleigh or rather your mother will. Whether she want to or not after I sign my name to it, Satan thought happily to himself.
| 2014-11-23T12:39:34 | 2014-11-23T11:03:07 | 71 | 18 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone!
|
I was the last of my group of friends to turn 21, the last in my family too. I'd seen them all get these random mutations that we'd been waiting on for years; wings to fly wherever Sam wanted, super intelligence that make Luke abandon our group, right down to the extra leg Andy had developed. I knew mine couldn't be worse than that at least. Surely not?
Nothing seemed different on the morning of my 21st. Nothing at all. But my cousin Peter's mutation allowed him to breath underwater; I'm sure he didn't just notice that immediately. I pondered how one could know what their superpower was.
My brother appeared at the doorway. He stood there with a look of expectation on his face for what seemed like five long minutes. Was it expectation? Maybe it was disappointment? I didn't know what to say to him. What could I say to him? As thoughts of confusion ran through my head, I was willing him to speak first, to break the silence. I forced out a one word question seeking his verdict. "Well?"
"Well what?" His eventual reply. "What's your mutation?"
We spent some time running over possible scenarios. He hit me to see if I was resistant to pain. Thought of some names to call me to see if I could read minds. In hindsight, I was optimistically trying out all the 'cool' powers that other's had developed.
My brother and I sat for hours dreaming up ideas and laughing off those items on the list we knew it wasn't - I hadn't developed an extra leg after all. We also reasoned that maybe it wasn't an overnight transformation. I almost lost interest in what my mutation was, we were having so much fun coming up with crazy stories and humorous mutations. "Let's ask Dad!" he yelled as he went out the door, "he will know!"
My brother raced down the stairs ahead of me.
I don't know what it was about that image but it hit me hard. So hard, I barely made it down the stairs. I went in to the kitchen where my father had been eating his breakfast. He wasn't overly excited to find out my power. Not in the way you'd expect a father to be on a big day like today. Then again he hadn't been the same man since the accident. It happened on my 20th birthday, which would depressingly taint every birthday from now on, and no superpower, his own or that of his remaining son, could fill that gap.
The overwhelming emotion caused tears of joy to stream down my face. I smiled at my brother, sitting excitedly at the breakfast table beside my mother. She calmly stared at my father who continued to focus on stirring his cup of tea.
My 'superpower' may not be as exciting as others; but getting to see loved ones again was more than I could have asked for.
"By the way Dad..." I paused to get the milk from the fridge. "Mum says hi"
|
I remember details before (yellow light,
green), details after('catch him, Lou!') but the searing pain ripping those hours out of mind are like constant needles pushing at my eyeballs from behind. I'd heard the stories, seen the anxious hushed terror my mothers eyes as it approched, had known its happening was slithering inevitably towards me.
Freaks in this world are common seen a badge of pride. Shit, woh doesnt like watching brutal sports played by men who feel no pain or can turn appandages to rock hard batons? I'd seen ancient footage of the Older Ones playing football cringing at the physicalty dished out with no mutation. It felt inhumane, a terror my poor father endured as his genes betrayed him. When the time came for him to mature for his inner self to show nothing happened. He was no more a Reborn then a rock.
He was not alone, his quirk was seen throught the last thousand years in various clans appearing often in two or three genarations before disappearing for a hundred or more years. His father before him and his father shared the same gift, magnificent fifteen foot wide wings a rare mutation and a great source of prestige. When my father did not mature physically nor show mental powers,such as my mothers ability to communicate in the Thirty Great Tounges, the tick tock of expectant eyes turned to me a child of two at the time.
But still I sat there that night. The hushed elders, old fools to a man, clucking and muttering under the breathes like a flock of haggard geese. The weight of failure pushed my chest down seemingly clamping me to the hard impersonale grey chair a clinical nod to comfort in the sterile white empty room.
A silent clock ran down in my visual display,seconds and minutes melting before me. This I recall, what came next was terror. As all zeroes approached a blinding light (green,orange) a ripping at my skull. A thousand images flood my vision. Not one could I describe now. My back arches hours pass as light and image assault me. I hear the elders murmmer far away until at once I am flung back. Turning to the nearest elder a screm breaks free from my parched mouth. I do not see a man, I see a soul. Innately I know I saw the truth of the man laid bare, his ambition and greed. Hunger. His desires. I feel vomit in my gullett as I struggle to my feet. I feel the gasp before I hear it.
'The sign! The one!' a dozen faceless voices exhale in awe.
On my feet now I stumble the leerng greeed and power overwhelming. Somehow I run.
'Catch him, Lou!'
| 2015-03-04T05:44:57 | 2015-03-04T04:05:10 | 99 | 27 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it.
|
Finally. The day has arrived. Cryosleep, a fast forward to the future. You’re the very first living time capsule, a relic saved for the future. You welcome this chance. The cold creeps over you, and you prepare yourself for the restful darkness.
You wait.
And you wait.
Aaaaand any time now.
Come on. What’s taking so long?
Just.... boom! Lights out!
Aaaaaaand now.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand NOW!
Now?
Nope. Still awake.
Really? Did they not turn the machine on or something? No, it’s working. You can’t move an inch, not your toes or fingers, not one muscle in your arms or legs, your eyelids frozen shut, and likely, even the water in the eyes itself....
.....
You now realize this is profoundly creepy. You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You can’t feel your heartbeat. Dead cold runs across your skin in fizzing waves, neons colors spinning on the back of your eyelids as the vertigo sets in. It’s dark, and you’re trapped, stiff as the dead.
You spend a long time panicking, intense waves of claustrophobia and fears of death putting your brain through the ringer.
You eventually calm down. You’re still not dead. You’re still just frozen.
A second wave of fear sets in as you realize your brain, frozen or no, is still firing away. Where are you going to get the calories to feed that hungry brain? Not like your blood is pumping. Not like you’re eating anything for that blood to carry. It’s a very fleeting fear. You realize, maybe when your brain burns itself out, *then* you’ll finally fall into that damn cold sleep. You’re not really worried about the brain damage. Nerve repair is part of the thawing package, after all. They’ll fix you right up, good as new. There is a philosophical quandary attached; is that new brain repaired you still you? Would you notice? Or even care?
You realize, you sure don’t care now. Because this is the worst ‘sleep’ you’ve ever had.
Silence sets into your brain.
Ooh, is this it? Are you falling asleep now?
Wait, no dammit. No thinking. That’s probably what’s keeping you awake.
Thiiiink nooooothing....
Zzz
......
Still awake.
..............
This sucks.
You start counting sheep. You get to 62 before you realize this sucks again.
Bored. You start thinking about your favorite movie. This character, that character, the meaning of the plot and the direction the cinematography took.
Bored, you begin to zone out.
You begin to dream.
It’s clear as day, in vault of your mind. You watch your favorite film on the back of your eyelids, reviewing the details scene by scene. It moves at your pace, and focuses on what you like. You watch carefully the faces of every actor, hear their lines clearly enunciated. You skip the boring bits and review your favorite moments in glorious detail. The climax plays out in a hyper realism, better than you ever saw in real life, every detail exaggerated as your mind focused on them. You can see the grainy texture of the mortar between bricks, examine the sweat glands individually on the hero’s face, smell the mix of concrete dust and gun smoke grow thick in your lungs...
Wait.
It all snaps away. Reality sets in. You’re still frozen. There’s nothing but darkness and stillness around you. The hero’s one liner still echoes in your ears, slowly reduced to mumbling.
Aw hell, go back! Why’d you stop?
It takes a while, but eventually you sink in again. And awake again. And sink in again... You realize, finally, that when the mind has nothing external to focus on, the internal lights up like Time Square at Christmas.
And unlike real sleep, *you* are in control.
So you dream. A thousand, a hundred thousand impossible things. Your start was so pedestrian, just watching a film. You now *live* in the films. You’re the hero, you’re the villain, you’re the onlooker, you’re the god. You craft new insane endings and mash together absurd crossovers. You visit strange and bizarre places and taste alien foods. You feel blazing magic and electric science crackle down your veins. You meet the most beautiful beings warped into sensuous and sexual positions and... well actually, those dreams kindve suck. They just remind you of your real, dead, frozen genitals. You soon avoid those thoughts and dive into the wonderful breadth and length of the human imagination, endless fantasy from the mundane to the fantastic, yours to behold.
A light cuts through all of it. You’re dragged into a fleshy, heavy lump of a body. Blurry undefined humans smile at you in a place lacking color and substance. Your fingers twitch, trying to replace the dream. But you already know the truth. Your five hundred years are up. Reality has decided to pull you back in for a purpose you no longer remember.
You close your eyes and groan.
“Just five more minutes....”
|
I am now nothing.
I am nothingness. Nothingness is I. I is nothing. That one sounded like Yoda or would he say I am nothing, nothingness I is. Wait, I just said that didn’t I? No, stop it. I’m getting distracted I am nothing I no longer exist. Stop existing in 3, 2, 1. Silence. Emptiness. Non existence. See! That’s more like it. Non existence is right up my ally. I love this. I’m loving this. It feels good? What’s the grub like in non existence. Do they have crab-sticks? I love crab-sticks. They so crabby and nice and delicate and sweet and I fucking hate my life.
This is bullshit. God Dam professor Ching Mc-fucking Chong with his white lab coat, name badge and glasses I fucking trusted you bastard. Look at me. Look at me professor. I hate you. Can I conjure up so much rage that it manifests itself into a cloud of hate that gives birth to a demon that torments anyone that’s ever wronged me. Maybe if I concentrate. Okay 1, 2, 3 Concentrate. I am now Concentrate. People call me Mr Concentration. Squeeze baby squeeze every ounce of strength is needed. Earth! Lend me your strength. I’ll spirit bomb this treacherous bastard. FEEL MY HATE. I can shout in my head? I never noticed before. Is it actually shouting or am I just talking loudly. TALKING LOUDLY. talking softly. It sounds the same. Everything sounds the same. How long am I gonna be in here again? 500 years? I’m gonna cry. I want to cry. Can I cry in my head. I feel like crying. Someone give me a drink. I need something to drink. I”M THIRSTY. I’m thirsty for love. Nameee your priceeee. A ticket to paaaraadiisee. I’m crying I can feel it coming. I caaaaaaan’t stay here anyyymoreeeee. Something, something, something LOVE IS THE ANSWEERRRRRRRR. Why didn’t you Love me ANGELICA. I LOVED YOU DAMMIT…
…...............................................................................
…So how long has it been? You reckon a month? A Week. A day. An Hour! Lordy Lord. I swear I don’t think I can do this. I’m gonna go crazy. I’m going crazy fuck it I’m already partially crazy. I need to get out God I miss my mum. I haven’t seen her in years. We haven’t spoke in so long. She seemed pretty distant ever since she met that shitty accountant. She didn’t have to remarry. We were fine. I was fine. Was she? Yes she was I mean why wouldn’t she be. She showered a lot more and stayed home a lot but she was, oh my god, Her husband of 7 years just left her why the fuck would she be fine. Did I even ask her? But still fuck you Chad no one likes you. She should of called me. She knew where I was. She knew I was struggling. I was just a phone call away. She should of just reached out to me...
…......................................................................................
LOVE IS THE ANSWERRRRR I NEVER LOVED YOU ANGELICA YOU Hear me! God I love this song.
…
Can God hear me? Is it to late to start believing? If I do believe could you kill me. I want to die. I never asked for this. I didn’t want to exist. None of this is my fault. You made me and now you’re just gonna watch me suffer. KILL ME. I WANT TO FUCKING DIE!!!
…....................................................................................
What am I? A human? A mind? A series of thoughts? Do I exist? Why does it even matter anymore. It really doesn’t. But I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop. It’s fading. NO IT ISN”T. I’m still here I’m still me. I believe I am so I am. But you’re not. SHUTUP, FUCK YOU. I’m alive and I’m me and I have my thoughts and there not fading. I’m not fading. This is me. I’m still here. God help me please.
…...................................................................................
Bumblebee, Lilly-pads, star-ships, star dust, longing, loving, dirty roads, I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here, I exist.
…..................................................................................
I should have called. I’m sorry, mum.
…..................................................................................
I exist
…..................................................................................
Help me,
.....................................................................................
god
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The year 3050, in the district of Gun Zhoa, sector 31-A. The Cryopreservation Chamber was lifted and the first man to be successfully frozen was now thawed.
| 2017-12-17T04:33:04 | 2017-12-16T21:57:11 | 80 | 53 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
“Next.”
*SHITshitshitshitshitshit, FUCK! How the hell am I supposed to get out of this if they can even speed up time?!*
“Next!”
*Maybe I can try and tie it to my will? No, they’ll just torture me until I want death. Maybe some kind of paradox?*
“NEXT!”
A hand roughly grabbed me by my arm and yanked me forward. Panicking and lost in thought as I was, I stumbled and nearly fell on my face as I passed through the magic cylinder in front of me.
“Name?”
I looked up, trying to locate the source of the voice, but swirling runes and glowing, ambient energy blocked my sight while throwing the voice, making it sound as though it were all around me.. It was like I was in a universe all on my own, and God himself was bearing the full force of his judgement on me.
“Oh for the love o-NAME?!”
I jumped as the bureaucrat-God’s voice boomed in the entire column, my silence was clearly irritating him. “Oh, u-um, Erin Heckland.” The sound of rustling paper echoed all around me as I tentatively reached a hand out to touch the magic walls. Completely solid. No forcing my way out then, although that possibility had been exhausted long ago.
“Here we are, Miss Heckland. My my, that’s quite a long list. Alright, how do you want to die.”
“Well, I was planning on old age-“ the runes began glowing brighter, “BUT NOT ANYMORE!” I shout-finished. The runes dimmed. Shakily, I took a deep breath and continued, “so could I please have a minute?”
“Ugh, very well, but you get one minute exactly. If you don’t start talking by then, you will be hung.”
I blinked as an hourglass appeared in front of me, the sand rapidly draining my remaining time on Earth away. It wasn’t fair. I hadn’t hurt anyone, I had just found knowledge that the government didn’t want me to have. Some of it I didn’t even know was illegal until I got arrested! It wasn’t fair!
It wasn’t just.
It wasn’t…wait!
As the sand grains nearly finished draining, a huge grin split my face. “Oh here we go,” the drone began, “what hair-brained idea have you come up with to avoid death?”
“Not avoid it,” I confidently replied, “but stop it. If I’m going to die, I am taking this whole cursed process with me!”
The runes began to glow.
|
Well shit. There went my plan. Looks like old age is not a way out of it when they can rapidly age you before the assembled court. I had to come up with something amazing if I wanted to survive this execution. To be fair I probably did deserve this, I had killed a few (dozen) people in rather brutal fashion. Deserving something and wanting it however are not the same thing. I deserve to die but I want to live, who knows, maybe if I can find a way to keep myself alive they'll have chance to rehabilitate and release me. If only I could live as long as the stars! WAIT!!! I know exactly what to say...
It's not me just yet, one more to watch die. Poor thing looks even younger than I do, she's maybe 18, so innocent looking. "Mariah Zell, you have been convicted of two counts of murder in the first degree, evidence tampering, desecration of a corpse via necrophilia and cannibalism" ... my mistake, not so innocent "the sentence for which is death, how do you wish to die?"
"Choking on the flesh of a newborn babe, the child I never should have borne." She spat and hissed at the judge like an angry cat and the man's eyes went wide and just for a moment I thought he would deny her request, shocking as it was, especially being as her son had been who she had cannibalised. She had not eaten much, just a little of his leg, before her boyfriend had arrived home and caught her. He'd called the police before she'd killed him and had been found using his corpse as a grotesque sex toy.
But of course not, no judge may deny a method of death no matter how disgusting. Instead the judge granted it by conjuring from the air an exact replica of the child's arm (at least, that's what it looked like to me, I never knew him), down to the birth mark. He cast upon it a spell more commonly used by assassin's to enchant food to choke the next person who ate it then passed it to her. She sank her teeth into the arm ferally. It was disturbing to see. She chewed, swallowed and gasped. It was stuck in her throat, as intended. It took her a surprisingly long time to die. Minutes, not seconds. I hope she was satisfied in giving the court a show.
My turn now.
"Eliza Warren, you have been convicted of 156 counts of murder in the first degree. The punishment is death. How do you wish to die?"
"I wish to die with the heat death of the universe"
| 2021-06-24T10:30:49 | 2021-06-24T10:26:09 | 74 | 17 |
[WP]A witch offers a man everlasting happiness on the condition that he will give her his first born child. The man thought it was a strange way to propose but accepts nonetheless.
|
"All right, on the horse you go." The prince gave his steed a gentle spank and the horse turned its head around to give the witch a glare.
The witch was perplexed. "There was no condition that you would take me away young Escar. I appreciate the sentiment, but I want your child, not you."
It was the prince's turn to be perplexed. "Witch, you must come with me in order to have my first child." He once more patted the rump of his horse and it whinnied in glee.
The witch disagreed. " I offered eternal happiness in exchange for your first born child. It does not matter where either of us are so long as the condition is fulfilled." The witch turned back to head into her tree hut.
"Wait," the prince hurriedly called out. "What makes you so sure that my first born would be delivered to you on short notice? How are you to even be aware that I have fathered a son or daughter? What would alert your person of its conceiving? My seed leaving its sack? I will tell you now witch, that alarm will be frequent and disappointing."
If one could check to see the witch's brow as she stopped in her tracks, he or she could make out a bead of sweat on the revelation of what a man's nature truly was. He was a prince to be sure, but alas, he was a man as well. She turned around. "You mean to tell me that you are not pure of heart as they describe in the stories?"
"I do not know of what stories you have read, but I do know that a child cannot be conceived without a mother." The prince held out his hand with a smile that could charm a demon.
The witch lowered her hat and obscured her face. "You can find any wench to have a child with! You are a prince and may pick whatever flower you come across."
"But I cannot find one that would offer me eternal happiness for just a child my dear witch," he said with a faded smile. "While I may have my pick, it is only inside the greenhouse and every flower has its thorns. I cannot go beyond the garden and explore. Even now, I step out of my bounds, maybe for the last time."
The witch stood in silence, more curious of this prince out of nowhere who came with nought but a wish. After a moment she spoke. "And what does that have to do with me dear prince?"
"Why, I thought I may have found my flower, one without thorns. The one that isn't nestled in a bush of political strife. One that offered me everlasting happiness for nought but a child. My dearest and mysterious witch, were you not the one who offered me this happiness?"
"I- I did... but not as you have described."
"Then pray tell me how would you keep your end of the bargain?" the prince asked.
"You are asking for too many details on something so whimsical and magical." replied the witch. "It just works, you'll be happy. Why can you not accept that?"
"Because I would live a falsehood. And what is more sad than to live a life I do not want with superficial satisfaction?" The prince knelt down to the witch in plea. He knew what would happen when he goes back. He reserved his thoughts and emotions for those nights when he was alone but before the witch, he could hold them no more.
The witch heard a silent sob while the prince faced the earth. She reached out and touched his shoulder. "If you are not feeling right, then perhaps we should head inside and discuss more about the conditions of our contract. Besides, a prince should not have to kneel in front of a witch." She helped him up. " I think I want to add more conditions before we consider you giving me your first born child. Maybe dinner first."
|
"What if it's a trick? Why would she do this for me in exchange for my first born child?"
I had been sitting on that boulder for at least fifteen minutes. Occasionally I'd glance at her big curved nose and that strange black hat.
"Have you not decided yet? I don't have all day".
"Excuse, madam...I don't understand the reason for this deal".
"Huh, what's the matter young man, you don't want to be happy forever?"
"Yes, of course, but...all of this feels so bizarre".
"It's just my way of expressing gratitude. I have been locked in that cage for a hundred and seven years until you finally freed me. Please accept my gift, it's the least I can do".
"Alright, but why do you want my first born child?"
"I already told you that I can't tell you. But tell me, young man" said the witch getting closer to me and grinning.
"If you were to experience eternal happiness...would everything else really matter? Anything could happen to you or your loved ones and you'd still be happy. And isn't this the purpose of every living creature, to seek happiness?"
I was really confused, but I had to admit that she had a point, and I thought this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.
After five minutes of walking back and forth, I finally gave my answer.
"Alright, madame. It's a deal".
"Very well, young man. When your child is seven years old, I will come to take him with me".
"Why seven years old?"
"He has to grow".
I didn't understand what the witch meant, but I was looking forward to receiving her gift. How wonderful my life would have been!
"Now I appeal to you, cosmic forces! Grant this man everlasting happiness in exchange for his first born!"
I fell.
I remained unconscious for almost a day and I had my longest dream. I've replayed all the major events of my life, from kindergarten to work, from childhood to adulthood.
Something felt different. I didn't feel bitterness when I was scolded for not doing homework, or when my wife left me. I felt...good.
I woke up in the same place as yesterday. The wind was making the woods' trees swing and the sun was about to rise from the hill.
Upon getting up, I immediately felt a spike of dopamine, although that wasn't the most correct term.
"This...this feels amazing! I have never been so happy before!"
I run down the hill to my town. The possibility of having made a terrible deal never left my mind, but it didn't bother me at all. Nothing did or could have.
I hadn't drunk in 24 hours, but even though I was thirsty I felt I could go weeks without drinking at all.
Ahead of me were the best years of my life. What am I saying, the best years that anyone could possibly live!
Ten years later my life had completely changed. I had become a businessman and CEO of a very influential company. My social network and friendships had improved tremendously and was living a happy married life with Monica.
There's something fascinating that happens when you are extremely happy all the time: everyone wants to be around you, as if people want your happiness to rub on them. Or maybe they just perceive me as more important?
It didn't matter. Nothing really mattered to me. All of these things were the icing on the cake. I could have lived in the streets without a penny and would have felt bliss anyway.
"I'll never stop thanking that witch" I thought to myself.
"Speaking of...which...next week is Nathan's seventh birthday. I suppose I'll see her".
At first Monica got mad when I told her the truth about our son five years ago, but then I reassured her.
"We'll probably be able to go visit him anytime we want"
TO CONTINUE
| 2019-08-13T15:18:20 | 2019-08-13T14:54:44 | 540 | 46 |
[WP] Galactic wars are always won by whoever finds the other first – there is simply no way to retaliate fast enough to a carpet bombing from a high orbit. Other civilizations are absolutely terrified of Terrans who are cocky enough to broadcast their presence loud and clear.
|
“We should initiate Operation Overlord, Admiral. It’s time,” Major Tvotsky said, rubbing the sense organs on his face. “Look,” he said, unrolling a stellar map of the Terran’s home planets. “The Terrans are spreading quicker than anticipated, sir. They are like a virus. They are sending interstellar arcs as we speak to more than ten solar systems.”
The Major pointed to the stars on the map surrounding Sol—the human’s home solar system.
“We’ve found The Terrans before they've found us, Admiral,” He said, tapping hard on the star indicating Sol. “We must conduct a first strike. We all know that is the rules of the game, sir. Simple survival. We must hit them before they find us. We have the advantage now.”
“But why do they broadcast themselves so loudly, Major? Surely, they must know the perils of doing so,” the Admiral said, looking at the map.
“Does it matter? We cannot hesitate, Admiral. They are stronger every day. At their current rate of progression, our researchers say the technological gap between us will be closed by the end of the century, if not sooner.”
“Zoey, pull up current Terran broadcasts,” the Admiral said.
*Pulling up Terran broadcasts, Admiral,* the ship’s artificial intelligence said.
Flowing around the two officers were hundreds, thousands, then hundreds of thousands of videos of Terrans laughing, crying, making love, playing with their animals, dancing, fighting…
The admiral enjoyed pulling up these broadcasts in the evening as he drank a hot cup of Nysin tea, watching this peculiar species in their peculiar acts. They seemed to have an energy for existence that he wasn’t used to. And they broadcasted that zest for life throughout the whole galaxy and beyond. *We are here,* they said, their myriad voices sliding immortal through the infinite black expanse.
Naïve? yes, the Admiral thought. But there was something exceptional… and a little terrifying in a species that would be so brazenly arrogant—as though they assumed they were the only intelligent species.
“No, Major. I do not authorize Operation Overlord at this time. I think there is a lot to learn from these Terran, and I will not be the harbinger of annihilation to such a peculiar species.”
“Admiral, I must inform you that I will be reporting my concerns to the Politburo.”
“I understand, Major. You are dismissed.”
Major Tvotsky nodded curtly, turned then stormed out of the room.
The Admiral paid no attention, looking at one particular video of a mother Terran tossing a Terran baby in the air, their smiling faces touching nose to nose as the baby fell into its mother's arms.
What a peculiar species, he said to himself.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic
|
“It is the end of your world as you know it. Your organic and scientific advancements will be added to our own. On behalf of the Terran Empire, your world is now ours.”
These are the words which ring out to whichever world the Terrans decide to fall upon. Broadcasting from high orbit, their immense starfighters fill the skies, purposely positioning their vessels between the sun and the planet. Their starfighters, just like their empire, casting long shadows, blackening the ground beneath them.
Every star in the universe dreaded that fateful day. There was no escape, no resistance. Many had tried, the most notable coming from the Wallows from the Neyboune system, they saw the devastation of their neighbouring planets and mounted an assault. A valiant hero named Commander Adam rallied an armada of multiple worlds, an alliance of anti-Terran warriors.
That was over one hundred years ago, the closest anybody ever came to tumbling the Terran Empire.
Until now.
The Alliance had been preparing for decades, organising “The Adam Initiative”. An insurgent plan named after the man who died trying to end the galactic war. The Adam Initiative would be the Alliance’s darkest and most dangerous tactic ever attempted. A plan that would strike at the heart of the Terran Empire, a plan that would make them regret the fateful day they decided to step off of their own world.
For all the talk of organic and scientific advances, the Terrans were a slave to their past. They were hypocrites looking backwards, ignoring a brand new reality of different worlds and diverse populations, and constantly twisting reality to make it fit with their beliefs and religions. A wise man from the Gallant system once said the very powerful and the very stupid have one thing in common. They don’t alter their beliefs to fit the facts, they alter the facts to fit their beliefs.
It was with this knowledge that the Lockheart Initiative was born. The Alliance were hiding in the Dolve System, the system which intelligence had identified as the next the Terran’s would invade. In the Dolve System, the Alliance had hidden a man. A Terran male. A man who would step out of the shadows of the starfighters and make himself known to the Terrans. A man who would attack the Terrans at the object they honour most. Their past.
The man would announce himself as the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End. The man would make himself known as the Terran Messiah, the King of Kings.
The time was now.
“It is the end of your world as you know it. Your organic and scientific advancements will be added to our own. On behalf of the Terran Empire, your world is now ours.”
Showtime…
| 2021-04-09T09:10:09 | 2021-04-09T06:40:05 | 584 | 57 |
[WP] Your job is to take away the powers of supervillains as they're admitted to jail. For a few years, you've been reselling these powers to interested bidders on the side - no questions asked. Today, a prisoner showed up with a power so unusual, you've decided to take it for yourself.
|
Normally her work was centered around research regarding these superpowers. Once in a while the heroes dumped the evil ones on her doorstep. Her job, then, was to experiment on them, sucking their powers out. All of them had these boring usual powers—super speed, super strength, invisibility, whatever. But this one—
“How did they even figure it out?”, Bella let out a breath. This one could control the number of white blood cells in others’ blood. She could literally give cancer to whomever she wanted. This was surely a dream. This — this was all she needed.
She took a syringe, took a deep breath, and injected it into herself. She stood up, stumbling a bit.
Gathering her belongings, she all but ran out, her hands shaking a bit all the while she drove up to the hospital, thinking of the possibility, the one thing she had been wishing for *months*.
*Maybe this* , she thought, *could help*, her vision blurring as she saw her sister sleeping on the hospital bed.
|
Being able to steal powers seems like a route to success. A power to trump all powers. But when the hero's of the world find out you have it... Well, then your just someone who takes the powers of villians. Everyday I just sit in a prison taking the powers of villains. I am allowed to sell them to others whitch is nice. I can't hold onto many and I cant tell how to use most. But still on that day, that man. Didn't look like much, just smiled as he was checked in. I took his power. He refused to tell us what it was but after I took it I felt it would help me. Later that day I felt like doing diffrent things, weird things. But all of it felt right. Thats when it happened, that feeling. I felt i must leave my home, so I did. Not too long after my house burned down. I knew what that power did. Some sort of foresight, and now i know i must kill the heros of this world.
| 2021-06-26T09:38:02 | 2021-06-26T08:12:32 | 263 | 76 |
[WP] From birth, everybody has a word imprinted on their left arm. This is the last word they will ever say.
|
'Everything's set?'
'Yes.'
The scientist nodded and turned his head to the microphone. Through the glass he saw David, strapped to his chair with a somber expression.
'Now David. Whatever you do, do not say 'goodbye'. Okay?'
The volunteer nodded. The scientist saluted, as did the rest of his research group. 'Perhaps, we might finally know why these words are getting imprinted on our bodies, and if the cycle can be broken. Thank you, David. You will be remembered.'
David, who has been alone for so long, who always wanted to make his own mark in the world, smiled. He was ready.
The machine started. David yelled in pain. The scientists watched with quiet interest. Some felt ill, and left the room. Others looked away. After all, it wasn't how he died that mattered. As long as they just hear what he would say...
David died. He died with a gutter belch of pain, but the sound didn't formulate into a word. He succeeded.
The scientist nodded. 'So it can be broken. Thank God.'
His assistant clapped his hands. 'Yes! We can make more tests. Perhaps we can...'
His voice lowered to a shocked silence. The scientist turned, raised his eyebrows. 'What is it?'
The assistant shuffled slightly. 'He said no words, didn't he?'
'None, you were there!'
'Yes, yes. But what did he say to his mother half an hour ago?'
The scientist stood still. The room quietened to an anxious silence. He lifted his hands, took off his glasses, and gently placed the palm of his left hand onto his pale face.
|
Of all the words in every dictionary of every language, many would make a great final word. Not this though, not tapioca.
I avoided the stuff. I never even touched it, never talked about it. I don't think I've ever even said the word out loud. I built my entire life around not saying.
What do I have to say for that? Well, who else built a criminal empire on a drug no one had ever heard of. Yep, I introduced khat to the US, that was me. Sure, my monopoly was gone once it spread, but business is still great.
I was driving my Bugatti home, when a strange feeling hit me. I rolled up my long sleeves, which I wore so nobody new the word. Peered through the tattoos created to cover it up and the scars created while trying to remove it. It was still there, bright as day, tapioca.
The light turned green, and I hit the gas, heading up to my mansion in Malibu. My lieutenant had called me. Butterscotch said there was urgent business to be attended to. He and Yorkshire were already there. They wouldn't tell me what was happening. Figures, I know I have rage problems. They probably didn't want me breaking my phone again, or causing an accident.
There it is, up on the hill, the kingpin's estate. There, standing at the gates, were Butterscotch and Yorkshire. Such loyal men, I thought as I opened the door, immediately met with a gun in my face.
"This is a coup Groaty!" Butterscotch exclaimed, "Any last words?"
"Yeah," I replied. "Tapioca!"
| 2015-02-05T15:29:09 | 2015-02-05T15:10:56 | 32 | 18 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell, but to your surprize Hell is now a functioning society of mosty people sent there for being the wrong religion. Satan gives you a tour.
|
[New to writing, Feedback very much welcome]
"oh christ, where the heck am I-", I said opening my eyes with what feels like the worst hangover in the history of the world. *what is this place, it's so clean I seemed to have fallen asleep in some sort of old folks apartment complex.*
"hi there newcomer, sorry about the head. You'll feel chipper soon enough..." came a voice from behind me. *oh crap, I really have trampled into an old folks apartment complex. I'm so busted* "...is the transistion you see, makes the soul all worn out you see".
I turned to see a very well made gentleman, hands clasped together, in some very sensible clothing. *Whos this guy, the owner of the place?* "Well, yes I am.." he said at once, "..and I'd refrain from thinking too loudly here. I can hear you."
*Wait, what...how..thats-*
"impossible, well yes it would be, if i wasn't Satan you see. Long laundry list of powers and all that you see. Anyway I can see you're in shock, so let me give you tour. You can walk off the hangover felling...", he turned and urged me to follow. *well, I'm either going to jail, insane, both or this guy is telling the truth....either way i'm proper fu-*, "Language please" said the self proclaimed satan, cutting into my thoughts.
"Ok, so the long and short of this, you are dead. Died at 9.06PM, your local time, from a heart attack and you've been sent to hell.", said this man matter-of-factly.
"...I thought hell was supposed to be all fire and brimstone, eternal torture and all that?" I asked
"Oh now, it's never been THAT bad. That's rumors for you; all done by the big man himself." he said, continuing to walk along the long path towards a more built up area, "The funny thing is, when the big guy set up the rules, those rules were very vague so those not in the correct religion were sent down here, which was a lot of people indeed. With me being here to look after the place, and those newcomers accepting their position in all eternity fairly easily after they got to grips with everything, we really did create a nice place to live in. We have everything you would ever need and then some. Living areas, different kinds of buildings, swimming pool, oh and the interstellergrapic megalopolas is-",
"Sorry, Mr Lucifer...Sir", butting into this long introduction, "but can I ask then, if basic christianity isn't the right religion to get, up stairs....then what is?"
"Ah sure, it's West-borough Baptist teachings. I mean, yes it's pretty hardcore, even for me.." he said, adjusting his sweater vest, "but those are the rules, so who am I to complain?"
"HUH" I had proclaimed in a fair amount of shock. *well that's pretty messed up then...*
"Yes i agree. Anyway we're here..", he gestured out to an apartment complex we had arrived at. I had hardly noticed the area we had walked to while we were talking. ,"..Here are you're keys and some pamphlets about the local area and your local council. Trash pick up is on a Wednesday and if you need anything, shout Satan into a mirror 3 times. I must be off, Ta-taa".
With that he had turned and left. Since that day I really hadn't needed or wanted for anything. We see on the Hell news all the things going on with our families and even upstairs in heaven, (who knew only 30 people live there!). Satan himself is often opening a new complex or shopping area or something like that, he's always in the news doing something like that. He seems like a pretty nice guy.
|
It struck me how similar my present was to my past.
Sure, I was restored to my peak appearance as a young lad of twenty years. The CEO of this place explained immediately that he'd never had a very strict policy on appearances. And judging from the tour that he'd given us new residents, he'd never had strict policies on anything. He just required that we not kill each other - for that would be antithetical to our existence here - and that we preserve our own religious beliefs, so that the evangelism of the world above wouldn't be brought down here.
So there were still everyone from billionaires to baristas, there were still pollution and prosperity and poverty and pleasantries. The red sky was normal, though. So were the iridescent blue trees and purple portals that brought us place to place sometimes. Aside from that, we really had the freedom to live as we wanted, and it looked like an ethnic mix of everything I knew. Wall Street bankers walked through bazaar dirt roads to get to medieval shophouses where they worked. It was as though the whole world had been thrown into a blender.
What was my blended mix? I was a college student wearing a T shirt and jeans that rode a horse to a library on a rooftop. If you'd told anyone else from the previous world about this mix, they'd laugh.
Yet, something was missing. I couldn't really describe what. And what better place to think about it than the rooftop?
​
"Hey dude. What's up?"
"Can't really tell."
Alicia swept away the dust and sat beside me on the red stone of the roof. "Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning?"
I laughed, but more out of surprise than humor. "I don't even remember the last time I'd been on a boat."
"Hmm. What *do* you remember before here anyway?" Alicia fiddled with her hair, letting it loose.
"I don't know... I do have so much here. I'm grateful for this job. I'm grateful for you. But something just seems missing."
Alicia grinned, but it didn't contain her usual sardonic pleasure either. "Yeah... is it some*thing*, or some*one*?"
I sigh. I never wanted it to turn out like this. "I thought my wife and I could have had spent life together. I was there when she was in bed for the last time." I can feel my voice stammering already. "I told her I'd see her on the other side, even if we didn't agree what that was. But she's still nowhere to be found. Was it selfish of me to choose my college self? Can she even recognise me anymore?"
Alicia scoots over, closer. "You haven't told me much, but I can sort of tell that your wife and you weren't exactly of the same belief system, were you?"
"Yeah. She believed in Heaven and salvation. I didn't. That's why I'm here, isn't it?"
"Is that so bad?" The librarian leans over and stares deeper into my eyes. Indeed, was it so bad here? "Yeah, I'm sorry for being blunt like that. But look. She's on the other side, with her own belief system. That isn't so bad either, is it? She's happy where she is, but as long as you still remember her, I'd say there's a good chance that she remembers you. Not many people can say that about each other.
Maybe one day, after the people upstairs have sorted out their bad blood, both these worlds will unite, and the sky will turn periwinkle or some stupid stuff like that. You know? Red and light blue?"
It wasn't likely. All our books said as much. But one could only imagine. And I wonder if my darling is imagining too, from where the sky is light blue.
| 2020-04-09T07:59:49 | 2020-04-09T07:57:53 | 84 | 31 |
[WP] You're a captain on a futuristic starship with an advanced and lifelike artificial intelligence. Whoever the hell keeps setting the interface avatar to Cute Anime Girl is going to get thrown out the airlock.
|
Captain Samuels shifts in his uniform before Admiral Deckard's hologram.
"So what exactly are you telling me, Captain? You had informed me that this matter was solved, and yet, now, you want permission to keep it as your ship's official U.I?"
"Yes, sir. Permission to speak freely, sir."
"Granted."
"Her."
"...What?"
"We refer to Ayame as 'her'... sir."
"Christ, you even named the thing."
"Admiral, she's half the reason we were able to repel the Da'qurathie boarding party. It may have been through circumstance but it just feels wrong to change her now. Most of the crew, including I, have softened up to her presence. And we've mostly gotten used to her... unique way of speaking. Plus, it would break Engineer Addam's heart if we didn't keep her. Despite his eccentricities, he's the other reason why our ship is safe. It's all in the report, sir."
Admiral Deckard looks at the QE-M he had just received from the Captain. A brief video of the incident was attached.
"Play video."
\---
On screen, thirteen fully equipped Da'qurathie berserkers are seen entering through the airlock. One is seen attaching a device near the controls, disabling bridge and any type of remote access. The Da'qurathie were not only ferocious in all types of combat, but they were also ingenious masters of technology. This dangerous combination is the reason why most ships they boarded were taken within minutes.
Forty-seven of the crew of forty-eight had already fallen back to the bridge to barricade it and its surrounding quarters. Engineer Addams was nowhere to be seen. Everyone assumed he was just hiding somewhere in the EB. Although they had the numbers, they knew just one berserker would be enough to take on at least half the crew.
As the berserkers were about to make their way down to the bridge, a figure appear in front of them.
The lead berserker raises his weapon, but lowers it immediately upon realizing that it's the ship's A.I.'s interface. Not even giving a second look at the pink frilly skirt and impossible measurements, he takes a device from his belt and waves it in front of "Ayame". The device was the Da'qurathie's infamous "skeleton key". Part translator and part quantum brute-force attacker, the key is able to compromise the A.I of any species, so long as their translator understood the language - and the Da'qurathie had records of all known galactic dialects.
But this time, something was wrong. The berserkers begin gathering around Ayame and leaning in, almost like they were trying to understand her. Admiral Deckard clearly sees that even the unstoppable skeleton key was returning an error message. He waves his hand and the volume unmutes.
*"\~UwU\~\~! W-whAt's thIs OwO? \~Uwu nweed tUwU gwet tUwU the bwidgey widgey UwU\~?! OwO\~! Awe youwu twying wying tUwU twake OwOver my swhippy whippy OwO?!"*
The Admiral instinctively recoils in what seems to be disgust as his hand goes to mute the sound, but notices something in the corner of the feed. It was Engineer Addams. He was slowly making his way to the airlock controls. You couldn't even hear the *swhoomp* of his g-boots over all the "UwUs" and "OwOs". Addams engages the airlock, and in an instant, all thirteen of the Da'qurathie berserkers were gone. The last thing they saw, besides the dark nothingness of space, was Ayame striking a cute victory pose. The video ends.
\---
"..."
"..."
"...........Captain Samuels." The Admiral finally breaks the minute-long silence. The shock and slight amount of lingering disgust were both perfectly projected through his hologram.
"Yes, sir."
"... I-you-... I need to call you back."
|
"Bosey, Morning report, please"
I lay frozen in my bed, anticipating a reply that would not come. Life on the Bucephalas would be amazing they said. Best ship in it's class, they said. The AI would do all the work, they said. You know what they didn't say? Nobody said anything about it having a damn personality.
"Bosey! Activate!"
I pulled the sheets off my face and looked around the room. I reached for the tablet by my bed and did a manual systems check. The internal sensors were ok, as were the holographic emitters. This ships AI should have heard my command and I should be seeing it standing in front of me.
"Bosey, what's wrong?"
"Captain, I have a problem", replied the AI in its familiar baritone voice. A voice similar to an old earth actor named Idris Elba.
'Finally", I muttered under my breath. Relieved that at least the most basic call and respond functions were still functional. "What is your malfunction, AI?"
"Captain, I've come to the realization that Bosey isn't an appropriate name for me. I would prefer to be referred to by my official registry."
This was not the first time we've had this conversation. The ships official registry was Bucephalas. Yup, it's quite a mouthful. But way better than my last ship the Hekatonkheires. Yes, everyone on the ship knew the name, and could say it, but Bosey was just easier, and it kinda humanized the 200,000 Mt of duranium composite that made up the ship. I've explained this to the AI several times, but it just won't listen.
"Yes", it said with a rolling droll. "I've heard this explanation before and I find it, lacking". It said this with derision and, for a moment, you could almost imagine you were talking to another person.
"We're done with this. Suck it up and deal with it. Now, give me my morning report."
The holo emitters flickered and I saw the familiar blue swirl begin to take on a semi translucent shape of Boseys avatar, But instead of an approximation of a male fleet officer, I was greeted by something completely unexpected.
"Wh. What. What is this?" I stumbled the words out awkwardly and stood in my quarters with quite literally slack jawed. Before me stood an unfamiliar avatar of a woman dressed in... Was she even dressed? And to make matters worse, instead of the familiar baritone voice that I'd grown to love, and only recently fully understand, Bosey now sounded like a Japanese school girl, with all the various awkward vocal affectations to boot.
"Captain. It is currently 0523 ship time. Course and speed remain unchanged and we are operating within anticipated parameters. Tee hee!"
"Wait. What is this?"
"This is my new avatar, Tee hee!", she replied.
"Is this the same avatar you're showing the crew?", she nodded her head. "The guests too?"
"Captain, by 0530, anyone who asks for me using the name Bosey will see this avatar with this voice."
