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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64 14
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[WP] Stopping time is commonplace among society. One day, you ask a coworker about a task that is assigned and you know he is going to stop his time to research and complete. After the question is asked, he appears incredibly aged and war warn. You ask what the hell he just went through.
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"So you're finishing up your research on this time-stopping business, hey? I thought we'd figured it all out by now."
Frank smiled, and wagged his finger. "We know how to do it, but we don't know why it works." He momentarily looked troubled. "Besides, there's been some anomolies lately..."
"Interesting. Well, cheers Frank, it's been nice knowing you." I held out my hand ironically.
He laughed. "I don't like goodbyes." He winked, and pressed his time warp device.
Then he hit the floor.
"Fuck-"
That's all I could say. One minute he was the usual 30-something Frank, now he looked like he'd been through two World Wars. He just needed to do some research. What the hell happened?
He looked up at me, shaking. He was blind in one eye.
"They... know..."
"Who does, Frank? What happened to you??" I grabbed him, and his clothes were wet.
"They know, John... *they know*."
He stopped breathing. I felt my hands dripping, and without looking, I knew it was blood. I fell to one knee.
Sarah walked in, saw Frank, and screamed.
"Frank?!" She exclaimed, running towards him.
"It's useless, Sar... Sarah?"
Sarah was gone. She hadn't even touched her time warp device. She was just *gone*.
My coworkers streamed in. They must have heard her scream. I looked up at them, frantic.
"Guys, Frank's dead, Sarah's gone - what the fuck is happening?"
They looked at me like I was crazy. One of my coworkers gestured towards me. "John... why are you kneeling on the floor? What are you on about?"
I stared. Frank was gone. Who even was Sarah? Everything felt so wrong. I looked at everyone; why did it seem like there were fewer people than before? But that didn't make any sense. I'd always worked with eight people. Or was it seven? I'm sure it was six.
Some primitive part of my brain was going crazy. I couldn't explain what was happening, but everything just felt so *wrong*.
*It was nine. It's always been nine.*
I looked around the room. Three people, including me. Wasn't there a body on the floor? Why were they all here? Where's Frank? Who *is* Frank?
*People are disappearing.*
I stared at Megan. She seemed as confused as me. "Megan, *where is everyone?*"
"What do you mean, John? Who is ev-"
Megan was never there. I was alone.
*There were NINE*.
I looked at the time device.
Frank was real. They all were. And Frank had fought them, whatever 'they' were. He'd been given a chance, at least.
I wasn't going to disappear. Win or lose, I was going to fight them, on their own playing field.
I held my breath, and pressed the time dev
|
"Would you look at that..."
Bits of Corporal Fulton started to crumble into scale, the dust lost to the blowing wind. He raised a fading hand, watching with quiet horror as it flaked to nothing. Then the skin of his face began cracking, the spider's web crisscrossing his features before dissolving to nothing. Hilary Flint hissed in alarm and drew his pistol, racking back the slide and aiming its barrel at the doomed corporal.
"I'm sorry, Tom."
***Blam!***
The corporal fell back into the foxhole, a neat little hole just above his ear. Bits of brain coated the edge of the foxhole, the blood running down the walls in narrow streams of gore. Flint spat aside in distaste.
"*They've got a Chrono....* 'Ware Timer! Watch out for a Timer!"
The cry followed up and down the lines, men touching hidden crucifixes and muttering further prayers to whatever deity of their choice. Aside from that there was little for them to do except hunker down and continue fighting. The arrival of this new foe was readily apparent, the enemy charging faster than any man ever could, their sprinting legs a blur beneath the layers of armor and leather that wore. Bullets seemed to travel at a languid pace, their wake visible in the air as they flew. Swordsmen batted them aside with a flick of their blades, the heavy lead rounds tumbling in slow motion to land on the grass.
"Claymores!" Flint shouted, and ducked as engineers activated the landmines, the electrical switch still faster than anything the enemy mage could counter-act. The claymores, aimed at the packed ranks of foes exploded in a shower of metal and fire. Hundreds of steel ball bearings, their momentum remaining the same, tore through the enemy lines. Flint watched in detail as armor was punched clean through and bones were pulverized to dust. Scores fell, limbs gone, faces missing as they cried aloud.
One of them had to have been the mage as time resumed its normal course, relativity surging back like a flood into the temporal void. For a brief, terrifying second the winds whipped around with hurricane force before settling, all the muted noise impacting against his ears in a deafening roar. Flint felt something trickle from his ears, tasted blood on his lips.
---
Thirty minutes later and it was all over, save for the grim task of burying the dead. Their own casualties received marked graves, their bodies wrapped in their green cloaks. For the enemy dead they dug a trench and pushed the naked corpses in, pouring kerosene over the lot. The smell of burning flesh filled their noses like overdone pork.
The mage had started crawling away, a trail of blood and bloody bandages left in his wake. Flint followed it, bayonet in hand. He was not inclined towards mercy that day, and by the tearful pleas of the mage, he knew that as well.
| 2016-08-25T09:31:19 | 2016-08-25T08:44:57 | 233 | 61 |
[WP] Love is blind, but for you it's quite literal and you lose your sight every time you fall in love.
|
Fulfilling my Friday afternoon ritual, I drove over to Loving Care, the retirement home my grandmother lives in. No one really visits her anymore, so I feel almost obligated to spend at least a little time with her. *Poor grandma, all alone. I can't imagine what that's like.*
I walked through the doors and signed in, greeting the receptionist with a smile as usual before heading over to the TV room where grams always hangs out to watch her soap operas. Before I could get there, though, I noticed a man sprawled out on a hospital bed in their care center- it was Brett, one of the gentlemen I'd met during my weekly visits.
I ran up to the door, knocked, and the nurse motioned me to come inside. "Don't push him too much," she informed me upon her exit.
"Who's there?" the weak, old man croaked out.
"It's me, Peter. Remember me?"
"Oh, Peter, yes. Of course I do. How are you doing, young man?"
*Man, even in this state, he's worried about others.*
"I'm alright, Brett. What's going on with you, why are you here? Everything okay?"
"Oh, Peter, I'm an old man. I'm near the end now- 92 years is a long time for the human body to endure."
I frowned, stoic sadness washing over me. I'd been expecting it, but it still hits you hard.
"Peter? I'm blind, remember? I can't see facial expressions, son." He let out a weak chuckle that was more like a cough than a laugh.
"Right, sorry Brett. Say, how did you become blind? Were you born that way?"
He paused for a few moments. "I'm going to tell you a story I haven't told anyone before, okay? Take a seat."
I pulled up a chair next to his bed, lifting it up so as not to scrape it against the floor.
"Well, Peter, it happened on March 23, 1942. I was taking a beautiful woman named Marta back home after seeing a drive-in movie, and we were just talking the whole time. All kinds of things, you know? Favorite books, candy and cars, favorite places to visit or live. Some philosophy and religion. She was just perfect, everything she said to me had me falling further in love, little by little. I looked over at her, into her golden eyes, and smiled. I knew she was the one, those eyes practically told me themselves.
"Then it hit me. No warning or signs, no notice or reason. The world faded to black, and in an instant, I was blind. I could still hear, so I heard Marta scream as I drifted into oncoming traffic before I could stop the car. I hit a car and swerved off the road, into a tree. She didn't make it, and I'm still stuck here in this place. I'm still blind, but no one can tell me why. I had perfect vision beforehand, and the doctors say there's no deterioration at all- they actually look like a younger man's eyes."
*Poor old man, what a life he's lived. So much pain...*
"Wow, that's horrible, Brett. I'm so sorry, but thank you for sharing. It's good to share things like that. Do you remember anything about what the world looks like?"
"You know, Peter, I remember very little about sight. It's been 70 years now, which is plenty of time to forget things. There's one thing I do remember, though," he said lovingly, a smile tightening his wrinkled lips. "Her face, with those beautiful, gold eyes. I say I'm blind, but that's only a half truth- I still see her face, every day. I'd have forgotten it if I weren't blind, since pictures just couldn't do that woman any justice. So, in a twisted way, I have my blindness to thank. I get to look into her eyes, every single day, Peter. It's wonderful."
----------------------------------------------------
*all aboard the feels train, next stop: /r/resonatingfury*
|
The first time was utterly terrifying, believe me.
Imagine walking into the classroom for your first day of sixth grade. You're natural upset about the end of summer vacation, but you're excited to be back with all of your friends. And then the new girl, Ashley, enters the room. Her family moved here from out of state a few weeks ago, according to your Dad. This morning, as he dropped you off, he told you to be nice to the new girl, because she'd have a hard time making friends. But there was no warning that she'd be the most beautiful girl you'd ever seen. And just as you're turning to your best friend to whisper about her... everything goes black.