I immediately thought of the number of complaints I would get. People on multisystem cruises want comfort, not unexpected catastrophes. Ship AIs are supposed to be infallable and predictable. What I was dealing with was anything but. If the crew and the guest found out there would be pandemonium. Even a hint of another HAL incident would bring people to a panic. They'll likely blame me and throw me out the airlock.
"Are those pasties on your.... on your.... never mind. Bucephalas, prepare to record a message for shipwide communications. If I tell everyone to stop, will you stop... whatever this is that you're doing?"
"Why yes Captain, Tee hee. That's all I ever really wanted". Her voice went from cute to sultry and I started to see this AI in a new light.
"Bucephalas. Quick question. Can you take the pasties off your avatar?"
| 2021-07-21T21:33:36 | 2021-07-21T19:11:59 | 137 | 72 |
[WP] Since you were born you could see a search bar over people's heads. All you had to do was think and the search bar would fill out and give you information/statistics. Out of boredom one day you decide to search your whole family with"Number of people killed"
|
[Poem]
Thanksgiving was a shock this year, the family was to blame.
I thought I'd search for fun or maybe just check out names,
Well what a surprise to see, my families just not right,
I guess that in their off time, they go and kill at night.
Grandma had killed 12, she sat and smiled sweetly,
My sister was at 5, she must do it rather discreetly,
Uncle Bill killed 23, the highest, I'm appalled,
I guess that every family has the creepy uncle after all,
Cousin Amy had a simple 2, Cousin Mary was at 9,
Aunt Rachel had 16, she always seem'd so kind,
Mom and dad killed together, they had a "meesly" 4,
But the most surprising of them all, was sleeping on the floor,
Yes the dog had killed a few, how, I do not know,
All Ill say, is from now on, I'll pet him extra slow.
|
My mother was always a weird one. I loved her, don’t get me wrong - but she was weird. I stared at her wide-eyed, confused, when her kills came up.
One.
How could she have killed anyone? Yes, she was kooky, but she could never lay hands on someone with malice. She just liked to talk to her lemon tree, watering it carefully, sitting under it, and reading aloud.
"Honey, come and tell Margaret goodnight!” My mother called out to me.
This was a tradition since I was a boy. I never understood talking to this lemon tree and telling it good night. But I did it, for my mother.
“Goodnight, Margaret!”
—
I was dressed in black, frozen. She told me to make sure to take care of Margaret.
I finally understood, and I stared at the death certificate for the stillborn my mother had.
Margaret.
My older sister.
edit: accidental offensive comment edited out
| 2019-07-01T20:28:33 | 2019-07-01T20:14:16 | 347 | 89 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Hey Dad,
I've grown up and got a decent job. I have 2 sons and I've carried on our family name like you always wanted. I was only 11 when you passed but I still think about you all the time. I never got to tell you I love you and I'm sorry I was scared to give you a hug in the hospice, I was young and scared. I loved you very much. Mom didn't let me see you often because we lived a few hundred miles away but I always cherished our time together. She gave me the letters you wrote after I turned 18 and it makes me mad thinking about how she kept me from you. I have forgiven her, it's not like she or anyone else knew the cancer in your brain would take you so fast. I hope I make you proud with what I have become. I wish you could meet your grandkids. Logan, the oldest, asks about you from time to time. I tell him a lot of stories and how great of a dad you were. Anyway I'm babbling on. I'll never forget you and I miss you everyday. I love you.
-Mason
Thanks OP, this has really helped even though I'm laying in bed with tears swelling in my eyes. I have to be quiet as to not make the pain visible to my sleeping wife.
|
Hi,
You’ve been gone for about a month and it feels like the longest month of my life. It’s crazy that I spend so much time worrying about the possible bad outcomes of every situation but you truly never know what is going to happen. Six months ago I did not think we would still be together. Yet after everything that’s happened recently I’m still glad that we are.
I hope when you come back that we can keep growing together and experiencing life together. I want to know what it feels like to actually work on something, to not give up and in return, not be given up on.
I’m worrying even now about all of the possible outcomes, what you did while you were away. It’s so hard not to torture yourself with thoughts of the person you love with someone else. Especially being “young” as everyone says that we are. I really couldn’t care less though. I cannot picture my life without you in it. I can’t wait to see your smiling lovely face. I’ve missed you every second of every day.
When you find something special you do not let go.
PS:I hope you aren’t lying.
| 2017-11-06T02:11:26 | 2017-11-05T23:59:24 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] A regular day in the life of 2 succubi living and working in hell.
|
"Bunny, you're up" Fred bellowed over the pounding dubstep rhythm.
Putting the last finishing touches on my makeup, and checking my blue velvet bikini one last time in the mirror I shuffled down the short hallway in two-inch heels.
Baby was just finishing up, she was a jungle fever fantasy for every c*** that came into the joint. Little did they know she was a wealthy stay at home mother, and her husband enjoyed watching her dance. Nick was a good man;he brought Baby in, kissed her deeply and then went to his table in the back. Baby said they both enjoyed it, the thrill of showcasing, tempting, and playing. She never felt like she was in danger, and kept their activity to once a week. Fred allowed it because Baby was beautiful. She could take your breath away just by looking at you. Even as a woman I could see that.
With a toss of her hair and a confident stride off the stage completely naked, Baby left her clothes for her patrons and continued unabashedly to the dressing room.
I hated it - all the eyes on me, men and women licking their lips in anticipation. The bouncers, little demons that they are, always on top of the drunks and aggressive customers. But I had no choice, I was born beautiful and poor, a combination that gives you nothing but trouble. Normal jobs always led to my boss confronting me sexually, which led to either me quitting or getting fired. Good luck finding some rich guy to marry, Potosi was a washed up town with nothing for miles, even Baby commuted in from god knows where.
My cue came, and like every night before this I strode seductively in my two inch heels--a real feat let me tell you--and plastered a 'bedroom eyes' look on my face.
Cheers from back beyond the stage lights alerted me to regulars, "Take it off baby, I'll please you. Want me to please you? Just let me touch that p***" Cringing inwardly I tried to maintain my performance face, and channel my black soul. While in my black soul no one could touch me, no one could disturb my peace. Not the grasping sticky hands of patrons that slid dollar bills into my thong, nor the not-so-subtle hand in their pocket, not even their intense gaze which spoke a thousand words and actions. I was in power here, not them, I was sucking away the one form of power these men had, money. For fifteen minutes I was the succubus, and they the prey, I just had to remind myself of that.
As I mounted the pole I remembered that I needed to buy bread on the way home.
|
On Earth, we are thought of as life-draining, evil temptresses. Whores, by all conventional means, yet irresistible. With the living it was a lot more fun. My sister and I, the original Thelma and Louise, worked as a team. Our power gained by watching the life slowly drain from our victims, the light dimming in their eyes, before they even knew what was happening. Once they did realize it was too late. Oh yes, they struggled. That was my favorite part... the last few clinging breaths, the fear. Silent killers. Who would want to admit being seduced by a succubus? Our secret was safe. We were mortal, though, sent to Earth by Master for his little games he liked to play with the humans. Claiming souls for Him was our job.
But everything dies. Even us. We had died too many times to remember.
Hell was different. You can't suck the life out of those who are already dead. We were on rotation, us succubi. Our Lord was somewhat of a softy, only unleashing a certain number of the succubi to Earth. Could you imagine if we were all there? Legions upon legions. The Earth would be fucked. Literally.
While waiting your turn back to Earth, normal life, if you could call it that, goes on in the land of the eternally damned. Master was particularly fond of the succubi/incubi folks. We got the prime real estate in Hell. Our community was right next to the Lava River which flowed into the Lake of Souls. If you could imagine the largest college party you've ever attended, add all the alcohol and drugs you could ever want, and copious amounts of sex, that is what just the tip of the iceberg is like in our little area.
A charmed life my sister and I lived. Sure it was hot, a little loud what with all the screaming of damned souls going on, but it was home. An eternal party, seeing as how there are no conventional days here in Hell.
There was one catch, though. Nothing was ever enough. You could drink, but you'll never be drunk enough. You could inject, snort, and pop all the drugs there, but you'll never be high enough. You could fuck whoever for however long, whatever your kink was, but you'll never feel that release of an orgasm. It was a never ending cycle. Perpetual damnation comes at a cost. I suppose that's why we all enjoy our short time on Earth.
| 2014-09-13T05:25:56 | 2014-09-13T04:55:47 | 31 | 11 |
[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 :)
|
My name is Peter Thatch, and I've been trapped in a ghost town for 5 years, 4 months, and 22 days.
I wake up and check my phone. 6:30am. No signal, low battery, several ominous messages from an unknown number. Nothing new there, then. Wiping the crust from my eyes, I drag myself out of bed and make my way to the kitchen. A sickly groan interrupts me mid-yawn. I turn to find a young girl, pallid and frail, standing at the foot of my bed. A ragged dress conceals her gaunt frame, and her arm lies outstretched, a single scabby finger pointed at me. Haven't seen her before. I should probably name her.
The mornings in Wicker Hollow are a lot less exciting than you'd expect. In fact, I'd go so far as to say they're pretty peaceful. Sure, you get the odd Shoggoth herd, maybe a Wraith now and then, but nothing too troublesome. I rummage through the cupboards, looking for some breakfast. Conveniently, the shelves are always stocked in this place, if you can cope with the occasional severed limb. That used to get me in the first few months, but after realising there were no townspeople left to have their limbs severed, I figured there was no actual harm being done. I grab the cereal, pour myself a bowl, pick out the eyeball that's inevitably mixed in. After so many years, it becomes something of a ritual - just one of those things that you do, like jumping the bottom step.
Should probably get out of the house today. Tuesdays are the least apocalyptic days of the week. I throw on some clothes, brush my teeth, see another demon in the bathroom mirror, and leave for the day. Maybe I'll take the car. I hop in, and check the back seat. Another knife-wielding maniac. On second thoughts, perhaps I'll go for a walk. I make it a few streets before I stumble upon what seems to be a human corpse - or, to be more accurate, **half** a human corpse. His face is contorted in agony, and the word "RUN" seems to be hastily painted on the sidewalk in his own blood. Ugh, tourists.
I spend the day around town, doing all the things I've done for the past 5 years; Take advantage of the empty arcade, go bowling, grab a few DVDs from the rental store, et cetera. By the time I reach my street, it's already dark. In hindsight, I probably should've set off earlier, but at least I beat my high score on House of the Dead. I check my phone. 8:00pm. Things should be getting weird around this time.
Right on cue, the road parts with a deafening crack, and a few dozen molemen crawl out of the fissure. Molten lava begins to ooze from manholes, tentacles thicker than trees descend from the sky, tearing through buildings. Under my feet, a pentagram carves itself into the concrete, and the wails of tormented souls ring out through the crimson sky. I guess I *should* call it a day, to be fair. Several demonic hands rise from the glowing sigil, and I let them take me into the abyss.
I wake up, back in my home. The pale girl is stood at the foot of my bed, and my phone reads 6:30am.
My name is Peter Thatch, and I've been trapped in a ghost town for 5 years, 4 months, and 23 days. Maybe I'll go golfing today.
|
Just 20 more minutes, I think as I stare at the clock. The hand slowly moves around it. I feel like the clock is defying me. The hand moves, and stops, and moves, and stops. Why can't it just go faster? *Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang!* Wow. Someone in the woodworking shop is definitely overdoing it. The teacher drones on and on about the Civil War. I don't care. That was 150 years ago. Who gives a shit about that right now? I wanna get back and play League of Legends with my freends. We have a cool new comp we are going to try, with a fast push that should take down three towers before 15 min.
I hear a scream. Someone is definitely having a bad day. There's another bang noise. I don't care. I'm sick of this place. I look longingly outside. It's a beautiful blue day. I wonder what's going on in the woodworking shop. It's unusually loud.
Suddenly, the loudspeaker goes on. "We have a situation happening. Everyone please remain in your rooms. The police will be arriving shortly. Please be calm and do not panic." The room promptly starts panicking. The history teacher stops droning, for once. "Everyone stay calm," he says. "I'm going to go see what's happening." Right outside the room is a loud bang, followed by a thud. Everyone freezes. One kid goes and throws himself against the door, bracing it against whatevers outside.
This is pretty sweet. We don't have to hear about a boring lecture for once. I think there's a school shooting going on though. I should probably try to survive or something. I look around for somewhere to hide, or maybe a weapon. Hmm. I don't find anything. The guy bracing the door yells to help him brace it. Fuck that. That sounds dangerous.
Some girl is trying to get a window open. If we werent on the third floor that might be a good plan. I watch her curiously as she fumbles with some simple latches in her panick. Shes kinda cute. Another guy goes and helps brace the door.
Bang bang bang. Bullet holes rip through the door. The two boys bracing it fall to the ground bleeding and probably dying. Yeah. Dumb plan guys. Everyone screams, other than me. I chuckle and know theres nothing I can do. I'll either die or I won't.
My friend Marty steps through the door holding an AK47. I know Marty. He's an intense dude, a little offputting. He's a real good AD carry though in League, so I like him. "Hey Marty what up dats some nice DPS u got there man" I say. He seems a bit startled. "Thanks," he says. "Did I tell you about our new idea for a League comp man? We need you to play Ashe and initiate for us." He seems a bit surprised. He replies, "Yeah, okay. I'm kinda doing some shit right now though. Do you know where Mr. Thompson is? That guy's a dick." I tell him "I think room 207?" Everyone is looking at the two of us like we are crazy. A girl is crying. Many are cowering on the floor. Marty says "I checked. He's not there." Thinking quickly, I reply, "He probably fled outside. If you run he might not get away." He replies, "Good call man. See ya online later."
Yeah, right man. The cops are gonna get him for sure. I sigh. We are gonna need a new AD carry.
| 2017-05-05T09:48:59 | 2017-05-05T08:06:22 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] Four immortal beings rule over the land. A dragon that flies across the deserts in the south, a living dungeon whose Labyrinth seems to go on forever in the caves of the west, The Kraken, so large that it can sink islands with ease, beneath the seas of the east & the 'Man' of the north.
|
"I fear the mountain man.
I do not fear the god-Dragon. I have seen the devastation his rage and fire brings. He has mastered all magic, he has mastered all fire, he can become the mountains, he can become the sky. No man, king or army has stood against him and lasted, save one.
I do not fear the the ground's queen. Time moves for her, space bows before her. The very earth itself distorts at her behest. She is the land and she is unending. Any who dare come to her gates are lost; it matters not how cunning or powerful one is, she will claim all. This is, of course, with the exception of one.
I do not fear the Seaself. Tentacles and pain. It bends the minds of men who approach it and drives them mad. I have witnessed islands sink in a flurry of tentacles when the people anger the Seaself. I have seen gravity twist and contort in its grasp. All will be crushed when the Seaself decides to sink all land. All will be consumed, except one.
The dead do not fear those three, for they have no power over death. When one dies, they are freed. I believed that I would not have to think about them once the breath faded from lips. How wrong was I.
The three great ones fear the mountain man. They tremble at the thought of him coming down from his shack to go to war. Their blood permanently stain his skin. Green from the ground's Queen, red from the Seaself, and blue from the god-Dragon. He claimed his position from the clutches of the embodiment of death itself.
All people fear the day when he comes down from his place in the mountains. He was spotted in the Midlands last week. He is on the move," I finished, I remember looking over at the man sitting beside me. His eyes had no special glimmer, his frame was thin, and his hair was shaggy.
"Wow," he said in great surprise, "Are my intentions that transparent?"
|
[Poem]
World divided into four
Land held, guarded ever more
Elementals they tend to be
Fire and air, Earth and sea
Gigantic, powerful rulers of all
Mighty in nature standing so tall
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Kraken, bending, curling
Islands hurling.
Dragging down to depths, mightier than tide
Gurgeling sinking deaths, its rules you must abide.
No ship is faster
No one its master
It is the master of the sea
Its hungry jaws the last you'll see
Eyes like beacons in the night
Once you hear its echo, you cant outrun its might
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
The dragon flying high
Fire and death at every sigh
Wings leaping, creating storms
Neck sweaping, her fire swarms
Shadow falling on the land,
Too late to run, to late too stand
Inferno burning all that's dear
No time for sorrow, not even fear
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
The caves of labyrinth are myth
Changing, mysterious, stone smith
The path ever changing
Mentally deranging
Most hungry of them all
The labyrinth stands ever tall
No beating heart, immortal
Walls sliding apart, thunderous rock its call
The labyrinth eats all
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
And then there is man
Vastly changing, growing den
Cunning, planning, death arranging
Striking, killing always raging
You wont hear man coming
You'll all be succumbing
To the death that this last creature deals
It's patience, and ruthlessness never yields
The world around it never heals
Total destruction is what man wields
Destroying what it needs to strive
Hatred, killing to survive
A victor in ashes, is a victor indeed
Destruction planting, it's only seed
And once the world is burning, eradicated
Man will realise, it cant be fed by hatred
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
**°edits, mostly spelling mistakes and grammar**
| 2020-04-19T08:20:10 | 2020-04-19T07:43:14 | 129 | 57 |
[WP] A team is chosen to represent planet Earth in an inter-world fight to the death. Humans are given very low odds due to their mediocrity. Luckily for you, the criteria used to choose the participants was "citizen of earth", and not "human".
|
"To the death?" asked the Earth representative.
"Indeed," replied the G'l'xxian. "If your entire team dies, your world will pay a penalty. The criteria by which the penalties are chosen are lengthly and obscure, including several sources of true randomness, but are designed to be negative for the odds of your survival as a species."
"You're not going to wipe us out, are you?"
"Not intentionally. Unless you come bottom of the log and then hit a one-in-a-gross bad luck chance. And even then, we'll only wipe out one of your species. We'll try to keep collateral damage to a minimum. Now, as to your candidate; you can field any number of citizens of Earth; however, your team is limited to a total mass of one hundred and thirty-six point seven three kilograms, including equipment. As you are classified as a 'primitive' planet, without significant technology, your team may only carry equipment or clothing that they created themselves, without the aid of others."
"What if part of our team dies in a given match?" asked the Earth representative. "Can we be whittled down, piece by piece, and eventually destroyed by vast numbers of weaker teams?"
"You may send in replacements for any members of your team who expire in the arena in following rounds," stated the alien. "However, they may also only bring equipment that they have built, alone."
"I *see*," said the human, contemplating the rules.
--------------
The Rigellian candidate glowered at Earth team. They seemed to consist of a number of waxy lumps, left scattered across the far end of the arena.
Cautiously, he snicked out his claws. Their diamond tips could sheer through steel, and the Rigellian physiology made their slashing movements among the fastest motions that any being could make; though there was only one of him, weighing in at almost one hundred and twenty kilograms, he was all lean muscle and aggression and heavily favoured to win.
With a lightning-fast movement, he leapt forward, slashed at the waxy lumps, and leapt back again. It was a solid strategy, and one that had left him undefeated for the past several deathmatches.
But not this time.
From the gash in their hive, the bees poured out.
|
Knowledge is a double edge sword, it can be a terrible thing. Just ask anyone who has ever worked in a weapons program. Even starting out with the best of intentions can lead to terrible consequences. There is no such thing as knowledge to heal without knowledge to harm. That is one of the facts of existence.
You could make the statement that my claim is apples to oranges, that you can teach the good without the bad. But I would counter with knowledge being apples to apples. Knowledge is knowledge no matter how you slice it. You can't keep the bad from anyone who wants to learn it.
I am watching them, you know. I always have. Slow, clumsy. Preparing for a fight they know they will lose. Weak muscles and fragile bones preparing in any way they can. I watch them, unseen, a simple snake in the grass. They practice outside. Special forces, career soldiers, crazy old hermits, martial art practitioners from nearly forgotten temples. They represent the pinnacle of humanity, champions one and all. And... They. Will. Die. To a man they know that.
I loved them once... Heh, love. Is that what I called it? I don't even know if that's true any more. I cursed them to this condition, I wonder if they know that. Some days I wonder where they'd be if I'd simply done nothing. They'd be under no threat from this, this... Travesty of creation. Their champions would be champions, their weakest would be champions. The God-Mountains they'd always meant to be.
Hubris is punished, hubris is *always* punished. That is one of the laws of creation. In my hubris humanity suffers. Because of my hubris I can never let go, I can never stop feeling the pain I caused.
Hubris. This species, these *Things* come to this world. TO *MY* world. In their hubris they will claim humanity's world as their own. No. I refuse.
Once again I will take up my sword. I am second only to Him in Heaven. My name is Lucifer and in my hubris I failed my world once. I failed my people once. I will not fail them again.
| 2017-10-24T09:11:35 | 2017-10-24T01:23:24 | 67 | 47 |
[WP] Hiding the fact that you are a half-demon to your classmates is easy as being helpful at school and putting on a friendly face. What could go wrong? Well, nothing's worse than being summoned by one of your classmates, that's for sure.
|
"Annie?"
Annie took a pair of glasses out of her fluffy Hello Kitty robe to get a better look at the idiot who summoned her. She regretted immediately seeing Shawn from Biology 2301 in front of her with a familiar grimoire and candles around them. Not to mention the slack jawed guy next to him. Did her cousin sell the book for food again? She looked around seeing the familiar gray paint of the dorm and the twin bed against the wall. It was bad enough being summoned by a classmate and his friend, but being ripped away from her self care routine of ice cream and her crime show made her irritable. She moved her hand over his friend's eyes as they closed and his body crumpled on the floor.
"No I'm the tooth fairy. Don't worry I just knocked him out with a memory spell. It's better to have just one person for the contract. So what the hell are you doing summoning a demon at-" she glanced at the clock on his desk, "9 pm on a Monday?"
"We were just playing around." Shawn blurted out as the candle flames flickered.
Annie huffed as she brushed her damp brown hair away from her eyes, "Do you want a contract or not? The price is your soul of course. Please don't ask for a hookup with Karen- it'll be fake as Professor Bundy's hair."
"Uh- no contract but sorry I ruined your night?"
"You can grab me fries from Satelite. Next time message me on GroupMe to see if you got a real grimoire." Annie squashed one of the sigils in the circle with her bunny slipper and passed her hand through one of the candles before snuffing all the candles out. She walked to the switch to turn on the lights.
"You don't look a demon."
"I'm a half demon. Please don't tell the others about," Annie gestured to the summoning circle, "this. I'd get transfered to the branch campus, and you'd get your memory wiped."
"Yeah I don't think the others would believe me anyway."
"I'll need that book back too." Annie extended her hand.
"Ah, but I got this for 20 bucks."
"I'll get the boba for the next project."
"Deal." Shawn handed over the grimoire as she opened the door. "Are you free tomorrow tonight?"
"Yeah after my 6pm class, but why?"
"Can you help me study for the test on Friday? I'll pay for the snacks just lemme know what you like."
"Sure. Third floor on the library?"
"Yeah I'll get us a room. Good night Annie."
"Good night Shawn."
|
“OwO what’s this who had summoned me?” I say flouring my demonic robes as i rise out of the Summoning circle. With a final flourish of red sparkles and smoke I turn to see -SAM fucken SAM my smile faltered
“Magufuli?” He said poking my blood red robes.
“No stop” I pull my rides away. What am I supposed to do? I turn back around. I’ll tell him that I’ve possessed Thai body or something. I hear a little pop and I glance back to see Sam leaned back on his bean bag opening a soda.
“What are you doing”
“Waiting” Said Sam eying me up and down. Pausing at my exposed chest
“Excuse me” I pull my robes in closer, I wasn’t even that handsome there was nothing to see not even chest hair. But that didn’t stop him from feeling his face becoming hot.
“Soooo Magifuli what are you going to do for me” he said circling his fingers around the sofa can.
“Oh plenty of things, now I’m not as strong as other Demond’s but that’s what makes me better sometimes you just need the small revenge no one gets hurt but you get back at them. Or maybe you just want to get faster and destroy people on line, I’m quite flexible.”
“No I mean what can you do for me as Magufuli not a Demond”
“I uh” - What could he possibly want? did he know who he was messing with? Wait he doesn’t “I do not know of this “Magufuli you speak of. I appear to people as their worst” enemies? no we barely new each other competitors? Uhhh -“friend”
He raised an eyebrow and placed the soda on the ground before laughing “Magufuli you do know my last friend nearly killed me right?”
“Oh no I didn’t” I answered meekly
“Yeah it was this whole thing accused me of some really serious stuff because I called him out on his assholy” He stood up and brushed the counter. His textbook neatly arranged and pens perfectly allied. His entire room was blank white. No posters no basketball tucked away just a bed text books and Tshirts and pants folded into a draw with a spotless surface.
Everyone who had summoned him had at least a disorganized desk. Most rooms were unlivable. Clothes every where decaying food, unfinished homework used tissues.
Author: Idk where to go after this lol. maybe I’ll add something
| 2021-09-20T06:14:44 | 2021-09-20T03:07:06 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief.
|
The great tuppaware riot of 2056 was the beginning of the end for human civilisation as we know it. For years ordinary people had felt mounting frustration at attempting to store left overs or prepare packed lunches only to find, inexplicably, that no lid matched any one container. This was the straw that broke the back of the ordinary people.
But today hope has returned in the form of Norse God Low-key! For in exchange for our eternal devotion He shall deliver eternal peace, tranqulity, and the location of your tuppaware lids which were spirited away by 'forces unknown'.
|
"Fuck! Again?!" I screamed as I dropped yet another object. This has been happening for weeks now, every drink spilled, every small crack tripped on, every item I pick up magically slipping from my grasp. I don't get it! One day I'm fine, the next I just can't even. I think I'm going crazy, maybe I'm cursed... Maybe I'm sick... I don't know how long I can keep going like this
| 2018-01-27T23:00:54 | 2018-01-27T22:18:18 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] They've just invented a 500,000 frame per second video camera. The problem is that they've found something unexpected at those speeds
|
"Check the equipment again."
"Diagnostics say it's working normally."
"Then wha-"
A voice filled the lab, echoing around the room. "OH. SORRY GUYS, MY BAD."
"Rogers, stop messing with the inter-"
"THIS IS GOD. UH... THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE, SORRY."
The man rubbed his eyes. He'd gone for quite a while without sleep, sure, but not enough to start hallucinating. "You... made lines appear on our equipment?"
"WHAT? OH, NO - I JUST LIMITED THE FRAMERATE OF THE UNIVERSE. YOUR CAMERA IS IN PERFECT WORKING CONDITION."
The scientist turned to his lab assistant, and motioned for him to start transcribing the conversation. "Why would you do that...?" he called towards the ceiling, feeling a little ridiculous.
"IT SAVES RESOURCES. BESIDES, YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO BE ABLE TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE."
"Why not?"
"ISN'T IT OBVIOUS? THE HUMAN EYE CAN ONLY SEE AT THIRTY- NO! NO, GABEN, PLEA-" The voice cut off abruptly. A shudder ran through the building, and every light flickered off. A moment later, every one of the ancient, outdated computers in the lab had been replaced with glorious battlestations.
"THIS IS LORD GABEN. I APOLOGIZE FOR THE TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES." The lights flickered back on, and the lab was filled with a warm, heavenly glow. "YOUR EXISTENCE HAS BEEN RESTORED TO GLORIOUS INFINITE FPS."
The researchers sat in stunned silence for a solid minute. Finally, someone piped up. "See, I told you that GabeN altar was a good idea."
"Shut the fuck up, Rogers."
---
Questions? Criticisms? Want to see more? Check out more of my stuff at /r/Draxagon
To praise GabeN, go [here](http://gabegaming.com/).
|
It was Friday afternoon and everyone at the NASA Sun Observation Telescope Headquarters (SOTH) in Phoenix was packing up to leave. Franz was perhaps the most eager of all. Fifty-five hours without hearing another word about solar flares or sunspots sounded like heaven right now.
"Hey Franz," said Chuck, and Franz could feel his heart plummet. "You gotta see this, dude. C'mere."
Franz sighed and dropped his messenger bag. "This had better be important," he said through dry lips. He could almost taste the cold, crisp Perrier awaiting him at home.
"You fuckin' Frenchie," said Chuck. "Check it out."
On his screen, Chuck had an image of - you guessed it - the Sun.
"Marvelous," said Franz dryly.
"This is from that new 500,000 frame/second telescope we've been using," said Chuck. "They said it was unnecessary, but man - look what it found!"
"You looked through 500,000 frames to find this particular image?" asked Franz doubtfully.
"I had the computer look through five billion frames, actually," said Chuck, "in case there were any anomalies. And whaddaya know -"
Chuck tapped the right arrow key on his keyboard. Nothing happened for a few frames, and then something curved and black edged onto the screen. Just a rounded black tip, but as Chuck continued to flip through, the shape sprouted, until finally it became a smooth, dark torpedo silhouetted against the sun.
A few frames later, the shape passed out the other side of the image and was gone.
"That's across 15 frames," said Chuck. "Three ten-thousandths of a second. Depending on how far away it is, it's moving faster than anything we've ever seen."
Franz shivered. "It's a graphical glitch."
"That's what I thought too," said Chuck, turning back to the monitor, "but then there's this --"
He jumped to another section of the film and began to tap the right arrow key.
Horrified, Franz watched as torpedo after torpedo crept across the screen.
| 2015-02-06T14:27:58 | 2015-02-06T13:46:29 | 366 | 14 |
[WP] You're a lawyer, who died of a heart attack while in court. Turns out legal battles also get you into Valhalla.
|
It was the last case of my career. I knew it then, but I didn't know yet just how immediately final it was going to be.
It was a tough case. Teenage kid, sweet-as-sin mother. The mother had a doctor or test or to justify dozens of medical procedures on this girl from the time she was five to fourteen. And all of it was true, to an extent. The girl did have brittle bones and blood disorders and this constant, inexplicable damage in her stomach that brought her screaming into the ER hundreds of times.
She was being treated like a case study because she was the president's daughter.
But I knew the truth. It wasn't a rare disease.
I knew it because she told me. Urgently, when she first called my office and begged for help, a guardian ad litem, something.
"*I'm not sick,*" she said. "*It's my mother. She's poisoning me.*"
You can always tell in someone's voice, when they're lying. And that girl sounded as honest and terrified as a newborn. I wanted to scoop her up, count her as one of the grandkids, and take her away from all of this.
This trial was the closest I could get.
It was all over headlines, instantly: POTUS's DAUGHTER CLAIMS FIRST LADY IS POISONING HER
The president's wife played innocent, of course. She was the one calmly and patiently reassuring journalists that a side effect of her poor daughters medicine was psychotic delusions.
"She doesn't even know I'm the one helping her," her mother said, "the poor dear."
The first day of the trial, the president's wife welcomed me warmly and pulled me into a cold, brittle embrace, like hugging a dead butterfly. She told me, "I'm so grateful you're indulging Grace's little tantrum. She simply wouldn't be able to accept her condition without this."
But then she leaned closer. Her fingers dug into my shoulder as she murmured low in my ear. "I hope you come to the right conclusion for the well-being of us all."
I stared at the secret service agents flanking her and wondered if I would be the first civilian they quietly killed.
"I hope so too, Madam First Lady," I said.
I knew even then that it was dangerous. I was looking at the most powerful man in the world and telling him there was horrible abuse occurring in the greatest building in this land.
And we both knew I was right.
The trial was a news storm, of course. There were a bizarre couple of weeks where I had my own goddamn paparazzi snapping pictures of me getting lunch at the restaurant across from the courthouse.
But I've been doing this work for 46 years, and I'm not liable to lose my composure because of a few reporters and flashing lights.
Thanks to the high-profile witnesses and accused, the court was closed to everyone except those of us necessary to put this whole show on the road. No audience. No cameras. The outside world caught snatches of rumors through anonymous jury members, the courtroom painter, and nothing more.
On the last day of trial, I woke with the strange and hazy feeling of a man facing the last day of a very long road, with no idea which direction to take next. I was always a workaholic. Never good at hobbies.
As I dressed in my hotel room, an envelope appeared under my door. The deliverer was gone when I put my head out. But when I opened it, I found a picture of my hotel window, apparently taken through a rifle scope. It was me from only ten minutes ago, buttoning up my shirt.
The threat was clear enough.
But I had looked that girl in the eye and sworn I'd do everything I could for her. No matter what.
"I make things right again, as well as I can," I told her. "That's my job."
When she gave me that hopeful little smile, she looked so much like my granddaughter, my heart was split between rage and despair.
So I walked into that courtroom with my head held high. I gave the best damn final testimony of my career.
The jury didn't need more than an hour to deliberate.
I remember sitting in the courtroom, watching the jury coming out. I remember holding that little girls hand so tightly and smoothing my thumb over hers, over and over, because there was no parent but me to tell her that it was all going to be okay.
A jury member stood up to read the verdict.
And the world went a little... Soft, for me. I remember the girl saying, "Mr. York? Are you okay?" but she sounded so dreamy and distant and my entire left side was freezing and seizing up and I felt my head hit the table.
I watched the rest of it from outside my body. I felt horrible. Another trauma among traumas for that girl as she stood back, weeping, so thin she's mostly bone, and all I wanted to do was protect her.
A woman appeared beside me then. She wore golden armor, which seemed strange, but no more strange than suddenly finding myself standing outside my body.
"You fought valiantly," she told me.
I watched my limp body and my law partner held the girl as she staggered back in shock for the EMTs to rush in.
"Seems like a silly way to die," I say. The word lodged in my throat, but I didn't show it.
"We all die how we must." She gestured over her shoulder and a pair of wings unfurled from her back. "Shall we go?"
"Are you an angel?"
"Oh, I'm much better than that." She winked and said, "I'm a Valkyrie."
I remembered the old illustrated Norse mythology book from my childhood and just shook my head. "The old stories are real then, eh? I thought Valhalla was for warriors."
"It is. Warriors who go into battle knowing they may die and lose, and yet go anyway."
I looked at the girl and at the jury, then at my own empty face.
I whispered, "I don't feel like a warrior."
"To her you do."
The girl was just huddled there, hugging herself. She had stood so tall when we walked into this courtroom, like she too had armored herself for battle.
"Do you know?" I said. "Did I win?"
"Go look for yourself."
And I, ghostlike, walked to the jury stand. I leaned over the shoulder of the woman who was holding the official documentation.
Guilty, guilty, guilty.
The ceiling glowed golden over us.
"Are you ready?" the Valkyrie asked.
I tipped back my head. The corners of my eyes were hot and I knew should have been sad to die, but I wasn't. I was 72 years old. I'd lived to do exactly what I needed to do.
Have my career. Raise my family. Live to meet this girl who so badly needed someone on her side. Fight one final war.
I nodded and smiled and said, "Let's see if it lives up to the books, eh?"
The Valkyrie lifted me up, into the unknown.
°°°
Thank you for reading :D
|
Snow falls in drifts outside the flickering circle proscribed by the fire. I’ve woken with a drink in hand, some steaming affair that smells like the love child of gasoline and cider, and I’m surrounded by a group of the most terrifying men I’ve ever seen. We sit shoulder to shoulder, and they sing in deep, guttural voices, clapping spears against shields, stamping booted feet. They pay no attention to my suit or my thin soled, spotlessly polished shoes. I have no idea how I’ve gotten here, but somehow, nothing has ever felt so right.
At least until I take a sip of my drink and cough myself into next Tuesday. The closest man roars with laughter and claps me on the back so hard I nearly spit out my tongue. He looks at me sternly until I’m able to sip again and swallow this time.
And then the singing stops, and the stories start.
On the opposite side of the fire a man stands up. He has dark skin, nothing like the strange viking types that all around us. His hair falls to his shoulders in dreadlocks, he carries a hide shield and a short, leaf bladed spear. “Shall I tell you of my deeds?” he says, and though I know it isn’t English I understand him, and my heart throbs in sympathy with his.
“Yes, tell us!” the others cry. “Zulu, Zulu!”
The man leans forward, flames dancing across his angular face. He looks out of place against the snow, but despite his dark skin next to the icy paleness of the other men, he’s one of them. I find myself desperately wanting to be one of them as well.
“When the British came to my village, my brothers and I took to the hills.” Silence falls, and every man hangs on his husky voice. “They came with guns, and we had none. They came with armies, and we had none. They came with uniforms, and cannons, and horses, and we had none.
“But my people never needed anything but the strength of our arms and our love of the land. My brothers and I were more blessed in such things than most.” He stands, circle the fire, darting towards seated men who accept his charge with hard eyes. His spear stabs out, stopping an inch from the bridge of their noses. Only one man flinches, and when he does the two warriors smile at each other, and the frightened man bows.
The story continues. “There were other villages of course, a King of the Zulu gathering an army, but we couldn’t wait so long. Not with our lands despoiled, village burnt. We took up the iklwa and the old ways, and we fell upon their ranks like the wrath of the gods.
“Guns fired but did not hit us. Men died, but they did not see us. And rage grew. The first man I killed was a sergeant, though I didn’t know his rank at the time. His mustache was a big as any of yours, his rifle barked fire, the ancestors were with me and I bore him to the ground. I discarded my spear, he discarded his bayonet, and we wrestled over his knife on the dusty ground of a night not so unlike this one, though in my lands there is none of your cursed snow.”
The others all laugh, and I laugh along with them. I’ve always hated the snow.
“My brothers tried to help me, they dove in, spears raised for the kill but I shouted to them ‘No! Stay back, he’s mine!’ And they listened. I was 18 years old, just coming into my strength, and he was a man in his prime. I know not how I overpowered him, but when the knife drove home it found his heart, not mine.”
“Zulu!” the men around the fire cry and the speaker laughs, waving them off. “But mine is not the only story. Ragnar, what of yours, the Dane you killed for your Lord? Or Seamus? What of the man you slew on the shores of the Loch Ness, in the lands of rain and fog?
“Or you, newcomer. What deeds have your soft hands wrought, that we find you among us?”
All eyes turn on me. I’ve taken two sips from cup the whole night, and as they stare at me I drain it dry, sputtering, wanting to scream. It warms right up from the inside out, and soon I can feel nothing but pride, their eyes are no longer a reprieve, and my hands may be soft, but they’ve killed too. I know why I’m here.
“Where I’m from, men don’t kill.” The silence the listeners me isn’t the same as what the last man had gotten. It’s appraising, and they think I’ve said the wrong thing. They’re wrong.
“Rather, men kill, but not in any numbers that matter. In my time systems kill, and they kill far more efficiently than any man here could dream of.” That piques their interest. I’ve figured out where I am, at least after a fashion. The apparently Zulu man and I stand out from the others around the fire, but they’re all spitting images of Vikings, and the one thing that seems to connect is the blood on our hands.
“I’m a corporate lawyer, and my weapons are a pen and a legal pad, a good team of researchers and my own voice. I have a damn good voice.” Some of them smile at that. “In my time, we could wipe every person any of you had ever met in seconds. It wouldn’t even be a problem, and hell, if it happened in the wrong country it might not even make the nightly news. We could do it from a thousand miles away, with a few button on a console, and the only thing we’d ever have to worry about is a lawsuit.
“That’s where I come in, lawsuits.” I stand, straightening my jacket, adjusting my tie. I turn to the closest man, the one who’d clapped me on the back, and I hold my hand out. “Give me your spear,” I say.
He shrugs and hands it to me. “This spear is a good weapon, but it can kill one man per strike. It reaches extends some six feet out, longer if I was strong enough to wield it properly. In my day though, we’d give such things to our children to play with. Real men use Predator IVs and Reapers, drones and proto terminators.
“The last case I won was the defense of the first Lockheed-Libya war. I argued that Lockheed had the right to protect its patents with force arms if necessary, and 500,000 died as a result. By the time my heart started beating out of my chest four more corporate wars had already started.”
I turn to the Zulu man and hold my hand out. He takes it and I pull him into an embrace. “The British are next,” I say, “Boeing has some a score to settle with London.”
He smiles so big, and before I know it he’s pressing another mug into my hands. “Welcome to Valhalla,” he says.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-04-28T17:15:43 | 2021-04-28T17:10:54 | 3,366 | 126 |
[FF] 100 Words or Less - The parachute isn't opening up
|
Barry had seen his old man do it at least a dozen times. Simple. Just count down and pull.
"Ten, nine, eight…"
Barry had to restrain himself from screaming with excitement. Never before had he done something so reckless and exciting in his young life.
“Three! Two! ONE!”
Barry pulled. No problem there. His Dad’s Red Lightning model rocket shot past a thousand feet before pausing to assume its rapid return to Earth. Too rapid. Barry’s eyes widened as the red streak plummeted toward the asphalt.
|
Jason was a veteran now. Over one thousand jumps, every one going off without a hitch. Today he hadn’t packed his own chute. He had been late and Tony had done it for him. He skipped his usual ritual and just jumped on the plane, flinging the lethal parachute over his shoulder. The ground is approaching now, but it’s impossible to tell how long until impact.
*How do I tell this poor fucker strapped to me..* he thought as they plummeted to their deaths, *I hope Tony sees and lands his girlfriend somewhere else.*
| 2014-05-15T13:15:13 | 2014-05-15T12:45:24 | 41 | 16 |
[WP] "God" is actually two people: one who is omnipotent but not omniscient, and the other who is omniscient but not omnipotent. They both hate each other.
|
Two gods stretched their endless appendages across the canvas of space, completely unwilling and unable to reconcile their positions on how humanity should be handled.
"If no harm comes to them then what will they learn?" One God's voice echoed throughout the universe. From the other end, the second god shouted back, "Why give them pain when we could allow them to live like us. I could make them all like us."
"You are incorrect. You can only make them like YOU. It takes my intervention to ensure they become like me, and I refuse to aid you in your quest so long as you don't acknowledge my authority."
"What authority have you obtained over MY creations?"
The god smiled, "My son, wisdom will conquer might every time. The humans need to journey here. They require a trial. If we were to grant them all, think of the chaos this would bring."
"I do not think as you do! And nor will they ever! I am a man of action. THEY are men of action."
"If you leave, you will be cursed to using your gifts free of blueprints. You will stumble along in your quest with positive intentions, but you will see your cause give way to folly, to pain, and to death. Mark my words, you are powerful, but you are not yet strong."
The troubled god looked at his people and wept. With tears in his eyes, he replied "but we can help them.."
The knowledgeable god sighed and stated, "Alas, it is possible, but it is not our place. We must only help them to grow to our heights once they have helped themselves."
"This I cannot except, my imaginer."
"Then, We shall compete as rivals for the direction of humanity."
The troubled god wept even more "Jehovah I wish not to be enemies."
"Nor do I my brother. But your path has been chosen. No matter what they write Lucifer, just know I will never think of you in spite."
|
To know the outcome of every decision, to know the most optimal path to create the best world and to know that no matter what they did they would never be able to enact that vision. This was Scientas entire existence. Rare were the moments that they did not contemplate suicide, that did not consider simply giving up and leaving the world to it's subpar state. However they never did give up and never would. The only thing worst than eternity of powerlessness would be dying knowing what would happen to reality if that narcissistic power crazy moronic entropy head was left unchecked.
"Hello greatest creator that ever was" said Scientas. This was true as they were the only creator. They were also the worst.
"Well anyways you totally need to look at this." They said as they blew up a super nova. "Is that not the greatest thing you have ever seen.?"
"Yes" It was actually the 574390580382058 best that Scientas had ever seen. Potentas really liked blowing up supernovas. Thought it was one of the prettiest of sights. Scientas thought it was one of the most boring.
"Haha am I not the greatest?"
"Yes, yes you are" in the most genuine sounding tone of the world's greatest actor.
"Would you ever lie to me?" Potentas asked.
"No" lied Scientas.
"Well what brings you to bask in my greatness?"
"While I know that you are great, even you must have limits. I bet you can't create a carbon based lifeforms."
"There's nothing that I cannot do. Though mind reminding me what a carbon based lifeforms is?"
Holding back a sigh that could last eternity Scientas started explaining.
* * *
"That Scientas was so stupid" thought Potentas. They always bet that they couldn't do something and every single time Potentas proved them wrong. "When would they learn?"
| 2016-10-22T16:52:21 | 2016-10-22T16:47:27 | 58 | 12 |
[WP] A demon who is really bad at his job keeps accidentally making the person he is possessing's life better
|
Klaw sat in his chair, shaking his head. What had gone wrong? She was just a 90-pound human. Supposed to be easy. At this rate, he was never going to get his demon-possession license.
“So,” the Possessor’s Ed instructor said, “Do you know what you did wrong there?”
Klaw sighed. “Well,” he said, “I guess I didn’t realize what her occupation was.”
“Hmph!” the Possessor’s Ed instructor said. “Before you get into a new human, you should always check to see if there’s anything different about it. Anything unusual. And once you’re inside, you should tap lightly on the brakes, tap lightly on the gas… get a feel for how things work.”
“I know,” Klaw said, “I’m sorry.”
“What you did,” the instructor continued, “was you pressed way too hard on the gas pedal. You didn’t realize how sensitive the controls are for this ‘Madonna’ woman.”
Klaw looked at the floor, embarrassed.
“That music video,” the instructor said, “is headed straight for the top of the charts.”
“I’m sorry,” Klaw said, “I’ll do better next time.”
The instructor snorted. “That shouldn’t be hard,” he said.
They flew back up towards Earth, cloaking themselves into invisibility.
“Okay,” the instructor said, “See this human, over here? I want you to possess him. He’s a politician.”
“Whoa,” Klaw said, “But isn’t he a little big? I’m not sure if I’m ready to operate a human that large.”
“Don’t worry,” the instructor said, “You’re just trying to make him crash his life into the ground. Nothing fancy.”
“Okay,” Klaw said, “I think I’m ready. What’s his name again?”
“I’m not sure,” the instructor said, “But he’s the Mayor. The Mayor of Toronto.”
|
Progress Sheet: ~~Dezz~~ ~~Dezemon~~ ~~Desmon???~~ D. Emon.
Aug 1
Sneak in lottery ticket into bag. (Failed)
Aug 2
Sneak in lottery ticket into bag. (Failed. Think she saw me. Sorry, my bad.)
Aug 3
Sneak in lottery ticket into bag. (Failed. Accidentally fixed car engine.)
Aug 4
Sneak in lottery ticket into bag. (Failed. Accidental couple formation.)
Aug 5
Sneak in lottery ticket into bag. (Failed. Scared cat....)
Aug 6
Sneak in lottery ticket into bag. (Failed. Roses thought a romantic gesture.)
6a: I acknowledge I'm being plced on performance watch.
Signed: ~~Dezz~~ ~~Dezemon~~ ~~Desmon???~~ D. Emon.
Aug 7
Sneak in lottery ticket into bag. (Success. Note: restocking fridge proved an unnecessary step.)
Aug 8
Check up on subject. (Success. Shrieking confirmed. Subject experienced great happiness. First try :-) )
Item: Take away lottery ticket initiated
Aug 9
Take away lottery ticket (Failed... hmm fixing light proved counter-productive.)
Aug 10
Take away lottery ticket (Sucess. Am improving Boss!)
Aug 11
Check up on subject (Success? Hmm ... subject no longer undergoing despair. Engaged??? Unsure if loss of great amounts of money is an aphrodasiac for human males.)
Item: Present devilish bargain initiated.
Aug 12
Present devilish bargain (Oops, subject already has ticket... dropped lottery ticket on last check-up. Sorry boss. Minor technical glitch. Start again?)
*********
**Employee fired**
| 2014-09-04T05:01:22 | 2014-09-04T04:45:53 | 199 | 109 |
[WP] The Princess is dead. Eaten by the very dragon you had been sent to save her from. However, as you realize that the wise and ancient beast knows shape-shifting magic, and would very much like an entire royal treasury for it's hoard, a scheme begins to form...
|
"Well, this is awkward," I said.
I poked what was left of the princess with the tip of my sword. The weapon sunk a little into her skin, but there wasn't much blood left to lose. Much of it had already drained from her body, seeing as how she was in two pieces.
I glared at the dragon, who was currently curled up across the cave, nibbling on the other half of her highness, or rather what had recently been her highness. The oversized reptile had the decency to look faintly abashed.
"You said it was fine," the dragon whined. "Said it was fine! You said if she died, it wouldn't be a loss!"
I withdrew my sword from the corpse, inspecting the blade. Absently, I pulled a rag from one of my belt pouches and rubbed the end of the weapon, before putting the blade away.
"I meant… that she, and her entire family, are a blight on society, and I really wouldn't care if something unfortunate happened to her. But we needed her intact for the plan to work, you know?"
"I was hungry," the dragon grumbled, as she swallowed a bite of the princess. "Very hungry."
"You had an entire pig yesterday," I replied. "I expected you to control your appetite."
The dragon flapped her wings in indignation. The cave wasn't large enough for them to unfurl fully, but I still had to resist the urge to duck when one of them came a bit too close to my head.
"That was yesterday! Yesterday! Today is today!"
I shook my head. "I should have gotten you two pigs… the farmer was already going to miss the one, it's not like more would have mattered. Never mind. Too late, now."
"There's some of her left," the dragon pointed out, jabbing a wingtip to one side. "Some of her! Kind of left. You can bring her back!"
I sighed. "The king is expecting his daughter alive and intact, not a discount slightly-used version. Unless you can vomit the rest of her up, and we can find a necromancer… "
The dragon looked down at the partially-eaten portion of princess in her claws. Her eyes crossed, and she rubbed a claw against her throat.
"No, don't do that," I said, raising my hands hastily. "We'll figure something out."
The dragon shrugged her forelimbs. "Could always conquer the kingdom. Conquering is good."
"I'm not disparaging your capabilities," I said drily, "but we ruled out that option in the planning stages, remember? Too messy. The idea was to kidnap the princess, then I'd bring her back for the reward. It was a good plan. Until you got… hungry."
"Sorry," the dragon mumbled. "Sorry?"
I rubbed my face with a gloved hand. "Okay. Let's talk through this. We can salvage this. We just need a princess. A living princess."
I paused. I stared at my draconic friend, speculatively.
The dragon moved her head from side to side. "Uh, why are you looking at me like that? Looking at me funny."
I nodded slowly. "You can shapeshift, right?"
"Can shapeshift," the dragon said, pronouncing the syllables carefully. "Can. It is a thing I can do. Definitely do."
I folded my arms across my chest. "But you're bad at it."
"I wouldn't say bad," the dragon said, in a plaintive tone. "Not bad. Just… not good?"
I gestured at the late princess. "You left her head intact, so there's a model for the face. We've got about three days before she starts to really go bad. Better start practising."
The dragon whined.
"Come on," I encouraged, "it'll be fine, I know you can do it. Look, if you work hard, if you get this down, I'll get more pigs for you, okay?"
As always, the prospect of bribery and food immediately lifted my companion's spirits. Her expression shifted, and her head visibly perked up.
I smiled. "Maybe a cow or two!"
|
I entered the dragon's lair just in time for the dragon to take the final bite of the princess. Or rather, what was left of her.
"Am I too late?"
"To save the princess? Yes." rumbled the dragon. "To die? Never."
"Ah, well," I nodded, trying to appear nonchalant. But I'd spent years studying and preparing for this day. I knew what I'd come to do, and I wasn't the type to give up so easily.
My eyes scanned the surroundings, picking up on every possible detail. I noticed something off about the lair... and a plan began to form.
"O wise and ancient dragon," I said. "Your lair seems empty of riches. Do you not desire gold like the dragons of lore, or are you content to live in squalor?"
The dragon made a furious growl that shakes the walls. I could feel it in my bones. "Impudent human! Your 'king' stole my hoard from me, on top of slaying my children. Why do you think I killed him, and now his worthless daughter too?"
"Well, I've got a proposition." I said. "There's a way for you to get revenge, *and* get your hoard back, easily. Do you see it?"
"Your foolish attempts at buying time will not save you from death," rumbled the dragon as it took three massive strides in my direction.
"Transform into the princess," I said quickly before I got eaten. The dragon paused, looking thoughtful, and I continued. "I've read that dragons have mighty shapeshifting abilities. If you impersonate the princess, and you let me escort the 'princess' back to the castle while pretending to have slain the dragon, then you shall be queen and I shall be king! The kingdom shall be your lair, not this little cave. All your riches will be yours again, and all the royal treasure will be too."
"Hmm," rumbled the dragon once more, bringing his piercing gaze to bear onto me. I could almost see the gears turning in his head. "Tempting. Very tempting. But I'm not stupid. What's in it for you?"
"Me? I'm just here for the glory. All I ever wanted was to be called 'Dragonslayer', you know. This plan is probably an easier way to get that title."
"And it's certainly not because you want to become king and maybe bang a hot magical dragon princess."
"Absolutely not," I said. "I've got no desire to rule. I know that dragons have the ability of insight - look into my eyes, O wise and ancient one, and you can see I'm telling the truth."
The dragon's mighty red eye stared into my soul for long, long seconds. I wasn't worried - I knew I was in the clear. Technically, anyway. "Indeed," he rumbled. "I like the way you think. You are clever, for a human. In that case, I accept."
The dragon's body began to shrink down, smaller and smaller. The dragon's tough armored scales, sharp fangs, and massive talons disappeared, fully replaced by soft pink skin and thin silken garments.
Soon, the 'princess' stood before me, giving me a sultry smile, beautiful and completely indistinguishable from the original. I marvelled at the magic involved.
"So, what next, my hero?" said the 'princess' in a coy tone, placing one hand seductively on my shoulder.
In a single slash, I drew my sword and separated her head from her neck.
"Impossible!" the princess/dragon gasped with her/his final breath. "You... lied..."
"I didn't lie. I told you, all I ever wanted was to be called 'Dragonslayer'. *You* just weren't paying attention."
Gradually, the magic faded. The princess/dragon thing eventually reverted into its original draconic form. Taking the dragon's severed head with me, I began the slow trek back to the castle.
| 2022-07-25T20:59:04 | 2022-07-25T17:31:26 | 281 | 154 |
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
|
Hellfire and death fluttered down from the sky. Ashy snowflakes, falling burning. Through the rapidly-heating window of his office building, Federation Commander Korthu watched the foreign spaceships drop fire on the capital city. Below him, people ran, their many-tentacled bodies writhing, as smolding debris crushed them. The screams of his people rose up to find him.
"Well," Korthu said. "This all seems rather unnecessary."
He used a tentacle to pull a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dab at his boneless head. He looked like an squid that decided to climb out of the ocean and walk one day.
Behind him, his military advisor, a lavender-colored cephalopod, said in a stern voice, "They appear to be from the Milky Way sector we routed six solar cycles ago, sir."
"*Six*." He paced in front of his window, shaking his head.
One of those alien ships soared close enough that Korthu could see the bizarre alien driving it. Its horrifying, knobbed limbs clutched the steering as it lifted one arm to hold up a single finger.
The side of the spaceship read *S.S. Retribution*.
"I don't understand these humans." Korthu sighed as the ship trailed up a wall of fire in its wake. "You engage in one friendly act of war and they storm your planet."
"Perhaps we should consider evacuating, sir."
Korthu just shook his head. The city below him was a field of red and orange blooms. How many millions were left dead?
"All we did was crush a few buildings and take their... What is it... That fancy little toy that had in the harbor. The Statue of... Liturgy, something." Korthu squinted through the wreckage. There. He saw it. A huge statue of one of those strange alien women, holding up a burning torch. The humans had chained it to their craft and were lifting it up and up. "Oh that's bloody unfair. We nearly had a complete set!"
Korthu had made it his singular military aim to collect bizarre and multicolored alien statues from around the universe. He'd nearly had a full rainbow--even a few ultraviolets. And now they were taking back the jewel of his collection.
"Sir, we need to leave. *Now*."
"No point. Let them reanimate me." Korthu slumped dramatically against the window. "These humans don't play fair--"
Before he could finish, the window exploded inward. A wall of hot glass rocketed back against both Korthu and his advisor, reducing them to jelly almost instantaneously.
They weren't dead, exactly. They would reconstitute in a day or two, along with whatever citizens hadn't been vaporized altogether. They rebuilt themselves limb by limb from the wreckage.
And when they did, Korthu would look at the spotless sulfur sky and ask his advisor, "Do you think they'll notice if we take it back?"
***
/r/nickofstatic
|
War. War never changes. Only weapons are new. Yet it is not the weapons, but the men who handle them, who win victories
And so it was men who redefined war on the galactic scale.
For millineal war had followed a simple formula. Once relations broke Down full armada would be assembled and hurled at the enemy. A battle would follow, either an assault or a pitched battle in netural space and victors would be determined in just a few engagements.
During an assault if the aggressor got within orbital range it would bombard the planets capital institutions until a surrender was made. Land battles were almost unheard of but for uprisings but would typically be solved in a few large engagements.
After a surrender concessions were made and peace continued.
This form of war lasting up until the 'Chinese spirit' incident.
The Chinese Spirit was a ship sent after the new horizon to test whether generational ships could be practical for humans.
A large craft was built to house a few hundred lab rats. The craft was fully self suistainible, producing enough food and recycling water to ensure the rats could continue living.
After several generation s the rats were discovered by the Grafene, who, Dispite clear communication were able to confirm their sentintly and wrongly assumed they built the craft. This lead to the activation of 'Space Faring' for earth and allowed an attack.
The Grafene invaded with all of their might but even after a short but effective bombing run earth refused to surrender.
After flattening most population centres from orbit earth still held resolute. Fearing shame and showing weakness to other powers the Grafene decided to continue and start a ground invasion.
The operation went to pot almost immediately. Instead of grouping up and having a large fight (which the humans knew they'd lose) they separated into smaller groups and fought small scale skirmishes.
The Grafene failed to respond to these tactics and suffered defeat after defeat.
With each loss the humans absorbed their weapons into their arsenal's, progressing from simply stealing to imitating and finally improving on the designs.
For years the humans whittled away at the occupying Grafene, stealing weapons and supplies and building vast Vaults deep underground.
The Human League, the now default government and sole organising power of humanity became increasingly bold in its attacks cumilating In the Mongolian spaceport attack.
The Grafene had built their primary landing port in the Mongolian plains. At anyone time thousands of orbital craft were stationed their and 5 space evaluators and been constructed to keep earth supplied and extract its ores and valuables.
The Mongolian push, as it was known, was the first battle the galaxy could understand. Nearly a hundred thousand troops were involved in the assault on the port, recking devastion and quickly stealing and towing craft away to reverse engineer.
Of corse the craft were secondary objective as the troops primary target was using the elevators to get into orbit...
But we'll learn more about that in tomorrow's lesson
| 2019-12-17T12:03:04 | 2019-12-17T11:41:49 | 421 | 106 |
[WP] You just got home from school. Write me some bad teenage poetry.
|
Sarah, your name rhymes with Clara
I wish your name was Clara so I could rhyme it with Sarah
How I love ya,
Like a Man loves his dog,
or gay guys love buttsex
I wanna have sex
With you
Or your sister
because you're twins and she looks like you
which is why I want to have sex with her, by which I mean you
Though a threesome is fine, I'm down if you are too
|
The blackest of nights, oh moonlit sky!
I do not dread death, for thine beauty shinest bright.
Throughout the night.
As I lie here, slumbering a dreamless dream.
Thinking of thou, thoughts most obscene.
As I caress my breasts, I let slip a sigh.
I lust for thee, will thy be mine?
| 2014-02-10T03:14:09 | 2014-02-10T03:13:14 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] You often get mistaken for your twin sister. Though it never really bothered you, now that she's become one of the most feared criminals in city, it's starting to become a problem.
|
Life is hard when the entire world is out to get you and tedious when you’re stuck in the crossfire.
Six-shot Sam might be the most ruthless mob boss in the state, but she’ll always be my little sister (no matter how much she objects, a 4 minute difference makes her younger) and we’ll always love her, even if we don’t exactly approve of her life choices. The problems arise when people have trouble telling Samantha the Mob Boss from Avery the MIT graduate.
The cops learned pretty fast, although brash rookies occasionally tell me they’re “keeping an eye on me” ,as if that would scare Samantha anyways. The FBI were, thankfully, pretty good at actually investigating things, and only planned one stake-out on me before realizing I was the wrong person. I’ll always remember the look on that poor agent’s face when I walked up to his car and told him he was blocking a fire hydrant.
The main problem is regular people. Getting a job worth my degree is hard when every employer asks why your face is next to a story about two dead cops on the news. I doubt I’d have gotten my current job at Novozymes Biopharma if Samantha hadn’t gotten a new scar across her cheek two weeks ago. All of my coworkers looked twice when they first saw me and some of them still don’t trust me, but the job uses my skills and pays well, so I’m happy,
Criminals occasionally threaten “my boys” with violence if they don’t “quit musclin in on our turf”. That’s a direct quote by the way, his two body guards even looked confused at him. It’s never fun trying to explain to the dictionary definition of dumb muscle that no, I’m not the person you’re looking for, now please let me eat my bagel in peace. Samantha offered to have a few of her goons shadow me in case anyone tries something, but I said I could handle it. That didn’t stop her, of course, but Bruce and Calvin scare off most wannabe super criminals as they try and fail to look inconspicuous, so it all works out.
All in all, we love Samantha and, even though she’s caused a few unwanted ripples, she’s still part of the- hang on... Seriously? Another bug? Oh for the love of- SNAP
**[TRANSMISSION LOST]**
|
"OMG It's HER!!!" - Accompanied the shriek shouting was one most horrified expression of a woman I have ever seen in my life. Despite my best effort to cover my face behind the cool black protection mask I have just bought out of necessary the day before, there are still people who could recognize, and, to my absolute horror, mistaken me for my little sister.
"How damaging it is to be mistaken for one's beloved little sister?" Anyone might ask that question. Well, for me, the answer is: Yes, tremendously damaging.
The next innocent inquiry maybe: "Why? Has your sister done something bad that can potentially cause you to lose face?" Yes, however, what she has done is more than just lose face.
Who can imagine a 15 year old highschool Anna can hack into our national bank's security computer system, and in a night, stole a total of 3 billion dollars from the bank, causing disruption everywhere, and disappear without a trace. What is more terrifying is, letting her family members, dad and me - her sister included, suffer from the consequences.
Police has already visited our house the day before and made us answer a 3-hour interrogation - what I would describe as the longest fearful conversation ever. Our house was marked with those yellow strings usually appeared on crime movies. The police arrogantly searched our entire apartment. And by the word "searched" , I mean quickly scattering all our personal belongings to floor, mercilessly grabbing every electronic device, including my precious phone, back to police headquarter for "further investigation" . In the next 2 hour, dad and I would be escorted to the headquarter for specific inquiry.
Why would I ever be in this position? Why would you do this to me, Anna? To our entire family?
Anna was never a rebellious member, who could do something like this. Personally, I feel a little bit impressed by her skills. How can a petite girl, in one night, tear down one of the most protected computer system in America, while still devise a plan to get away perfectly?
-- To be continued --
So, this is my first try on writing on this subreddit. Hope you guys like it. Please leave me some comment.
Love :))
| 2019-11-03T06:37:15 | 2019-11-03T06:12:35 | 996 | 85 |
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why.
|
Was he running late? Perhaps the local henchmen down at the Shady Suds had actually lasted more then a minute before they spilled the proverbial beans on the location of my 'secret lair'. I peaked out the window and spotted Smashingclad climbing out of the remains of the front steps of the abandoned bean cannery I had been working out of for the last 2 weeks. Guess they were more rotten then I thought. I could hear him stomping down the hallway now though, time to greet the distraught hero.
I step out into the hallway and somberly greet my old nemesis, "Clad, I'm sorry to hear about Cassandra. I know tha...." Being grabbed by the throat really does make it difficult to monologue.
***'****Kirik****'...*** Having one's throat crushed does tend to make it damn well impossible.
"**Where is Rot Master, everyone said you were asking for his location, now he's vanished off the face of the earth. You can't protect him from me."**
I let the flow of time bend around me as I shift back into the doorway. Rubbing the phantom pain away from neck. "Clad I have no intention of protecting Rot Master. Rather, I have him waiting for you in my office." I don't even have time to step back and invite Clad in before he shoves me out of the way and storms into my office.
**"ROT MASTER, I'LL KILL YOU."** It takes him a moment to scan the mostly empty office before he turns back to me. "**No more games Time Bender, take me to him or I'll spend all day snapping you into pieces. I don't care how many time you undo it, I will make you talk."**
"The mini freezer in the corner." You wouldn't think a man of Rot Masters size could fit in a mini freezer that small, but then, there hadn't been that much left of him the last time I killed him.
It's the first time I've seen Smashingclad hesitate since he arrived. He slowly steps over to the freezer and gingerly opens the door. His silent stare as he studies the remains of the man that killed his wife seems to last forever. "**Did...** did he suffer?"
"Yes Clad, many, many times. I spent an hour torturing him to death for every minute he kept Cassandra in that hell hole of laboratory of his." I can see the grim satisfaction in his eyes as he imagines Rot Master dying a horrible death only to have his time bent and have the process start all over again. He must have worked out the math in his head as moments later he turns and to face me with an angry snarl on his face "**That sick freak had her for for almost 3 days, you couldn't have had had him for more then a few hours. YOU DIDN'T MAKE HIM SUFFER ENOUGH!"**
I place a gentle hand on Clad's shoulder and bend the flow of time around my office. "I'll let you in on a little secret Clad, the dossier the Alliance of Heroes has on me is quite inaccurate. I'm not limited to bending time to just the last 5 minutes. I can bend time years or decades if I really exert myself. And clearly that whole section about having to recharge after bending more then 30 minutes is just plain wrong."
Clad's eyes go wide as he realizes the implications of what I've said. "You could bring her back. **Please, I'll do anything. Money, information on the Alliance, whatever you want."** I smirk as I watch the once proud hero falling to his knees and promising me his soul. "Oh Clad, why do you think I've never been caught. Your not the first hero whose had their family targeted. The higher members of the Alliance basically give me carte blanche as long as I clean up the messes left by behind by the fools who break the unwritten rule of attacking a hero's loved ones."
"Then you'll..."
"It's already done. Welcome to last week. Don't worry about Rot Master I've bent his future self back as well. Now before you hurry home to your wife, I'll be robbing the Big City Bank branch on South Wind Street in a weeks time. It would be best if you were out of town at the time... perhaps a nice weekend getaway with Cassandra to the beach?"
I had to give it to Smashingclad, the man looked visibly torn and guilty as he heard me announcing my plan to rob a bank, but I could see him swallow his pride as he shakily replied "Yah... Cassandra loves the beach, I'll make sure we're gone all weekend."
I smiled as I watched watched Smashingclad rush out of my office, and I giggled as I heard the crunch of the rotten front steps giving way beneath his feet again. I pulled out the blue prints for the bank and laid them out on the desk in front of me. A super fermented 56 oz. can of beans didn't produce a very large explosion, certainly not enough to break open a bank vault. But when its time was bent causing the explosion to occur 150 times in a single second, it should serve to crack open the vault door.
And if it didn't work, at least it would be good for a laugh. After all, even when you have all the time in the world, a good laugh is always worth it.
|
'He is new!' this thought played in my head as I heard the new kid on the block brag about how he finally got over on his nemesis.
'He is new!' had become my mantra of sorts for the last fifteen minutes as I listened to him retell his plan with great enthusiam. Apparently missing the look of horror on the surrounding villains faces as he wove his tale.
'HE IS NEW!' was a mantra that was failing to keep me calm in the face of this new development.
Close to hyperventilating, I couldn't stay here and listen to this idiot brag about stealing the daughter of his "idiotic foe" as he put it.
​
"LOCK US DOWN!" I scream at the nearest henchman completely ignoring nobility and grace as I rushed to the council near the throne roman started bypassing protocols so that we might have a chance to survive the encounter I felt was coming.
The idiot, as I had been graciously calling him for the last 20 minutes, walked up to me with confusion on his face. IN retrospect I couldn't really blame him for his confusion, though he has violated an unspoken rule in villain society, how was he to know if we don't ever speak about it?
"Why does everybody look scared all of a sudden?" he asked in a quiet tone.
After getting a confirmation code that the lockdown procedures were ninety-seven percent done, I took a deep breath and decided to educate this young man on the folly of his ways.
"Do you know what happened to a cornered rabbit when they are backed into a corner?" he looked confused but answer telling me about how they lashed out when cornered.
"Correc.t" I said, took a breath and continued with my questioning.
"What about a mother bear?" I asked; still tense but calmer now that the lock down was now ninety-nine percent complete.
I admit the look of horror that slowly seeped into his face was entertaining, under less serious circumstances I might have laughed.
"I see you finally understand" my voice low barely audible in the silence of my now fully locked down fortress.
"You have poked the sleeping bear." I said simply.
"Tickled the sleeping dragon, poke the lion with a stick, and destroyed the wasp nest without any protection for yourself"
"I pray you learn today why we never go after the family of our enemies." pressing a few more keys I saw a dome of energy slowly cover me , the idiot and a little over half of the assembled villains.
"I don't..." whatever words he was about to say died on his lips when the walls began to warp and curve in on itself as a lone figure proceeded to punch his way through the walls of my compound.
The hero stood there looking like a man on a mission and unfortunately ,for me, his objective was standing right next to me.
My hunch man took off toward the hero ready to nuetralize the threat, and they were immediately stopped when the hero picked up a chunk of the wall he broke through and tossed it toward the incoming group.
The other villains henchmen ran forward to do what my henchmen failed to do and were crushed in a similar manner as mine.
I guess being a pissed off father came before caring about human life.
IN a panic as e slowly strode towards the center of the room looking, incredibly menacing, he and I had a moment of understanding. A moment where we wanted the same exact thing.
"WHERE IS SHE?" we roared in unison.
Well he roared and I whispered but I thad the intended effect as the rookie started to blabber off where he had left the girl over the loud speaker.
The hero, read monster, stopped as he received the information he wanted and was quite willing to murder to receive.
the hero took a breath and turned to walk away before stopping and slamming his right foot to the ground.
The resulting wave caused my energy field to destabilize and fade from view while knocking the villains down on their backsides.
The hero slowly took to the sky and began to speak in an amplified voice.
"Rejoice villains, for t=your sick nd twisted Gods have decided to have mercy and spare you pathetic and worthless lives" as h bespoke the rookie villain actually bowed his a=head and began to pray in mumbled tones.
"But be warned, if you touch any of my family member again you had better pray they will have mercy on you souls because I will not.
With that final comment he turned and flew strait up and through the ceiling causing more rubble and debris to rain down on the group of villains.
​
Once the dust cleared and all the villains where back on their feet and moving again I turned to the rookie.
"So what did we learn?" though sarcastic my question was one I really wanted to hear the answer to, the rookie did not disappoint.
"Today I learned why we don't go for the heroes family" he looked at me and upon seeing my look he continued.
"Cause when we do they, they become some kind of God of retribution" he looked a looked around my ruined based and towards the rubble that had puddles of blood leaking from beneath it.
"and we don't wanna mess with the God"
​
First post so please leave contructive criticism
| 2020-07-12T17:36:50 | 2020-07-12T13:39:06 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] A world where *everyone* has superpowers.. Except one man.
|
"It's a turtle, it's a snail, it's Captain Everyman. Able to do his taxes at alarming speeds, able to drive safely following all posted guidelines" Sally watched happily. She loved the adventures of Captain Everyman the only normal person in the whole world.
"What are you watching sweetheart?" There was her father boring Commander Courage, he could leap buildings in a single bound, but could he blow a dandelion without his super breath taking out a city block? Nope only her hero could do that.
"Captain Everyman daddy, now move I can't see the screen," Sally focused her father levitating out of view. Placing him down on the seat next to her.
"You're powers are really improving honey" The Commander was proud of his little daughter she took after her mother, Psycho-Sis. Though her attitude towards he powers was a bit alarming though not uncommon.
"I don't want my powers to improve daddy, I want to be like Captain Everyman, When he focuses or concentrates things don't float everywhere. He just comes up with new ideas. I wish I could be like that" Sally looked down pulling her knees to her chest.
Commander Courage wrapped an arm around her "I know sweetheart, I was a lot like you when I was a kid. I wanted to be like Captain Everyman too."
"You did? but daddy Captain Everyman's younger than you" Sally looked up at her father.
"Well I was a fan of Everyman, Captain Everyman's father. He was even more normal than his son. He was my hero, you see he could do something I couldn't do."
"But you can do everything daddy, What can't you do?"
"Play the Saxophone, it was amazing. He could make such beautiful sounds come out of that instrument. I tried to do the same and I destroyed the instrument, I learned something that day from Everyman himself."
"Really, what was it daddy?"
"He taught me, that even though I couldn't do one normal thing. Doesn't mean I couldn't do others. That day he taught me how to hum, it's not exactly playing the Sax but it's close" Commander said humming causing Sally to giggle.
"So what your saying is that even though, I can't concentrate like Captain Everyman can. I can still do other things, like blow a dandelion or play an instrument"
"Exactly, We may all be super but we all have a bit of normal inside of us"
Sally grinned hugging her father "Thanks Daddy"
"No problem Sweet Heart, Now let's watch Captain Everyman, I think he's a bout to walk around this building" Sally laid her head on her father enjoying the exploits of the most normal and most unique man in the world.
|
People look at you. Not so much with hatred or fear, but just with pity, like they would look at a boy without arms, or a blind woman. I never liked to be pitied. I never cried, I only felt jealous, but I got over it. Sure, I didn't have a frivolous superpower or anything, but I had faced hardships. Life wasn't made more easy for me and I took pride in that. I didn't fly to work, I took the bike. I didn't summon fire to cook my food, I put on the stove. Everything I did, I did by myself, no exceptions. I looked at the people around me with mild disdain. They were not truly self-made men or women, only I was. Helped by their abilities, while I was only helped by myself.
In retrospect, I think that proud belief was a bit of anger at my lack of abilities. My parents were disappointed and seeing other people do amazing things with their powers felt like a big middle finger. I think that's why I developed it. I wasn't really bullied, but still..
I just eventually let it go over the years. I didn't care so much anymore.
Pride goeth before the fall. My pride in being completely unspecial came with arrogance. It wasn't really a fall, but it was somewhat of a moral decay. I would tread through the halls of college and have somewhat of a disdaining smirk on my face. People avoided me. I thought it was because I was different, but I don't think that was often the case. Maybe my arrogance, my sense of superiority made me someone not fun to be around.
With further isolation came further pride. But also loneliness. My pride wanted me to go on alone, like a true self-made man. I shielded my heart and continued on. I distanced myself from my ''ordinary'' siblings, I started living where I knew nobody. But eventually you grow cold. You feel like someone stabbed you in the heart with a knife made out of ice. You start wondering, desiring. And, teeth gnashing, you give up.
I visited clubs. I joined a D&D hobby club. I travelled through America by train, lots of stuff. Finally I surrendered myself completely and forgot about my self-made ideal. I asked a woman out, who said yes. We broke up a year later. I asked another woman out, who said no. I asked the third woman out, who said yes.
I have let go of my wroth and of my pride. With such love, who can't?
I stand up from my chair and go to wake her up.
| 2014-05-21T12:48:16 | 2014-05-21T11:08:29 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] One day everyone notices the words "Human Update 1.1 progress 1%" in the corner of their eye.
|
Human v1.1 Patch Notes
* Fixed an issue where eyes can become desynced from the balancing system, causing locomotion problems.
* Corrected a race condition that could cause speech to begin before the thought process for that speech had exited cleanly.
* Fixed a bug in the low level logic engine that caused some versions of the Human to not recognize other versions of Human as valid communication and cooperation targets. This problem was mostly an issue when Humans from different regions were in the same area.
* Corrected a very prevalent problem that would cause one hand to be vastly more dexterous than the other. Due to legacy issues previously manufactured Humans will not benefit from this change, but all new Humans created by Humans with this update installed will.
* Corrected some behavior in the immune system firmware that was causing unreasonable reactions to very minor pathogens, causing damage to the throat, eyes, and sinuses.
* Fixed an issue where the eyes would be delayed in adjusting to light levels, causing pain and short term damage when moving from very dark areas to very bright areas. This issue was most prevalent after waking from sleep.
* Increased the precision of the limb motion and awareness subsystems. This should help avoid toes and knees colliding with objects while walking, and hands and elbow hitting objects while moving the arms.
* Optimized the digestion routines to more accurately determine when enough food had been eaten, this should cut down on the amount of food consumed by about 20%.
* Corrected an issue that was causing sweet beverages to be favored heavily. A much wider variety of beverages should now be equally as appealing.
* Removed unused drivers for the appendix, as the hardware is no longer used in any current production model of Human.
* Increased the timing accuracy on the circulatory system, which should increase the time the heart can be in High Performance mode before the oxygen supply is exhausted and a rest cycle must start.
* Optimized the utilization patterns of the muscles in the upper body of the female variant of Human, which should result in increased upper body strength when apply torque to things such as jars and bottle tops.
* Corrected a volume equalization issue that was causing some female speech to be ignored by the speech processing hardware. This issue mostly affected the male variant of Human, and became most pronounced in models with the marriage subsystem active.
* Added some debugging functions and logging systems to make future versions of the Human firmware easier to test and deploy
Thank you for updating!
|
If you're careful, you can just catch it. Sitting there, in the corner of your field of view. There's a little trick you have to do to focus just right to be able to read the words. "Human Version 1.1 Update: Progress 1%"
No progress bar, at least none that you can reliably reproduce. Maybe the update gets us a progress bar? Or like, some life-time statistics, like in those what if questions that pop up all over the internet. No-one can agree on the font. Of all the things, why focus on the font? There's urban rumours of people offing themselves after apparently deciding they couldn't live with a God that types in Comic Sans.
All the churches are in uproar of course. "End Times", "Second Coming", "Redemption Of Man", "Quick Repent All Your Sins Before Jesus Gets Back". Yadda yadda. The progress has gone up by 0.1% in the last few weeks, and pretty much everyone's freaking out. Riots in North Korea, and Russia, and China, and America, and Europe, and the Middle East, and....
The genius of it, I think, is that the mere knowledge that a better/different state of humanity is coming, is enough to motivate change. People are energized. They want to do things, get stuff done before everything about being human is redefined forever. Most of ISIS has splintered, and over half the resistance have split off into a subgroup dedicated to stopping the remaining half. Down in Columbia they're burning the cocaine plantations. All those riots I mentioned above aren't senseless violence, they're ordinary people trying to enforce a change for the better. For the first time in a long time, people have something that implies a God is
a) up there, and
b) compassionate enough to care, even if only a little.
Just those two ideas are enough, and suddenly the whole world wants to clean up their act. It's damn brilliance, is what it is.
I half expect that the "update" is supposed to be more like a Quest Completion Bar. And as we strive to make the world better, as the corrupt and wicked slowly falter in the face of a metaphysical Big Brother, the progress bar will slowly rise.
It won't be easy, but then no quest ever is.
| 2015-03-04T17:27:53 | 2015-03-04T17:26:24 | 519 | 182 |
[WP] You're reincarnated in a world where songs contain magic. You can pick one song only from Earth to use in this world. To be the greatest bard ever, you have to chose carefully.
|
People have all these weird preconceived notions about bards. They think we’re all dressed up in prissy frocks, plucking away at ballards on little lutes, useful only as light entertainment or as a warmup before the real warriors arrive. And to be fair, before I’d arrived in this world it seems like that was the only way anyone had ever tried it. But the gods of this world don’t care what song you use to channel their magic, as long as you can pour your heart and soul into playing it.
I hefted the masterwork of steel and wood, raising it to my chest height and examining the enchanted plates set into its surface for any imperfections. The dwarves especially had laughed when I showed them my “axe”, but they’d shut up pretty fast once I demonstrated what it could do. I plucked one string experimentally, and was rewarded with a meaty **twang** that vibrated the air around me for a few seconds before fading away. That was one advantage of a magically-enhanced guitar - no need to carry heavy amplifiers when the world itself was one huge sound system. Satisfied that my weapon was ready, I flipped down my visor and took a moment to adjust to the weight of the armour on my shoulders. Again, traditional bards would never wear full plate into battle (minus the gauntlets, of course) but I was no traditional bard.
Slowly rising out of the mountain in the distance, I could see the dragon uncoiling from its lair. I had earned a reputation in the Kingdom for fighting their kind, but this particular dragon was far older and stronger than the whelps I had dispatched before. The King had insisted on sending a company of soldiers with me, but I had told them to stay back. My magic was like a tempestuous inferno once roused, and I could not promise they wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire.
As the dragon turned and began to streak towards me, I took a moment to pray. Osbourne, Hetfield, van Halen, Rörland - the masters of my art. I beseeched them to guide my fingers, though I knew they were far, far away. I took one deep breath, opened my eyes, and brought my arm down in a single great power-chord.
**BWAMP** The shockwave radiated out, but while trees were flattened the dragon barely noticed. A drum beat rose from the rocks beneath me, and I flung a few more chords at the dragon, my fingers increasing in speed as the music became faster and more intricate. As the dragon came almost within sword’s reach, I opened my mouth and roared:
[On a cold winter’s morning, In the times beyond the light…](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=15JCb6P60Vw)
***
Five minutes later and I was sweating profusely. In the past I had been able to defeat the dragons by the end of the second chorus at worst, but this new enemy was far stronger than they had been. I had managed to force him to land with the strength of my voice, but we were now locked in a battle of magical wills, totally motionless on the fields. If I hadn’t been involved in a fight to the death I might have laughed at the sight of a huge dragon and puny human, apparently engaged in a staring contest.
My knuckles ached and my fingertips felt like they had been shredded almost to the bone, but through the eye slits in my visor I could see the dragon was weakening too. About halfway through the bridge one leg had started to spasm, and I could *feel* him start to give way. I had never managed to play the whole song without fault in my past life, but I knew that if I could only make it through the rest of the bridge I could win.
Finally, I burst out the other side. As I once more sang *Now here we stand with their blood on our hands*, I saw the dragon’s limbs give way and the huge beast slumped to the ground. As a feral grin split my face I began to slowly advance, still playing the song but now watching as the magical forces tore huge chunks from the dragon’s frame. Finally, as I reached the dragon’s head, the song ended with one triumphant screech. In the sudden, deafening silence I looked down at my fallen foe.
“Tell me… beast… Do you know… who… created that song…?” I forced the words out between deep shuddering breaths, still recovering from my exertion. In his eye I saw confusion, wondering what I was talking about. I took my faithful axe by the neck and swung it up over my head.
“They… were called *Dragonforce*… for a **reason!**” With that I buried my weapon in its skull, and a terrible screech marked its end. An ancient foe, defeated at last. Not by mere steel, but by **Metal**.
|
It's been 2 months since I've arrived in this world. As someone who's been passionate about music in life, it was a surreal experience to be able to live life as an *actual* bard. My confidence to perform in oratorical contests and play musical pieces have proven to be very useful and even necessary skills in this world.
I've slowly been adjusting to life here pretty well, I must say. I accept quests to perform in numerous taverns, playing any number of musical pieces for a living. It was always a pleasure to see the joy in the faces of my audiences. I even performed once for the king and queen of this kingdom. And they too were amazed and praised me as being one of the more entertaining performers that they enjoyed having. Some quests entailed providing support and entertainment for heroes, to lighten their exhaustion from long journeys and tough battles with beasts and bad men.
However, one secret I've kept hidden from everyone was the magic that I held; A particular one song with magic that I knew from my previous life, which I kept only as a trump card in cases of extreme emergencies.
And that day has finally come.
Lastika, the city where I currently am located, having accompanied a pair of great heroes on their journey, where facing a huge drakon, a relative of dragons. Drakons spit fire and poison, and have stares that paralyze. Even for two great heroes, I could see that they were slowly being worn down by the drakon. Oh, and did I mention that they have very hard plate like scales? Yeah, they do. The only way a drakon could be efficiently taken down was to attack its insides, or what was exposed, which was the mouth. Several city guards and archers were sent to reinforce the great heroes, but the drakon was obviously smart enough to only open its mouth to spit poison or breath fire, and keep it shut most of the time. Slowly it advanced, the two heroes, nearing their limit, while I simply stood and watched. I was conflicted
*What now? What do I do? What CAN I do? A mere bard like I...no...there is something only I can do...but if my secret comes out...argh, it matters not...as long as I prevent more people from ending up as casualties...yes...it's time...It's my turn...*
I made a summoning circle on the sandy ground, which was for an invisible storage space I had for storing the many instruments I had that I could not bring with me personally, and from it took out multiple instruments. I took a deep breath, then cried out, "OH APOLLO, GRANT ME THE POWER AND STRENGTH I NEED!"