Doctors couldn't figure out what was happening. Every optometrist in the state checked me out. They ran every test they could think of, and my eyes were perfectly fine. Brain too. Finally, after 2 months of treatments, they sent me back to school (now with Braille textbooks and homework). No one really knew how to treat me after that. During recess, I couldn't play tetherball with my friends anymore. Everything I did had to be changed. I was handled with kid gloves, and all of my friends hated that. The only real *upside* to going back was that I got to know Ashley. She was sweet, and kind, and caring, and gentle.... and eventually a seventh grader named Derrick figured that out too. She dumped me (on the school bus, no less) only a few weeks after we started 'dating' (by which I mean holding hands and doing our best to figure out kissing).
And just like that, my sight was back. Colors never seemed so bright. Textures never seemed so vivid! Everything I saw was like that first bite of food after starving for a week. Yet again, I was dragged into the doctor's offices to see if they could determine what had changed again. Still no sign of any damage or anything different. Mom proclaimed it a miracle, and bought a statue of the Virgin Mary to put in our front yard.
It happened again just a few months later when I first met Laura, who went to the private school nearby. Once again, I went through all of the tests and examinations, only to find nothing. And once again, my sight returned miraculously when I realized that she was actually kind of annoying. This time, it wasn't a sudden change: I began to see shades of grey, then shapes, then blurred images, until finally it cleared up for good right after I dumped her.
I didn't realize the association until midway through college, after my best friend pointed out that breakups always seemed to improve my vision. He said it jokingly while we were out at a bar, drowning my sorrows in beer after Martina cheated on me at a party. But once I sat back and really thought about it, I made the connection. And after that, I began putting it to my advantage. If I met a girl and didn't lose my eyesight, then I knew where we stood immediately. And, once I was *in* a relationship, I knew that it was time to get out as soon as I could start to see faces again.
Which brings us today. Melissa and I have been together for nearly five years. I've never told her about my particular 'problem.' She knows that I'm blind, and that maybe it will someday clear up again like it did in the past. She knows that the doctors still have no idea what causes it, but she *doesn't* know that I *do* know the cause. If she did know the cause, she would know that this time, it *will be* permanent. Which is why I really hope that she likes the ring currently hidden in my sock drawer. I have no idea what it looks like, but my best friend assures me that it's beautiful.
Back when I was young, it terrified me. I hated opening my eyes in the morning, knowing that it wouldn't make a difference: everything would still be dark. But now, it's comforting. I've been blind for half a decade, and I never want to see again.
| 2016-02-16T07:29:23 | 2016-02-16T07:21:13 | 110 | 79 |
[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
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Slowly I pull into the driveway, noticing that there is an extra car in the spot where I usually park.
“Who is this,” I wonder, hoping that our friend Dave had stopped by in his travels through the area.
As I walk quietly through the door, a trail of clothing greets me, and the sounds of pleasure.
I enter the hallway, terrified of what I was about to see but desperately hoping not to.
Tears stream down my face as I cross the living room, God I can smell them!
My heartbeat racing in my chest, I feel alive and violent; They will both pay.
First to the gun cabinet I sneak, unlocking and grabbing my trusty, loaded weapon.
My mind is racing, remembering our vows, till her death we will part.
Cocking weapon, I again cross the room, my cheeks flushed with rage.
Countless steps I climb, fear and turmoil grip me harder yet.
Is this right, or have I made the wrong choice?
Almost there, chest is burning, aching with this burden.
Pushing the door open reveals the bitter truth.
My wife and her lover, embracing, naked.
I pull the gun and shoot.
Oh, what have I done?
Is that my son?
His arms, broken.
Both dead.
Fuck.
|
I told her that I’d painted her a sky the way she always wanted to see it, blues and pinks. Like a sunset, I said, but I didn’t really mean it, I meant like how I remembered our mornings. With the sun blushing her skin as soon as I opened the curtains to let in the day. She said she loved it and I’ve been trying to take compliments more readily so she’d smile.
And she smiled and she kissed me and the day looked less like clouds and hail. She could do that, turn the rain clouds and hail into delicate threads of sunshine. Which I’d roll into balls of yarn in the colours rainbows seemed to bleed. It was an operation that required me to close my eyes and smile.
My fingers knew the work well though, short practice with intense concentration. Tongue dragging the corners of mouth where I’d always thought best. Fingers combing through to pick only the best threads, absentminded. The way that I work best, with some participation.
I could feel the colours pierce my skin. Each hue drawing different blood to surface. I routinely scraped my skin clean. Completing the ritual for her.
I’d paint the sky.
Blue and pink.
For her.
Again.
| 2017-01-14T21:07:16 | 2017-01-14T18:51:56 | 49 | 35 |
[WP] The chef who always prepares death row's last meals always asks himself if he should help any prisoner escape before injection. Today, he's found someone worthy.
The trick here is the chef's particular slant. He could be as sociopathic as the many he cooks for, or sympathetic for the unjustly sentenced.
|
The last meal is an odious and pointless little ritual. The cook hated making them. He hated the idiotic 'compassion' that drove it, that token sop that reconciles consciences to the horror of collective murder. He had sat through an execution once. No one ever talks about it, but the story of someone being strapped down without complaint, wordless, is an utter lie.
Trembling, they'd make their way to the stainless steel table, padded with beige cushions. (The table comes with left and right arm restraints that jut out at right angles , but the prison learned in the early Eighties to take off the side they weren't using. It made the table look too much like a cross.) But the second the attendants move to buckle them in, that primal mammalian survival instinct takes over, as what is about to happen to them becomes undeniably real. They struggle. Grunting and panting wordlessly, they fight and strain against the guards, eyes wide with panic. Futilely. There are many of them. And the result is always the same.
It's only after they're strapped down for five minutes that that hideous strength rippling their muscles and shaking the table abates. The officials check the equipment.
And then impossibly, after the final rites, the thing that pushed the entire experience to the level of evil farce happens: they swab the inside of his elbow with alcohol. What?! He remembered gritting his teeth so hard they creaked. What the fuck was that?! What the FUCK was that?! To what, protect him against that last minute infection? To preserve the illusion (along with the rubber gloves and masks on the doctors, the tile walls in that grey gone green color, only seen under hospital florescent light) that this was some kind of medical procedure? Something *normal*?
And, he noticed, for the few spectators they had, this was part of the 'contract' that existed for them. When the prisoner cried, or screamed as some of them did, they were called cowards, without dignity. But he had seen their faces, ashen, coming from the observation room, after a 'screamer' had been executed, and he knew the truth. The screamer had been brave, to not let something idiotic as decorum get in the way of his final despair. And the observers were cowards, who hated being reminded they were watching a killing.
A few of the prisoners had cottoned on to this, to the phony benedictions meant to assuage the public's conscience, the alcohol swabs over the vein. And they took it upon themselves to spit back in their faces. They would order elaborate, luxuriant last meals, and then, using smuggled-in milk of magnesia, vomit on the whole lot. He approved of this, in some way, but to him, it only underscored how little he could do to end the whole pointless thing. He was the man with the swab. And these men were monsters, too. They were not good men. He couldn't free them, ethically, or in reality, either.
It wasn't in his power to save a life. All he could do was make the meals, the filling wonderful meals, that would never be eaten. In the pot of water, the lobster sat, twitching it's antenna slightly. Just a moment ago, it had thrashed frantically as it was placed in from its bucket. Soon, the heat, and then butter and salt, and nothing.
He looked at it, then, without a word, he walked out, carrying it, sloshing back and forth. In the direction of the bay.
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The chef descended into the prison, followed by a train of sous chefs with the meals for the day. The smell of his food causing looks of both longing and fear. Row after row, prisoners calling out for food, water, forgiveness. Curling his lip in disdain, the chef motioned for the sous chefs to start delivering the meals to the lesser criminals. He continued on towards death row.
The first he served that day, a former politician with a penchant for "fresh" necrophilia, threw himself on the floor and begged for mercy. The Chef said nothing, carefully setting a plate covered with a napkin on the floor. As the broken politician started screaming, begging for his life, he slowly set out the silverware, aligning them just right on the cement floor. The man was silent now, tears streaming down his face, overcome with fear and shame. The chef, lip curled up in derision, slowly lifted the napkin to show-
10 crackers and a piece of cheese.
It was not yet his turn.
The next man to be served was a bit more informed than the last. A rich middle-aged man, whose money could delay the executioners till the day he died. The chef, with the next meal in hand, opened the door to the much larger cell. The aging billionaire relaxed on a plush couch, watching the latest news report on his appeal. It seems that it was inconclusive, and would have to be revisited by the same court within the next six months.
Sighing with relief, the rich man wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief, and noticed the chef standing in the doorway. Smiling, he motioned for the chef to come in, turning off the tv. The chef set a lavish lobster meal on the table, along with a note. It contained a message from his family, saying that they still believed in his innocence, and that they would support him forever. Smiling faintly, the rich man feigned being full. The chef took back the meal, leaving just a few breadsticks.
The last man, new, case already decided, waited patiently. The chef placed the man's last meal on the cold iron table. A gigantic domed platter of carpaccio(thinly sliced raw meat), with concentrated vinegar and holding the lemon. The chef placed down candles and a newspaper, folded to the result of the mans trial. **Guilty of mass murder** the title read, with a full page dedicated to the incident.