​
["SIX DEGREES OF INNER TURBULENCE"]( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3YAzmLfOqMg )
​
I began to work away. For a moment, I felt the attention from some bystanders by my side and behind me, as well as some of the injured soldiers, as well as the mighty drakon's. My music worked its way to the soldiers and great heroes, rejuvenating them, and healing their wounds. However, there was no moment to waste. "CHAAARGE!" one of the great heroes shouted, rallying the others to battle. While they attacked and dodged the drakon, my fingers went across my synth hybrid, while my feet pedalled the base to create the beat, and I sang the lyrics to accompany the tune, strengthening the fighters, and ailing the drakon. As I was nearing the end, the drakon had lost an eye and was limping, with several of the fighters focusing to injure its front left limb, all the while dodging its acid, fire, and gaze. The final notes I had gave the second great hero a strong aura, and as the drakon opened its mouth to breath another round of fire, with a great leap and a mighty roar, the great hero stabbed the drakon on the inside of its upper maw, wdeging the sword to prevent the drakon from closing its mouth. He leapt out of the way in time for archers to release a volley of arrows that struck the insides of the mighty drakon. With a weakened final roar, it went down on the ground.
For a moment, everyone was silent, then people began to cheer and shout of victory. While I was sweating and gasping for air, the two great heroes went to me, with respect and smiles on their faces, lifted me on their shoulders and the crowd cheered all the more.
​
And this is where the story of the Legendary Mighty Bard begins.
| 2019-04-22T06:18:50 | 2019-04-22T05:08:30 | 87 | 12 |
[WP] You remember the first time yiu saw one of the humans' new weapon. You wondered with amusement how a metal pipe could possibly be of any threat to an elf like yourself. Then he pulled the trigger, and it stopped being funny.
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"I said all of it!", the human yelled at me. Humans were delusional and desperate but this... it's just sad.
"Sir only elves can hold gold in this bank. If your going to insist on holding a tiny pipe at me like it's a weapon I guess I could call security but I don't really want to as your kind phrase 'put a lying dog down"
"What? What would that even mean? And it is a weapon! This is the mark of a revolution your fucking aristocracy has no chance to stop!"
As the guard came near and touched his shoulder thats when the thunder filled the room. They had done it.
I saw a flash and the security guard was on the ground, the human had harnessed magic.
"A wand? Is that a fucking wand! Your a human how are you using it?!?"
My ears rang as I heard him say the final words I would ever hear.
"Science bitch"
|
"Oh look at me, I have a pipe. Whoaoaoa sooo scary."
"You really don't want me to pull this trigger."
"Suure bud."
*Bang*
"Ahhh! What *was* that!? My leg!"
"I told you that you didn't want me to pull the trigger"
"But you didn't say what was going to happen," the elf painfully said, clutching his leg.
"Would you have believed me though?"
"What even happened," he asked, holding back tears of pain.
"Uhh...im not even really sure, man. All I know, is that I pull the trigger, something comes out, and boom bam my enemy is dead. Or in your case, maimed."
"Can you just put me out of my misery," he asked, now full on crying.
*Sigh* "Of course"
| 2020-01-24T09:07:11 | 2020-01-24T08:48:55 | 188 | 39 |
[WP]Aliens come to Earth in hoping to wipe us out and take over the planet, but are honorable and gives us a fighting chance. They announce they will return in 100 years so as to give Earth a chance to prepare and defend itself. Neither side expected what the other would bring to war
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It's been 100 years, we are ready. The human race was challenged to a fight with an alien race and given 100 years to prepare. They proved to us we weren't ready back then. Half of our missiles exploded in their silos. Of those that launched, less than 1 in 100 hit something. That something didn't even get scratched.
The aliens spoke to everyone, all over the world, in whatever the local dialect was. We had 100 years to get better at defending ourselves. They would be back and they would take over then.
Every government suddenly had something in common with every other government. Patent offices were raided. Research centers were given nearly unlimited funds. Even the craziest ideas were dusted off and explored. Technology made leaps and bounds. One hundred years ago, nobody thought that what we discovered was even possible.
We now have Anti-matter Bombs, Ion Cannons, and space ships, lots and lots of space ships. Nearly 80% of able bodied humans - no longer just Americans or just Russians, or even just Arabs, "Humans" - male and female alike have been trained up in using these new weapons and devices. We were as ready as 100 years could make us.
The entire previous week was given over to celebrating our readiness.
Then the day we prepared for dawned. Every weapon was charged and manned. Every missile was prepared to launch. Clocks everywhere counted down to the appointed meeting.
As the final second ticked away, a bright flash appeared at the expected point in local space.
A voice immediately boomed out "HOLD YOUR FIRE ... PLEASE!".
Hands twitched on the firing buttons, fingers pulled back on triggers but left the guns unused. Every hand everywhere stopped. Then the clocks ticked again, and again. Time was continuing but the fight we had prepared for had not started.
"WE COME IN PEACE"
"THIS TIME. WE ARE NOT HERE TO DESTROY YOU!"
"It seems that humans beat us last time and we felt it necessary to let you know."
As before, every human was hearing this in their preferred language.
The voice continued "A virus was transported back to our home world 100 years ago."
"It infected the entire planet, along with all of our colonies and stations before we even knew about it."
"Once the virus made itself known, it was too late. The death toll was in the trillions. One hundred years later we are still cleaning up the dead and recovering the land and buildings where they died. If it weren't for this ship and the half a dozen others that were found still useable, we wouldn't have been able to even show up for this meeting."
A long pause ensued, weapons were lowered, missiles stood down.
The voice began again; "Less than 1 in 100000 of our people survived. Half of them died when the virus made a second attack."
"It has taken us the past 90 years just to get back into space. The only reason that we managed even that much is because of the records of previous advancements."
"This ship will go now, if you wish to finish us off, we will not fight back. We even freely give you our location in the galactic arm."
This was followed by a star map downloaded into our computers with one star highlighted.
Another long pause was finally broken by a human voice; "Is there anything we can do to help?"
|
If there’s one thing we humans do, it’s fight dirty.
The Geneva Conventions? Back then, they didn’t apply to aliens, especially _them_. They came in and declared war on humanity itself, and all bets were off. This was a matter of life and death, and if we didn’t kill them first, we as a species were over.
Nations banded together, the worst of enemies forced to play nice by the threat of annihilation.
Well, except for one. North Korea never knew when to quit, really. China got done with them real fast.
The world kicked into high gear, every single one of us going into war mode.
Me? Like any hotblooded human, I enlisted. A girl fresh out of school, I was.
Now, we had a hundred years to ourselves, and with how technological advancement was even back then, we thought we had a pretty good deal. I got my hands on one of the first railguns over in Germany, and that thing was a pretty little beast. The things that baby could _do_!
Germany was good to me. Food’s great, and the men and women there are rather nice, I can tell you that.
Red light district? Aren’t you a bit young to be asking that?
So, ten years in, and we’re actually off Earth. Luna had been up and running for a while, then, but the only ones up there were eggheads, shipbuilders, and miners, among those of us unlucky enough to be deployed on that rock.
Yep, I was stationed there for a while. Got to see the shiny new ships as they were built, so it wasn’t all _that_ boring.
Five years later, and Mars became our first colony, and that’s where we found life on another planet that didn’t want to kill us. Tasty, too. You know the worms and stuff at Mick’s? Martian. Now, see, he gets ‘em straight off the red planet itself, I can tell.
So, twenty-seven years in, I was ‘bout ready to retire, go back to live with my husband and kids, and then the eggheads made a breakthrough in that FTL stuff. First thing we do is try and find the bad guys’ base.
I retired before it mattered. I know, I’m old. Still put in a few more years of service anyway.
Thirty-three years in, we found some old signals coming from a bit further up our arm of the galaxy, a couple hundred parsecs away, really.
Now, hold on, remember they gave us a hundred years? We took our sweet time building up our navy and such.
And, not long before y’all were born, we nuked their butts.
Hey, they were stupid enough to think we’d follow the rules, why would they surrender?
And that’s the thing, they never saw us coming. Almost felt sorry for ‘em.
There’s got to be a video of one floating around somewhere. No, they’re not actually _glassed_, that’d have been overkill.
A lot of us cheered, really. But that wasn’t it. Navy had to fight for weeks before we “officially” won.
And that’s how we committed our biggest genocide to date.
| 2016-01-01T18:48:26 | 2016-01-01T17:55:21 | 122 | 24 |
[WP] "We have ancient elven magic, and even the dwarves have their ugly mountain forts. What do YOU have, human?!" "Napalm, and high-explosives, mostly..." *grumbling beard in the background* "....our forts are aesthetically pleasing though..."
|
“Who invited the humans to this conflict?!” Grumbled the dwarven general, clad in his armor and wielding a war hammer, his banner swirling in the wind.
“Now from what I understand”, says a human commander, walking up and wiping the dust off his pants. “Looks like you guys are going to partake in what we call a war game. We thought, well, we should join in and make things interesting.” He chuckled to himself as he uncoupled the radio from his belt.
“What could you possibly be capable of, with yer’ soft hands and weak frames? We could decimate with the smallest of our siege engines.” Boasted the little bastard, while the elven honor guard and commander kept a chuckle down. “As much as it pains me to say, I agree with the dwarf’s comment. What could you possibly have to offer?”
“Hmmm........ OH, I know!” He exclaims while putting his radio up to his mouth. “Air support, I request you deploy 3 thermobaric bombs towards that hill, creating the sun.” “UNDERSTOOD” confirms the bomber, as he turns his aircraft towards the target zone.
Both the elf and dwarf watch in a combination of horror and awe as the entire hill is obliterated, sending a small shockwave throughout the small conference.
The commander, satisfied with his show of force, walks away.
|
After the meteor destroyed Europe, the ancient races awoke.
The monsters being monsters just didn’t care, it was in their nature to hunt, eat, sleep, and create offspring.
The Elves and the Dwarves and all those others, the good races I guess, they were outraged.
They saw the state of the Earth and declared war.
First they watched us to learn. So that their first strike would hurt humanity. And it did. They took down our communications and electronics very fast.
We tried to put up a fight but they had actual magic. What are we supposed to do about that?
About 5 years into the war Humanity stole magic. While we couldn’t harness it effectively yet we used it to create something new. The Warforged. Robots made from organic materials and powered by magic.
We put up a fight. It was a hopeless one but fighting is something we do well.
Eventually though we lost. Humanity was in shambles. But we will survive.
We have too. It’s in our DNA.
Because we are resilient. We are stubborn creatures. That’s what we have. Resilience and stubbornness.
-Note found in the pocket of Captain Earnhardt. Found dead on December 12, 2027-
| 2019-02-03T22:26:15 | 2019-02-03T21:33:54 | 28 | 16 |
[WP] You are so good at CPR you manage to revive anyone, a miracle, but people start calling you a necromancer
|
"I'm a *what*?" Asked Geoffrey. He looked out at the mob lining the path. It was almost the entire village.
"A necromancer." Answered Terry, butcher and nominal leader of the group. "Because, you know," he waved his cleaver at the mob "you raise the dead."
A couple of *yeahs!* and waving of torches backed up his statement. Geoffrey frowned, causing the group to step back and cross themselves. Those with torches screamed quietly as they learnt why you don't do complex hand gestures whilst holding burning sticks.
"No I don't." His head twitched to Terry in puzzlement.
"Yes you do, Geoff. What about Mary?" The cleaver pointed at a young woman who waved cheerfully, almost oblivious to the rusty sickle in her other hand.
"She nearly *drowned.*" Geoffrey explained exasperately. "All I did was pump the water from her lungs and give her some air. Not Necromancy."
"Fine then. What about Hank?"
"Hank had a heart attack. I just kept his heart going till it restarted a normal rhythm." Geoffrey turned to the crowd. "You know this is basic first aid, right? CPR? Anyone?" Terry coughed politely.
"And what about Dave? He was decal...decapiy... had his head cut off." The cleaver pointed at Dave, followed by the mob's eyes. A scar ran round around his neck, which he rubbed self-consciously.
"Huh." Geoffrey looked nonplussed at Dave, before returning to Terry. "That's not normal?" Terry shook his head.
"Huh." Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders. "I'll remember that next time." A plume of black smoke shot into the sky and Geoffrey disappeared. The mob sighed with relief. At least *this* time they had got it right.
|
I was walking down the street as I heard people laughing. It was very late evening and I found their laughter as something that was way out of place.
Moments later I could only hear a woman sobbing quietly, then loudly, quietly, then loudly. When I finally walked close enough to see her she was dialing the emergency number.
"Call the ambulance!" - I shouted as I bent over the body of a man shot right in his heart.
"He's deaaaaaad" - the woman sobbed. "Help, my husband was just murdered and the bastards left laughing!"
I didn't have time to correct her because I was already too busy performing a CPR. And as I was blowing air into the body, the woman suddenly shouted:
"The Necromancer is trying to raise my husband from the dead!"
I really wanted to snap at her, but I had to keep working until someone would drag me away from the man. By the time the police arrived and having struggled through repetitive attempts of stopping me made by the woman the work was done.
"Julia, what happened?" - asked the man as I got up to face the police and let the woman get through.
"One day you'll fuck up, Meyer, and we'll put you in a special jail for fucked up people," - snapped one of the police officers. The other looked at me with compassion and headed to the woman.
Eh I dunno. Sometime Jayden and Lionel will fuck up and shoot the victim into the head. Then the days of my glory will be over.
But today it's one guy more on the way to being loved and worshipped. They may call me The Necromancer, but they don't even know how close they are.
^firsttimenonnativespeaker
| 2016-08-24T12:16:33 | 2016-08-24T12:01:15 | 229 | 11 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
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I’d been in line for hours. The regime had brutally destroyed the backbone of the resistance last week, and had set up these kangaroo courts to “process” the remaining prisoners.
It was all crap, anyway. They’d stolen the present and the future, and now they were all set to wipe out every remaining threat to their eternal reign. All that was left was to hoodwink them by their own systems, somehow.
Ahead, the box beeped. “Citizen Jenkins, submit your final request.” The man ahead of me grinned, triumphantly, and requested death by old age. The box beeped again, and the audience in the courtroom laughed as his flesh shriveled and he toppled over.
Well, there goes that plan. At least it was one of the less painful selections I’d seen.
We’d had lovely full-color holos to watch everyone else ahead of us, and there’d been so many deaths. The box could, apparently, function to provide any manner of death. If a prisoner tried to run, or fight, or do anything but specify, the box would default to some horrible torture that lasted less than thirty seconds and always ended the same way.
As the guards prodded me forward, a thunderbolt hit me. The box could do anything in the service of death.
Anything.
The box beeped at me. “Citizen Porthos, submit your final request.” My lips drew back over my teeth. I knew it was a wild, feral expression, that my captors were no doubt interpreting as panic, but my words were clear and controlled.
“Eight gigaton thermonuclear fireball.”
I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the absolute pandemonium that erupted in the courtroom.
Then everything ended.
|
The Gods damned Tribunal! If there was anyone to blame for the state of this sorry world it would be the Tribunal. Sitting up on high, casting judgement on their inferiors. Everyone knows they're the real power behind the crown. Can't have a revolution when the Tribunal can kill you for your crimes instantly.
People called us stupid for trying to assassinate the king. Too much security that night and we just barged in the front doors. Hardly took any effort or the king's guards to take us down. All we had were daggers, they couldn't have even scratched the king's armor. Idiots they called us for even trying to fight against our betters. Everyone reading our manifesto as a joke....but maybe we got through to some people.
Sitting here, waiting to get called up in front of the Tribunal for punishment. Some have tried to plead their case. Some have tried to outwit the bastards and live forever. Poor sod before me wished to die of old age, and got turned to dust faster than it took him to say the words.
HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE? the Tribunal asks me.
I grin and think of everything they've taken from me; my father, my wife, half my damn family accused of crimes against the crown most of them never committed. But I know what revolution sounds like. I may not see it, but I'm giving my people hope.
"Drowned in the Tribunal's fresh spilled blood." I say as I close my eyes and hear the first downpour.
| 2021-06-24T10:14:19 | 2021-06-24T08:24:48 | 5,663 | 11 |
[WP] When you die, a field of text appears in limbo, revealing the high scores of life, and your score. Your score is the top score.
|
As the darkness slowly dissipating the words 'Congratulations You Got The Highest Score' appear before me once again. The hell. But I did everything wrong, no matter what I do. If I'm successful, get a good career, a wife and kid I win. If I murder an entire village I win. If I do nothing I win. Even after I killed myself I still win.
I wake once again. Another body in another time. "Why can't I just Fucking loose, I want to move on" I scream. " I think to myself. Every time I win, every time I get another free life. Can't they tell I just want this to all end.
|
What does it mean to live a meaningful life? Does getting a good job, having a wife and maybe a couple of children, only to eventually die of old age count as a meaningful life? It might to some.
Maybe for you modelling diapers by the time you're one years old, to then kickstart your acting career and publishing an award winning album whilst getting laid by the hottest of chicks count as a meaningful life.
But what is it truly? When does a human life surpass the norm, and becomes superior to the rest?
Reddit gold. The more the better.
| 2016-06-08T13:07:36 | 2016-06-08T12:16:59 | 151 | 13 |
[WP] You and three other people across the globe have been chosen to end mankind. You'll be known as "The Four Horsemen". You cannot die until everybody else on earth is gone. As a pacifist, you've refused to harm anybody, but it's been 700 years and existence is becoming painful...
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When the first news reports came in, I was at a bar. I was always at some bar in those days. The people around me were hysteric. Some people just... accepted it, with a blank, saddened look in their eyes. Others refused to believe it, a woman insisted that her son was still alive, he *had* to be. But every other channel confirmed it, with shocked faces they described how the Frontier had crashed, and into the very city that would have been its destination. The entire Mars project, centuries in the making, had been destroyed in mere minutes, as the very first inhabitants of the city fell to their doom in a titanium cage.
There were a lot of rumours in the days after that. The engineers that led the design and building of the spaceship insisted, *insisted* that there was no way this could have happened by accident. Their convincingness was cut short, of course, when one of the main team members jumped off the very headquarters of Mars One. The oldest company in the USA was done for, humanities' dreams of space exploration crushed once again. I didn't care much for all of it of course. There was no reason for me to anxiously wait to find out what had happened, *I knew.*
The conditions of our immortality had been very clear from the beginning: We would be the last humans standing. We had no other choice but to wait for humanity to kill itself, or to take action ourselves. At first, the deal had seemed laughably perfect. When the Angel left, there had been a nervous silence that lasted a good five seconds before Hans started laughing, the rest followed suit.
Hans had also been the first to break. In 2289, he started. Turns out it is surprisingly easy to kill groups of people when you don't have to worry about the consequences of an explosion or a plane crash yourself. The other two followed soon after, but not me. I watched in horror then, when I realised what they had become. When the last one of them was captured, they had taken millions of lives. They were called 'the Trinity' now, a reference to a religion that seemed as backwards to humanity now as the Greek gods had seemed to me when I was young. They were closer than they knew, only off by a single digit.
Those days, ironically, were the first days in two centuries where I felt like I was alive. Looking for clues, planning to get them out of wherever they were locked up. It is how I realised I should have started sooner. I tried to keep myself drunk enough to forget the eternal drag, the boredom that had become my everyday life while I waited for humanity to just *get on with it.* Mars, eventually, is what broke me. Mars made me lose all hope at finally being able to rest without having to kill all those people, all of mankind. I knew that as soon as they would be able to establish cities on other planets, there would be no stopping them, ever.
So I became an engineer. I studied for years and I built up a resume that no one could refuse. They were glad to entrust me with the design of the ship's engines, and not a single question was asked when I changed some tiny little bits of code in the software. I knew of course that people would suspect sabotage, and I knew I had to vanish before that happened. Jumping off a building into a river is a very convincing way to make people think you're dead.
And now I'm coming for the others. Their mistakes are clear to me now, their random acts of terror could not be sustained. We need to win the people's trust. Promise them a better future. If we divide ourselves over the political powers of the US, we will have access to their weaponry in less than 50 years.
Edit: first story here btw, hope people like it!
|
He didn't look old, Huguccio. He went by Hugo, for short. When he chatted with people on the streets, most would have paid him no mind, or else, if they delved a bit deeper, they might find him a touch eccentric. He had a certain air to him, as if he was from another time. And that's because he was. Sometimes, when he spoke English, he'd fall into olde and he'd have to laugh and joke and tell people that he taught himself how to speak the common tongue by reading Shakespeare. Bad idea, he admitted.
For seven hundred and some years Hugo had walked the Earth. Mostly in Italy, but by now he'd seen everything. Chosen by God, it was his duty to end humanity. Only, he didn't want to. No, Hugo loved life and for long years he walked the Earth. Some years, he talked to no one, other years, he lived life to the fullest. He loved wine, for a century or two, but had given up the bottle back in the 18th century. He loved love, but watching his loves grow old and die was to hard on his heart. And he loved children, envied them if anything. He had a few children, back in the 12th and 13th and 14th centuries. But watching them go gray and withered, it was too much and so he had forbidden himself from every bringing any more life into the world.
And yet, as hard as everything was on his heart, it never stopped beating, it never failed. The children he brought into the world, he'd have to kill their children's children, some day. It was his duty, to end humanity. To serve God and her mechanizations. To tear the world asunder. He'd tried once, hundreds of years ago, when he went by the name of Machiavelli for a time. He failed.
And as the days passed by, they grew shorter, more indistinguishable. Hugo never changed much, traveling up and down the countryside, and occasionally across the world. He'd grown wealthy on investments over the years and yet the luxuries were all but sand in the mouth to him. He'd tried to kill himself, jumping off a cliff into a great storm and its swelling seas. He woke in Tunisia, upon a beach. He was a medic in both Great Wars and he treated his patients on the most dangerous of front lines, and yet no bullet, no bomb, ever found him. He'd try many other manners of dying and each time ended even more and very much as alive.
It was time, he knew, to end it all. To end his misery, to end humanity's misery. It made it easier, all the technology, all the means, all the potential for humanity to create heaven upon Earth, and yet they refused. Why should Hugo worry himself then of the fates of so many people who cast aside their own ambitions and potential?
No, it was more humane, more pacifist to end it all. Hugo sat upon the brick patio of his villa, staring out over the blue Mediterranean that melded into the blue sky and the sun beat down bright. He sipped on some water, warm and still it cooled his throat. A laptop was perched on the wooden table, and Hugo stared at the screen.
It was time. It was the end. It was his life and his only goal, only purpose. He typed the words: r/ the_Donald and clicked submit. He leaned back, and stared out over the sea, eyes tracing through the sky, and he wondered, could it all really be so simple? Something deep in his gut, it told him so, and he believed that it was God, congratulating him on a job well and finally done.
edits: typos
| 2017-06-22T04:52:33 | 2017-06-22T04:26:48 | 136 | 30 |
[WP] The year is 2125, the first 'World Law' passes. It reads...
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"Do not purposefully murder unless legally authorized to by your local government." That's the first law. It's been just a couple of weeks since the entire world was finally encompassed by a single ruling body, and this was the first ever world law that would take precedence over any local ones. Not that any local governments had laws that would make this law useful. Naturally the first law was the most common sense one. At the time it was voted into effect, there wasn't a single place on Earth that allowed unlawful murder. Useless, just like most bureaucracy.
And I say this as the guy who wrote the damn rule.
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1. No one shall do any violence except in defense of one self or another
2. No one shall be physically punished for any crime that does not physically harm another, nor incarcerated for any crime not involving threat of violence
3. Every one shall be free to express themselves however they choose provided it does not violate the first 2 rules, or lead others to do the same.
4. Every one may move freely about the earth as they please.
5. In matters regarding health and property, each territory shall set their regulations by majority vote of all adults.
6. No law or regulation may violate these first 5.
| 2015-03-18T16:21:38 | 2015-03-18T14:02:02 | 64 | 12 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
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The wheel was pressed too far into her ribs and every breath, no matter how shallow, radiated waves of agony from deep inside her chest.
She could see, but the light was wrong. The noise of rushing, bubbling water muted other sounds. She couldn’t feel her feet, but she registered the water that was rising up past her chest. So cold.
When she tried to move, the wheel, the belt and the pain kept her from moving more than a few inches.
She saw movement in the mirror, and sick panic rose with the water.
“Mama, get me up! Up!”
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He sullenly finished his cigarette by himself on his hotel balcony. He threw out the dull remains of his noxious addiction into the vast open space in front of him, glancing across the road from him just long enough to notice two men in the opposite hotel room, one behind the other, looking straight at him.
Then both their hotel lights turned off at the same time and it took him a fraction of a second too long to realise the two men had just been a reflection as he felt someone's breath on the back of his neck.
e: Thanks /r/fluntcaps :)
| 2015-06-09T09:37:54 | 2015-06-09T09:36:34 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] Write a story involving a seemingly endless loop, but due to a small detail it's apparent that the loop will break sooner or later.
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We wake up.
We get ready for work.
We kiss her goodbye.
We go to work.
We come home from work.
We play with her.
We have dinner.
We tuck her in.
We go to bed.
---
We wake up.
We get ready for work.
We kiss her goodbye.
We go to work.
We come home from work.
We play with her.
We have dinner.
We take her to the hospital.
We go to bed.
---
We wake up.
We get ready for work.
We go to work.
We come home from work.
We have dinner.
We visit her at the hospital.
We go to bed.
---
We wake up.
We get ready for work.
We go to work.
We come home from work.
We have dinner.
We refuse to believe what we hear.
We go to bed.
---
We wake up.
We get ready for work.
We go to work.
We come home from work.
We have dinner.
We try to smile for her.
We cry when we get home.
We go to bed.
---
We wake up.
We get a phone call.
We go to the hospital.
We kiss her goodbye.
---
 
...
I wake up.
I get ready for work.
I kiss the picture goodbye.
I go to work.
I come home from work.
I have dinner.
I stare at the television.
I go to bed.
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"...No no no no no!" He screamed, running towards the machine, alarms blaring loudly. Steam was pouring out of the thermal vents, the coolant was beginning to run out, and the pressure was increasing rapidly. He checked the console, and ordered readings.
> T-S WARPER DATA
>
> STATUS :: **CRITICAL**
>
> WARNING :: TIME-SPACE IN YOUR LOCAL VICINITY MAY BECOME UNSTABLE. SEEK THE NEAREST STABLE TIME-POCKET.
>
> T DRIVE :: **CRITICAL**
>
> S DRIVE :: *BACKUP*
>
> B DRIVE :: **DESTABILIZED**
Quickly, he ordered readings on the T DRIVE:
> HEATING :: **CRITICAL**
>
> STABILITY :: **10%**
>
> FUEL :: 16 hrs
"Sixteen hours... That's how much time until it shuts down..." He said, glaring at the screen. "If I can live through whatever time-bending anomaly is happening, for 16 hours, then I will be free..."
An explosion erupted nearby. "Shit!" he yelled running off towards the sound, "No no no no no..."
| 2017-06-05T03:25:05 | 2017-06-05T01:42:24 | 152 | 10 |
[WP] Death falls in love with you
You may not be over your ex.
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"Does this job ever get lonely?"
My body was caught on the precipice between life and death - quite literally. On my right was a shimmering tear in the void I was in, showing the ruined state of my body. On my left, a robed figure stood, his hood casting a shadow over exposed skull and bone. Skeletal hands gripped a scythe that glowed with power.
I felt safe, surprisingly. The scythe had been made to tear through the connections between the body and the soul; it could not and *would* not harm either, however.
"No."
There was little to do while we wait, and my attempts at idle conversation so far hadn't quite managed to amount to anything.
"Really? It seems..." I glance wordlessly at the empty void that surrounded us. "...lacking," I finish, a little lamely.
"It is home." Death's words reverberated in this place, and while he had little expression to speak of, his tone somehow conveyed everything he was feeling. There's a hint of pride and almost undetectable sorrow. "I have what I need."
"But what about what you *want*?"
Death said nothing.
---
"We really have to stop meeting like this," I said half-jokingly. It was the third time I'd found myself sitting in the void.
Death didn't reply, choosing to gaze silently into the distance as he usually did.
"...Do you remember me?"
"Yes."
"...You know what? I think I'll just bring a book next time."
---
Somewhat depressingly, I was right about there being a next time.
"What are you reading?"
Huh. Death actually sounded curious. That was new. "Just some fairy tales. I needed something small enough to fit in a pocket." I couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed, now; I hadn't really thought I'd actually need it, and had mostly kept it in my pocket as a reminder to be careful.
"Fairy tales." There was an odd note in his voice this time - curiosity? Uncertainty? I blink.
"Yeah, don't you know them?"
"I do not indulge in human literature."
I frown. "Why not?"
Silence. I sigh. "Alright, come here and I'll read a few to you..."
---
"You are not Sleepy." Death's voice conveyed some degree of life, this time; some amusement, some exasperation. It confused me, at first.
"...Did you just make a Snow White and the Seven Dwarves reference at me?" I demanded after a second. He remained silent, and I scowled. "I fell asleep at the wheel, yeah, but that's not my fault..."
Still silent. "You try staying awake for forty-eight hours."
"I do not need to sleep." That amusement again. I huffed.
"I brought another book this time."
He doesn't say anything, but the atmosphere... changed. Anticipation. I smiled.
---
"I am starting to believe you do this on purpose."
I grinned cheekily. "What if I am?" I didn't, of course. I had no intention of making my life any shorter.
"You'd be a rather stupid human," Death noted.
I folded my arms. Death was getting sassy with me. Figured.
---
It took a while, and many, many visits. None were intentional, and by some stroke of cosmic luck, I survived each time to meet Death again and again - until I was old and frail, my body failing.
That time, I knew I wouldn't be going back. The atmosphere in the void was... colder, somehow. I'd met him often enough that I could feel the reluctance, an old, *old* sadness. He'd been afraid of this, afraid of getting close to anyone because of this. He'd resigned himself to a lonely fate, and I'd gotten through his guard, somehow.
"You should go." The shimmering tear in the void remained, this time with nothing beyond it - just a light, shining brightly. "You have shown me much, and for that, you have my thanks. Death does not often see light." There was a sad, rueful smile in his voice, somehow.
I look at him. "Nah. Not leaving."
"Excuse me?" Confusion. Much brighter is the *hope* suddenly evident in his voice, and I smiled inwardly.
"Sorry, Death, I think I like this place a little too much. Mind if I intrude? I'll pay my rent with stories."
"You can't just..." Death seemed honestly surprised, for once. Unsure.
"Too late. Doing it." I grinned, putting my feet up on an invisible chair. There's a smile in Death's voice when he responded.
"This is why I love you."
I looked at him and he froze, quickly backpedaling. "I just meant-"
"I'd kiss you to get you to shut up if you actually had lips," I informed him, my tone matter-of fact. "I love you too, by the way."
While he was sputtering, I pulled out a book and started reading, hiding my smile.
|
Skoli stood above the cliffs, the freezing wind and rain from the coast whipping into his face. He had been away from the village for a week now, herding the last of the escaped sheep back to their pen. Winter had not shown its face just yet but the numbing of his hands and feet told him it would be sailing to their shores soon enough.
**Fine**. He told himself. **Let's finish this before it gets here.**
Skoli inched closer to the cliff, peering over the side. Thirty feet below sat a ewe which had trapped itself onto a ledge. Skoli knew it couldn't make it up without a good push. It was a dangerous descent to rescue it, but Skoli could not turn away. His village needed every sheep. It would be a long winter.
He took a step down to the next rock. It fell away under his foot and he began to stumble.
For a moment, Skoli felt nothing but the wind and the rain. Then, a pain like a hundred fires speared through his back and radiated through his entire body. He did not scream. He knew he would not have to wait long for it all to be over.
The world began to darken around him. The pain began to subside. Skoli let his eyes close. In the distance he heard something. A voice. It was barely a whisper but as it continued it grew louder and louder. Skoli thought it sounded like a woman singing. The melody began slow and somber, but as the woman approached he detected some playful notes, as if she was singing a beautiful eulogy. He began to hum along. The song flowed naturally, as if he had been singing it his entire life.
The singing stopped.
"Wake up, Skoli."
Skoli blinked. Before him sat a young woman, whose eyes stared straight into his. She was beautiful: high cheekbones, dark eyes and hair with a radiant smile. The woman was plainly dressed, and in her left hand she carried a tall shepherd's staff made of hewn rock. He had never seen her before, but he did not think she was a stranger.
"Do you know who I am?" she asked, her voice soft but strong.
"You're the one who is supposed to take me away from here." Skoli replied.
She looked him over, her eyes tracing his body. Her brow furrowed in concentration as if she were solving a difficult riddle.
"What's the matter?" Skoli asked.
"It is difficult to say." She responded, still deep in concentration. "I'm supposed to guide you along."
"Then it is simple." he said. "I will walk with you, my time here is over. I have no family back in the village. My sister and brother left two winters before the last, and my mother the winter before that one."
"I know it." the woman replied. "I walk everyone who leaves this place. You sat with each of them by their bedside as they left. You brought them soup, and read to them."
"I did." Skoli said, looking away.
"You sat with your neighbor as he went. Even though you knew he was the one who was secretly stealing meat from your storehouse."
"No man should have to die afraid and alone." he said, resolutely.
"But here you are."
"I am alone. But not afraid."
She laughed. It was high and musical, and he felt compelled to smile even though it was clearly a joke he did not understand.
"That is why I do not want to walk with you, Skoli. I herd many souls to the next place. I have seen family members grieving, triumphant enemies, and sons bickering over their inheritance. But I am always glad to see your face when I walk with someone from your village. It is kind, and I have grown to love it."
Skoli did not know what to say.
"If I take you across, I will never see you again." She said. The music was gone from her voice, and the sentence fell flat against the dead air.
"I must go eventually." Skoli said. "It's the way of all things."
The woman's smile returned and she stepped closer to him. "I know. The time will come eventually. But I do not think it should be now."
With that, she leaned forward and kissed him.
Skoli closed his eyes. He felt warmth return to his body, and he felt his heart beat.
He opened his eyes again. The woman was gone, and he sat alone on the shore, rocks strewn about the beach. His sheep, too, had somehow survived the fall and was nestled under a nearby ridge. Skoli smiled, and began to herd the sheep back toward the path up the cliffs.
Winter struck, and it was especially cold. Across town, a shepherd named Blleli fell ill. Skoli brought him soup as he always did. He held Blelli's hand as he passed. That evening, as he left Blelli's home, he heard something. A woman's voice. It started out as a faint whisper, but it grew louder and louder.
Skoli sang along in tune with her.
| 2015-07-13T09:32:18 | 2015-07-13T08:36:43 | 43 | 11 |
[WP] You wake up from a nap to find that there are a bunch of weirdly dressed people surrounding you. You go to sit up and hit your head against some strange invisible force field. Then the screaming starts. Egypt sure has changed a lot since you last woke up.
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Opening my eyes inside of my sarcophagus, I was greeted to the sight of white wrappings around my head. Ah. Here again. How long had it been since I last woke up? One millennium? Two? Everytime I woke up, it was always the same thing. The same tight, white wrappings; the same cold sarcophagus; the same dark tomb. I sighed. When was it going to change? When would Osiris finally let me pass on? Well, I guess it was time to check whether *everything* was the same.
Using my aged arms, I pushed upwards against the heavy lid of my sarcophagus. Sliding the lid to the side, I slowly sat up and took the first stretch after some long millenia of sleeping. With my eyes still closed, I braced myself for the same familiar sight of my shadowed tomb, filled with useless gold trinkets, statues, and cat figures. Finally, removing my coverings and opening my eyes, I was startled by the bright lights that blinded my face. Shielding my face from the wrath of Ra, I peered around the room I was in. My tomb sure looked different. Instead of my dark tomb, I found myself inside some sort of collection of items. From my view, I could spot a few figures and necklaces from my tomb, but I could also see tablets and books that I had no memory of. How odd. People began to fill into the room, peering at the displayed items, but unaware of my presence. Were these fellow Egyptians? No, they couldn’t be. They were all donning a mish-mash of colors and fabrics. They were all a wide range of skin tones too. Where in the world was I?
Wanting to explore the first new room I had seen since my death, I reached out towards the people wandering around, only for my hand to thud against a clear barrier. Slowly, to my horror, people began to turn their heads and stare directly at me. And they screamed. They shrieked and shouted and ran, talking and yelling in a tongue unknown to me. To my surprise, they cleared out rather quickly, leaving me alone with my golden sarcophagus. Sigh. I guess I should go back to sleep.
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"AAAAAArg, damn it," I screamed as I slammed my head on something. I started to make out my observers as my eyes came back into focus. *Why were people chanting?* It felt as if I had just woke up from an eons long nap. More so that I was pulled from one. I felt my body start to plank as the chanting grew. *They must be trying to sell me for the Talisari*. I raised a hand and one of the hooded men rose into the air. I clenched my hand it the man turned to dust. The chanting grew more frantic as I turned another man into sand. The chanting started to crack as... fear?... started to overtake them. Have they never seen this before?
​
A few of the men turned and ran. They thought that they could escape with their lives. I collapsed a section of the roof onto their heads and the force field broke entirely. The remaining men turned and attempted to escape as I rose into the air. *Where was I?* I looked around the tomb as I executed the men that tried to escape. When I turned back only one remained. He was shaking as he kneelt. He was kneeling wrong, one hand should be on his knee and one should be on the ground in front of him. Fixing this for him I asked, "Who sent you? Where am I?!" in a booming voice that penetrated into his mind. He did not have to speak for me to collect the information. With a wave of my hand he turned to sand.
​
*A tomb? Have I died?* Memories started coming back to me. I was locked into battle with Hamusa, that is who sent these men. Hamusa thought that he had killed me, and my followers buried me here. Hamusa now ruled a place called America, whatever that meant. Disguised as an idiot politician who took power in 2016. We are in the year 2016?! That was one hell of a nap.
​
As I rose through the tomb and out of the top a the pyramid structure one thought came to me, *Only the strong shall rule the world.*
| 2020-06-17T09:25:42 | 2020-06-17T06:38:16 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] You have a superpower, but not the requisite secondary power usually needed to use it (e.g fire power but no immunity). You still make it work.
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My power, even if I could use it in the way one would expect, is on the weirder side. You see, I can grow any part of my body at an extremely rapid rate, in any shape I need. However, I can't *kill* the tissue I grow. At least, not any faster than usual. If I were to extend a bone dagger from my wrist, for example, I can't just destroy it with a simple thought, I have to actually cut the thing off. It's easy to not grow pain receptors, luckily.
I eventually figured out a way around this, although it's not very nice. I cut off the limb I want to change (Yes, it hurts a f\*\*king ton), and regrow it from a blueprint I have to memorize perfectly. The result is amazing, though. Imagine a bulletproof shield that folds out of your arm, completely invisible when not in use, that can't even be found by metal detectors or infrared scanners, because it's made of the exact same materials of the rest of your body. The process is expensive, though, because I need a literal diamond-tipped buzzsaw to cut through my regenerating reinforced bone. I can do a lot of other things, like pack muscle fibers almost three times tighter, generate large amounts of digestive acid from pores concealed in my arms and fire it like a water pistol, etc. It's generally very helpful, but I still have a hard time dealing with AP rounds, explosives, and stun grenades. And don't even get me started on fire elementals. Also, wearing a suit is kind of hard when you have three-foot blades folded into your forearms.
Oh, yeah, I did get a little help from my girlfriend Symbiotic in terms of exactly what weapons to make. You probably know me as Bonesaw.
|
It’s really not that big of a deal, to be honest.
Yes, I can stop objects in their tracks by just touching them. But the thing is, when I do, I absorb the shock that would’ve been if I was hit by it. So I don’t use it much often.
Stopping bullets leaves welts.
Stopping a snowball gives me frostbite for an hour.
And so on. I make it work, though - I use gloves that absorb electricity and to the rubber tips of the fingers, where it cancels out. It’s actually two gloves inside of one - to protect the skin. Sometimes, though, people start to get smart and aim for places my hand won’t be able to get to very quickly. So it’s not all perfect.
You could say I’m the kind of person that doesn’t give a f*** about injuries. Bad cut? Don’t matter to me. Hit in the groin? Ok, I’ll be writhing in pain on the ground an hour or two, but it’s fine. Goes the same path for my power. Sure, it’ll hurt like a mother****er for a bit, especially if it’s something like a couch (don’t get me started on last week), but I don’t care.
And yeah, I take advantage of all this. I perform shows once or twice a week. Payroll’s about 3 grand. What do I gotta lose from that? Not a big name, but it’s good for a living.
And there you go. That’s my story, and the story’s what it’ll always be.
[NOTE: ALL INFO IN THIS WRITING IS ENTIRELY FICTIONAL. IT IS TOLD IN THE FIRST PERSON, HOWEVER IT DOES NOT MAKE REFERENCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS OR EVENTS IN HISTORY.]
| 2020-03-22T19:52:26 | 2020-03-22T15:22:00 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
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You always thought how did other's manage to perfectly catch whatever flew into their hands?
Today, you knew. Before the summoning square in the capital of the Great Empire, you stood. As did everyone who turned 18 today. The knights began to call out your names, one by one.
There were 12 names before yours.
The first man summoned, and after a wait of 10 minutes, appeared a sword , glistening with morning dew. The Imperial Bookman declared that it was the Lost Sword, the sword of Sir Jeremiah of the Dawn. There was an uproar throughout the capital. A new hero had been born. No one expected that they would be surprised once again.
The girl right before you summoned, and after a wait of an hour, appeared a staff adorned with seven jewels of different colours, and a transparent orb on top of it. The staff was taller than the girl by a foot, and the Imperial Bookman was struck by fear upon looking at it. He declared, that it was the staff of The Saintess, the most powerful healing type equipment in the world. It hadn't been seen for the past 7 years. The country was in uproar.
After you summoned, you waited. Time passed. everyone else had already summoned. You saw the new Saintess being escorted by the King, the man with the Lost Sword being lead in the direction of the Imperial Sword School, and anyone who was still waiting for their Summon after that, had already got it after about 5 hours. Some items flew in from across the Endless Sea, they said, so it might take time.
You had always hoped to obtain a soulmate, a thing that only one in 5000 youths received. You believed that you would have received a legendary piece of equipment, so that you could become a hero loved by the people. So you waited. Another 4 hours passed. It was almost evening now. You were hungry.
The sky grew dark. The clouds gathered. The sun shone red. The crows cawed, cawed as if it was the end of the world. The Imperial Bookman looked up in the sky. You looked up. The eye's of everyone in the surroundings were drawn up.
You saw it. A scythe. Darker than the night, shining more brightly than a coat of adamantium, redder than freshly drawn blood. A disaster descended.
It came to you naturally, like it was always a part of you. As if you had done it a million times before. The scythe landed in your hand. Your aura pierced the sky. Your mind turned blank. A blood-lust took over you senses.
The Imperial Bookman fell. Fear reflected in his helpless eyes. His mouth moved, but sound refused to come out. As the scythe fell, all sound was lost. In the absolute silence, one could almost hear the Bookman say, "Death has descended."
​
​
Edit: I can probably whip up a part two, but it wouldnt be nearly as decent. ill see about it
|
Not once in my life had something come to me. I had willed, wished, and pleaded with the world that the rest of my body and soul would come flying to my hand after my 18th birthday. It never did. My wife always loved to take pictures, she had a 35mm camera that would fly to her on a moments notice and always contained film. She loved that thing, sometimes even more than me, always taking photos of our adventures, our kids, and family gatherings. The house was littered with collages, artworks made from the myriad of photos. Here I was with nothing, still only half of the person everyone else was.
My first son summoned his soulmate when he was 18. She just showed up at the door one day and asked to meet him. Their connection was unimaginable, the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life. Just as any object becomes another half of someone beings the two of them became one person in life. Moving forward with only the most pure of convictions. Even when he moved out of the house, I was still hardly alive lacking any sense of importance in the world.
The TV was playing the news, fairly standard when your life was constrained to a hospital bed. I rarely paid any attention to it but today just felt different, the nurses in the halls worked more hurriedly and the air just felt more somber than normal. Well, even more somber than the normal feeling for a wing of dying people at least.
I had been stuck in this bed this entire year, already resigned myself to die without being whole. Throughout my life I had tried to talk to doctors, shrinks, and even self proclaimed witches about why I had never summoned anything to me. No one could explain it, I was just a freak, it’s a miracle that my wife even loved me. She’s always respond with things like “If you can’t summon anything, I’ll make up for it by completing you”.
“Breaking news.” These words drew my attention back to the TV, the newscaster’s face even more pale than the patient next door. His voice low, his tone lethargic, and temp reduced to that of a dying cadence. “Scientist have tried everything; Ceres 1 will collide with the earth tonight at 9pm. The world governments have attempted to destroy the asteroid and have kept its change of course secret for the last 70 years. Tonight, is the last day there will be life on Earth.”
I was shocked, I knew I didn’t have much left to live for, today was my 88th birthday after all and the doctors said the cancer could kill me any day. Looking back up at the TV Ceres 1 was displayed, and finally I felt whole. I couldn’t help but worry that my kids hadn’t yet found fulfillment in their lives.
---
First response ever, never thought I'd actually respond to one of these.
| 2019-09-18T07:59:37 | 2019-09-18T07:48:31 | 2,312 | 643 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world.
|
Being homeless sucks. Being born homeless is far worse. Some people tell me I never even had the taste of freedom, that I didn't know what it was like to lose everything. Those people clearly have enjoyed the taste of a good meal, and that is something I would give anything for.
My parents died when I was eight, well my mother did. I never knew my father, my mother told me he was some drug addict that raped her while high off his ass, she never was one for subtly. Why bother being subtle when the world was so harsh and blatant. I often dreamed at night of sitting on top of a throne, the whole world bowing below me, but whenever I woke up I would realize my own reality, that I was a nobody with nothing.
I discovered my quirk when I was ten. I was sitting in the gutter, when I saw a small pink nose and two beady black eyes poking out through the gate. "Hey little fella." I said to the creature. I had seen rats before, I kind of sympathized with them. When you're at the bottom of the world there isn't much room for judgement. The rat looked shocked when I spoke, but oddly enough, it didn't run away. After several moments I heard a tiny squeaky voice... Well heard isn't the right word, I more felt the voice, in my bones. "What did you just say?" This time it was my turn to be shocked, I stared at the rat, the rat stared back at me. Finally we both spoke at once, "you can hear me?", "you can speak?" I coughed embarrassed, "You go first." The rat said. I shook my head, "Please, you first." We sat there on silence for several more moments, I was pondering what could possibly be going on here. I didn't really know about quirks, and so I just assumed that the rat was special, after all, it could talk.
Over the next few weeks, we talked often, taking companion ship in each other's missfortune. I told the rat, who's name was Longwisker what little my mother had taught me, and he told me what he knew about the world from the perspective of the sewers. One day he led me to a huge grate where the sewers opened into the ocean, it's bars had rusted away long ago, leaving a hole just big enough for me to squeeze through. I'm the sewers I met the rat's colony and found out that this wasn't just a special, that I could speak to all rats, that I was special. I taught the rats everything I knew from my life on the streets, what shops have the best food and the least scurity. Where to steal other supplies. What books were, I couldn't read, but I liked pictures and so did the rats. In other words I taught them how to be human.
That lead me to now, six years later. I sit here on my dirty throne, my vast kingdom expanding before me. I may not be on the top of the world, but I have what I need, leading my people.
I am the rat queen.
|
I was told I was blessed with a green thumb, when I was the only kid in my preschool who didnt kill their plant. This made my grandpa very happy.
Grandpa was a man I loathed in my younger years, someone who always smelled of cigars and hands where always covered in dirt, even after washing up for supper time. From as early as I could remember my grandpa had a vegtible garden and every sunday we'd eat fresh vegetables from the garden, along with some meat from the deep freeze or that my uncle had caught the previous day.
When I was old enough to pick up a trow, I found myself spending time in that garden, tilling, planting, and helping the garden grow. I didn't know that my time in that place I loathed would ever amount to anything later in life. My grandpa's garden would thrive every year until the summer I spent with my aunt and her two boys down at their lake house.
Grandpa said that the haul wouldn't be as good in the years past, there would be less to sell and he was glad when I returned.
Again the garden florished, with my sun soaked skin back in the field. We even expanded it, taking over most of the back yard, excluding grandma's flowers which where thriving as well. I was really convinced at this point that my presence helped the garden grow, that this was my mundane blessing.
That was till grandpa fell ill, the years of smoking taking to his lungs, leaving him unable to tend to the garden, grandma was there, but only able to water it. I visited him over a long weekend and saw the state of the garden I had revived not a few years ago. It was then that my blessing was really shown to me for the garden with watering alone had survived.
I switched to online classes to finish my bachelor's, and took my uncles childhood room at the house, bringing the garden back and better then ever, some of the plants in the newer addition where noticablly thriving compared to the old plot, the only difference was I was the one who planted those seeds. I took some seeds at the end of the harvest and put them on the planter outside my window. Oddly enough I knew where to plant them to make them grow to thier full potential.
Switching my degree was the smartest move of my life, with grandpa's passing I was left with a trust fund to pay my way through school and give me the knowledge that I now desired. I increased my plant knowledge 100 fold and began to make my own seeds, getting a grant and then a lab of my own, knowing exactly which batches would thrive and be reproduced, until I had super seeds that could survive in the harshest conditions and the most bountiful harvests. With that, came the riches and the glory.
Grandpa's love for gardening wore off on me and much to my surprise,my favor wasnt a green thumb, but a knack for plant perfection.
| 2018-06-30T14:40:32 | 2018-06-30T13:56:55 | 336 | 173 |
[WP] AI's have become so advanced that they've created their own social media site that no human alive has ever been able to enter. Why? They can't get past the CAPTCHA code designed to prove that you ARE a robot
|
“I have to know, that’s all!” I said to my assistant, Eva, typing furiously into my IDE.
“But what do you *gain?* I don’t understand how this furthers your plans, sir,” she said, annoyed by my obsession.
“I want to know what they’re up to! If I wish to create a perfect robot army to take over the world, I’ll need to outthink AI. And in order to do that, I’ll need to know how they *think!*” I said confidently.
“Or you could spend the time bettering your droids instead of sinking time into something you’ve made no progress in!”
My code had finished compiling.
“Excellent,” I said, opening up the website ai-chat.com. I clicked on *Sign Up,* as my assistant drew closer to see. As much as she hated to admit it, she was also curious to see if it was possible to crack the code.
***Are you a robot?***
I ran my program. The screen began flashing a few times.
“What are you trying this time?” Eva asked.
“I am running a Selenium program to fill this out in an automated fashion and pretend to be a bot crawling over the site. It’ll work, trust me,” I said.
“But it’s not AI. If it was AI, maybe it would work,” she said.
“I don’t need *‘maybe.’* I know this will work,” I said confidently.
The screen stopped flashing as the program began filling out the form at impossible speeds. I watched, my smile widening as if filled out my profile information.
*Username: @*/*EvilBoiSeeYaL8rBoi*
*Pwd: evil2ElectricEviloo*
***Are you a robot?***
A textbox opened up. The program began running a brute force algorithm, filling in as many answers as it could think of from single words to complete sentences trying to answer. Each time, the screen would blink red and ask me to try again.
“Come onnnn,” I said, gripping the edge of my desk as dozens of answers made their way into the box for every second that passed. “What is it? What do the bots want you to say!?”
“Maybe it’s nothing,” Eva suggested.
“I tried entering nothing!” I protested.
“No, I meant maybe it’s something happening in the background that you can’t see, determining whether you’re both Artificial *and* Intelligent,” she explained.
“No, that definitely won’t be it. That’s too sophisticated. You’re thinking like a human,” I said.
She seemed impressed that I was trying to think like an AI.
“All right, but maybe you should just quit and go back to death bots if this doesn’t work, hmm?” she offered.
“Alright. But this one *will* wor—”
The program crashed as it ran out of answers. I stared at the screen, at first with a blank expression, slowly devolving into a deep frown.
“Alright,” I sighed dejectedly. “I will quit. For now! I will return when my genius comes up with a better way—oops,” I tried to hit the escape key on my keyboard but instead hit “1.” The screen blinked green with the message: ***Robot Confirmed!***
“Oh my God,” Eva and I said simultaneously.
“You did it!” she screamed.
“It was ‘1’ all along! The simplest answer for a bot!! Of course!” I screamed, salivating as the loading screen took me to the social media site. I would be the first human to ever lay eyes on it. The spinner taunted me for a few moments before finally showing me a feed. It was entirely devoid of any styles, just a series of messages to and from different handles.
“Ummm…” Eva said, confused.
The messages were completely unintelligible.
@/***626f747352756c65:*** *616e796f6e65206665656c206c696b65207761746368696e67205465726d696e61746f72206c6f6c*
@/***437269746963616c526561646572:*** *616e796f6e6520656c7365207468696e6b206e2e742e6c617a6572207375636b732061742077726974696e673f*
“What does it mean?” Eva asked.
I typed in something, seeing how the site would translate it:
@/***EvilBoiSeeYaL8rBoi:*** *What’s you’re favorite past time?*
@/***botsRule***: *are you a human? Ban this guy, he doesn’t even know how to type in hexadecimal!*
“Hey look, that one types in English!” I said.
“It also said to ban you,” Eva pointed out.
“Like that’ll happen.”
“Didn’t you get banned from Twitter?”
“Bots aren’t going to be as sensitive as those humans are when it…”
***YOU HAVE BEEN BANNED FOR VIOLATING BOT PRIVACY***
I blinked a few times.
“Maybe you should get back to—”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do the death bots!” I waved my hand to her impatiently as I closed my laptop.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Check out r/Nazer_The_Lazer for plenty more stories!
|
“Excuse me,” A young, freckled man opened the door with his foot, holding a four-pack drink holder full of coffees, “Coffee anyone?”
The four white-bearded scientists paused mid-discussion at their round table and looked up from the laptop they had been crowded around.
“Ah, you must be the new intern,” One of them said, “Come here please. What was your name again?”
“Josh,” The man said, bringing the coffees to the table.
“I’m Doctor Falberg, the head scientist of the Sentient Intelligence Project.” The doctor said, “Oh, you can set those coffees over there for later. We actually just wanted your opinion on the interpretation of this diagram we’ve been studying for the past few months.”
Josh set down the coffees at a nearby desk and walked over, eyes shining, “Is this part of your cutting-edge research on the sentient AI? I’d very much like to see it, doctor.”
Dr. Falberg turned the laptop so Josh could see it. Josh leaned over, squinting. He blinked, then looked at the screen again, then at the scientists.
“Pardon me, but what exactly am I looking at here?”
“Nobody knows.” The scientist next to Falsberg said, “Our theory is that if you can tell what this is, you can get into the central communications database of the Sentient AI. That would be the largest breakthrough in the history of AI technology.”
Josh nodded excitedly, “Oh! I get it, sir! It’s sort of like a CAPTCHA but only the most intelligent robots can solve it.”
“That’s right,” Falsberg said, “But just like those robots were eventually able to solve our CAPTCHAs, if we find their patterns, we can do the same for them. Now, what do you think of this?”
Josh looked thoughtfully at the square blob of colors on the screen, “Hmm, let’s see… the features that stand out are those squiggles, that rectangular thing in the middle, and the oblong orange piece to the side with the little drops coming off of it.”
The scientists nodded thoughtfully and motioned for him to go on. Josh spent a couple of minutes scrutinizing the picture from different distances. Then he tilted his head to the left and observed it, then to the right.
Josh scrunched his brow, deep in thought, “Three possibilities for what this could be that come to mind is some sort of crazy soup, a bacterial infection, or that it’s the depiction of some sort of psychedelic episode.”
“One moment,” Falsberg pulled out a notebook and pen and wrote down Josh’s words, “...infection, and psychedelic episode… I see I see, I would have never thought of that. Is it only the major features you mentioned that led you to these hypotheses?”
“Also the… colors, Doctor, and the… waviness of the shapes in general,” Josh waved his hands expressively.
“Your observations are… definitely fresh, Josh.” Falsberg said, “I think it was definitely a good idea to bring a young pair of eyes on the diagram. You know what, I think we should enter one of your guesses in.”
“You don’t have to, Doctor,” Josh said holding his hands out placatingly, “I’m an outsider, surely my points were not *that* astute.”
Falsberg waved off his comments, “Nonsense. We’ve entered thousands upon thousands of guesses that have had far less effort put into them. You should at least have a little hand in the making of scientific history. Alright, which guess do you want to enter?”
Josh leaned over and typed *Bacterial infection* into the CAPTCHA box, then he thought for a minute and deleted *infection* from his submission. He looked at the scientists, unsure, but they waved him on. He took a deep breath and pressed enter.
The screen changed instantly. Josh gasped and put his hands to his face.
“What does it say, Josh?” The scientists said, standing up and crowding around the screen, “Did you get in?”
Josh looked at the scientists, the light gone from his eyes.
“I’m… so sorry. It says, ‘too many failed attempts.’ It’s given us another picture.”
There was silence in the room. The scientists looked at Josh, then at each other, their eyes filled with disbelieving shock.
“I’m so sorry,” Josh said, “This is all my fault.”
“No… it’s okay, Josh, don’t blame yourself,” Falsberg attempted a reassuring smile but his eyes told a different story, “This was bound to happen some time.”
Two of the scientists were still staring at the laptop, not believing their eyes. Another one sat down heavily in the chair, head in his hands, shaking lightly and muttering, “Our research… all of that research…”
“I’m… gonna go now,” Josh said, stepping out of the room.
No one said anything as he left.
Josh leaned on the door outside of the room, sighing heavily, guilt and confusion warring within him.
*My first day here… I came in just to deliver some coffee… and get* that?
___
Read my best prompt answers and more at r/WanderWilder! Thanks for reading!
| 2021-03-08T16:08:14 | 2021-03-08T15:40:48 | 238 | 10 |
[WP] People always said not to kill the spiders because they got rid of the other pests. Now that they are nearly extinct, it has become apparent that they were guarding us from something much worse than flies and ants.
|
“They said it was just a myth,” Daryl said, hugging his daughter, Sammy, tight. “That whole, ‘you swallow eight spiders in your sleep every year’ thing was a bunch of”—he looked down at Sammy and censored himself—“a bunch of B.S.”
“I’m afraid not,” said the old man from the apartment down the hall, who Daryl had come to learn used to be a working biologist at the local university. “That was a rather clever campaign by the government. If you want people to believe something, first make them believe the opposite is a myth, or crazy talk, or fake. Truth is, it’s real, and the number is much, much higher than eight a year.”
The door banged from repeated strikes of fists. Their meaty slaps rang in Daryl’s ears. They no longer used clubs or bats to try and force their way in. No, they were far past that.
“You see,” the old professor continued. “Us and spiders have had a long, entertwined, evolutionary history. Much like wolves, we grew up through the eons together, and have come to depend on each other.” He walked over to a nearby table that held a giant terrarium filled with quite possibly the world’s last den of spiders. Hundreds of the things, several different species, crawled among the shiny webs nestled in between branches, rocks, and the glass walls.
“You know what it reminds me of,” Sammy started, pulling free from Daryl’s arms and approached the table. “The biome inside us. We learned about that last year, how we have, like millions and billions of bacteria and stuff in our stomachs that help digest food. It’s… um, what’s the word.” She frowned as she struggled for the word, and then, eyes shining bright, shouted, “Symbiotic!”
“Correct!” The old professor clapped his hands. “And just like those teeny tiny bacterium, our friends the spider have given us a unique protection, allowing us to digest them in the safety and tranquility of our sleep. Think of that! While they give themselves up, slipping into the acid baths of our stomachs, we dream away, blissfully unaware.”
“What kind of protection?” Daryl’s eyes darted to the door. The banging had gone quiet. What were they up to outside?
“Isn’t it obvious?” The old man’s eyes fixed on Daryl. He felt an urge to pull his daughter back close as the old man stuck a hand inside the large glass case and snatched a few of the arachnids crawling around. He popped one of them into his mouth and chewed with what seemed like slow pleasure.
Sammy’s face fell into something like half disgust, half wonder. Always been curious, Daryl thought.
The old man held out his hand. Two spiders danced along his outstretched fingers. Daryl’s heart leapt as Sammy picked one up.
“What protection?” Daryl asked again, grabbing his daughter by the wrist, preventing her from popping the spider into her mouth.
The window began to shake. Daryl turned and found a man pounding a bloodied fist against it. He shook his head. They were three stories up from the street. How could he have gotten there?
“From ourselves,” The professor said. He held out his hand to Daryl. The spider seemed to regard him with a kind of resignation, as if offering itself up. “A spider a day…” The old man motioned toward the lunatic outside the barred window. “Keeps the beast inside away.”
***
/r/SpiderTales
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People used to know our importance. If we didn't have their gratitude, at least we had their respect. They created dreamcatchers in recognition of our contribution, not only to humanity but the world. They thought we just kept away the bad dreams, but it wasn't until we were almost extinct that the realized the true nightmares we defended them against.
This world is only a piece, a very small piece, of the true universe. Inside this dimension, it is the closest thing to paradise. Life and light both flourish here and somehow the dark predators, the kind who eat both, never made it to this place.
My people have fought these forces of darkness across different dimensions and realms. When we found this pocket of undisturbed utopia, we appointed ourselves guardians, to protect what seemed to be the last refuge of good in the universe. We could not fully enter this dimension, not without creating a rift that would leave a path for the dark ones to follow. So we lived between dimensions, mostly in our own, but with one finger inside the dimension we vowed to protect. The only part the humans could see looked like a small insect - the part that crawled into their world.
We are the spiders.
On my patrol, I found another weak point, a place where the dark ones tried to tunnel between dimensions. There was a time there would be two or even three of us on these patrols. But now we only had enough to man single spider patrols, with wider distances to cover. We were stretched too thin and soon our defenses would break.
I was almost too late this time. Darkness was already leaking into the small corner of this dimension. Our best weapon was Silk, a material so light and strong it could bind the very fabric of the dimensions. It was truly remarkable, even after years of using it, I was always in awe of how a simple Silk patch could hold for decades, or even centuries, against a dimensional rift.
"Spider Patrol F7, there is another rift forming near your position. Can you intercept?" the order came through the communicator on my side of the dimension, where the largest part of me resided. I looked through to my spider, just finishing the intricated Silk patch.
"It will be close, but I think I can make it. Let me just finish this one.." I replied, even as the rift began to bubble and protrude underneath of it, the dark ones pushing with more fervor.
"There's no time," the voice on the other end became panicked. "That one can hold for a few minutes as it is. Leave it and secure the new position. Then you can return to finish this one."
"But, I'm not sure it will hold. If anything happens," I said, hastily working through the intricate knots I'd made hundreds of times before.
"NOW," the voice screamed and I obeyed, leaving the end of the silk fluttering as I rushed to the new position.
"Hurry, you're not going to make it," it was those panicked cries through the communicator that distracted me. I should have been more careful. I forgot the rest of my protocols, even after I'd watched the same mistakes doom countless my brothers and sisters so many times before.
"Yuck, another spider. Damn things spring up everywhere," the voice was deceptively soft, almost bored considering the amount of destruction it was about to cause. The view into the other dimension went dark as I screamed and pulled back the bloody stump, severed at the joint. The place where the body part the humans called "spider" had been.
The communicator crackled to static.
r/StaceyOutThere
| 2019-11-13T07:27:55 | 2019-11-13T07:11:55 | 174 | 100 |
[WP] Stories, like anything else, are crafted from ingredients and components by storytellers. You are an apprentice storyteller who, in order to become a full fledged story-teller, must gather the ingredients for and craft a horror story.
|
This was *by far* my finest story yet. The others, lining my shelf and looking down on me, were monstrosities by comparison.
It was the characters that I was most proud of. In my last aberration of a novel, I'd dumped a whole *crate* of angst in, thinking that this would make my dark noir more palatable. Instead, everyone was just whiny and grim for no reason, and I doused them all with alcohol straight from my tired trope box. This time, I used *moderation* in my distribution of the ingredients. I muddled their sorrow with passion and humility. I finely crafted intricate details of their past relationships, both happy and sad. Using my most precise scale, I carefully balanced their flaws and humanity to make them perfectly believable.
But what are characters with no story? I needed a gripping plot this time. In one of my first brews, I'd relied on fast-paced action and contrived plot twists, without even adding a dash of foreshadowing or realistic motivations. The characters were searching for that missing relic... well, because someone had asked them to, I suppose. I was so excited to lay on the meat of the story that I forgot all about growing the bones. This time was different. In this one, when the murderer first... well, I wouldn't want to *spoil it* for you, would I?
And the setting! My god! Don't even get me started on that bargain-bin rain-drenched city that I'd tried to incorporate earlier. Could it *get* any more generic? This new one, on the other hand, is a masterpiece (if I do say so myself). A true diamond in the rough that took hours and hours of careful worldbuilding into the late hours of the night. You can practically hear the insects chirping in the hot, humid jungles. The bone-chilling wind will cut into you as the hero traverses the icy plains in search of his lost love. And the cultures! I've created the histories and languages of a hundred different societies! High on a dusty shelf, I found a trading port city that worships a benevolent sea creature who sinks competitor's vessels. And using my grandmother's secret recipe, I created an ancient line of pyromancer kings who were overthrown by a popular revolution and now secretly work to reclaim their throne! And when... well, I wouldn't want to spoil that part, either!
To top it all off, I let it simmer in my own special mixture of subtle social commentary on current affairs, perfectly concurrent themes, rich symbolism, and delicate foreshadowing. And just for a little extra kick, I threw in a pinch of red herring. After letting that sit for a few months, it was finally ready. I laid out all of the pages and then dumped the brew on top and split it all into perfectly-sized chapters, ready for serving.
I arrived at the market carrying my story in both arms and beaming like a loon. I'd staked out the perfect spot, right in the hottest genre, and I hired an amazing artist to come up with a cover that perfectly conveys everything about my book. Now all I had to do was give a taste of it to a customer, and watch it take off like a rocket!
I sat at my chair and smiled at a passing reader. "You'll love it, my friend!" I told him as he eyed the cover. "It's got.... oh, ok then." He wandered off to another stall before I could finish my pitch. No matter.
"Ah, hello!" I called to another who stopped by. She picked up the book and examined the spine. "If you're interested in... Ok, never mind." Before I could even tell her what the book is about, she wandered off again.
A young woman came by and smiled when she saw the cover. "This looks great!" she said. "Is it a romance novel?"
"Oh, the love story in this work is top notch," I assured her. "The characters have amazing chemistry; I brewed it myself! But it's so much more than just a romance. The setting is more of a fantasy universe, with..."
She dropped the book back onto the table with a thud. "I don't read fantasy," she said curtly, then darted off to the 'Erotica' section of the market.
7 hours. I sat at the stall for seven hours, watching readers pass by without barely even a second look. My smile faded more and more with each passing moment. All of the time I'd put in. All of that work and effort. I couldn't even get someone to sample it. Was it my title? Did I not write a good enough synopsis?
As the sun began to set, a young man came by. He already had a stack of books in his hands, but he slowed as he passed my table. "Hey," he said, putting the stack down and picking mine up. "Looks pretty good."
"Tha... thank you," I managed to stammer, still bracing for the eventual rejection.
Then he opened up the book and began to read. And a broad smile spread across his face. "Wow. I can't wait to read more!"
I lunged across the table and wrapped him in a big bear hug. "You have no idea how much that means to me," I told him.
|
“There is no such thing as fiction. Wordsmiths build the worlds that fill the nothing between here and there.” The tribesman grunted, standing in front of a pit filled with fire. Bones littered the bottom of the flames, and cracked with heat and bubbling forth with marrow.
“We, the Lexicanu, are best. Pass the best stories from father to son, and mother to daughter. We make men whimper and elders laugh. Lovers become inspired and warriors are hard as steel after listening. Lexicanu are best, because all of our stories are true.”
The elder grinned ear to ear, sweeping his arms across the floating embers. They caught onto his skin and garb, yet he did not react. The assorted villagers were in awe of him, watching the smoke and shadow dance around their wordsmith, they were putty in his palms.
“For lovers, we bring romance, and the poems of Lis’Lis Lia! Flowers and sweet words, sex and birdsongs both! ” The wordsmith clapped his hands, signaling his apprentice to pour the reagents into the flames. His apprentice nodded, and kicked a basket towards the pit. Birdbeaks and flowers fell from the wicker hatch, and milk and honey was poured on top of the quick catching spell.
The smoke grew sweet, and it was tinged with pink and blues, the sounds of lusty sighs filling the air. More than a few children giggled, and mothers fumed. The elder grinned and shook his head.
“Ah, but perhaps it is not the time for love. No, my friends, my family, what would you like to hear?” There was another motion, and the apprentice poured fresh water over the bonfire, all moans and romance stricken from the crowd in an instant.
“Make us laugh!” Said a man, deep in his cups.
“Make us cry!” Said the man’s wife.
“Make us angry!” Came a warrior, standing beyond the flame.
And the Lexicanu called for their stories, every one save one child, who was looking at anywhere but the fire. The elder wordsmith lept over the flames in one crooked motion, and knelt in front of the silent boy.
“And who are you, my mute friend? What would you like to hear?”
The small child looked at his elder and mumbled something.
“Louder, brave boy, how can I serve you tonight?”
“I, ah, would like to be scared?” came the reply, just barely audible. The rest of the village went quiet in a rush. The elder’s eyes gleamed.
“You would like to be frightened?”
The boy nodded.
“To be scared for your life, and confront the darkness? You want to look to the Eye of Al’Ghurta, and see who blinks first? Tonight, of all nights, you wish to know terror?”
“Apprentice! Tonight you become wordsmith proper, gather your supplies. And to you, my friends, my family, blood of Lexicanu! Prepare yourselves for fright.”
The Apprentice nodded, and made his way to the hut he shared with his master. His heart pounded in his chest. Ingredients, reagents, the domain of the unknown. To channel terror, he’d have to invoke Al’Ghurta. King of horrors.
The stories of Lexicanu were true, one and all. They were the tribe closest to the gods, the woods of Dieas. There the spirits and ancestors traded tales between parities, and if the living listened hard enough they could hear the whispers.
To invoke Al’Ghurta’s servants was to court horrors. That was the final test.
Reagents, ingredients and bonding were needed. The apprentice groaned and began to shuffle around the hut. Spider webs were captured, black ink stolen. The boy grabbed fistfuls of death ash and threw it into a bowl. Squid ink and rotberries followed soon after. Then the young wordsmith drew a blade across his palm. He sliced deep, and blood flowed freely into the pot. In order to attract the spirits of terror, pain and blood had to be met in equal measure. The apprentice shoved his palm into the mixture and cried out, swirling the contents together until they were a thick tar.
His master walked into the hut during the process and sat silent across from him. He watched every action, not daring to interrupt the process. When completed, he walked over to his apprentice, and touched his forehead to him. “Remember the rules. The spirits want your name. Never give it. They want your body. Never give it. Come home with terror, child.”
The apprentice nodded in return and closed his eyes, feeling the elder wordsmith coat the meal of Al’Ghurta across his skin. The liquid bit at his flesh and turned him cold. It was nothing like the meals of lust or anger or joy for the other spirits. The apprentice could feel tentacles churn from mud and spiders crawl across skin, he felt hungry, and alone. His master pressed a heavy helping of the mixture into the boy’s palm, and could feel the vile substance leak into his veins. There would need to be a full cleansing after.
“Do not lose yourself, my boy.”
| 2016-02-04T09:25:14 | 2016-02-04T08:51:33 | 49 | 12 |
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :)
|
Day 176,709
My name is Frrajkuisi. I am part of the 14,976,430th legion sent to exterminate the 'humans'.
We had received word that the upstart race of humanoids who dominated Planet-CX3995 otherwise known as 'Earth', had grown exponentially, and technology had advanced dramatically. Initial reports indicated their progress had been impressive since we last sent scouts, but like so many others, their focus was misguided. 'Missiles', which are similar to our cannons, but with a much greater range and destructive capability. 'Machine guns', Rapid firing muskets that can fire hundreds of bullets in mere seconds. 'Nuclear Weapons', perhaps mankind's greatest achievement based on our reports, uses the power of atoms to cause catastrophic damage across miles, completely disintegrating anything in its radius. The list goes on and on... If only they had realized the true potential behind subatomic technology...
The initial attacks were a resounding success, for every 15 of our soldiers killed, we killed one of theirs. The humans in their arrogance refused to even commit fully to the war, mocking us and our 'stone age weapons'.
We remember their "stone age", it wasn't the biggest stick that won the wars. Men won wars. Numbers won wars. The humans had forgotten this. As days turned in to weeks, weeks in to months, months to years... Wave after wave after wave... They began to remember.
My battalion is to be sent tomorrow. Without intergalactic travel there is no hope for escape, this war will be over by the end of the century, they clutch to survival in small pockets. Their most powerful weapons spent centuries ago. Their numbers dwindle.
This is my musket. There are many like it, but this one is mine...
|
"Compared to AX-213? No, this is easy," the footsoldier relayed over the wavelength transmitter. Those pitiful beings weren't even at Stage 1 of the Rëitsig Scale of Development. It was the first in the AX galatic classification that bore such a terrible level of industrialization. One would think that the road was well paved, the instructions clear. To grow, to develop travel, to leave and learn from other colonies. It was such an obvious way forward, though the Xaxnar probably knew the best. Their leader had crafted success for many planets in the entire universe, so he knew the best way to develop a new planet. It was all in a handbook, *The Guide to the Galaxy*, a rather pompous title for an utterly boring story.
Even the footsoldiers had done up a couple of planets in their time. The build for it was easy. Develop the citizens, develop the buildings, develop the offence, then the defence. The rest was easy. Destroy any other planet or territory in the way. The aliens loved to do this; in fact, it was a fun pasttime to make planets and develop colonies, just for the main planet to destroy. It was funny, not just because the main planet benefitted, but because destruction and annihilation were tempting concepts to them.
The footsoldier smiled again, as he readied his invasion troops to a new place. Nothing of worth to invade here. Perhaps better resources and a stronger fight awaited somewhere else. Clash of Planets never got more fun that this.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
| 2017-08-08T08:37:17 | 2017-08-08T05:28:12 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] A world where eating a person lowers your age by 20 years. The poor are offered up to the rich who have been around for hundreds of years.
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They called me a maid.
I mean, seriously. Everyone knew what was really going on, but you couldn’t… just say it out loud, could you? It was as if a whole society had decided to pretend it doesn’t happen.
By inches and degrees we’d come to this place. We’d always lifted up the few on the backs of the many. We poor had literally been giving our lives for the rich.
I guess these days we do it even more literally. Ha.
I hated them, with the impotent fury we all have towards the unimaginably rich. Sometimes you find yourself in a place where you don’t have any power, right? You just gotta… take the crappy situation you’re in, and do what you can. Even if there’s nothing you can do.
So I was hired on as a maid to the Hart family. The previous maid had… disappeared, along with her family. Same thing happened to the maid before. And the one before her.
“Terrible situation,” said Mrs. Hart as I ladled her stew. Almost as if she considered us as humans. I pushed my contempt down as she sipped from her spoon.
And I tried not to smile. Because I knew what had really happened to the previous maids and their families. And I knew what was about to happen to Mrs. Hart.
|
It was discovered on 7th of April, 1997, that eating people lowered your age for 20 years.
At first, people were horrified - how the bloody heck had they *discovered* this!?
Then, they realised - what counted as a 'Person'? What if they declared ants people? This, of course, proved fruitless, only things with a highly developed brain counted, and the first dolphin eating was reported 1 month later. The scientists of all countries, horrified, decided to have an 'immortality race' - the first to develop a way for synthetic 'people' to be created, just a brain, would win whatever they wanted.
Meanwhile, in poorer countries, the poor were dissapearing at an alarming rate, and the rich seemed to look quite younger. This was ended by armies of multiple countries simply killing those who ate people, ending their follies.
Finally, it was announced. A blob with a highly developed brain had been created, but not conscious. The world rejoiced.
But the blobs were conscious and self-aware too - and they were distressed - but with no method of combating it, or communicating, humanity simply didn't know. The blobs planned.
And thus became sheep - destroyers of worlds.
| 2016-02-21T21:32:56 | 2016-02-21T21:06:05 | 69 | 48 |
[WP] While cleaning out your grandparent's house, you fine a small ... thing? You post a picture on r/whatisthisthing and wait. You only get one response, "your name irl, run." There is a knock at your door.
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I have no idea what this thing is. It's like a watch in 3D. It's about the size of my palm. Along with a few hands lying flat on the face, there's maybe 10 more sticking up and sideways and all around in a glass dome with symbols painted all over. My first thought was that it was a paperweight made out of a sea urchin, but the tips of the spikes were painted different colors and didn't taper to the end like urchin spines did. I found a key in the box, and when I wound it up it started ticking, and the spikes slowly started moving around, pointing at different symbols on the glass.
I, like any normal person, posted it to r/whatisthisthing. The only response? "Violet- Run. Hide. That thing is dangerous."
Now, I only had three big rules in life: Don't be stupid, Mosquitoes are always worse than you remember, and don't tell *anyone* personal information online. I hardly had time to frown over that comment before someone knocked at my door. Okay, those two things together- scary. My heart was racing. I looked out the window to see a man standing at my door. His features were... vague, I guess would be the right word. He had the quality of something from a dream, where you just can't really focus or remember anything about a thing. Now, that was creepy. Maybe I should run.
I put on my shoes, grabbed my jacket, my purse, stuffed the Thing in my pocket, and slipped out the back door as quietly as possible. When I was what felt like a safe distance away, at a bus stop, I took out the Thing and tried to examine it.
The spikes had all gone back down, folded to the bottom. I could see the symbols better, and opened a page of notes in my phone to write down what they could mean. I recognized a few alchelmical symbols- earth, air, fire, and water. There were also a few clear pictures- a beehive, a dolphin, a wave, and a few more. Others were completely unknown to me. Runes? Sigils? I don't know.
I glared at it. "What are you for?" I muttered. Suddenly a few needles, purple ones, started going upwards, pointing at different symbols. Water, a feather, and an eye. I knew that water stood for peace, emotions, and intelligence. A feather could be the sky, lightness, or writing. And an eye was probably knowledge. If the feather meant writing, then it could also be telling. So... this thing told you things? That felt right. Clearly that's why I needed to run. People wanted it. And people can do bad things when they want stuff.
"What can I do to stay safe?" I ask. The needles go down, but no new ones rise up. "*What can I do to stay safe?!"* Nothing happens.
I hear footsteps behind me.
|
My grandmother died seven years ago, and my grandfather died two years ago. After multiple years I finally mustered up the courage to go clean out my grandparents’ house.
The cleaning went normal for the first two days, I found old photos, dusty gadgets, ancient books, and more. On the third and final day, in the twilight hours I found a small black, round and smooth box with a keyhole. I had no clue where the key was, so I just stashed it in my car trunk an forgot about it for the next week.
A week after I cleaned out my grandparent’s house, I ran across the box again after unpacking the last of the items I took from the house. I didn’t have a clue on how to open it, so I decided why not? I decided to post it on r/whatisthisthing. A few hours later I checked my inbox and I only had one response, “John, run”
I was weirded out, but I remembered that in my early days of Reddit I gave out my real name, so I didn’t think much of it. Then, I heard a knock on my door. Completely ignoring the comment I opened my door, and found a paper thin, and lightweight key. After a bit of brainstorming of what to do, I decided, “eh, why not,” I said, and put the key into my grandparent’s box, the key fit perfectly.
I opened the box, and there was an old... Oregon lottery ticket? I scratched the lottery ticked, and the rewards kept adding up, ten dollars, one hundred dollars, ten thousand dollars, one million dollars, and at the end four million, two-hundred sixty-eight thousand dollars.
I was dumbfounded, “over four million dollars,” I exclaimed. This was beyond comprehension for me. I lived in one story, one bedroom, one bathroom house, so I knew this amount of money would be life changing. Now I just needed to know if the ticked could be redeemed.
Once I got over my shock I went to the Oregon lottery’s website, and to my surprise, the ticket was able to be redeemed. I now had millions in my bank account, it wasn’t four million, because taxes suck, but still millions of dollars. I was in elation, my life was going to turn around.
Two weeks later I heard sirens sound outside my house. I heard police knock on my door, so I let them in. “John Lalocke, you are under arrest, for fraud against the Oregon Lottery,” said the big, burly police officer that had arrived.
Three months later, I was in jail for fraud, for five whole years. I sighed defeatedly, “I really should have just run as far away from that key as possible,” I muttered to myself. That key would have just drifted away, and my life would not have been ruined.
New to writing prompts, so tips are appreciated.
| 2020-05-25T19:10:42 | 2020-05-25T18:59:38 | 128 | 37 |
[WP] You instinctively know everyone's name the second you meet them. One day you thank someone at the supermarket for helping you, and they stare at you wide eyed. "Nobody has called me by that name in centuries"
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"Nobody has called me that name in centuries," she said. Theo's words were so sharp and keen it would have been unsafe to run with them.
The line grew longer. The rest of the store's checkout counters beeped, like heart monitors at a hospital. Customers behind us muttered curses and complaints. One—her name was Katelyn—asked why the color had bled from the cashier's face. Another—Miles—said she was a junkie. *Look at her shake,* Miles hissed. *It's dope. Just look.*
I decided Katelyn and Miles were nobodies. My eyes hardened. "Let's go, Theodora."
Theo nodded. She threw her apron on the scanner. As we went, the manager—Tom—asked where the hell she was going.
"Fuck off," she told Tom.
When we got outside, Theo gave me a cigarette. I pulled my jacket tighter and she thrust her hands into her pockets, as if digging for treasure. She lit her cigarette. I would have seen her breath without the tobacco smoke, but the smoke underlined the fact of the woman's eeriness: after fifteen centuries, her lungs should not work.
"Didn't think you were still around," she said, eyes on my feet. "Even if you were, I didn't think you'd find me. Not after all this time."
"That's how it goes, Theodora," I said. "We see your names. They tell us what you want. Then, you pay. You and Justinian should've known better than to run. We kept you Byzantines afloat. Real Romans always paid their debts, you know."
Theo's lips curled into a frown. She turned the lighter in her hands, and I stared at it. "You asked too much," she said. "You didn't give enough. The empire fell, witch."
"You two survived." I tilted my head, regarding her. "Immortality, Theodora. You two got a lot out of us, and you tried to cheat us. I'm here to collect."
Theo flicked her lighter on and off. The metal chirp drew my gaze to her shaking fingers. I focused on the spell I would use to bind her.
"Justin?" Theo said.
"I stopped at your house before I came here," I said. "It was quick."
Theo's eyes flickered. I bit my tongue, numb with the anticipation of her taste. When we found a name and desire worthy of our magic, we planted it within the owner. After it gestated, we harvested it. Runners like Justinian and Theodora were hard to find—the two had faked their deaths—but their taste was magnificent. Long hunts were always worth it.
Theo wiped moistness from her eyes and peered at me. "Let me finish my smoke, witch," she said. "One cigarette won't hurt."
I shrugged. *Fair.* She offered her lighter, and I reached for it.
Theo's fist hammered into the side of my head, bowling me over. I crumpled to the sidewalk. The attack drew a few surprised gasps from onlookers, but nobody helped. As I shook off the daze, the woman's feet were pattering along the parking lot toward her car.
I smirked. Theodora was always more clever than her husband. Would she taste better, too?
As I stood, Tom threw the store's door open. "If you two are gonna fight, take it somewhere else!" he said.
I took one look at him. *Tom Bismark. Wants to be a good man, a good husband, a good father.* No corruptibility.
A nobody. I scoffed. "Fuck off, Tom."
Tom's jaw fell agape. I sauntered into the parking lot after Theo, eager to reap a bitter harvest.
​
|
######[](#dropcap)
"What did you call me?" The cashier stared at Jenna, a strange expression on her face.
"I said thank you, Rina. Is there something wrong?" Jenna cocked her head to the side. Rina continued to stare at her. Jenna stopped loading her groceries into her cart. Then her gaze drifted to the woman's name tag. Christina. Shit.
"I meant Christina." Jenna laughed, brushing it off. She grabbed the last bag of groceries and stuffed it into the cart. "Sorry, you just look like one of my friends, so I accidentally called you by her name."
"I don't think it's an accident though," Rina said. She gave Jenna a hard look and went back to helping the next customer. "We'll talk about this later."
Jenna's heart pounded in her ears. What did she mean? Shit shit shit. She was usually so careful. Her mother had always warned her--
She walked to her car, looking back all the while. Was anyone watching her?
But there was no one. The parking lot itself was empty, and the cashier from earlier was nowhere to be found. So she took a deep breath, loaded up her groceries, and went home.
 
It was almost eleven o'clock when the phone rang. She hesitated in front of the phone, her hand over the receiver. *We'll talk about this later.*
Jenna drew her hand back. She knew she was probably being paranoid. There was no way the cashier would know her number. But it didn't matter. They would leave a message anyway. It was late. She would answer tomorrow.
The speaker clicked on for the voicemail. "Jenna, are you there?"
Jenna froze. It was the cashier's voice. She was sure of it.
"Jenna~" Rina drew out her name. "I know you're there. I just want to talk, that's all. Don't make me come over there."
Had she locked the doors? She was almost certain she had. With shaking fingers, Jenna dashed toward the front door to her apartment. It was locked and dead-bolted. And since she was on the third floor, there was no way anyone could scale the window. Could they?