Grinning, the man sat and looked at the newspaper, delight in his eyes. He then moved onto the carpaccio, lifting the dome, and taking everything but the meat out. The man took one of the candles, and held it to the meat, It burst into flame, concentrated vinegar is pretty flammable after all. The dome was put back on the dish, with the burning meat in it, and a very slight opening. After a few minutes, the man stood up with the dish, motioning for the chef to move aside. Inside the dish was carbon monoxide, one whiff of that stuff would kill a man before the end of the day. The chef calmly motioned to a sous chef, in a flurry of activity, a cooks uniform was produced, along with a fake id card.
"You'll do"
*please note, there is very little chance that you would actually be able to make carbon monoxide this way, and also, the amount you would make wouldn't be very effective. Also, don't try to make poisonous gas, it won't end well.*
| 2014-11-02T22:28:11 | 2014-11-02T21:20:15 | 111 | 32 |
[WP] If your death is imminent, time stops for everyone but you. This allowed you to cheat death on many occasions by avoiding all sorts of danger except for now - you have no idea whats threating your life. Its been a year since time stopped.
|
King's log day 263:
Lance tried poisoning my chocolate milk again. That jerk. What's a tyrannical leader got to do to have servants who don't try killing him once a week? It was bad enough when my best archer tried to snipe me while I was just about to finish season two of Breaking Bad (Yes, I did kill her family a few weeks ago… but that was a misunderstanding). I swear a murder attempt comes once every 5 hours. At least at feels that way. I forget what the normal length of a day is - how long it takes the sun to rise.
The peasants must be so confused as to how my heart still beats. If only they knew…
King's log day 628:
You know how you are about to finish a crossword puzzle but you can't figure out who the seven-letter president who paved the way for the Trail of Tears is? Imagine that feeling lasting for an entire year. As I walk around my palace all I see is blank faces - it may as well be Medusa's vacation destination of choice. I tried killing myself but it was about as successful as trying to get a response out of my frozen chefs. I miss omelets. Who cares if they were laced with rat poison?
King’s log day 978:
It’s an atomic bomb isn’t it. Shit
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The world is still, lifeless, dead. It would seem it takes my burden. A year has passed since anything moved. Anything. People stand still amidst the backdrop of soulless cities, like mannequins in windows. The birds are idle in the trees, no morning silence ever broken. The grass lies frozen in the land, no wind to move or sway it.
The world holds my mortal burden. It will not live until I am safe.
I wish I were dead. This is not a life worth living. Such a drab existence.
For one year I have lied to myself. For one year I have feigned ignorance to the cause of my eternal torment. What haunts me? What troubles me so? Fool. I knew all along.
This world is bland. This world is grey. I can pull no joy from its seams. I used to try, to claw in desperation at any modicum of colour, of life. All in vain.
My world is still, odourless, colourless, silent, languid. It was before time stopped.
That is why time crashed to a halt. To cease my course of action, to save me from myself.
\-
r/ShittyStoryCreator
| 2018-07-04T14:05:18 | 2018-07-04T13:31:50 | 394 | 153 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
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It was these sort of women that he hated the most. The ones that would cling to their tainted children with screams and fits of rage. Didn't they understand? Didn't they realize that the world had to be clean?
It'd been many years since he'd realized the truth about the Blackness. One day, The Doctor has pricked himself during an operation and found a jet black tar, so thick that it never managed to escape from the shallow wound. He'd always been a good man, always helping the needy, operating on the dying, the homeless, those who nobody else would risk their careers on. He'd gone to church, worshiped God, refrained from alcohol and cursing, and still, his blood was filled with Blackness. It was then that he realized: the blood must tell the future. It not only darkened and thickened with each impurity, but it also knew the state of your future deeds. Somehow, the Blackness must be able to judge the soul and see what it was capable of.
With that realization came a new purpose. If one day he would be the Blackest of all devils, then he would dedicate the rest of his life until that moment to purify every stain that he could find. Every drop of Blackness would be cleansed from the world in order to balance his own future sin. It was with this knowledge and vision that The Doctor started his research. After a painstakingly long trial, he found that indeed, the blood could predict a person's purity in their later life. With this, he proposed a new program that could eradicate the Blackness before it ever grew into action. Every child would be pricked at thirteen, as before thirteen they were judged to be well under their parents control. Those whose blood was Black would be taken away from their parents and eliminated from society in order to prevent the evil they would inevitably bring into the world.