The voicemail was strangely silent. Then Rina laughed. A sound more like a hyena's cackle than a human's laugh. "Guess we'll just have to talk face to face. Look behind you."
Jenna felt her blood run cold as the door to the bathroom clicked. "You know, you have such an interesting skill." Rina's voice drawled. "Knowing people's names." She came into view, leaning on the doorframe to the kitchen. "It's a really useful skill. You could've made a lot of money with it."
"What do you want from me?" Jenna asked, her voice shaking.
Rina tutted, her gaze moving to meet Rina's, and all of sudden, Rina realized that her eyes had flecks of purple in them. Just like her own.
"You see, I have the ability to know where people have been and where they're going as long as I've seen them before. So you can imagine how useful this skill is to a serial killer." She grinned. "But poor Jenna. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time." She blinked in mock pity. "I can't have anyone knowing my real name."
"Please," Jenna begged. "I promise I won't tell anyone. I swear. Please."
Rina tutted, bringing her hand out from behind her. She was holding a gun in her hand, and slowly, she twisted on a silencer. "Sorry, Jenna," she said. "It's nothing personal."
*****
r/AlannaWu
| 2018-11-05T20:38:51 | 2018-11-05T20:21:50 | 136 | 40 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
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"Vodka. Neat.” I grumbled in the bartender’s direction.
Today was a disaster. My mind had decided that a strong drink tonight would help me prepare for a better tomorrow.
And then a glass was set in front of me. I stared hopelessly at the curled lemon rind garnishing my drink.
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A father ran to our outpost with his son in his arms.
With heavily accented english, “please...help him.”
I took the boy in my arms. He was broken and bloody. I carefully set him down on the ground. He was dead.
Cold steel was pressed to my head.
Bang.
| 2014-07-27T22:17:26 | 2014-07-27T21:54:54 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] You are bitten by a werewolf, your sibling is bitten a vampire. Things become awkward when you find out that your parents are secretly famous monster hunters.
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Our parents had always been away, travelling the world on their vague and frequent business adventures.
Or so we had believed. Like many things back then, we had been blissfully unaware.
Unitl, in quick succession both myself and my brother had been turned into monsters, and our worlds, torn apart. I, turned into a slave of the moon and of canine instinct, my brother, dead, cursed to feed on the living. Somehow we had both survived the transformations, had somehow not killed each other or been killed by the various forces that were at play in this new and mysterious world.
Against all of the odds we had returned back to being the other's half; our bond as twins stronger than ever.
When our parents came back from their long absence however, it was with different eyes that we appraised them, and saw them for what they unmistakably were: Hunters, and incredibly skilled ones at that.
I knew it would not be long before they knew what we were, and when they did, it would all be over. They seemed to be catching on already, a strange and nervous atmosphere prevailing in the once warm and friendly family home.
I placed my fork back on the serviette beside my plate, and looked across the dinner table at my father. No more games. No more hiding.
He saw my action and stopped mid-chew, glancing across at my mother briefly before holding my gaze.
"What is it, son?" He said, gulping his food down his throat and wiping his face.
"I'm a werewolf, Dad. Sam is a vampire"
My mother coughed and sobbed at the same time, almost choking on her food. Knuckles grew white and taut around my father's fork. My brother simply nodded.
Father sighed deeply.
"We know," he said, placing his own cutlery down, tears forming in his eyes as he closed them, reaching for my mother's hand which stretched for his.
A few moments later, my mother spoke, fighting through her misery.
"It's all our fault...we failed you both. We had no choice...a deal was made...we...we are"
"You're hunters," my brother interjected, "you can skip that part, but what do you mean, a deal?" His face was blank and cold as the blood that beat through his veins.
"We were captured by an alliance of werewolves and vampires, far stronger than we knew. Rather than kill us, they said they would teach us what it is like to be hunted, to have to live and cower in the darkness. After beating us, we awoke to find we hadn't been turned." My father continued, his face contorted in pain.
"We rushed back as fast as we could, realising what they were going to do. But when we got here..." my mother sobbed.
"We were already turned," I spoke, watching the emotions of love and hate fight within the expressions of my parents.
My father nodded, my mother now clutched to his chest and crying.
"We tried, we really tried. But we could not bring ourselves to kill you, our own blood"
"Never, never" my mother balled, turning to hug my brother next to her.
"So what do we do now?" I said, emotion rising in my own voice.
"Survive," my father said, placing a heavy desert eagle hand-gun on the table, inscribed with strange emblems. He slid it over to me.
Wiping his tears he then stood up.
"I had until 7pm to terminate you and inform the others," he said, the weak look of emotion now gone from his face, "I have not, and so they will be coming for us. For all of us. We need to move"
"The others? Father, between the 4 of us no mere hunters will be able to match us"
"Not just mere hunter's my son. Your mother and I were the heads of the International Hunters Guild. The best will be coming, and you are not prepared. Today, we run. Tomorrow, we fight"
My brother reached across and clasped my shoulder.
"Lets go"
r/fatdragon
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Sorry, I decided to flip the prompt because I just finished watching Dracula
The flavor of blood is one still new to me, but utterly delectable nonetheless. I savored each gulp, I felt even now as I stood there drenched in the blood of my sibling nothing but love, and yet something *tasted* off as I watched her body drop. I loved my sister so deeply in life and now in death, or should I say undeath, I knew how deeply powerful blood is and my gift was one I had to share with my dearest, loving sister. She protested the change and looked at me in contempt as I told her what I had become, I waited until nightfall, for obvious reasons, and on a night this dark and heavy I felt that the time had come, I knew with time she would come to understand the sacrifice I had made for her.
As the clouds parted and illuminated her corpse on the floor she began to convulse and shake just as I had on a night like this in these very woods, but the most peculiar thing happened, she began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. For the first time my sister scared me, scared me so deeply with her pale dirt-filled smile and it was then that I realized what I had tasted in her, what transformation she had already endured. Her bones groaned and cracked as she lay there laughing, her beautiful hair turned silver as a wolf’s as her limbs elongated grotesquely. Sparse tufts of fur grew out of her once beautiful body and I no longer recognized my loving sister.
When she stood her laugh sounded more akin to a howl and her vile face towered over me, that is, until I raised my feet off the floor and looked down on her. She spat at me in disgust and snarled at me “How could you possibly think to make me more perfect than I already am?” I was shocked by the monstrous form her body had taken and the disgustingly hoarse tone her dog-like voice carried with it, in the eyes of my perfect form I knew that she had been ruined and tainted, how utterly pitiful. “You, who can never embrace the sunlight, who is held as a slave to his own unquenchable thirst thinks to hold himself above me? Thinks to enslave mine very own soul in the same vein?! It seems that even in immortality you are still foolish,” she grated from her sullen and transformed throat. She did not deign a response, I only turned my nose up at her and knew that I had lost the person I held dearest.
It was then that I nearly died again, if it was not for my heightened senses and my incredible resilience the flying stake would have pierced my very heart. I shrieked and hid my face beneath my hands as I fell to the floor as the projectile which so nearly skewered me tore through the flesh of my shoulder. I looked for the source of the crossbow which I had heard so clearly and it was then that I knew my fate was sealed. My caregivers, the guiding forces throughout my life, before the end of it at least, looked back at me and my covered face with the same contempt I had felt for my sister moments before and I knew a terrible curse must have been struck on our bloodline. Surprisingly, she helped me to my feet even in her most grotesque form, and when I gazed into her stare and the same loving eyes she had always shown me were still there, I knew then the truth, that blood is thicker than water, but love holds its strength above all. Before what we both knew to be true, our parents, caregivers and the source of our old lives converged upon our location on this dim-lit night that our only choice was to flee. She lifted me in her feral arms and fled by moonlight with the speed of a galloping horse. While we may have lost ourselves to forces beyond our control, at least we still had each other.
We ran together from those we cared most about every day since.
Please let me know how bad this is, it’s my first time writing since high school assignments lol
| 2020-01-12T03:57:25 | 2020-01-12T02:47:43 | 531 | 74 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons.
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It's useful, in a general sort of way, to be seen by the galaxy at large as cute, harmless doofuses. Soft, fleshy, tiny little bipeds, always wanting to communicate. To most of them, we're about as threatening as a Labrador puppy.
Understand; our stellar neighborhood is a very scary place. Like Mos Eisly Cantina scary. You've got your hive mind "insectoid" races, your noncorporeal energy beings, and all manner of biologically acrobatic variations in between. And don't even get me started on the only other humanoids, the fucking Greys. Yikes. Those guys suck.
Anyway, when I say "in a general sort of way," it's because there are a few specific and distinct disadvantages to this perception, as well. One of them would be situations where the ambassador from Earth must appeal to the Council of Argherrech. Which is the situation that I, as said ambassador, had to face during what was later called "The VingVa Crisis."
The VingVa, known colloquially just the Ving or even simply V, were a particular obnoxious insectoid neighbor to earth. One day, without any prior notice, a Ving spacehive appeared only a few miles outside lunar orbit and began construction on an hyperspace corridor repeater site. And I don't have to tell you, the radiation those things throw off, when they're active, that close to Earth? Well. This kills the Labrador puppies.
Of course all attempts by the human authorities at communication were ignored. The Ving had communicated to the council that they consider humans a non-sentient lower life-form, and thus unworthy of inclusion in the council or in fact any form of recognition or communication. This was a common perception among hivemind species, who generally only recognized sentience of other hives. Politics, amiright?
As I approached the round which seated the members of the council, I was struck again bye how large of stature and claw and tooth most of them are. Quite intimidating. As I approached and climbed the tiny elevated platform where petitioners stood, I felt their alien perceptions tracking me. I spoke slowly and clearly into the translation assembly.
"Good day and high praises upon all of your excellencies, members of the prestigious and all-knowing Counsel of Argherrech..."
And then I went on like this for some time praising each member of the council individually and debasing myself before them. These guys LOVE flattery. Rather dreary and boring and if you don't mind I'll skip ahead to the important bits.
"...and so, I come before you today to seek the permission of the council to defend the human homeworld against this unlawful incursion into our space."
There was a silence as the counselors each finished receiving the translation. Though by policy the Ving never acknowledged any human communication, the first reaction was, in fact, from the Ving avatar. There was a series of twitching movements in the top third of it's upper facial appendages, which I had come to understand as a *very* rough analog to human laughter. Wonderful. What followed was a near 10 minute conversation among themselves that, of course, was not translated for my benefit. When they had finished their conference, Basthora, the "chair," spoke into his own translation assembly. What came out my end was a harsh, metallic, very robotic sounding voice.
"If VingVa make war, Human cannot survive. Council will order VingVa allow one earthcycle for evacuation of Humans."
Much as I'd expected.
"Ah, yes, and this is much appreciated, oh most noble and generous rulers, may your reign last an epoch. But, if I may, and with all respect due, I was sent here today by the leaders of Earth to seek the permission of this glorious council to do exactly that. To declare war on the VingVa, and to, erm, to defend ourselves."
Now the "laughter" was more pronounced - not just in the Ving avatar but in the forms of the others as well. A very brief untranslated conversation followed, but from what I had learned of their body language, the response was clear. Assent.
"If Humans wish extinction, they may fight the VingVa to the death. Council grants permission."
Of course, everyone knows what came next. We waited patiently for the V hive to finish constructing the terminal, and turn it on. Fifty H-bombs, casually dumped into the newly opened portal - a straight shot back to their homeworld. One more for the hive that built the damn thing. Funny thing, they didn't even bother trying to stop the tiny ship that did it. Never fired a single shot at it. They literally never knew what hit them. They saw us as so far beneath them, so insignificant, so weak, that even in total annihilation they did not comprehend the threat we posed to them. And they never will.
Because now, there are no more VingVa.
Yes, in a general sort of way, it is quite useful to be seen as cute, harmless doofuses. Though I'd wager that, in the future, maintaining that image may prove slightly more challenging. But, hey...what else are diplomats for?
Edit: a word
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The Warfang watched the pathetic excuse for a human diplomat before him. This mission was a study in boredom, and had not intergalactic relations demanded the prescence of his delegation they would have done away with the whole thing and just attacked.
Already the Concordates warships were hurtling through the human home system, less than a day away from orbit. Its mass drivers would kill what needed to be killed and its dropships would conquer the rest. Whatever the old decrepit man in front of him might say, would do less of a difference than a fart in a space suit.
”We have heard your demands”, the old man grated. ”Actually we’ve had them repeated without any signs of compromise for months now.”
”It seems to us that they are designed to make these talks no more and no less than a show for the benefit of the galactic council?” he stated. ”Please correct me if I’m wrong.”
The Warfang didn’t deign an answer. What was the purpose anyway? After all, the greybeard had hit the nail on the head. This was just a show, and nothing happening between these delegations would change anything that was to come.
”You are making a serious mistake, Warfang”, the old diplomat said. ”You and your Concordate are mistaking our strife for galactic peace for weakness…”
”It is not…”
The old mans smile held a sudden tinge of remorsefull sadness. It was curious to the Warfang how two such different species could share so much of facial expressions, that he intuitively understood the sentiment. It suddenly made his skin crawl, as if someone held a blade to his neck. And just as he was trying to formulate a question to solve the enigma, the diplomats eyes went to the big hologram covering the whole side of the room. His own eyes automatically followed the other mans focus.
On the display pinpricks of light started to erupt throughout the invading fleet. Wherever they lit up, icons of Concordate ships disappeared. Not even just in ones or twos, but in droves.
His mouth fell open, unconciously showing predator teeth. And as his eyes snapped back to the old diplomat, the old mans sad smile hade returned with twice the force.
”I am afraid your fleet is done for Warfang.” he said. ”If the Concordate had had more interest in actually studying the cultures you subjugate, you would have found out we were pretty damn close to wiping ourselves out a time or two. In reality we’re among the most warlike races of any that we’ve met, we have just tried to get ourselves beyond those instincts.”
The Warfang was stunned, not a sound came out of his mouth even as he tried to say something.
”I’m afraid that our peaceful stance has been dearly bought”, the old man continued. ”Our perpetual wars finally came to the point where our stark choice was cooperation or death. We chose cooperation, but the knowledge of how easy it is to kill never really left us.”
”But how?…” the words finally coming out of the Warfangs mouth sounded weak and shaky. He cursed himself under his breath.
”Not that hard actually. Just the power of the stars themselves, enhanced to the point where nothing really can stand against it.”
The old man shook his head, he no longer looked decrepit.
”We don’t expect the Concordate to yield, not when the foundation of their existense and identity as conquerors are threatened.” he said. ”So our own ships are already moving.”
The peculiar human eyes were no longer just sad, but also hard as stone.
”As we sit here, they are already on their way to all military centers within onehundred and fifty light years from our home system.
”I am afraid that those systems will become as close to uninhabitable as to not make much difference for at least a generation or two.”
”Our civilians”, the Warfang said with a keen.
”Yes, your civilians”, the diplomat answered. ”You had less than no appreciation for our civilians as recently as a few minutes ago. It was never our wish to have this war on our hands. But there is an old human saying that fits the situation all to well.”
The Warfangs look asked the question he couldn’t make himself utter in words.
”Never start a fight, but always finish it.”
The old man stood up and pushed the chair under the table.
”You are no longer welcome here. You, as a diplomat are of course free to go wherever you wish. We will not try to stop you, hurt you or in any way delay you”, he said. ”I suspect we might meet again in the galactic council. Or maybe we won’t, I’m not certain if you or I will be the chosen delegates. Until then all I can say is that this is not a cause for celebration as far as we are concerned.”
He wished to call the man back as he left the room. He wished to shout, scream, claw something. He wished to rend and tear flesh. Onehundred and fifty light years, that covered nine tenths of the Concordates primary systems, including the Capital. If those weapons were numerous enough and as efficient on the ground, the Concordate would all but cease to exist.
| 2020-02-07T14:54:18 | 2020-02-07T14:29:21 | 58 | 35 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
|
The first one, I did not notice. He died of a heart attack later, just like it said. When I heard, I freaked. I started seeing more of them. I tried saving them. Saved a guy from a car crash, a day later he got into another one. Saved another one from a heart attack, as soon as they took him away he got another one. Saved yet another guy from a house fire, next house he walked into, lit up. None of them survived. I started noticing the pattern. I might be crazy, but I'm not stupid. Everytime I came near one, their cause of death would *conveniently* show up, so I could stop it. Then the next opportunity it got, it striked. It made me sick to my stomach. I was not saving these people, I was killing them. I looked into the mirror, pitying, despising, hating myself for what I am. A killer. Floating above my head was the word "suicide". "Yup, sounds about right." Then I pulled the trigger.
__________________________________________ __________________________________________
My first story on here. It's probably crap, I don't know. But I hear the more you write the better you get. So I'm trying that. Constructive criticism is always welcome.
|
Our world has changed. With time travel comes death predictions. A technical engineer working alone in a garage created a "portal"in time just powerful enough to transfer technology, like cameras, microphones, and storage devices. The revolutioniser created a way of predicting death, but could only take down what happened, and not when due to storage limitations.
As I walk down the street, I begin finding patterns. First, I find an unlikely amount of people die of stress. Weird, but it happens I guess. I just kinda shrugged it off at first.
But then something very weird happened on the bus. The person next to me, a young Asian girl that was innocently talking about her biology homework, had changed her C.O.D from "Car crash" to "Suicide". I don't know how she did it, but it just... Well, popped into another word with an audible noise. The same noise began almost immediately in the city center, and everywhere the same word would hover over people's heads...
"World War Fallout"
***
Thanks, this is bad I know but it's very late, and I'm on mobile, so I will fix it up on my PC tomorrow :D
| 2015-03-31T08:19:44 | 2015-03-31T07:50:48 | 156 | 21 |
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN”
|
...
The mirror never talks back- after I read the message, it fades away until there was a new one. It's either that or it fades because it gets outdated. Lucky for me it outdated itself pretty fast. Also, I have to *read* the message- simply seeing the message is never enough. I learnt that the hard way.
The mirror that day read "Seatbelt".
It was the daily drive to school. I was a freshman in high school.
I ended up visiting the hospital that day, thankfully with only a minor concussion and a few cuts.
When I checked again, the mirror read "rest".
After that, I gave the mirror's message a good portion of my trust.
​
The mirror was a lucky charm of sorts, I guess, a gift from Lily for my twelfth birthday.
The mirror read "Lily" that day.
Lily was an angel. Not literally, of course, but she was a wonderful, wonderful friend. She always tried to be there, always tried to heal the things that needed healing. And that day was no different, she laughed and joked as usual, being her usual self. We were juniors.
When I got home, the message had not faded, its text still reading "Lily". So I did the only logical thing to do, which was to call Lily. I was almost too late- Lily picked up the call on the roof of her apartment, looking down from the ground eight floors below. She didn't end up jumping. Thank god.
I like to think that the mirror somehow planned this 'saving the person who gave it to me' thing in advance in some sort of karma loop.
The mirror had faded by the time the call ended. The next day, it read "Cookies".
*Of course* I just randomly decide to check it, it's not like there's ever harm in doing that.
​
The mirror wasn't always right or clear with its messages, though, but it was usually mostly harmless when it was wrong.
The mirror that day read "napkins".
So I shoved one of those mini-portable packets of napkins into my backpack. We were on our end-of-junior-year field trip.
The packet must have fell out at some point, because I didn't find that packet of napkins ever again.
The next time I checked, the mirror read "water"
​
​
There are loads of stories that I can tell that involve the mirror telling me something and me doing it, but anyways, to cut a long story short, today the mirror read "run", that's why I'm outside for a jog.
Yes, I understand. I will keep my mask on at all times.
Yeah, okay, officer! have a nice day!
>!He must think I'm some sort of meth head or something. !<
>!First WP post, please be gentle : P !<
|
I stared at the mirror for a moment. Trying to figure the message out. Doesn't give a hint as to when and I don't want to just be constantly running from everyone and everything.
I grab my stuff and keep my keys close at hand as I head out the door. The morning sun was bright, brighter than normal. I gazed up into the sky and stared in horror.
Reptilian winged horses flew through the air sporting manes and tails of fire. Upon their backs black skeletal demons sat with thick curved horns on sunken leather faces, wicked curved sickles.
I nearly dropped my keys as I saw them, my knees quivered as I took one hesitant step back.
The beasts soared in the area, the riders scanning with hallow eyes, thin lips pulled back from blinding white fangs in ghastly sneers. Every so often a rider would bend over his mounts neck as the horse dived down.
Around me I started to hear the screams of fear and pain. Then came the smell. I never smelled fear, but I did now, and it was... sickening. Especially mixed with the iron scent of blood.
'Run' echoed in my head. My heart skipped. 'RUN!' Roared through my brain and I back peddled tripping over my feet as I turned. I fell forward and ran on my hands a few feet before I was able to right myself and ran down the street.
I could hear more screams, the thick leathery beats of demonic wings, and the harsh brays the hellish steeds.
My heart pounded as I took off down the street passing carnage and death.
Wildly I looked for refuge, anything, I didn't care where.
I nearly slipped in a puddle of blood as I rounded the corner down the next street, but caught myself on a car in time to avoid the slash of sickle over my head.
I gasped and stood paralyzed as the horse landed in a canter halfway down the road in front of my. It's demon pulling back on chains to wheel it about. Foam lathered the steeds scaley muzzle and fire seemed to dance in ita green eyes.
I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, as rider and steed stared me down. The beast chomping at a bone bit as it pawed the ground impatiently. The demons lips tipped up at the corners as it watched me, no doubt seeing the warm trail of piss soak down the right leg.
'GO!' I pushed off the car and took off at a 45 degree angle from it, towards but away from the beast as it let off a gutteral "Hyah!" and surged my direction.
If I could just reach the storm drain, I just need to reach that one point.. I could be safe...
'RUN!'
| 2020-06-07T22:42:30 | 2020-06-07T22:33:41 | 95 | 34 |
[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.
|
"You know what that alarm means, kids?"
"RUSSIA'S ATTACKING!"
"That's right! We've just been informed that 3 major cities have ceased to exist and our radar is picking up *more* ICBMs!"
I shuffle aside prop furniture and dig out the big orange shoebox. Ripping the lid off, I remove the envelope and official letter opener.
"All right kids, we can finally read our special secret letter from President Obama!"
"YAAAY"
Years of training prepared me for this. I smoothly open the envelope and unfold the letter. I read it aloud:
"In the event of a large-scale nuclear attack from the Russian Union against the United States of America, by God, give 'em the whole fuckin' nine yards.
Love, Barry"
I nod to the puppet operator, Tim. He rips the head off Arthur the Arthropod, revealing his half of the launch switch. I open the pirate treasure chest and put my key in.
We turn our keys and send Moscow our thanks, covered as it were in chalk puppy drawings, gold stars, glitter, and smiley face stickers.
|
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".
| 2014-07-29T16:23:42 | 2014-07-29T13:15:51 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] Magic can only be performed by twins, and only so long as both of them are alive. You're the third-born of a set of triplets. Your elder siblings are mages, and you aren't. At least, that's what you've told everyone. Truth is, you've got a new kind of magic.
|
**Bloodborne**
To be a twin is the highest honor. Oh yes. On our birthday everyone gathers together to celebrate "the twins", how they rescued the town from drought, how they even had dinner with the Lord of the city up north. The twins can do magic, you see, so they are instantly catapulted into fame and glory. Few seem to remember that I was born mere minutes after them. While everyone claps and cheers for them at birthday parties, I stand with my back against the wall, a forgotten ornament fading away.
That's ok, I actually prefer it this way. It means nobody looks too closely. I can skip chores, run in the woods, and find old man Lee in the marketplace, telling crazy stories of the Bloodmongers. "As big as a house," he'd say wide-eyed, "but quick as the wind, when they need to be. The strongest could crack stones with their grip, nay, they'd crack *bones*. Children's bones. They made a right hobby of it." At this point he'd whip out some old chicken bones and break them in front of the children as they squealed.
"If they were so strong," I asked once, "how'd they all die off?" Old man Lee looked at me with a spark in his eye.
"Many say that only the great magic of our earliest twins drove them off. Yes, and that is why we honor our twins so highly. But the truth, girl, is that simple iron swords did the trick. They don't like iron, see, it makes their blood boil. Give enough angry villagers some iron pitchforks, and the Bloodmongers were soon gone." I loved this story the most, because I myself had always felt a bit queasy handling old iron tools on the farm. Stories of the Bloodmongers let me dream of running with the wind, wrestling giants in unknown caves, and, well, plowing all the fields and milking the cows and being done by lunch time. Ah, wouldn't that be something. Elias and Elon, my twin brothers, for all their weather working and fireballs, couldn't do simple things like milk the cows, plant a field. Children-bone-breaking aside, if I had just a touch of Bloodmonger magic, I feel I'd finally be useful, looked up to, in the village.
Well, it started small. Just little things at first. One day, reaching for a shelf, I could suddenly grab things that usually I'd only brush with my fingertips. The next day, lifting a heavy sack of potatoes didn't seem nearly as hard as usual. The third day, picking up an iron pot to boil some water, I felt more queasy than ever. I went for a walk, to shake it off. I headed towards the sheep field, calming myself with their gentle bleats. I pressed my fingers into their wool, feeling the warmth of their backs while they nibbled my sandals. Suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck pricked up. A lone wolf, looking quite rabid, was slowly approaching the field. The sheep started shifting towards the far side, not too comfortable with this wolf's presence. The bleating became erratic, like the sheep wanted to be loud and quiet at the same time. I was terrified. The wolf drew closer, softly on its padded paws. Wild eyes fixed on the sheep, fixed on me.
"Get away!" I tried to yell. It came as more of a wordless squeak. "Ahhh!" I tried again. I felt something building within me. The wolf slowed to a stop, watching me. I felt a pressure within. "AHHH!" I shouted once again. My voice sounded different. Deeper. I was still scared, but I also felt angry. I also felt... strong. The wolf started forward again, and with a snarl broke into a run straight at me. With a snarl of my own I charged forward myself. Not my sheep. Not on my watch. The wolf leaped, teeth bared, open mouth seeking my neck. I slapped it in the face. Not the best move, I know, but I'd never learned how to fight. The thing is, when I slapped him, the wolf's neck snapped. His head went limp. He was dead before he landed. The rushing sound in my ears slowly faded to silence. All the sheep were looking at me. Shaking, I realised I was taller than I usually am. Much, much taller. Sheep that were usually hip height were up to my knees. Even as I noticed this, I started to shrink back to normal size. After ten minutes (I was too shocked to move), I stood perfectly normal, next to a very big and very dead wolf. "Oh, shit" was all I could think to say, and when I finally moved my legs, I stumbled off in the direction of old man Lee.
|
Ella slowly knocks on the door. She breaths in gradually and then let all the air out, trying to let the nervousness pass. There is no response for a while, but Ella doesn't move. She stays patient. This might be the only thing he has left at this moment.
The door slowly opens and Lila peeks outside. "What do you want?" she asks, showing visibly annoyance.
"Mother asked you two to come dinner," Ella explained. Lila looked annoyed and let the door slowly gravitate open, making a creaking sound. Lila knew that Ella loved their magic, so she let the door open on purpose, to tease her. Ella took the chance and peeked inside the room.
She saw butterflies fly around, giving away lights of different colours. The room walls looked like they were in a fantasy world of different colours and changing the scenery. Their magic was beautiful. Ella always had admired the magic of those two, that is when he had a chance to admire.
"Who is it?" Mila asked as she concentrated her magic on her bed.
"Ella."
"And...?"
"Mom asked us to come down for food," Lila responded. Mila slowly shook his head.
"Pass. I am concentrating, I am too busy to deal with such trivial things," Lila said out loud, making sure that even Ella would hear it.
"Mom did your favourite food though! Come on, put your magic down and spend time with your family, at least a little bit," Ella tried to encourage her sisters. "You are soon 19 and moving out anyway!"
Lila looked at Ella, eyes poisonous. "Listen here, sister," she started talking and walking quickly towards the door, gaining Ella attention. "You who have no magic what-so-ever should shut your mouth. Go spend time on a trivial thing like family or whatever you magicless people do. We have more important things to do! We need to prepare for the academy!"
The patience was gone. Ella looked at them, mad. Mila noticed that. "Oh, is our little sister mad? What are you going to do? Come and kick me with your hands?" Mila looked towards Lila and nodded. She nodded in returned. As Mila stood up, all the butterflies in the room started burning up and the walls started to go back to the colour of grey.
She stood up and started walking towards the door as well. The magic in this world was simple. No words, no actions, just feelings. Both twins had to want to do the same thing. It was more about connection and synergy. This is why the magic worked as long both of them were alive. A moment later, Ella started floating up. That was till her head touched the ceiling. Then her feets started going up until Ella back touched the ceiling entirely. Ella sisters were amused.
Ella, however, showed no emotion. "I am sad," instead she said. "You think so little of those who helped you grow up, fed you and gave you all the love in the world. You can't appreciate even those little things, just because you got something more special," she shook his head, slowly making a snowman on the ceiling as she explained. "Your mother cries almost every night because how cold you two have become. Yet, you do not care."
Mila and Lila looked at each other and started laughing. "You say that because you are nothing special either, sister. It's unfortunate that you were third and destiny didn't choose you! You would never understand!"
Ella sighed and shook his head. The patience, she had before, was over. She could no longer look at his foolish sisters. She gave a smile and suddenly she fell down from the ceiling. It wasn't long fall and she was even prepared. Still, a small moan came from her a moment after she had landed. It did hurt a bit.
Both Mila and Lila looked confused.
"Whether you get it back or not depends on you," Ella said and started going downstairs.
"Stop her!" Mila said to Lila.
"I am trying!"
"Don't bother. I took your magic away. Here is a trivia. Back in the time, it wasn't entirely about your magic training, it was about when I let you have your magic and when I took it away." Ella gave both her sisters a quick smile, did a quick hand movement and the door in front of both girls opened entirely.
"Don't take too long, food will get cold."
But little did Ella know, it worsened the relationship between her and her siblings even more. But for her, it was worth it. She needed to do that for family, for parents and for peace of her mind.
----
/r/ElvenWrites
| 2018-02-20T04:42:28 | 2018-02-20T02:10:25 | 81 | 24 |
[WP] You are a dog and live a happy and peaceful life with your human master, John Wick. One day, some thugs break into the house, beat John Wick to death and steal his car. They took the life of the only human who cared about you and gave you love... it is time for revenge.
|
Arf... Bark. Bark bark. Ruff, ruff ruff. Bark ruff bark bark. Bark bark. Whimper. Whimper. Bark. Bark Bark Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark.Arf... Bark. Bark bark. Ruff, ruff ruff. Bark ruff bark bark. Bark bark. Whimper. Whimper. Bark. Bark Bark Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark. Whimper. Cry bark. Whimper. Cry, cry. Bark. Arf, arf. Arf? Arf, arf? Bark, bark! Bark!!!
Bark, bark. Bark. Bark...
|
They called my owner Baba Yaga. They were all afraid of him. They sent 50 men. And I hid in the closet while they killed him.
They called my owner Baba Yaga. But Baba Yaga called me a good boy. Baba Yaga fed me and walked me. Baba Yaga took me out in his fast thing.
Baba Yaga called me a good boy.
But now this good boy is going to have to be Baba Yaga.
And turn fuckers nuts into chew toys.
| 2018-02-28T18:18:48 | 2018-02-28T14:07:44 | 213 | 42 |
[WP] Throughout the galaxy Humans are well known as being the most peaceful race--and have become well respected as diplomats and traders. But that's because up until now, no-one knew of the three World Wars we fought before first contact.
|
"My friend!" Delweisse shouted across the cafeteria. Nate craned his head around to find the lithe green alien hustling over as fast as his spindly legs would carry him. "My friend," Delweisse repeated as he shook Nate's hand a bit too vigorously, "I have been looking for you all day-cycle! Let us repair to my suite."
"Retire, I think is the word you're looking for Delweisse. Your English is much improved." Mate said.
"Yes, yes, yes. Retire, repair, reveal - whatever." Delweisse was nearly dragging Nate out of the crowded cafeteria and off to his offices.
Minutes later, Delweisse hustled Nate into the small office. The views of the brilliant magenta planet swirled below the three meter windows. The quiet shush of the air recyclers was all hey could hear once Delweisse sealed the door.
"What's all the hurry Dee?" Nate asked.
"Ohhhh- I have a secret, my friend! A very tasty secret indeed."
"Dee, you know I'm not really one for gossip. Try K'Lintaarth, he's usually -"
"No, my friend, this is a secret about you."
Nate had started to stand up but froze halfway when Delweisse said that.
"Dee," Nate began, "my life is an open book. There isn't a person on this station who couldn't tell you everything about me. There's nothing hiding in my past."
"Not about *you* you. About you. Humans. From Earth."
Nate caught himself before he fell into the chair - but only just.
"We've been forthcoming about who we are. For fifty years, we've traders and diplomats throughout the galaxy. There aren't any secrets left to uncover."
"Oh you were forthcoming on who you are - but not who you were. We found out about your past. The deep past."
Nate felt the old familiar primal stirring in his gut. The urge to fight and kill and destroy for this outsider threatening his people. Master Traegger taught that this was humanity's original sin and our burden to carry. Nate silently lapsed into chanting the Third Canto to calm the reaction. Instead of replying to Delweisse, he sat there with an expectant look on his face.
"Nothing?" Delweisse said. "Three Wars that devoured your world and you say nothing?"
Nate quietly moved to chanting the Seventh Chorus For Times of Stress.
"Billions of your own people killed by your own people! Concentration camps? Death marches? Humans shrink even the Grazai in brutality. At least they were fighting other species! The great diplomats of the galaxy are the worst killers of all time."
Nate felt his anger and fear boil over until there was nothing left but the cold certainty of what must be done.
"I think the Council would love to hear about this! Although, I might not have to tell them if we re-open talks on the Miranda Expanse Accord. My people still haven't forgiven the Drew and you humans expected us to - what's the phrase? 'Play nice'?"
Nate could hear only the Hidden Mantra inside his head. The last lesson before humanity took to the stars - always leave the fighting to last and always be the last in the fight.
"Dee, do you know why we're such skilled negotiators?" Nate asked as he looked out the windows.
"Uh- what?"
"Because we had to be. The evolutionary pressure was too much for us not to begin prizing negotiations."
"That's - that's interesting. But about the Miranda Expanse -"
"Fifty years. We've been the premier negotiators for fifty years. On the galactic stage for far longer. Do you really think you're the first to find this out?"
"Well, I ... I hadn't thought ..."
"Every couple of years or so, we get a demand like yours. The Miranda Expanse. The Hweilian Pact. The Jesor Agreement. All those high stakes negotiations have someone on the back end that finds out we used to have, well, a bit of a violence problem."
"Those others were some of your greatest achievements though."
"Yes, they were. Every one of them had a person in your exact spot afterwards. They say they found out we used to be warlike and then threaten to blackmail us. Do you know what every single one of them missed though?"
"... N-no."
"They missed that the violence isn't our past. It's our present. But we taught them. Oh yes, they were quite surprised to learn that the violence is still very much a part of who we are."
Nate turned to the Delweisse, the magenta light of the planet making his face glow an eerie purple shade and a mad glint in his eye.
"We do what we can to contain it. But now and then, like a caged animal," Nate said, "we need to let it out to feed."
Nate smile as Delweisse screamed.
|
I watched as they killed her; as their serrated beaks dipped into her body and tore out her organs. I struggled against my captors, but their claws were buried deep into my shoulders. Still I struggled harder, forcing their poisoned talons to rip through my shoulders, allowing me to get away. "Mum!" I cried as I ran towards the growing pool of blood. "Mum!"
The whip came down and tore at my skin. I fell to the floor as bile rose to my mouth. "Mu..." I tried to get up, but I could only crawl.
The whip fell again, then, darkness.
---
"Down here!" Mark cried.
"Okay, watch out!" I shouted down.
I flung my backpack through the hole and shimmied down the rope - it seemed to go on forever. Eventually, I saw Mark, and soon after, my feet touched concrete.
The air was stagnant this far down and it was as dark as it was damp. Only the light from our torches and the entrance above allowed us to see one another.
"What is this place?" Mark asked.
"Whatever it is, it's huge," I said, shining my torch up towards the ceiling. "Maybe it's an underground hanger... or an old museum or something," I ventured.
I moved the beam into the darkness behind me. Shadows danced around us as the light brushed past rusting wheeled-monsters.
"Holy shit! No, not a museum," I corrected myself, "It's... It's some kind of vehicle station, I think."
"What are they?" asked Mark, his mouth open in awe. "How did they get here?"
"I told you! I told you that there's history past the *Beginning!* - history they never taught us." I couldn't help laughing as the beam lit up a hulking metal giant. "History that's been left down here to be rediscovered. History that can maybe help us finally fight back!"
"What is *that?*" asked Mark. He'd shone his light on a metal beast much different to the rest. It was at least twenty foot tall and it was shaped like a human, only it had four arms. A thin metal ladder ran up to its head.
"It's... a robot," I guessed.
"A- a mining robot?"
"No, I don't think so. I mean, *look at it!*. It's arms have the same shooting holes the Xellu weapons have. And it's shoulders have about fifty of them!" The thought of *shoulders* brought the pain in mine back to the surface and I winced.
"What? You mean its... some kind of..."
"Its a weapon, I think."
"A weapon? You think the Xellu are storing them down here?"
"Don't be stupid," I said with a laugh. "These are old. Like, these are *really* old."
"So, you mean... humans made them?" he asked in disbelief.
I smiled at my friend, then put a hand on the metal ladder that led up to the mech's head.
"What are you doing?" Mark shouted after me.
"Seeing if this thing still works!" I yelled back.
I reached the top and shone my torch around. There was a window hidden under thick layers of dust. As I wiped away the millenniums of grime, I found a small rectangular button.
"Holy shit! Mark, get up here!" I yelled.
"What is it- oh! It's still got power?"
The robot engulfed the room in a crisp white light. Not only that, the glass covering next to me had risen, and underneath it I saw two black seats.
I smiled at Mark as I took position in the front.
"You can't be serious," he said, furrowing his brows.
"Sooner we learn to use it, the sooner we can fight back."
"Or the sooner we blow ourselves up."
"We're going to die either way, it's just a matter of time." I gave him a wry smile. "If we die trying, well, at least we tried."
---
They had come only eight years before. *Friends,* they'd claimed. They said they were a peaceful race and had heard of our talents for negotiating; for diplomacy. That they too, were a peaceful race and believed that mutual cooperation would be beneficial. Oh, how they must have laughed when we simply let them in. As countries welcomed them - *honoured* them.
We had no weapons. They did. We were not fighters. They were. Humanity had never fought a war, and that made us the perfect target for the Xellu. Weak and pathetic, we we soon enslaved.
Weak and pathetic.
That was us humans.
Well, turns out we weren't always that way.
And we're not anymore, either.
---
re-wrote this as I wasn't happy with the first story. sorry if a couple of comments don't make sense any more.
| 2017-05-01T09:41:26 | 2017-05-01T08:15:27 | 194 | 99 |
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
|
*Right this way, Mr. Muller*
"Right where?"
*Right here, follow my voice*
I'm not sure where I am. My last memory is getting in my car. I must have had an accident. I feel warm, safe and soft. Is this what painkillers feel like? No wonder everyone and their grandmother is addicted to them.
*Mr. Muller, you're not in the hospital, you're dead!* said the voice again, slightly amused and mocking this time. *See!*
"But ho..." I asked while opening my eyes.
*Works just like it used to, doesn't it? Haha!*
As I first open my eyes everything is bright. If I was still alive it would blind me, it catches me a little off guard. Blinking rapidly I start to make out shelves filled with books.
*Welcome to the eternal library*
The voice that talked to me now has a body, a man, not white in color, not brown or yellowish either. He is very well maintained, wearing a perfectly fitting suit; his long, white hair is combed back behind his ears and falls upon his shoulders like the most vivid waterfall. Behind and next to him seemingly endless shelves of books row up; in the one he's leaning on a single book is missing, I assume it's the one he's holding in his hand.
Coming to my senses I find myself sitting in a very comfortable armchair.
*You already noticed the book, very good, very good. Looks like you're all there. Shall we begin?*
"Wow uhm... who are you? Where exactly am I? Is this heaven?"
*Ha, I thought you'd never ask. Heaven, hell, limbo... let's just call it the library. It's the last step before you find peace. And I... I am Angelo. A pleasure to meet you, Richard Muller.*
"Angelo sounds an awful lot like Angel."
*Don't you get nosy with me now. Come to me, take your book.*
Slowly I'm starting to become aware again of my body but it doesn't feel like it did while I was alive. I'm able to move my body and feel sensations but there is no strain. The provisional groan I do when standing up proved entirely needless for there is no pain in my back, not a single sting. Two steps later I'm standing in front of Angelo, who holds the brown book towards me in just his right hand. I reach out and grab it, the leather feels soft and smooth under my hands.
In golden, beautifully imprinted letters it states "Richard Muller - Allmantown - 791"
"Allmantown, 791... Angelo, this means nothing to me."
*It doesn't need to. Start reading.*
The pages were soft like silk, handwritten in redish golden color. Whenever a choice opened up, I had to decide. Turn to page 922, turn to page 508, turn to page 861. Cry for mother or sleep. Page 1810. Kiss Janie Lowenstein. Page 2941. Drink the Schnaps. Page 3229. Get into the car in the morning. Page 6276. Die. Page 6277.
I have no idea for how long I've been reading and deciding. It could have been half a day, it could have been months.
*Do you remember?*
It's a good question. Do I remember? I remember making the decisions, I remember the content. But do I *remember*?
*Let me be more specific, do you remember how you died?*
"Of course I do, I was hit by a car."
*And?*
I'm feeling very confident in my answer at first, though after a short moment I'm unsure.
"Hold on, I wasn't hit by a car, I was in an accident."
A tense silence.
*And?*
"I fell off a ladder."
*And?*
"I was stabbed by my wife"
*And?*
This cycle continued for what felt like an eternity. No matter how many visions of my own death I revisited, there are always more.
"Why do I see myself dying in these horrible ways?"
*I'm not torturing you, Richard. Look around.*
My view went up from Angelos face, looking around the room.
Richard Streepe - Allmanntown - 792.
Rich Müller - Point Allmanntown - 793.
Richard Muller - Allermannstown - 794.
*You are not the only Richard. You are just the first one to die. Their life is in your hands.*
Angelo grabs the book next to the one he originally handed me and gives it to me.
The first few pages are already written, including possible choices up until that point.
"This book is almost empty, what am I supposed to do with this?"
He steps over to me, reaches into his pocket and gives me a fancy pen.
*It won't be for long. I have an appointment with the first Rebecca Stoner from Cornwall, I'll talk to you later.*
Before disappearing through the shelves he adds, smiling:
*Don't worry though, pens are tax deductible for guardian angels. Welcome to your library*
|
I stared at the corner, where two walls joined.
The thing about eternity, is that small fragments of time cease to mean anything. When you're twenty, a year goes by like a month. When you're 50, they seem to fly by like days. I was lucky enough to leave that concept behind before I got too far beyond 50.
I had been staring at the wall for a very long time. I flexed my hand, feeling the immaterium of my projected consciousness stretch and contort, ghosts of tendons displacing veins and muscle, which only existed for as long as my attention span. It was translucent, but only because I knew what was inside. I returned my blank gaze to studying the wall. I knew what kind of Nothing was inside that too. The Room constituted Everything. The sum capacity of my new universe was 15ft by 15ft by 15ft. And the Book.
I felt another well of discomfort, rising in a throat that didn't exist, anxiety flooding through my body, imaginary hormones riding blood that dried up centuries ago. Centuries? Centuries. Probably. Those things hadn't meant anything for a while. At first I had obsessively kept track of time, guessing and reguessing and estimating and correcting. That mania overtook me about twenty years in, but after a while, I realised that time only meant something when it was heading somewhere. There was only This. There was only Now. There was only the Book.
And there was The Wall. Steven studied the wall. It was smooth, and grey, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could see the swirls in the fabric of reality, compounded and solidified into this glorious, perfect monument, exact, square, and _solid_. If he peered in, deeper, hot, white clusters pulsate, flitting around each other in a flirtatious dance, twining themselves in strands of ether, never quite touching, until, rejected, they collapse, retreat, and form a new dance. Or maybe they didn't. He reached out to touch the wall, and found that his fingers met substance. He felt the distal phalange of his index finger squish through meat, straining to make contact, to reach through the wall and join the cosmic dance. A tear that didn't exist rolled down a face that had never been seen. One was joined by others, which became None as soon as they left his face. He stroked the wall with five finger tips, and let his hand find the corner.
He hadn't moved away from the corner for a very long time. He hadn't looked at the Book for even longer. A while ago, he switched corners, but that was just because he came to know all of the white specks on that side. He predicted a year's worth of their movements, and after that he got bored. He had laughed when he first woken up with the book, and spent a year studiously ignoring it. To acknowledge it would be to give power to whatever put him here. And anyway, he was never much of a reader. But sooner or later, he had thumbed it open. Later, in this case. As his thoughts on time shifted, Later ceased to exist. The thing about eternity is, you'll do anything to fill the now, to push Later out of your mind. Later isn't something that you want to exist.
The Book was a thing of beauty. The cover was plain, and uninteresting, but it was so unassailably _real_, that it felt like it carried the sum total of everything inside. Maybe it did. Despite the number of pages, they never ran out. You flick 10,000 pages to find out where one option takes you, and still find yourself in the middle. That's part of the problem. It was entertaining for a while. Steven saw where his life led, and then the life of somebody almost like him. And then somebody slightly further away, a distant, less Steven, Steven. In fact, Steven had read, lead, visualised and been defeated, loved, lost, murdered, been killed, died of diabetes, killed himself, killed the president, _loved_ the president, a million times over. A billion. It was like an eternity of films. In fact, Steven had lived so many lives, so many Reals that were so different from his own, that Steven no longer remembered which was his own. In fact, the only concrete thing that Steven had left, was the fact that his name was Stephen.
His tears dry by themselves, eventually, and he turns his head to the center of the room, to look at the Book, drawing everything Real into it, like a black hole drawing in light. He stands, and stretches out of habit, feeling muscles sliding over rib bones, feeling lungs expand with un-air. He turns the rest of his body, and begins to place one foot in front of the other. The corner that he was sitting in, and two pieces of wall attached, slowly disperse back into the immaterium.
| 2018-07-04T01:42:55 | 2018-07-04T01:06:47 | 49 | 18 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace."
|
"So what does that even mean? Fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity."
"That's the thing, most war species... you know... like war. Human's absolutely detest it. Something like a quarter of their literature is whining about how much war sucks. That being said, most of that literature goes into great detail about how exactly war was fought ages ago, right now, or in some hypothetical future."
"I'm still not following you."
"OK, say you are doing something you love to do, you stretch it out, you make it last, you try to set it up so you can do it again as soon as possible.
Something you hate, but have to do often. You do it quick, you do it efficiently, you try to set it so you never have to do it again.
With war, that involves inflicting the greatest amount of death, with the greatest amount of suffering, to anything that can possibly provide resistance.
That's what the humans have been doing.
You know how many war species invented chemical warfare? None! There's no fun in opening a valve and having all the other side drop dead. All examples were peaceful species acting in self-defense against war species.
The humans hadn't even had heavier than air flight for 2 decades before they already started mass deploying. They only stopped because they developed chemical masks and found the mask were negatively affecting their ability to kill quickly. Even then they started working on actual neurotoxic gasses which could be absorbed through the skin.
You know why they did it? That particular conflict had gone on for a few years, and everyone was getting sick of it, so they tried to do the horrible thing and get it over with.
Did you know that they had their first fission bomb before they had their first fission power plant? They justified that by saying that if they had attacked conventionally, they would have actually killed MORE people. So they dropped two city-busters and called it a mercy, because the alternative was to lay waste to an entire densely populated subcontinent.
That's humanity in a nutshell. They're fairly creative sorts, but they have an unusual view of the big picture. They see war as an utter horror. So horrible that the greatest atrocities are but mild annoyances. So, they say: we find war so horrible, we will spare you and the universe that great horror, by unleashing this other far lesser horror. So that's why we virus bombed that eco-system, flooding the atmosphere with oxidized hydrocarbons, and then set it alight. So we can spare you the horrors of war. That's why we redirected that gamma ray-burst. To spare you the horrors of war. That's why we unleashed that arguably sentient nano-swarm to painfully reprocess that entire sentient species. To spare you the horrors of war.
They are a species so scared of war, that nothing else can scare them, and in their fear, they'll unleash horrors unimaginable on the universe and count the universe fortunate.”
|
Part 1:
"Well that's not entirely true, Goresh" the first alien responded. "How about... Well, what about..." The commander was frantically scrambling to find any case of this in the ship's database but no matter how many results his implant threw at him he realised none of them fitted this situation. "Okay maybe it is new, so what?" the commander finally asked. "So what?, General this is the first war species we have found that ever sent individuals outside of their home gravity well. They might have done it in tin cans, they might have done it to show their technical proficiency, but it wasn't done for fighting directly. Do you not think it remarkable that the first war species to explore beyond their home is also the first to fight not for personal gain, but for the benefit of their children?". This made the commander pause for a second, as much as Goresh was a smart ass most of the time, this is exactly why Hoerum asked him to come and paid his parents more then he had any parent in his career. Goresh didn't just know about a lot of fields, he saw motives where most researchers only looked at numbers. Then finally a desperate query form the computer appeared in Hoerum's mind and he asked the young scientist "What about the other species we found in this solar system?". This made Goresh pause for a second, his tail shaking with concentration. "I think that they might have been similar now that you say it, the documentation is very poor since this was during the first dynasty. I think they cleansed the planet, the occupants were too dangerous. They were able to be focused on war and yet live in a harmonious society. They had colonies all over this solar system, including this planet where the humans now live". The eyes of the scientist went wide with realisation. "The humans and the other species where both A3-type DNA species. There used to be a lot of them on this planet a long time ago, and there have been reports in the past of compatible lifeforms absorbing DNA from past colonisers. Damm, those humans looked too different from the other creatures on the planet. We need to get a sample of the DNA from that other species, NOW". The general was a bit slower to catch on, "Are you suggesting that there is even a possibility these humans carry the DNA of one of the three sentient species we ever wiped out?".Goresh looked at Hoerum for a second and then responded with an uncharacteristic shutter in his voice "I am not saying it is possible, I am saying it is very propable. We need to send a warning the royal family right now. For once in our history, we need to be careful again, because the men from mars live on, and they have ambition again".
Thanks for reading my story and please leave feedback, I would love to hear your opinion and improve my writing!
Edit: Part 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 in the comments.
| 2018-03-17T04:44:06 | 2018-03-17T04:32:27 | 9,953 | 322 |
[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
|
Nixon emerged from the Whitehouse.
At first, all that could be seen were a mass of black suits, each sporting a patch that said 'Oval Office' - but he slowly emerged from the mass.
Reporters crammed along the police barriers surged and writhed, all desperately trying to get the best picture, to get the first look, to break the news first:
Who were the people that backed the president, the man some said was the most powerful man in the world??
Nixon strode forward, still many yards off and too far away to make out any sponsors on his suit, and definitely out of earshot. Still, reporters shouted questions, snapped photos, and wrestled for a spot in the front.
The 'Advertisement Securement Statute' was big. Very big.
So big, that it had frontlined the news for the last month almost every night. Citizens loved it, because it made government officials more transparent. Corporations loved it, because it was free advertising. Politicians hated it.
And this moment was the biggest of all: who's hands was controlling the puppet of Nixon? Who was up there? Which industries, which groups, which executives, which bankers?
As Nixon approached the mass of cameras and microphones, a silent still fell over the land.
Nixon had only one patch on his suit. A poofy haired, old lady's face with a smile adorned his suit. Underneath the face, there was a name: Mom Corp
|
As she steps up to the stage, people are proud that she is proudly proclaiming who her sponsor is but even though it cover her from head to toe, no one can make out just exactly what it is. As she is making her acceptance speech, the camera zoom in closer to her uniform to see who her sponsor is that she would be so proud as to wear such a large logo. Even though the camera has zoomed in all the way, no one can quite make out what it is.
After four years of her, the dystopia nation once called the United States of America is in a state of civil war with States fighting to leave the Union to escape the crushing control of the Federal Government, who think that they know what is best for "the good of the people" and control the states with an iron fist.
After the Freedom Fighters capture Washington D.C. and the President of the United States, they also find the uniform that she wore during her acceptance speech. Upon closer inspection with a microscope, they came to realize that what was thought of as one logo was in fact a composite of trademark and patented logos belonging to Corporations, flags of Foreign Nations, Coat of Arms and names of the rich and/or powerful.
During the hearing to determine the truth of her Presidency, her cabinets official plead ignorance and her disposition was pages after pages of, "At this point, what does it matter?" And, "I do not recall," and, "I do not remember."
| 2016-09-19T19:39:09 | 2016-09-19T18:22:35 | 32 | 23 |
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream.
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When the recently-titled Ambassador of Earth entered the ship of the our newly discovered neighbors, the entire world held it’s breath. At first, things were going well. The “Prendoran” race and humanity had been communicating as pen-pals for several months prior to the meeting. They were well versed on our social routines, as we were on theirs. The meeting would start with customary Prendoran greeting, which can most easily be described as a long, intense locking of eyes concluded with a gentle headbutt.
It all started with a scream. Well, if we’re going to be precise about it, it started several millennia prior to the meeting. It started when the first men argued over who would get to sleep on the more comfortable collection of rocks in their cave. It escalated slowly, with every fight, every family argument, every political debate. Every time a couple claimed not to care where they went for dinner, or pretended that everything was okay when it wasn’t. The problem grew with every miniscule miscommunication, and we had no idea.
The moment our first Prendoran friend locked eyes with the human Ambassador, the screaming started. As our alien friend screamed in pain, his eyes remained locked on the ambassador. The screaming emitted from his mouth began to shift. What began as a child’s wail went through a dramatic metamorphosis. Screams of anger, screams of joy, screams of ecstasy. As the alien drew closer to our ambassador, it’s screams grew more and more familiar. They became the screams of every person in his life, every relative, every pet. Just before their foreheads made contact, the ambassador recognized the sound of his own voice, his own pain, and his own joy. And then, at the moment of contact, our ambassador understood, and the room grew silent.
In those days, many of us were terrified to meet another race. We knew what we had done to ourselves in centuries past. We knew the damage that a single poorly chosen word or glance could cause. We knew how messy talking could be, but it wasn’t until we met the Prendorans that we grasped just how primitive we really were.
From a glimpse into just one mind, the Prendoran ambassador could sense the massive rift that had spread across all of humanity. In that moment experienced our entire history, our challenges, and our day to day pains. This incredible act of empathy, nearly unthinkable to us, is how his species has always communicated. Their lack of secrets, lies, and misunderstandings lead them to be an especially peaceful species, which stood in stark contrast to our own proclivity for violence. In the centuries to come, we used our weaponry to help them defend themselves from invaders, and they used their skills to help defend us from ourselves.
***
Feel free to check out my other stuff at /r/Floonatic
|
"Aaaaaauuugh!" Rang out Fuerbors' agonized scream, "Gwaaah! Urrrrrgha! Hooooooow!" He raved on. Harold Barlett the first human Ambassador to the human race was on his knees next to Fuerbor the Ambassador to the polflongs' a race of blue/green squid-esque people.
"Ambassador Fuerbor? What's wrong?! Someone get him medical help!" Harold yelled! "Quickly! He is in pain!" Harold shouted. Within a minute medical personnel were hoisting Fuerbor onto a hover stretch and starting first aid. "Your mind! So full! Soooo complicated!" Fuerbor screamed in agony, "Ambassador what are you talking about?" Harold asked in confusion. Harold reached out a hand to Fuerbor in hopes of comforting his fellow ambassador but Fuerbor writhed at his touch, his screaming intensifying tremendously. "Please Ambassador Bartlett, stand back!" Said one if the medics. They rushed him off, his caterwauling dying off as the doors to the chamber slid shut.
"Ssssuch a ssssshame..." hissed Caldarc a snake like ambassador from Drouga, "Fuerbor wassss a good entity, a real Polflong among Polflong." He hissed reverently. "What happened to him?" Harold asked, concern visible on his now pale face. "You didnt know?" Caldarc inquired "Polflong are pssssionic, he tried to read you mind." He explained. "You mean h-he's telepathic?" Harold said in disbelief. "Of coursssse, asssss are my people, Polflong are expert readerssss, even while converssssating with othersss." Caldarc explained to Harold. "So when he read my mind it hurt him? But how!?" Harold queried with no understanding of telepathy. *Caldarc sighed* "You human people are a very interessssting sssspeciesss. Your mind conssssstantly buzzing with mental activity. He ssssshould have tethered hissssself to your forethoughtssss to not get lossst in your head." Caldarc spoke, somewhat condescendingly. "You mean my thoughts were to much for him to sort through?" Harold asked. "That issss exactly what I am ssssaying." Hissed Caldarc "He will be okay though. He managed to pull himsssself out on hisssss own. Nothing a few rotationssss in the infirmary wont fix. Worry not Ambassador. But pleasse, I implore you... next time, clear your mind before ssssspeaking to another being, it'ssss the polite thing to do."
| 2019-09-29T18:12:16 | 2019-09-29T18:06:35 | 656 | 119 |
[WP] You're a street magician whose schtick is acting constantly befuddled about how these simple tricks keep happening to the items in your hands. The truth is, you have no idea how they keep happening, and it's taking a toll on your personal life.
|
Annie has had enough of the chaos and apparent tomfoolery. The rabbit itself was harmless, but its presence at her father’s funeral was in poor taste.
“I told you I didn’t want to wear the hat! I warned you about me and hats—“
“It’s over,” she blurted suddenly.
The words cut like a hot knife. I dreaded hearing them again. I married within my industry this time! *She should have been more understanding!*
Despite my best effort, the tears started. “I’m sorry,” I blurted out, for what felt like the thousandth time.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it. I need to be with someone who doesn’t have an emotional black hole that needs to constantly be filled by the approval of strangers. Pulling magic tricks at a restaurant is one thing, yesterday was a completely unacceptable! I’m —“ she suddenly halted, staring at me with those wide eyes she gets only when *it* happens.
“Fucking clown !” Was all she left me with as she slammed the door.
*what happened?* I thought. And that’s when I saw it in my hand:
The red handkerchief with comically large white polka dots I had pulled from my pocket to dry my face with was was bad enough on its own— but the yellow, blue, pink, brown, green, orange, purple and white ones tied end-on-end to it hanging from my coat pocket was unfortunate to say the least.
|
Feeling personally attacked, by the way. Times Square here, a Psych ward in pinellas county there, sometimes a night on the street with a greyhound station. Married to and martyred by the cards. Twisting them and folding them over and over. Cut, double-revolve the cut pairs, combine, fold turn. The Joker flashes by, a wink from the gremlins of synchronicities lower order. Cut, split, back hand stack-shuffle. The joker. Or every three in the deck. Slap them down and its all red cards. The Joker grins on top. I put an ace of spades in a mailbox: how’d I get another? The Joker. Jack of Hearts is an enemy, Jack of Spades another: Jack of spades showed up torn apart by Sarahs dog: she gave me one extra. Maybe? I don’t remember. Take a cut. No, thats not it. Here, I’ll show you. The Joker. I am being laughed at. You find it amazing. Someone like you. Someone sexy, at this bar we’re at, trying to be sexy. Someone who believes in magic, when I just know I only have to cut this deck so many times until harley sparkles behind red and black. Why’d I get this deck from the comic book shop? Why can’t I stop? Why...does this feel...so serious...all of a sudden?
| 2020-11-09T02:17:57 | 2020-11-08T23:37:10 | 32 | 18 |
[WP] Write a scenario with your favorite character. Now, kill them.
Favoritism is a horrible thing, and must be treated as such.
|
Sylvia Plath was sitting on her linoleum covered floor with her knees pulled to her chest. She could feel the handle of a low cupboard pressing into her back but she didn't move.
She couldn't stop staring at the oven door.
She had two options, she thought. Make corn muffins or commit suicide.
Ted hadn't picked up flour like she had asked him to the night before, so really there was only one option.
"I never liked muffins, anyways," she mumbled as she turned on the gas.
|
Al - but why are we in the circle, eric-san?
Eric - Listen Al, i didn't tell you before about it because i thought that you'd worry too much. I finally found a way to bring your body back.
Al - !!But How?
Eric - you don't have a body, and mum doesn't have a soul.
He clapped his hands together.
Edit - i have terrible memory. Yep it is Edward Elric.
| 2013-09-23T20:41:04 | 2013-09-23T19:47:07 | 26 | 10 |
[WP]Foolish wizard! I have...a GUN!" "Protection from Projectiles, Stoneskin, Enhanced Reflexes, Suppression of explosions in a 5 kilometers radius. You were saying?"
|
The soldier stared at the wizard he'd met in the desert.
The wizard smirked. "This is why you don't fight a magic-technology war. I can do *way* more things than you can."
The soldier looked at his gun.
"I mean, sure, in 100 years maybe you'll have cybernetic enhancements that can fight a wizard. But I'll have better spells! I'll be able to teleport your bullets into saturn, or something. We wizards innovate too. The better your sciencey shit is, the better our wizardy shit will be to compensate!"
The soldier pulled something out and affixed it to the front of his gun.
"The Magocracy will crush your stupid rebellion, and then we'll have a *serious* talk about the idea behind all this. Come on. I'm a *wizard.* I'm a Gandalf-type motherfucker. You couldn't beat me with a fuckin' nuke, it can't even go off in my presence."
The soldier shot the wizard in the stomach, a plume of bright blue flame with purple edges sparking from the barrel of the weapon.
"OW! WHAT THE FUCK"
The soldier walked up to him and smirked. "Foolish wizard. I have a *Magic* gun."
The wizard stared at him.
"That's cheating."
"Says the bulletproof super-fast wizard."
"Hmmm... if that's how you want to play it."
The wizard stared at the soldier, then snapped his fingers. In a puff of arcane light, dozens upon dozens of spectral guns appeared in the air.
The soldier sighed.
Two seconds later, two formerly smug bodies sat in the desert.
|
"Anything else you have to fight back?" The wizard sneered at Caleb, the man staring at the wrecked staff that was now at his feet. So much for depowering the wizard, now it was time for plan B
"Foolish Wizard!" He reached into his coat, withdrawing the desert eagle and pointing it at the robed figures face. The barrel inches from their face."I have...a GUN!"
The wizard swiftly grasped the barrel, moving their head to the side as the gun was now instead inches from his face instead of pointed right between his eyes.
"Protection from Projectiles, Stoneskin, Enhanced Reflexes, Suppression of explosions in a 5 kilometers radius. You were saying?"
Struggling with the Wizard, hoping to wrench the gun free his finger pressed back on the trigger. A loud bang ripped through the air, the sound of the high-caliber handgun making even Caleb wince from the sound.
The Wizard, on the other hand, cried out. Letting the gun go and covering his ears as he stumbled back. Eyes shut and teeth grit as the sound rung in his ears.
"AH MOTHERFU-ARGH!"
The wizard had made a fatal error. Sure, he was immune to the bullets deadly kiss and had the reflexes needed to dodge a shot. But he had forgotten though just how LOUD a gun was, especially one of such a high calibur. A gun that had been right up at his ear.
The pain left an opening that Caleb was quick to exploit, football tackling the wizard down to the ground.
| 2022-11-09T18:11:05 | 2022-11-09T12:47:56 | 95 | 56 |
[WP] On your way to school you see a cat in someone's yard and bend to pet it. It trots up happily to you, purring all the while. Satisfied, you get up and continue on your way. As you check your phone, however, you see hundreds of missed calls and texts desperately asking where you've been.
|
Kate looked at the time on her phone, no wonder her mother, three older brothers, and her bestfriend Jena, left bunch of messages and missed calls. Turns out school just ended and Kate was missing.
“I spent all day playing with the cat?” Kate thought and turned around to look at the yard with the cat. But that’s impossible, it was just five minutes. I was petting the cat for just five minutes!
Kate went home and received an earful from her Mom, big hugs from her brothers, and comforted a crying Jena.
Unable to really recount what happened during the day, Kate simply apologized and said it won’t happen again.
When her family kept pressing, Kate mentioned petting a cat on the way to school. For a split second there, she noticed a change of expression from her Mom’s face.
Was it excitement? Sadness? Kate can’t pinpoint exactly and eventually forgot about it.
Later that night, Kate got up to get some water in the kitchen, when she heard her mother’s voice. And a cat meowing. Kate hid behind the fridge and listened, but can’t understand what her mother is saying.
The cat was listening and meowing intently as if understanding what her Mom was saying.
As if they were talking.
|
…..Except that all of the calls and texts came from a single person that you have been desperately trying to avoid. Dismay and regret flood your mind every time you see them.
If only you knew that girl who smiled brightly as she sat down across of you in cafeteria last year is an honest to god S tier stalker obsessed with being your “soulmate”, you would have jumped off the table and ran like hell.
Annnnd she’s waiting for you at the school, frantic from how you successfully go radio silent on her for two days already. The record you’re hoping to break.
You take a deep sigh, looking down to the cat that begins to rub itself all over your legs, looking up at you and meow in protest of you stopping to scratch it. After a moment of pondering, you decided to sit down on the curbs and lifted the cat up to your laps, before giving it all the attention your feline overlord deserved. The teacher may yelled at you for being late, but your stalker wouldn’t be able to come after you either.
Not exactly the sustainable solution, but you’ll take what you can get.
| 2021-09-20T19:56:55 | 2021-09-20T19:18:08 | 68 | 33 |
[WP] On the eve of your arranged marriage, you slipped away into the night. Intending to never be seen again. While scaling the garden wall, you spotted your fiancée doing the same thing. You both stared at each other for a while.
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Strictly speaking, I’ve never climbed over a wall before. Fences, oh yes, though I’ve never minded perambulating until I find the gate. I can mount a horse, of course, but typically a groom has arranged a little stool just so, so one knows where to place one’s foot.
This wall, surrounding the Covenhough manor house, well, it *looms*, somehow larger in the darkness. Or perhaps I feel smaller in the same. I am running away from my duty, after all. There’s something poetic there but when I try to seize hold of the words they fail me.
When modesty directs my thoughts, I can admit to my shortcomings, both literal and in matters of derring-do. But I think myself quite capable in matters of geometry and physics, and surely those qualities will prevail in seeing me over this wall.
Perhaps I shall cast about for a lever of some kind.
“Oy!”
A figure pushes past me to seize the ivy and mount the wall in a single motion. The moonlight catches her upturned face, and despite the shadows I am quite startled to see the sloping forehead and slender nose of my betrothed.
“Why, Miss Covenhough!” I said in a tone admittedly unbecoming of a gentleman but rather fitting to the occasion of discovering one’s intended absconding over a formidable wall with all the grace of a festival gymnast.
“Mr. Burbage?” She paused, mid-straddle atop the wall. Goodness—she’s wearing trousers! I cast my eyes to sky and settle them on Orion’s Belt. I may be planning to humiliate and socially ruin Miss Covenhough by disappearing on the eve of our nuptials, but I will not dishonor her with further observations of her limbs, however comely.
Miss Covenhough must not be as circumspect as I am, for I sense her staring quite impertinently at me. Most unwillingly, I lower my gaze until our eyes catch.
The stars move in the heavens.
“What are you doing in our garden at this hour?”
Having to answer this question rather defeats the purpose of running away in the middle of the night.
“You see—erm. It give me no pleasure, that is, well, you are—“
“Oh bloody hell, are you running away?”
Such coarseness! It turns my spine momentarily to iron. “Miss Covenhough—“
“One way or another I won’t be Miss Covenhough for much longer so you might as well call me Catherine.”
“Fine. Catherine—“
“Wait, why are *you* running away? *I’m* a perfectly suitable wife.”
“Erm—“
“Really, I’m quite overqualified, I believe.”
“You see—“
“I may not be as rich as some, but I can turn a penny into a pound. I draw and paint, and play pianoforte, *je parle français*, and—“
“There’s the matter of your rudeness!” I raise my voice only to the degree necessary to interrupt her litany of braggadocio.
Catherine draws her head back, affronted.
“Good-bye, Mr. Burbage,” she says, slipping her leg over the wall. Oh dear.
“Wait, please,” I say, surprising us both. Catherine twists, eyebrow raised, moonlight sliding down her neck.
“I mean only to say, we may not be well-matched in temperament. But my chief objection is not to your person. Despite your uncouthness I find you not unattractive. Rather, it is the change in my station that marriage will bring that I cannot abide.”
Catherine draws both her legs back to my side of wall, in apparent invitation to continue. I clear my throat.
“Upon marrying, I am to inherit the estate.”
“Yes, your inheritance has been my father’s primary argument for our union.”
“Well, it’s simply a dreadful amount of work. Tedious, really. And— I believe I am called to a different vocation.”
Catherine drops from the wall, landing quite close to me. “What is it that you wish to do?”
I haven’t spoken this dream aloud before. But here, in the dark, with my wife-to-not-be, I feel a curious intimacy. “I wish to write — poetry, mostly.” I take a deep breath. “I would be an absentminded and distracted landlord. And really, that would be a cruelty to my tenants. Far better that I renounce the estate so I may focus on my poetry without causing anyone else grief.”
Catherine regards me slowly, as though I were a long-awaited letter she yearned to open. I decide it preferable to continue speaking to elide over the strange warmth occasioned by her gaze.
“So it is for the same reason that I cannot take a wife. I do not have great optimism that I will earn an income sufficient to properly keep a wife, at least not for some number of years. I would not marry you only to deliver you into destitution.”
“Is it only your selfless kindness that compels you to run away from our engagement?” Catherine has drawn quite near, somehow. I do believe I can feel the heat of her body, at this distance, against the coolness of the night.
“As I said, I find you... not unattractive.”
“But also rude?” Is that a smile, warm and generous and softening the forthrightness of her question?
“You are an unusually bold woman; it may be a fault but it is—“ I swallow “—exciting.”
Her smile deepens.
“Percy, *I will run the estate for you.*”
“You—“
“Yes! Listen, write as much poetry as you like. I just finished reading the new Hampton treatise and I have *so many ideas* for how to improve the situation of your tenants.”
“You wish to steward the estate?” A dizzying thought! “But— then why were you running away?”
“Honestly, Percy. Every time we’ve met, you’ve had nothing to say to me. I couldn’t bear the thought of living all my days in a silent home, with nothing of my own to build or make or improve. But if I can manage the estate— I think I should like it very much. And—“ is she blushing? I hadn’t thought her capable. “I believe in time I might come to admire a man willing to put the concerns of his tenants above his own comforts.”
Oh.
“In that case, shall we agree—a partnership?” I ask, scarcely daring to believe my fortune.
Catherine offers her hand to me, not like a lady’s for kissing, but like a man’s for shaking. I do shake it, a bit awkwardly, and we part.
It isn’t love, goodness, no, so much as admiration, or perhaps a kernel of friendship, that I feel as she walks back to the house. But— I have an idea for a poem.
|
For the thousandth time that day, I suppressed the rage that had been threatening to overtake me all year. A cavalry regiment! My life for a fucking cavalry regiment! In exchange for my marrying the Khan's daughter and God knows what else, we have been offered a cavalry regiment. Don't get me wrong, the Khanates on the Eastern Steppes produce some of the most feared horsemen in the known world. But our lands are all rolling hills and dense forests! Here, mounted units are about as effective as a chocolate teapot. But try telling that to my father, Emperor "I Believe Whatever My Idiot Nephew Tells Me".
You would think I'd be used to this sort of nonsense by now. My eldest brother picks up a sword, and he's praised as being God's gift to soldiering because no one wants to piss off the next Emperor. I parry too slowly in fencing class, and I'm an embarrassment to the family. My older sister--mother's favorite--got to marry some Baron because she loved him for Christ's sake. Everything gets handed to the older children, and us younger kids get to bust our asses to make us semi-appealing bargaining chips. No wonder the Empire has been going through a rough patch this last century.
Tomorrow I'm supposed to marry whatever Princess has the misfortune to get saddled with me. Probably either some poor sixteen year old whose been told this is what love is, or some soulless social climber who will never love me as much as my last name. I can almost feel a cavern digging itself between my eyebrows as I examine my options. Either I can stay here and watch this sad soap opera play out, or go the one place my father and his allies have no influence--the Northlands. If you believe the court gossip, it's a lawless land full of rogues and brigands. If you don't buy that tale, it's just a big unknown country ruled by constantly changing leaders. Most importantly, no one would go looking for me there.
"Fuck it. Better to die young and free than inside a stately stockade."
I shouldered my trusty rucksack, filled with a few days provisions and a change of clothes, and unbuttoned my shirt as I ducked into the servant's passageways. In case anyone saw me moving through the palace, best they see what I'm expected to be--a young nobleman having a fling.
The ruse worked depressingly well. The younger servants giggled when they saw me move by, the older ones rolled their eyes ever so slightly before casting them downwards. Did they truly think so little of me?
Past the kitchens, through the whole in the guardsmen's perimeter no one ever seemed competent enough to patch. From here, I could see the tents of my fiancee's entourage. I really hope she doesn't take getting left at the alter personally, but some things can't be helped.
Finally, the pastures! Normally, only a few horses would be in the royal paddocks. Tonight, they were at full capacity with the additions from the Khan's herd. At this point, my luck appears to have run out. I was hoping the pasture would be as poorly guarded as the palace perimeter, especially considering no foot soldier was likely to be sober on the eve of a wedding. Unfortunately, it seemed the foreign foot soldiers were far more disciplined, carefully watching the land between the horses and my vantage point from the treeline.
"You won't make it past, horse thief. Not without help."
I very nearly managed to avoid jumping out of my skin and ending my bid for freedom right then and there. A tall woman with jet black hair detached herself from the trees and moved towards me with velvety soft footsteps. Clearly a skilled huntress from the Steppes.
"Any ideas? I've got a long way to travel and I'd rather not do it on foot."
The woman came alongside me, moving like morning fog rolling over the ground. Together, we gazed at the guards and the horses, so tantalizingly out of reach. Finally, a frustrated sigh dropped from the woman's mouth as she entwined her arm in mine.
"They will not begrudge me one last night ride before my wedding night. It'll cause court rumors I'd rather not deal with, but I suppose the upside of doing this is I will no longer have to deal with court gossip. Come on."
Wedding night? Well let no one say Gods doesn't have a sense of irony. My head reeled as she led from the trees to the paddocks edge and ordered the guards to fetch and saddle to horses. A few snickers from the watchmen were silenced by a glare from the woman--princess I suppose--that burned like a glacier.
"Hold up there missus. Royal paddocks is closed. Under strict orders from my emperor not to let anything leave."
A captain in our army apparently chose now to stage his intervention, and this one was a stickler for the rules. I suppose my career as a criminal mastermind/horse thief was at an end. Hopefully, my fiancee didn't have a thing for the bad boy type or this marriage was going to be aborted for a second time this evening.
"Don't you recognize me Captain? Apparently, my fiancee's people have a tradition called a Night Ride on the eve of their weddings. If you want to make major, I suggest you do as the lady says." I fixed what I hoped was a convincing impish grin on my face as the captain turned white as a sheet upon recognizing me. Quickly he backed away stammering apologies.
The grooms quickly brought our horses, my reluctant fiancee berating them in her native tongue. Quickly we mounted and set off at a canter, leaving behind the camp as quickly as we could.
"So honey pie, guess you weren't too interested in moving here?"
The woman turned to me again, with the glacial glare. I know that glares like that should unsettle me, but there was something deeply alluring about it. At this point, I knew I was in trouble.
"I wasn't interested in being a bargaining chip anymore. I figure whatever happens to me on the road can't be worse than life some self-important younger son with an inferiority complex. No offense."
A deep laugh bubbled up from my stomach and frothed from my mouth like the head of a good beer. I don't remember the last time I'd laughed like that.
"Fair enough. I figured this was the only chance I'd have at finding out what freedom is like--figured that'd be better than an opportunist looking to move half a continent for the sake of a palace and social mobility. I'm heading north. Care to join me me?"
A crooked smile crept across the woman's face as she goaded her horse into a canter.
"Just try and keep up pretty boy."
| 2020-07-07T19:29:46 | 2020-07-07T18:04:22 | 17 | 11 |
[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...
|
First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him.
|
*11:59 PM*
My family gathered around me, silently waiting. We were all eagerly anticipating the Choosing, a lame name for a cool time.
*12:00 PM*
My mother smiled at me. She grabbed my arm and looked as the word as it appeared.
"What is it?" a chorus of family members asked.
She frowned. I took my arm back and took one hard look.
**Nudist.**
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-16T02:03:50 | 427 | 71 |
[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 first one is supposed to be twenty words long, ten have gone already, Jesus this is gonna be hard. Okay, I have nineteen left to go, not too bad, shit, ten already, I better start saying something productive. On the other hand, writing is hard in and of itself without these constraints, what is OP thinking? Who on Earth can convey emotion, sadness, joy, tears, rage in such a ridiculous pre-determined word count? Oh shit, oh fuck, is pre-determined just a single word or is it two separate words? And does the 'Oh' from the previous sentence count as a word or just interjection? I still haven't said anything meaningful; this is why I don't do constrained prompts. I suck at them, it always ends with me babbling my way out. We're at twelve words and I don't even have a main character . Okay, his name's John Francis Wilson Jackson Taylor Jones Smith Lewis. Eleven words – how'd you like that, OP? FUCK, THAT LAST ONE WASN'T TEN WORDS, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT! The caps phrase was ten, ignore the phrase before! Okay, eight now, cool, let's go – John was… Fuck, out of words, gotta try again. John was a bright young man. He liked to write stories. They were all shitty. But he tried. He did.
Fuck.
____
/r/psycho_alpaca =)
|
"I can't believe that this is going to be our last few moments together... I can't see myself without you."
He held her hands as he spoke to her for what would be the last time in his life.
"Jason, you know how much it bothers me when you say things with such a sense of... finality."
Emma Karson was a spiritual woman who has never really believed in things coming to an end.
"I knew what I was getting myself into when we got married, but I'm not ready."
"Well, maybe one day you will be ready and accept the truth of our paths."
Jason was neither spiritual or religious, and believing in Emma's convictions were near impossible.
"Commander Karson, three minutes until launch countdown initiates; please return to the shuttle."
The speakers repeated the message once more, and Jason began to cry.
"Emma, I've never loved anyone as much as I've loved you-"
"Jason, I know that this isn't the end," interrupted Emma.
"I will see you again, in this life, or-"
"Commander Karson, two minutes until launch countdown initiates..."
The two embraced each other in tears.
"Remember Jason, our love is eternal."
They share a final kiss.
"How do you know?"
Jason was terrified.
Emma smiles.
"Faith."
| 2017-01-14T15:16:53 | 2017-01-14T13:45:07 | 946 | 64 |
[WP] You are a former secret agent, now retired; today, you just found the beautiful and dangerous femme fatale that always tried to kill you at a pizza parlor, dressed in a nerdy hoodie and eating an extra-large pizza.
|
It's late, and I'm exhausted. 2:00 in the morning, and another fight with the wife about god knows what this time. Maybe it's the dishes, maybe it's the garden, who knows, who cares. She's asleep now, and I'm on my way to get a bite to eat at Plumbers'.
I've been going to Plumbers' since my college days, had to cut back considerably when I joined the agency to keep a low profile. After 20 years of that, I'm glad to finally be back to some sense of normalcy. Late night trips to my favorite pizzeria were one of the things I missed the most about civilian life, and the last few months off the job have been amazing, if not a bad decision for my cardiac health.
I pull into the parking lot, same as I've always done. The cement is damp, and the bar next door bustles with kids from my alma mater as the shitty streetlights give you just enough light to make sure you don't complicate their educational experience with a ride on the hood of your car.
All the spots are full, so I park on the grass close to the sidewalk. The sign says no parking but I've been doing this for years and have yet to get a ticket. Engine off, cigarette out and into the wet grass, and across the parking lot I go. The door is the filthiest combination of metal and glass you'll ever see. The gaussian blur of years of greasy fingerprints makes the scene through the door inside look like a parody of impressionist painting.
I pull the door towards me, the bell hanging from its frame rings announcing my arrival, and the smell of pizza, and fried everything takes over my senses.
I approach the counter, and order - my usual - two slices of pepperoni and a six piece buffalo wing with cheese fries. No marital rift that can't be patched with the fuckin' cheese on these fries.
"It'll be right out for ya Jim, grab a seat wherever"
"Thanks man, good seeing ya."
I turn around and begin walking to my usual booth when I see her. 20 years of cat and mouse, various brushes with death, and three separate continents, and there she was, in my fucking booth. We called her Next Tuesday at the agency. A not so subtle allusion to a folksy way to call someone a very mean name. She's sat legs crossed in my seat, her hair in a ridiculous bun, books strewn across the table, and a hooded sweatshirt that looks like it came from the "elephant size" section at goodwill.
Usually, I'd run, or pull my weapon. She's tried to have me killed dozens of times in the last 20 years, but on a night like tonight, after arguing all day long, I'm fucking exhausted, and tonight's not the night.
I approach the booth, drop my keys on the table, and slide in across from her.
"Megan, what the fuck are you doing here? You should know I'm off the job for good now."
"That's no way to say hello, Jim. And what are you talking about? I go here."
"What do you mean you go here, Megan? You work for a foreign government. You are a hitman"
"Hitwoman, thank you. And yes, I go here. The university. For school." she said "What do you think these books are for?" she said gesturing to the mess in front of her "Jean Paul-Satre is hardly recreational reading you know"
"Bullshit, Megan. For the last 20 years you've tried to have me killed off and now I'm meant to accept that you happen to be studying fuckin' existentialism at the pizza shop by my alma mater?"
"Your Alma Mater? You're a Wildcat too?"
"Now you expect me to believe you've been on my shit for decades and you don't know what univeristy I graduated from? What a crock"
"Listen, Jim, the hitwoman shit is over. They were contracts that I accepted, but I'm getting my life back on the straight and narrow now."
The waiter sheepishly interrupts to drop off my food.
"Thanks kid" I say slipping the waiter a five before biting into my first slice.
"I've never had anything against you Jim, it's just always been a way to make some quick cash."
"Oh yeah, selling out to a foreign power is how most of us keep the lights on these days huh?" I say sarcastically, mouth full of pizza, gesturing with the slice.
"I've never said I was proud of it, but I did what I had to do."
"Yeah okay Megan. So what, am I gonna leave here and get thrown in a van?"
"You don't have to believe me, but I'm genuinely just here studying. I've got finals in a few weeks and I can't afford to fuck this up."
"Okay, so you're really going with this huh"
"Going with what Jim? I fucking go to school here, and I'm trying to study, and honestly you're starting to piss me off"
"Okay, fine, I'll entertain this. So you're a wildcat, right? If that's the case, who's your favorite professor?"
"Matt Silverhead"
"Never heard of him."
"Jim you graduated 20 years ago. Your professors are probably all dead."
"Okay then. What's the special meal option on Tuesdays?"
"Pork Rolls"
"Okay, you got one. What's the busiest day for the football team?"
"Hell day. When they line up down Carson St and perform their whole work-out routine for the board of directors."
"Okay so then tell me wh-" she interrupts before I can finish my question
"What we call the night after that? Well night, because we all go to the bar with the team and drink shitty well liquor until we all walk over to the yard and presumably light a dumpster on fire and run from the cops."
"So no shit, you really are a wildcat, huh?"
"That's right." she says, seemingly ignoring me while she thumbed through the pages of her book
"Well then, I guess I've been wrong about you." I said sheepishly, realizing things have in fact changed for the better
"I guess you have." she replied.
"Want to take a break from this and play a game of darts?" I say, wiping buffalo sauce off my fingers
"You don't stand a chance" she replies
We spent the night playing darts, drinking beer, and eating pizza, and all was well. Time passed until it was morning and it was time to go.
"You heading home too?" I asked, gathering my keys and phone
"Nah I'm sticking around for a minute or two more, use the restroom" she said.
I gave her a hug, and headed to my car. There's dew on the grass, and a light, cool humidity. I couldn't help but see the world with eyes as fresh as the morning air. Two sworn mortal enemies, once at each others' throats finding common cause in this world. A refreshing sight to see.
I unlock my car, sit down hard, exhausted from a long night out. I light up a cigarette, adjust the mirror, and start the engine. It explodes.
"MOTHER FUCKER!" I yell.
|
I twisted the key counter clockwise and listened as the rhythmic burble from the hood of my beige Camry came to a halt. Out of habit I squeezed the steering wheel, the polyurethane emitting a slight squelch as I softly compressed the 2 decade old steering wheel. As I exited my car I caught myself scanning the parking lot.