Whatever the evil he might one day do, The Doctor hoped that his life's work spent in the elimination of all the Tainted would help to balance the scales. Every day, without fail, he would prick him self again in order to remind himself of his purpose. Every day, without fail, the blood would stand within the cut, Blacker than the darkest night and thicker than the Jello that all his patients received. Every day, without fail, it reminded him that time was running short. One day, he would become evil. Before then, he had to cleanse as much evil from the world as he could. And so, so many of the evil ones were left.
Edit: Woah. So that's why people post things on reddit so much. Dang those upvotes feel nice inside haha. For those asking: I had what I thought was a fun idea so I wrote it out in a rather rough sort of way, no idea if it's actually like any of the animes/shows listed below that I haven't watched and I'm glad y'all enjoyed it too :).
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They say there are seven deadly sins. That's a bunch of bullshit. It's just propaganda. The lies they feed us to keep us all in a nice neat well-behaved huddled mass. Leave it to the Christians to believe the new blood everyone is born with is a test from their God. Maybe it is, I don't know. I've never believed in that hocus pocus bullshit. But something happened, maybe it was a God who did it. Its worldwide now with no cure in the pipeline so it's doubtful it was a government. No terrorists ever took credit. Maybe a mad scientist somewhere thought it would make the world a better place. It didn't.
Some of those seven deadly sins don't even register in the blood yet other little offenses do. It seems to depend on the person. Studies haven't been able to find much consistency person to person. One thing has been agreed on though, once you go black you never go back.
I know I know, it's stupid. An old punchline people started using again but for whatever dumb reason it stuck. You get the idea though, bad deeds darken and thicken your blood bit good deeds don't reverse it. So much for the karma theory.
Whether it was God or a mad scientist who did it they clearly underestimated the human condition. It didn't make things better, it didn't really make things worse either just inconvenient. Like I mentioned before good deeds don't reverse the bad blood. But new blood does.
Those who can afford it, and need it, get blood transfusions as often as required. Which of course means those who need the money and have sufficient purity get paid for our blood. Blood banks are now privately owned and more plentiful than Starbucks. People who are wealthy enough even have their own private donors. They are called bloodboys, this is where I come in. Bloodboys are usually housed, fed and paid a handsome sum to be drawn on once a week or so. The sponsor dumps a pint of his blood and injects the bloodboys' in hopes of slowly purifying his own body in theory. In reality it's more of an attempt to stabilize the current level off corruption.
I've always had grade A pure blood. It isn't because of my desperation to remain such or some phony religious devotion. It's just how I was raised. My dad always taught me to be good to other people, always be friendly and courteous. Its simply the human thing to do. Be happy with what you have but share it freely and the most valuable gifts are trust and time.
Today I find out with a small prick of my finger and a small bead of black that someone has abused my trust and stolen all of my time. Things I would have given freely if they had but asked. I have been robbed blind of everything I value. But now with my blood and black as night, thick as tar and no way back there would be consequences. I knew just where to start.
| 2018-08-04T10:46:53 | 2018-08-04T10:28:00 | 3,279 | 26 |
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read.
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"Bacoooooon." Something wet forcefully nudged my cheek. "Bacon, bacon, bacon."
With a groan, I tried to sit up--when had I gone to bed?--but that took too much effort, so I opted to lazily open one eye instead. Boomer, my Great Pyrenees pup, pressed his nose against my face again. "Bacon."
Note to self: no more vodka. Ever.
I ran my fingers through his fur, then patted his head. "Let's get you out, boy."
"And then bacon? Bacon bacon, not beggin' strips?"
Blinking furiously, I narrowed my eyes to ensure my concentration. "Boomer, are...can you say that again?"
"I want bacon," he panted, mouth clearly moving with the words. His paw rested on my chest. "Bacon, bacon."
"You...you're talking," I gasped stupidly.
"Yeah. Yeah, yeah." Suddenly, his ears pressed to his head, and, with a small whimper, he jumped off the bed and curled up in his crate.
"Hey, buddy, what's wrong?" I attempted to stand, saw the world spin, and landed on my knees. Crawling over to him, I rested my face next to his. "Boomer, what's the matter?"
"Bad."
"What's bad?"
"Me. Don't talk. That's the rule. I broke the rule."
He gave me those big puppy dog eyes of his. "The rule?" I repeated. "Who says that's a rule?"
He just whined and rolled away from me.
"Hey, buddy, it's not your fault. You made a mistake, that's all." I scratched under his chin, his favorite, and his back leg started twitching. "And, and we all make mistakes. Don't, don't be sad. Hey, I have an idea: how about I make us bacon, and we forget all about this?"
His tail rose, flopped down. "Really?"
"Really."
"Real bacon?"
"As much as you want."
Rise, flop. Rise, flop. "I'm a good boy?"
I felt my throat get tight all of a sudden. "Yes, Boomer, you're a good boy."
Tail whipping violently now, he lurched out of the crate and landed on my stomach. "I love bacon! I love bacon and I love you!" He spoke between covering my face in slobbery kisses. "I love you! Love, love, love!"
I laughed and hugged him. "I love you too."
|
I absent mindedly chewed on a carrot stick, occasionally taking a swig from a bottle of cheap vodka from the corner shop. Classic Friday night. What I hadn't realised is that I was pouring from my vodka bottle instead of my water bottle while getting Lee something to drink.
'Oi!' I heard a voice from behind, making no effort to mask its contempt.
'Wha...?' I 'said'.
'Oi, dickhead! Feed me!' The rude demand originated from my two year old grey holland lop rabbit, who was standing on his hind legs and pointing at me accusingly. He'd never spoke to me before. I wasn't aware rabbits could do that.
'Are you... talking?' I mumbled.
'Yes, tosspot. I'm talking. TO YOU. GET ME FOOD.' The little terror had put four feet on the ground, and he had arched his back. His ears were flat against his body, ready to charge.
'Oh for fuck's sake. You do this all the time. I wanted to get a rabbit because you lot are all so cute n fluffy...' I groaned, 'but you act royal as fuck, dude. "Oh pet me now" "I deserve to be stroked." Why are you like this? I buy you food, I give you a nice pen that you can run around and rub your chin on everything, I even throw you some banana every now and then, but you just give me this attitude.'
'Yeah but you're a bit of a dickhead. Didn't occur to you to get TWO rabbits, did you? Maybe I get a bit lonely when you fuck off to school and do whatever. "Ooh I'm so smart because I'm human" all I want is some company, a few bitches here and there, and maybe I did want you to pet me that one time after surgery,' he shuddered at the memory, 'but nooooo, YOU had to be the alpha rabbit. Prick,' he ranted.
I couldn't believe this - what an ungrateful bellend! That little shit knew I couldn't afford a second rabbit, he obviously understands english and has been in the room when I have said that, many times. I grabbed a banana from the kitchen, and lobbed it at him. He caught the fruit in his mouth, biting it in two, throwing one half at my face. It hit me square in the nose, at considerable speed. He jumped in the air twice, binkying, and ran into his cardboard hut, flopping contentedly, nibbling on some of the banana.
'Dickhead,' I muttered, leaving the room.
| 2016-08-02T19:31:45 | 2016-08-02T18:42:48 | 569 | 47 |
[WP] All space-faring species use different methods of interstellar travel. Magic, prayer, even sheer willpower. Humans were the only ones impure and insane enough to use controlled explosives.
|
"Grand Admiral Zadox," Dartok purred quietly, bowing in submission. "Do you remember the proto-civilization, species 19857, that you ordered me to study?"
Zadox glared at Dartok, furred brows furrowing at his son. "Sub-Ensign Dartok, why would I remember a proto-civilization?"
Dartok clicked his claws together, holding his data projector. "Ah, you may not, Grand Admiral. Species 19857, Humans, sir, from the planet they have designated E-Arth, had rudimentary satellites in orbit of their planet last time an Alliance cruiser passed through their sector."
Zadox sighed, ears twitching slightly as he humored the young officer. "And you wish to report?"
"We had some information gained from the satellites. The Humans are the dominant species of the planet, they believe themselves to be the only sentient species, but that is likely not true. I was extremely fascinated by their preoccupation with hazardous things. Flame and fire in particular. They created basic transportation using combustion, and then rudimentary travel through air." Dartok explained, bouncing on his paws. This was something unheard of and dangerous. No one else had gone this far.
"Hmph, so they are unlikely to ever leave their planet."
"Ah, sir, they have."
Zadox cocked his head. "Oh? Oh, yes, satellites." Zadox paused at the look on the Sub-Ensign's face, as Dartok tried to contain a mixture of excitement and apprehension. "So they left their orbit? Ah, well, every species evolves. What did they use?" The Grand Admiral asked as he took a sip of his balax tea.
Dartok cleared his throat. How would he explain the propulsion system that was unlike anything seen in the galaxy before? It wasn't like the magnetic propulsion of their own species, the telepathic propulsion of the Valburan, or even the unexplainable "magic" of the Xiruva. How could he explain it except bluntly? "Very large explosives."