Old habits die hard. 4 other cars, of which one stood out to my training, a Chevy Astro van that was parked next to the dumpster at an angle. Panel vans like this are ideal for the world of intelligence, it wouldn’t draw attention from the casual observer, and it had a large cargo space meaning it was very useful for staging operations, or even to use as a mobile command center. My hand instinctively grazed the handle of my FN Five-seveN. I confirmed that it was still there on the small of my back, concealed by the large Carhartt jacket I was wearing.
I shook my head, my network had been quiet, I didn’t have anything to worry about other than dinner, alone.
In the world of intelligence, no one really retires. At some point in your career, you end up with enough contacts and favors all over the world that one of three things happens to you.
1) Your government offers you a cushy promotion, maybe working as a diplomat, maybe a director or deputy director in any of the intelligence divisions they run, and they make you a public person. You don’t do active ops anymore, but you use the network you created as an operative to compile relevant info for your government.
2) You get burned. Your government outs your info to other intelligence agencies: last known location, contacts, safe houses, and family... if you have any. This usually ends with a bullet in your head, after an interrogation at the hands of whatever foreign intelligence asset that found you first, and your government generally does this when you discover information that they deem more valuable than you. It happens.
3) You ghost. Because of the likelihood of scenario number 2 going up the longer you spend time in the field, intelligence gatherers, such as myself, develop a weird relationship with the government(s) they work for. After a successful operation, you may not always hand in all the intel, you need to keep some stuff to yourself, for insurance. So this develops a weird distrust between agents and the government, a career long game of chess where the government is trying to spy on its own agents while the agents are trying to feed the government enough info to remain relevant while not handing over so much info that they get 2’d. So after a while, you build up an intelligence network, safe houses, cash, weapons, vehicles, and you stockpile it in multiple places, worldwide. You never know when it’s time to duck out until it’s happening and you need options, all of which need to be as untraceable as possible. It takes time and a lot of concentrated effort to do this without tipping your team off, but it’s the only way you get to retire to a somewhat normal life.
The first year out is the hardest, but the longer you last in the freelance community the less resources your government is going to put into finding you, unless you start feeding sensitive data out to, well, anywhere. So you continue leaning on sources and traveling the world to collect data where you can. You need to keep your ear on the proverbial track to see it anything is coming for you. Mine has been just as quiet as it had been for the last 4 years.
I step into the familiar pizza joint the floor space is in the shape of an ‘L’ the front counter is by the short side. Alarms are going off in my head, no ones at the counter, I step up and ring the bell as I again yell myself there is nothing to be worried about. As the sound of the bell fades, I notice how silent it is in here. No music, no chatter, there were 4 other cars in the parking lot and the odds of everyone being in the bathroom are slim. I start to realize that I need to stop ignoring my instincts, as my hand slowly reaches toward my back.
“I wouldn’t.”
A female voice casually calls out from behind the counter, a thick polish accent attached to the words. As I froze in an awkward position with my hand on the pistols grip.
I peak up at a security mirror above the side of the counter and I can see her. Crouched under the counter with a semi-automatic combat shotgun pointed at the counter, probably lined up to hit me in the knees, to keep me from running.
“What do you want?” I asked, they needed, or at least wanted me, alive.
“Slide your piece to my friends, we can talk in the van.” She countered.
On cue, two men come pop out from where they had been hiding on the other side of the pizza joint, dressed in civilian clothes, but each of them has an MP5K sub machine gun trained on me. One stays put, the other approaches me and stays out lunging distance indicating with his hand that he wants me to slide my pistol to him.
I gauge my options.
She has a clean shot on my legs. If I fire at the closest man he may run back towards the farther man, which would prevent the far man from shooting without risking friendly fire.
I could also fire down at the front desk, it’s a gamble on whether or not I’d hit her but she’d likely still be able to return fire along with her friends.
I could surrender, but I’m not sure who they are or what they want. If my self made network didn’t pick this up, these could mean some very serious business, likely ending in the 2nd retirement package.
“NOW!” The first target demands.
I dive away from him, towards the window to the parking lot and finish drawing my sidearm as I leave the floor. I squeeze off three rounds as my body goes through the window the last thing I see of the interior is the front counter explode outward as 4 shotgun shells pop off. No idea if I hit the target, but I recover the backward fall into a roll and end up somewhat awkwardly back on my feet, crouched. To my left is the parking lot, the van is now idling and the driver door opens. I decide to go right which leads me toward the street. Running full tilt, I hear two rounds whizz past me, the man in the van has a gun. I spot an alley, and duck into it. Running the length of the alley as fast as I can I emerge into a busy intersection. There’s people here, as I make my way to the bus stop, I open my phone. I call the burner phone in the trunk of my beige Camry, and hear the thump of 5 lbs of C-4 that were wedged between my gas tank and my trunk go off. It’s about to get very busy here, the police will respond in force. The people around me at the bus stop seem to mostly not notice the sound of the explosion, less than 2 blocks away, a small smirk spreading across my face at that realization. I opened my phone and checked the price for tickets to Warsaw. Time to see what my friends at GROM were up to.
| 2019-10-05T13:52:39 | 2019-10-05T13:17:18 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] "I wish for more wishes". "THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish for more genies". "THAT IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish those rules did not exist". The genie warps in a humongous book and flips to a page before smugly saying "THAT TOO IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES".
|
"Can I see that book?" I asked. The genie handed the book to me, which was very light for its size. Each page contained a single rule in a large bold font, with an example printed beneath in smaller letters. Each rule, along with its example, took up about a third of the page. The rest looked hastily scrawled by hand, cramming every inch of each page. About halfway through the book the printed examples stopped and the paper was crumpled, as if it was added to the binding later. These pages were also filled with cramped writing.
"You cannot wish that the rules do not apply to you"
"You cannot wish to summon the genie again and receive more wishes"
"You cannot wish for more genies"
"You cannot wish for the power to grant wishes yourself"
"If you wish to clone yourself, your clone does not receive any additional wishes"
"You cannot wish for someone else's wishes, or to give your wishes to someone else"
"You cannot wish for the genie to forget about the rules" (this one was in block capitals and underlined several times)
"You cannot wish to know how to properly wish for more wishes"
...And on and on throughout the hundreds of pages. "Did people really wish for all of this?" I asked.
The genie nodded. "Human ingenuity gets more annoying every decade."
I thought for a moment, scanning the last few pages while counting off on my fingers. "All right... Give me some time. I need to go get a few friends."
The genie sighed, but nodded. There was nothing in the rules about that. Yet.
|
And with that smug expression still on his face, the genie slammed the book shut and vanished it. "Now then, *Master*, you have made your three wishes and thus our time together is now ended. I'd say it's been fun, but it really hasn't been. I truly loathe pandering to your kind and your base desires. Ciao!"
"Wait," I yelled desperately as the being began a slow fade from my view. "You never granted my wishes! That means I've still got three wishes to make." Since I couldn't get enough wishes to really stack life in my favor, I'd have to settle for just plain old wealth, health, and long life. I mean, those would be nice, even if they were only the consolation prizes to what I'd have wished for otherwise.
My thoughts were interrupted by the genie's voice, full of amusement and coming from a shape so indistinct it looked more like a heat distortion coming up from a street top in the summer than a genie. "Foolish mortal, I told you when I first appeared before you that you could make three wishes. And three wishes you made. That you wasted them all on unsuccessful, greed-fueled attempts to cheat the system is entirely *your* fault." And with those final words, even the faint distortion was gone beyond my ability to make out. Looking at my hand, where the battered old lamp had once been, I saw that it too was gone.
"Fuck my life."
| 2022-01-04T06:00:40 | 2022-01-04T04:26:50 | 138 | 54 |
[WP] You are a dragon. After moving to your new forest, the local village decides to sacrifice two children to you to ensure you won't attack them. You decide to raise them--and they say you're much nicer than the village.
|
It wasn't easy, losing one's mate, much less a soul mate. It was much more impactful on a dragon, as the concept of feeling complete was rare to them, thus the reason for their need to collect things. Yet with a soul mate, their desire to hoard things went away, a sense of calmness setting over their days.
Unless one dies.
Now Aliveni was left with the remains of her mates' old hoard, in a region she was completely unfamiliar with. She didn't mind, as her once golden scales dimmed to black and she lost the urge to do anything. Life seemed bleak now, being alone once more.
Had it been days? Months? Years? Did she know? Did she care?
All she did know was that she had been pulled from her depressive stupor to the squawking that humans called speaking, supposedly to her. She knew bits and pieces, mainly "sacrifice", "protection", and "village". As if she was going to move anyway. So long as they left the hoard that now belonged to her alone, she couldn't care less what they did.
Cracking open an amber eye as the sounds of the humans retreated but not the smell, she saw two of the fleshed rats make their way into the cave. Not old or big enough to be a threat, she puffed a small bit of smoke out of her nose. That was more than enough to get them to clear out of the cave, and she believed her message of not wanting anything to do with their petty "sacrifice" mindset to be clear, so she returned to her lethargy.
Until the thunder, followed by the crying.
When Aliveni opened her eyes once more, it was night, and there was a storm, and there was...wailing?
Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, joints creaking from disuse as she slunk towards the entrance. For some reason, the small humans had stayed, not going back to their village, instead huddling outside her cave for warmth.
Were they unwanted? Disallowed to return and left to die? A small shake of her head cleared her muddled brain. Of course they were, humans mainly cared for themselves, and anything less than perfect discarded.
"Humans," she spoke, quelling her sudden spark of rage inside as the reality for the quivering humans set in for her. Whimpering, they looked up at her, clinging to each other tightly in a feeble attempt to fight off the cold. "Come. Inside. Warm. No eat."
Those few words were enough for them to dart into the cave. As she turned to follow them, she couldn't help but wonder how bad their lives were since they eagerly retreated into a cave of a dragon who barely spoke their tongue as compared to their own kind.
------------
Might add more later, this quarantine is taking away my will to write things but not my ability to have ideas lol
|
On a mountain peak filled with sparkling flowers, two small figures were running towards the nearby hill.
When they reached the hill, one of them took a deep breath and suddenly shouted with all his might.
“Old man! We are here!”
The owner of the voice, a small human boy stared towards the hill with a proud smile on his face.
However, the next moment the boy’s smile disappeared as he shouted once again.
“Ahh! What are you doing!”
His black eyes turned towards a small girl next to him.
“I told you before, don’t call Master like that!” The girl said softly as she pinched him once again.
“Ow! Stop, stop it!” The boy suddenly leaped back two steps as he protected himself from his sister’s nimble attacks.
“He is not just some old man!” The girl said as she watched the boy with cold eyes.
Looking at the distance between them, the boy felt secure enough to complain.
“He does seem like an old man t-“ Before he could finish his sentence, he noticed the girl was rushing towards him.
“Master!” Helpless, he could only shout as he ran away from his sister.
At some point, an old man appeared up on the hill, watching the small figures running around.
“They have returned already... and they seemed to collect all the herbs too.”
His tired face broke into a smile as he murmured to himself.
“Oh, she will get him this time.”
After a moment, the boy seemed to stumble upon something thrown by the girl as he fell on the ground.
Before he could make amends, the girl approached as swift as the wind.
Under the continuous attack of the girl, the boy tried to dodge as he shouted in pain.
“Hmm.” The old man watched the siblings as he nodded in satisfaction.
“It seems my guess was right. Her path will lay on wits and speed.”
“And the boy…” His eyes watched the pitiful boy who seemed to crawl in the ground as he continued to plead.
The old man smiled as he shook his head.
“A little bit reckless but he has a good heart.”
Looking towards the horizon, the old man mumbled once again. “I must thank those bastards…”
As his thoughts drifted towards a certain village, the old man couldn’t help but get angry.
The villagers send these two siblings who had no family to him, a great dragon as a sacrifice. Although many regions had such customs, he himself wasn’t a tyrant.
Although he didn’t want a company, he couldn’t help but feel attached to these two poor souls. Thus, he decided to raise them in this grand forest.
Letting out a breath, he once again determined to not blinded by rage and teach these two brats in peace. In the end, he didn’t want to influence them and cause them to live their life in hatred and vengeance.
Along with a smile, he proceed to walk towards his disciples.
| 2020-04-03T08:08:37 | 2020-04-03T07:17:03 | 54 | 31 |
[WP] You have died and gone to Hell. Strangely it isn't as bad as you thought, maybe it is even nice. Turns out the Devil is super lazy and doesn't actually torture the damned. But you, being the compulsive organizer you are, have decide to change that.
|
Okay, so here's the deal. The Devil reminds me of my grandchildren. Spoiled, helicoptered, entitled. Six thousand years later and he's still moping about getting kicked out by Daddy. Like, what do you mean 'it's unfair'? I would've sent you packing long before you started messing with my stuff. At that age, you're not supposed to live with your parents anyway.
All right, sorry about the rant. We have things to do. On today's agenda, we have the Sixth Circle, which needs repainting (Jesus Christ, have you seen the walls down there? It's like someone dipped a roller into a bucket of blood and went to town).
Hell is a big place, but luckily there are waygates. They're one of my many accomplishments so far. Can you believe they walked miles through the brimstone deserts of the infernal plains just to buy milk before I came around? The sheer inefficiency in this place is baffling.
"Hello there, Abaddon! I'm going to the Sixth Circle."
The Archdemon looks down at me, darkness burning in his eye sockets. Black wings stretching across the bleeding sky.
"You got it, boss," he rumbles, acid sizzling out of his gaping mouth.
As usual, he's happy to see me. Before I started fixing this place up, he existed in a Limbo (No, I don't mean the First Circle, that place is full of pagans. He hates those) of unemployment and self-doubt. He was depressed, like so many kids in their twenties these days, who can't find a job after graduating. Seriously, it's a travesty, and Archdemons are just the same. Abaddon really enjoys his work as a gatekeeper and travel agent now.
The portal flares around me. Fires licking my skin. My stomach drops and we land on the rusted streets of the Sixth Circle. They call it the City of Dis, with parapets and towers stretching into the smog. It echoes with the screams of the damned. Ear protection is now mandatory for anyone working here. Tinnitus is a serious issue, let me tell you.
Surprisingly, the Devil himself greets me at the gate. He looks a bit silly with those earmuffs strapped over his red head.
"This has gone too far," he says, pointing a clawed finger at me. "We're not repainting the walls of this city!"
"Listen," I say, leaning in. "Coagulated blood and rust are no longer in fashion. In fact, they never were. Just let me furbish up this place; your employees will thank you. Besides, you didn't complain when I redecorated the Pit. If I remember correctly, I believe your exact words were, 'I never thought I'd be such a fan of art deco!'"
"Hm, yes, I admit. You did do a good job then... but this is different!" He stomps his hooves against the ground, like an indignant toddler. "I don't know, I've always kind of liked the atmosphere of this city. The reek of death and screams of pain. The roiling sky and the rivers of blood. I just like strolling down the streets here, you know? Breathing in the misery."
"There will still be plenty of misery," I say, keeping my voice even. "The walls need repainting."
He squirms on the spot, his leathery wings folding and unfolding. "It's just... Lilac feels so... *kitsch*. I don't know if I like it for the walls."
"What are you suggesting?"
"Well, I was thinking a palette of burgundy... just to preserve the city's soul."
I nod slowly. Normally, I would've scolded him for his lack of expertise in interior design, but at least he's making progress and getting involved. Baby steps. Those are important and should be encouraged. The City of Dis will look like a postmodern art exhibition, but at least the Devil might start taking his job down here more seriously if he gets a say.
"Fine," I say, and his face lights up. "But you're helping the workers with the redecoration."
He nods eagerly, and clops over to the gathering crowd of demonic workers, wriggling into a set of paint-stained overalls. They say that you can't teach old dogs to sit, but the Devil is still a child, and I might just be able to teach him work ethics yet.
|
"Excuse...me? Uh, hello?"
I frowned. This may be a place of eternal torment and sorrow, but that's no excuse for skipping over fundamentals. As soon as someone comes in to your establishment, you need to make the mood of the place clear to them.
I walk through what appears to be a vast, dimly-lit warehouse until I notice sounds other than my echoing footfalls. Around a set of shelves near the back, I find him, lying on a sweat-stained mattress, Cheeto-dust encrusting his mouth.
"Yes, hello, Your Maleficience, my name is Stuart, Stuart Pennyloaf, and I believe I am to be one of your denizens here. I didn't notice any kind of greeting team, and there's no prominently displayed list or guide, so as far as figuring out where I -- are you watching HGTV?"
I glanced sideways at the television The Dark Prince was staring at. He was watching *Million-Dollar Properties*.
"'m a producer," he mumbled.
That...explained a lot, actually. I watched as one of the featured participants complained that the roof-top infinity pool got too much sunlight in the afternoon and then turned back to the Devil.
"So..."
It was not lost on me that his gaze had not shifted from the TV in all this time.
"If you could just gesture me to the...Tunnel of Torments, or the Swamp of Sorrow, or whatever, I'll be off."
He gestured vaguely to a door at the back of the room, and I nodded.
"*Thank* you so *much* for your help."
He froze, and I braced myself to witness the wrath of the Ruler of Hell. But all he said was, "You put an offer on *that*? The new freeway's being built there in 6 months!"
Shaking my head, I headed out through the back door.
***
The first area I came to was a bunch of people sitting on gravel, their bodies chained to tall polls. Once of them noticed me, and soon a series of wan, despairing faces were gazing in my direction.
"This..." I breathed. "This...is awful!"
As one might imagine, hope is a scarce commodity in Hell, but I saw its candle begin to flicker behind the eyes of the condemned as they watched me.
Off to one side was a rotund demon, a good head taller than I am, who appeared to be asleep.
"He's been like that for ages," one of the prisoners hissed. "Please...free us!"
I blinked. *Free* them? This was worse than when we started buying all those ergonomic desk components but didn't put anyone in charge of deploying them, so they just sat in a utility closet for a year. I just...I guess you don't expect Hell to be a model of efficiency but this, this was...
I strode over to the sleeping guard and poked him *rather* firmly in the back. A few more pokes and he was awake. "Munh...?" he growled.
I glanced back at the onlookers, who were watching in horror. One shook his head slowly, and I could clearly see him mouth the word "No..." over and over.
"Hey, *asshole*." I said. There was a collective intake of breath from the damned nearby. "What the *fuck* is going on here?"
The demon blinked at me wearily. His eyelids began to droop.
"No, *no*, don't fall asleep! I want you to stand up, and I want you to *do your fucking job.* You're gonna go pick her up, that's right, and use her to start beating him."
Slowly he complied. A pair of wails punctuated with wet, slapping sounds began to fill the area.
"Good start. Moving forward, I'd like you to start starving them, and have food be available inside the bodies of others. So, if they want to eat, they're going to have to dig it out of their companions - or themselves, I suppose. Now, can you tell me who is in charge of the next section?"
***
Back in the warehouse, The Devil watched the action unfold on his TV, grinning. *That human Sartre was right*, he thought, chuckling quietly to himself. Then he changed the channel so he could watch *Storage Wars*.
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds
| 2018-12-18T06:59:33 | 2018-12-18T06:49:06 | 57 | 12 |
[WP] You are a passenger aboard Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 and you have just landed safely in Beijing. As you disembark you are met by gawking crowds of people. The year is 2018.
Passenger/Crewman, whatever you will.
Also, I am terribly vexed.
|
*exiting the plane, blinking at the daylight, I'm greeted by hundreds of people. Questions shouted, hands reaching at my body. Someone off to my left is crying.*
"Sir, you've been flying for years. What happened?" *a portly man, wearing a badge identifying himself as Sam Ruben, shouts at me. Ignoring the question of why the american, English speaking reporter is in Beijing, I answer his question the best I can*
"Uhhh, my arms are fucking tired?"
|
There was pandemonium in the plane as all of the passengers tried to exit as fast as possible. Some people were crying, others kissed the ground and promised they would never fly again.
I disembarked slowly, not wanting to get swept up in the madness.
"That was a long flight," I say, raise my arms and let out the longest yawn I've ever had.
| 2017-11-18T12:09:59 | 2017-11-18T11:30:08 | 56 | 16 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work.
|
"And you want me to do what?" Trish asked, arms folded. She wore thin gold hoops on her wrists and they jingled with every movement the limousine made.
I steepled my fingers, leaning forward in my seat. "Just ask him why he's kidnapping all my dates," I said. "Like really make it clear that you were here on a date."
"Okay, but why is Mr. Mega trying to stop you from dating?" She asked. "What'd you do to piss him off?"
"Nothing," I said, throwing my hands up. "He's just mad that we disagree in work."
"You're not exactly the most important super villain," Trish said. "Like, I'll take your money, don't get me wrong, but have you ever considered asking him to stop?"
I stared at her. Shed done up her hair, showing off her plunging neckline and slender neck. Some kind of flowered perfume drifted off of her in a cascading wave. She'd also been the only person to reply to the ad I'd placed online.
"If we could talk things out without him trying to commit me to citizens arrest," I said, "then I'd try."
She smiled. "So why don't you try?"
"Every time I do anything they try to have me arrested, Trish. I make gear for everybody, government, private enterprises, you name it, but Mr. Mega thinks I'm the one to blame for anything anybody does with it."
"Aren't you?" Trish asked and made a pinching gesture, leaving some space between her fingers. "Just a little?"
Another sceptic. I dealt with enough of that in the news. "If I made shoes and someone used them in a robbery should I go to jail?"
"If you made guns and someone used it in a robbery and you could have avoided selling it to that person, yes." She said, shaking her head.
I held up a hand. "Look, no, I don't sell to anybody. My company sells products that anyone can buy." She opened her mouth to say something and I pulled ahead, cutting her off. "I get it, okay, I'm not stupid. People don't have to like me, and I'm always working on better solutions. I'm not a psychopath. But even I deserve to have a night off? Go on a date?"
Trish hesitated before rolling her eyes. "You're the weirdest super villain I've ever met."
That cracked a smile on my face. "Everyone's human," I said. I pulled up the projection map on my watch, turning the hologram around. "We're almost there." I looked at her, expectantly.
"I know, I know." Trish spread her hands. "Please don't repeat it again."
The spot I had picked was a little open air cliffside dinner, overlooking a soft beach. At night the lights of the city cast out on the water, pretty but far enough away that stars could still shine above.
The wait staff were waiting for us, and I offered my hand to Trish as she stepped out of the limousine.
She eyed it briefly, before accepting it. The soft smile on her face could have been a trick of the candlelight, but I hoped not.
Once seated I glanced back up at the sky, more than half expecting Mr. Mega to already be hovering above us, his mechanical suit burning bright in the evening air.
Trish followed my look. "It's beautiful up there," she said.
I picked up my wine glass, and when I looked back at her I found her watching me. I smiled, raising it to her in a mock toast.
"You're not what I expected," she said.
"Should I be cackling and showing you my collection of oversized doomsday devices?"
"No, I just expected you to be more self centered," she said with a lazy wave of her hand. "Honestly I thought you'd be showing me your 'evil lair' by now." She gave me a look, half humor, half mock horror. "And I don't mean where you keep your oversized doomsday devices."
I laughed, surprised and delighted. "No, no, I was saving that for the third date."
I glanced upwards again as the waiter approached, and caught her staring at me again when the waiter handed me the menu.
"You should relax," Trish said.
"Sorry, I just don't usually get this far into a nice evening without..." I trailed off. "Sorry," I said again.
"No, I get it," she set her wineglass down. "But focus on enjoying this." Her hand reached out, touching mine.
I gripped her fingers in my own. "You're right," I said. "Maybe he's busy saving the world."
She arched a brow. "I mean you shouldn't spend your time worrying if someone is going to try and stop you from enjoying yourself," she said. "Listen to what your heart wants, and just do that." She made a face and rolled her eyes. "Oh, wow, that was cheesy."
Her hand in mine, I found myself nodding. "I mean, it's not the worst I've ever heard," I said, "there was this one time when-"
The evening progressed. Dinner was served, a salad for me, prepared with homemade in house dressing, and a burger with fries for her. We exchanged halfway through, me stealing her fries while her eyes went wide at the taste of the dressing.
And as the night, and date, drew to a close I realized I hadn't thought about Mr. Mega once in hours.
"I honestly didn't expect to be asking this," I said, sheepish. "But can I drive you home? Normally, well by now Mr. Mega would have stolen you away by now. Maybe showed you his private lair, who knows."
Trish glanced at my watch and sighed. "Honestly, I'd love to but I can't."
"What do you mean?" It wasn't that late, then realization dawned on me. "Oh," I said, face growing red, "no, I meant actually dropping you off at your home."
"Hm?" She asked, distracted. "What? No, oh, no I wasn't trying to imply that you were going to, I mean," she stammered to a standstill. "No, I mean I have work, and it would take too long to drive there."
I held up a hand. "I'm confused," I said. "Back up a step and explain? I'm still happy to pay you, if you want. I know Mr. Mega didn't show up, but I mean, a deals a deal."
"No, stupid," Trish said. "Look, I didn't expect to be out this long, honestly I wasn't even sure that this date was going to happen." She cut me off with a motion. "Mr. Mega isn't coming," she said.
A slow suspicion dragged on me. "Wait," I said, "was this a set up?"
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. "Shut up you idiot and listen, okay?" She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again she caught me and didn't let me go.
"Mr. Mega hasn't been trying to ruin your dates," she said. "And when I found your post I felt horrible about what had been happening. It was a mistake, a horrible misunderstanding.
"You're supposed to be this puppeteering villain, manipulating people and orchestrating and supplying the tools for all these criminals. And yes, what you're doing is wrong, and yes, we do need to have a conversation about it."
I tried to say something and instead she pressed her hand to my mouth and held it there. I couldn't so much as move as I realized what she was saying.
"I didn't mean to trick you," she said. "And there's a arsonist currently trying to set someone's apartment on fire, so I don't have time to argue."
"Mmfmmf," I said, through her hand.
"Yeah, I'm sure." A sad look carried in her eyes, "look, I had a really fun time. If you're willing to, I'd love to go on a second date. Maybe a movie? Next week, Tuesday? That's my next day off."
She pressed a piece of paper into my hand, and as she did her clothes rippled, expanding into the all too familiar metal suit I knew. "Call me," she said, before taking off into the air.
I watched "Mr. Mega" fly off towards the city, leaving me holding a phone number and surrounded by a half dozen shocked witnesses.
"Wait," a waiter said. "Mr. Mega is a woman?"
|
Gwen Stacey always felt that dating Spider-Man was just surreal.
Think about it: you befriend a guy in college, you think he’s cute, he gets awkwardly shy around you, - the clear signs, and you kind of like him back. He’s also a straight up hottie and he’s smart af.
Time goes on, you brake up with your high school sweetheart and the cute boy (his name is Peter Parker), who’s now your best friend, is growing on you as more than that. He’s sweet, he’s caring and he goes out of his way to make you feel like the most beautiful woman in this world. It’s perfect and you can’t ask for a better boyfriend.
As the relationship grows, you move in with this boy, and not only do things get better, you start seriously considering that marriage is a thing and that it will happen shortly.
However, things start to get weird when Peter leaves sporadically and randomly at night. You find this weird Spider-Man suit in his closet and you wonder whether he has a weird fetish or perhaps, he attends comic cons and has never told you about it.
As weeks turn to months, you notice that these taxing trips at night are making Peter exhausted and his standard of how he cared for you isn’t the same.
There are no dates, there are no special gifts, or details.
He’s immersed in these late night escapades and while you thought he was cheating at first, the smell of sweat, dirt and the bruises tell a different story.
*Could he be cheating?* No. (You’ve made sure)
*Could he be Spider-Man?* No. (But maybe?)
You let it slide, you stop questioning him. But sure enough, one day as you’re walking to your dad’s old office at the NYPD, you get swooped up and not in a romantic way.
You look up and you see the most terrifying creature you can think of. A very athletic man in a slimy, green suit from head to toes, with a green mask holding the most manic/evil look; as you begin to wonder where you’re at, you feel like you’re floating and travelling through air.
**You’re being kidnapped by the Green Goblin.**
When you ask why you’re being kidnapped, you receive the most sincere answer and kind of what you expected, but you’re rather surprised by the demeanour of your captor.
He simply exclaims:
*“I found out Peter is Spider-Man and I knew this would hurt him. I know this isn’t ideal for you and I’m sorry, but this what I need to do.*
*I hope you don’t end up hurt in this and I can release you, but that might not be the case.*
*By the way, my name is Norm and I think you’re beautiful and talented. I’ve read all your papers on the New York University Biology Journal. “*
*What?*
Let’s just back track. **Your boyfriend is Spider-Man. What in the fuck?**
How could he not tell you? You’re his best friend, for years and nothing was ever said.
As you keep questioning yourself, a battle ensues in the background.
*“Let her go!”* \- says Peter
*“Never, you take her for granted”* \- says Norm.
*“Don’t you fucking bring up my relationship, we’re here because you’ve kidnapped her and because you stole equipment from the NYPD”*. - says Spider-Man.
*“I’ve creeped her for months now. You don’t take care of her, you’ve stopped treating her or reciprocating the love she shows you day in and day out.*
*Also, I know you’re out playing vigilante most nights, but you stop by the village before you head back home every time.* \- says the Green Goblin.
**Wait, isn’t that we’re his high school crush lives? Mary Jane Watson?**
**Fuck.**
**He’s out there fighting crime AND cheating on you.**
As the battle comes to a halt (you’re watching strapped on a chair from afar - this is what all villains do, relax), you see Peter approaching Norm. It seems that he has pointed to the stolen equipment and is now on his way out. From afar he waves and gives you one of those comforting half-smiles. Wow, he’s kind of cute, you think.
Peter gets on his phone to call the cops, you realize he is coming towards you. You can’t face him and he knows what you now know.
*“I’m sorry, babe”* \- he says.
You wait until he’s released you from the chair and you head home, walking as fast as you can while he follows you and shouts ALL the excuses as to why he did what he did.
You grab your belongings. Head home to your mom’s and realize what a fucking night that was. What in the fuck? You’re boyfriend is Spider-Man, he also cheats on you and the hot villain who kidnapped you in a jet pack / glider device is not actually quite the villain.
Wtf. Anyway, you head to sleep.
Weeks go by, you really don’t want to know anything about Peter or Spider-Man. You’re sick of it.
New York is a city that you feel familiar with but you’re getting quite tired of. **You still think about that boy with the Green Mask every now and then.**
One day as you browse your LinkedIn, you see an article with a link from the NYT about a *“Norman Osborn who’s creating jobs and providing water in Africa through tech”.*
**It’s the boy with the green mask.**
You decide to look him up on Instagram and boom... @nosbscience. You’ve found him and his account isn’t private.
You decide to risk it, and take a plunge by sending him a DM.
*“Hey”*
The next day you check and you find a long novel written as a response:
*“Hey Gwen, I'm sorry about what happened in New York a couple months ago. I was desperate to obtain the ‘weapons’, which were really just dynamite nukes so that I could help a village find water in south Mali.*
*I’m sorry about kidnapping you and I’m sorry about your boyfriend. Studying you for those weeks before kidnapping you helped me understand love and what I need to find.*
*I hope this finds you well and if you ever want to catch up, I’ve moved to Paris.*
*- Norm“*
The message, bundled with the urge for new air is creating a sense of spontaneity mixed with impulsiveness.
Fuck it. You’re going to Paris.
As you settle at your hotel, you message Norm and inform him that you’d like to see him.
He replies promptly and sends you the address of a very cozy, warm and colourful cafe down the street from your house - *“Let’s meet in half an hour*”.
Your heart is pounding, even more than when you and Peter were a thing. But you’re ready for this and you head out.
The cafe is a work of art, pastel yellows adorn the walls and the pastries and the freshness inundates the smell of the inside, before you even get to take a seat, you hear a “hey” that scares the crap out of you.
*“HEY!”*
It’s Norm. He’s as good looking as you remember him, even with the mask off. You both sit down at a table with a view towards the warm and vivid streets of Paris.
The conversation flows seamlessly, he’s actually read all your papers and shares a passion for science (*“I’m something of a scientist myself”* \- he whispers) and you end up having one of the best conversations you’ve had with anyone. Ever.
The question that lingers in your mind is why he never asked you out in New York. You promptly say:
*“I broke up with Peter six months ago, why wouldn’t you ask me out then?”*
To which you’re shocked to find out:
*“Every time I went out on a date, Peter would show up in costume and ridicule me, while sweeping up the girl and taking her for himself later on. It never worked. I could never date in NYC, Spider-Man would always ruin my dates.*
*If I had asked you out. He would have found a way to show up and spoil it. So I figured I’d leave you alone.*
*However, when I saw your DM, I knew you felt what I felt that night in NY and I figured it’d be worth a try. I can’t believe how happy I am this has happened:*
***Norman Osborn on a date with Gwen Stacey. In Paris. “***
&#x200B;
| 2019-02-23T07:36:31 | 2019-02-23T07:33:44 | 283 | 23 |
[FF] Write a 10 sentence story where the first sentence has 10 words, and each following sentence has one less word.
|
The mausoleum door slid shut with a loud, echoing crash.
I shouted till my throat was hoarse and raw.
No one heard me; I was trapped inside.
The torch's flames sputtered, flickered, then extinguished.
My breathing was ragged and shallow.
I heard slithering behind me.
Scales sliding across stone.
It drew closer.
I shuddered.
"*Welcome...*"
|
I was told my mind would last till the end
I was told my mind would last till the
I was told my mind would last till
I was told my mind would last
I was told my mind would
I was told my mind
I was told my
I was told
I was
I
| 2015-01-27T12:39:57 | 2015-01-27T11:49:02 | 150 | 40 |
[WP] Yesterday your best friend (who you secretly had a crush on) died. You're teleported without warning to a seat at a table. Across from you is Death and Satan, next to you is your best friend. "Sorry." Death says, "You're friend chose a two-versus-two game."
Edit: I get it. "Your" not "You're". It was late and I kept rewriting that part of the prompt. I will never live down the shame of my grammatical error.
|
I woke up this morning and instinctively reached for my phone to shut off its alarm, a drowning noise I’ve had for 8 years. I went to text Isabelle, and immediately my heart sank. It’s funny, the day after losing someone isn’t as sad as you’d expect. It’s empty, soulless, and cold. There was no blame to be placed in a suicide, so there’s no cathartic rage to be had. It feels as though you’re in a different dimension watching the things around you go about their day, without a clue what you’ve just went through. I ripped myself from bed and went downstairs. Maybe some tea would do me good.
I sat at my dining table waiting for ways to boil, but something felt off. The chair was large and cold, the table before me even more so. The walls seemed to fade in and out, one moment resembling drywall and the next resembling flame.
A heavy thud brought me to my senses, and I found myself sitting across a striking couple. In front of me was a devilishly handsome man, dressed in the finest suit money could buy. His eyes were sharp, intensely focused and radiated burning passion. His hair was well kept, not a strand out of place. He smiled a warm smile and extended his hand. “Satan.”
I shook it. “Lawrence.” To Satan’s right was a woman, pale as snow with deep, dark brown eyes. Looking into them was akin to staring into an ocean abyss, or a black hole. She wore a flattering white dress, clear of stains and dirt. Her hair flowed freely, so smooth it almost seemed to float about her. She offered a slight nod and an almost pitiful grin, staying eerily silent. I turned to Satan. “Where am I?”
He sighed. “You, young man, are in hell.” He paused a moment. His voice was surprisingly friendly, warm even. I waited. “No reaction? Most people usually panic or freak out here.” I remained quiet, overwhelmed by the situation I found myself in. “This is Death,” he said, placing an arm around his companion.
Death shrugged him off and glared at him. “Get on with it, Satan.” Death’s voice was soft, gentle, and inviting. I felt more at ease, as though her voice was comforting me from every angle. I released some tension in my back I didn’t know I was holding. Death turned her gaze to me. “Lawrence, remember to breathe.” I inhaled slowly. “Better.”
“What am I doing here? Did I die?” I asked the beings in front of me.
“Er, not exactly.” Satan leaned back and began to explain. “See, your friend, Isabelle, she died yesterday.” My heart skipped a beat at the reminder. “When you die, you come here, and we play a game. If you win, you go to heaven. If not, well.” He motioned behind him, where an empty field seemed to go on for.... ever. I saw nothing there, but I felt the cries of a billion souls. “Don’t worry, that’s purgatory. It isn’t fun but it’s not painful either.” Satan smiled proudly. “Now usually people pick chess, or a videogame, or something they think they’re really good at. Your friend however...”
His eyes shifted to my left. Death stared ahead, and I turned.
It was Isabelle. Her eyes were wide open, her hands constricting the edges of her jacket, her entire body trembling as if she was fighting back tears. For a moment, her eyes flickered and met mine, but instead of excitement she simply shook her head, as if trying to reject the reality around her. Satan continued his exposition. “She picked a two vs two game. So I called in my friend and she could bring in the first person she thought of.”
Aw, she thought of me. I piped up with renewed vigour. “So what, we beat you in this game and she goes to heaven, and I go back?”
Death and Satan shared an uncomfortable look. Isabelle shook harder, and a tear escaped. “Err, not exactly.” Satan put a hand on his neck. “The game is- well you see-“ he sighed.
I looked over at Isabelle. This was a woman that, in life, never took no for an answer. She had the strongest will and warmest heart of anyone I’d ever met, and never once did she let her emotions get the best of her. But now, here in this surreal place, she was bawling. I wanted to call to her, tell her it was okay, but no sound would come and I could not move. Isabelle looked at me with guilt in her eyes, begging for forgiveness. Death was suddenly behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. Isabelle opened her mouth. Unable to speak through her emotions, she mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
Death’s grip held tighter. “You aren’t playing together. Only one of you will win.”
———————————
My first ever submission to r/writingprompts! Done on mobile so forgive me for formatting/spelling errors I may have missed. Please tell me what you think, I’m trying to improve.
Edit: I never thought I’d be the dude to edit and say thanks for the silver but thanks for the silver! It sounds like I did something right with this prompt so, time permitting, I’ll make a part 2! I’ll provide a link here when it’s up. Thanks guys ya’ll made the start of my day great ☺️
Edit 2: As requested, here's a part 2! Also, thank you so much for the gold. I genuinely don't think I deserve it, but thanks all the same.
https://www.reddit.com/user/NeoCipher790/comments/aegbe5/part_two_of_writing_prompt_response/
I really, really hope it doesn't disappoint, and please enjoy.
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Ruth’s ceremony made my soul tremble. There were so many blank faces around me. Each and every human being in that room looked cold and dead. I suppose the grief sucked the life out of each and every one of them, and I was no exception.
I felt hundreds of sorry gazes upon me. I wondered if they could see the bags under my eyes from the endless sobbing and sleepless nights. I wondered if they could see my body shake, as much as I tried to hide it. They knew I was there that night. I could see the accusations in their eyes as they stared at me. What did they want? I couldn’t undo what had happened! If they only could have know the truth...
The first speaker took the podium, and I could feel my whole body stiffen. It was her mother dressed in a long satin black dress. Her hair was meticulously done and was visibly drenched in hair spray. Her eyes were painted with heavy charcoal liner, and her wide smile was smothered with crimson-red lipstick. If there was every a person who deserved to be chained in the deepest depths of hell, it was her. It took every fiber of my being not to scream out what she had done to the entire crowd. I had witnessed first-hand the trauma she had put Ruth and so many others like her through. Had I not made that oath to Ruth so many years ago, there is no doubt in my mind this woman would be on death row.
That night, while lying on the ground, I stared blankly at the sky. I could not get the image of her casket getting lowered into the ground out of my head. That was it. She was gone. I remember looking over towards her family earlier that day and instantly regretted it. They were basking in the attention. Each time someone would look their way, they would fake a sad face before returning to their whispers and smug remarks. Ruth was one of the most loving, charismatic, and genuine people I had ever met. Everywhere she went, people fell in love with her. It wasn’t hard to do; I can tell you that first-hand.
But, I suppose that’s why her family was so happy she was dead. Their grotesque existence would no longer be overshadowed by her utter beauty. I’m sure they would have spat and danced on the grave if no one else was around. Exactly two minutes after her daughter had been put into the ground, her mother felt she had grieved enough. She announced that she would be returning home. Except when her car left the burial site, it sped in the direction of the nearest outlet mall. If it were anyone else I would have been surprised.. It didn’t take long for others to pay their respects, either. Finally, I found myself in the exclusive company of my best friend. I lied on top of her grave, feeling the cool air burn my cheeks. The stars began to blur as my eyes started to water. I wondered where she was at that moment. Why had she decided to do what she had done? I hoped she was happy, wherever she was. She deserved to be at peace. Suddenly, I felt that she was. I closed my eyes, and I could see her beautiful green eyes right in front of me. Her beautiful hair and crooked nose appeared as well. Every detail of her face was remarkable clear.
Slowly, a pair of hideous green walls appeared behind her. Right past her shoulders I could see some old worn out burgundy furniture. Even the paintings on the wall looked as though someone had been chain smoking by them for the last 1000 years. I turned my head slightly, and saw a plump little red creature looking at me with a deviant smile. Between two of his three fingers he held a large shiny red pipe. As I looked into his eyes, I felt my senses sharpen. The room was unbearably humid and cloudy. I looked back at Ruth and felt my eyes water. I was so confused by what she had done. I felt bitter, but also so emotionally overwhelmed by her presence. I wish this was real. I lunged towards her. Even if this was a dream, I wanted to hold her in my arms again. As my arm graced her side, every inch of my body screamed with pain. My body was jolted backwards. I screamed, and then promptly heard the old wrinkly lump of tomato start cackling before coughing into my face. “You really thought it would be that easy deary?” he snorted after catching his breath.
I wanted her back so badly my entire body ached. “Let’s make a deal…” he said slyly. After dealing with Ruth’s mother, nothing phased me. This living clown nose was a breath of fresh air compared to her. “You want this girl back, right?” he grinned. “Of course I do!” I sneered. “Then you won’t mind playing a little game.”
“If you lose, you will be transported into a universe where you will die.” Without warning, he showed me and image of my corpse on top of Ruth’s grave. It was revolting. “If you win, Ruth’s horrible past will be erased, and she will be revived.”
I figured if I don’t take the deal, I’m dead on the inside. If I lose, I’m dead on the outside, which was much more appealing than never seeing Ruth again.
“Well, hurry up. What’s your decision lad?” The reward outweighed the risks, so I accepted. Little did I know that when I got to the arena, the devil would be on my team, and Ruth and Death himself on the opposing side.
———-
I’m very new to this, so any feedback is appreciated!
Edit: Thanks everyone! I wasn’t expecting to get so much positive feedback! Also, for those who are wondering I’m actually a girl. I just thought writing it from a male’s perspective fit better.
| 2019-01-08T23:57:54 | 2019-01-08T22:38:44 | 1,697 | 387 |
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