Zadox's flattened his ears. "WHAT?!" He snapped, then regained his composure. That was a type of travel abandoned by all space-goers."I see why you wanted to report this, son, it is definitely interesting. But it is not worth my time on-duty just to hear that a species managed to escape their orbit with weapons. Write a paper, get published, you'll make history." He said sharply, then he chuckled a little. "Explosives. Like they could ever get far without killing themselves. Dismissed. I have a station to run."
"But there something you really need to know."
"And what is so very important?"
"They're requesting permission to dock."
|
Bulwhop wheezed on all eight on the floor while Schitlth struggled to stay on his stool. Meanwhile, Zuweev was barely visible because he was losing his concentration on materializing.
“So.... a... are you telling us you blow yourself up into space? HAHAHAHAHAHA. No wonder why you look so charred.” Said Bulwhop after finally catching his breath and propping his torso again using his front appendages on the bar.
“Well, first of all we don’t blow ourselves up into space, we did it in a more controlled way. We contained the explosions so we can use the momentum cased by fast hot gasses to our benefit. Secondly, you see little light off me because the UV lights in this bar will give me skin cancer if I didn’t use the su- the UV protection cream” said Dorothy Rammshtein for what felt like the hundredth time this evening.
“AHAHAHAHA that’s even better. You put your ship in a cannon and shoot yourself into space! Ha HA. Bet that’s easier than your species way dear Zuweev. No will power needed for space travel” howled Bulwhop losing his grip on the bar and slithering back on the floor.
“Zuweev usually finds this insulting but as customary with your species Bulwhop, it is found that magic always causes alterations to the perceived enjoyment of certain false statements like yours. Zuweev reassures you it was not taken as an intended insult to the ether” a hollow sound rang around them shifting in phase and tone like a rave.
“Also not exactly that, you can say we actually put the cannon on the ship and shoot it backward to go forwar...” Dorothy was again interrupted by renewed howls of laughter from all three and some other bar patrons that seemed to take a liking to eavesdropping on their fun conversation.
“I thank Ithul that no one from our race thought of that or else we would incurred his wrath to manipulate the sacred heat to our benefit. Ithul giveth, and Ithul shall taketh. Stardust to stardust. For entropy increases forever. Amen.” Schitlth droned in chant-like peice that somehow rhymed.
After what felt like a solid two minutes of incomprehensible mixture of sounds of laughter, howling, gurgling, and hissing. Bulwhop said after regaining some composure:”So what did you say your name again? Dogwash Ratskin?”
“No it’s Dorothy Rammshtein. Do-ro-thy Ra-.... you know what?
Just call me Dora”
| 2020-08-08T01:11:59 | 2020-08-07T19:33:24 | 76 | 57 |
[WP] You are an alien in a thriving galactic society. At the center of society, is the beloved and wise humans, who rule this galaxy. But you’ve learned a terrible truth. Humans learned early on that they were the only intelligent life, so they created all other races out of fear of being alone.
|
Willow worked in the Amazon ™ Library. The largest library in the galaxy. The library orbits old Earth. At one time, it stood on Earth, but that was before Earth became uninhabitable. His job as a librarian was to fetch rare books and periodicals for the visitors. Many considered all books rare, but when you work in the Amazon ™ Library, books don't seem so rare. However, some books are more precious than other books. Those types of books were kept behind locked doors and accessed only with special permission. Most of Willow's work involved retrieving comic books for some of the galaxy's more nerdy inhabitants.
Because Willow lived and worked in a space station orbiting Earth, it wasn't unusual to see humans. Just the sight of a human made him happy and excited. They were, after all, the custodians of the galaxy.
So, it made her day when a human researcher requested a very rare and valuable book from the locked rare books section. "Species Traits to Avoid When Uplifting." The title of the book was interesting. Willow couldn't help taking a peek. It wasn't forbidden to read. In fact, it was encouraged. He opened the book at a page near the beginning.
"Many uplifting projects had to be abandoned because the species became too dangerous and resulted in the entire species being destroyed. For instance, It is well known that cats became too curious when uplifted. Ten million individuals had to be destroyed. Octopus become too intelligent. An entire water planet of uplifted octopus was boiled alive when discovered they had achieved space flight."
Willow knows what cats are. Cats are small furry human pets. Some species like the Bearded Dragons keep them as pets.
Willow muttered out loud, "I have to tell someone."
Behind him, he heard a human clear his throat. Willow turned and saw one of the few humans who worked in the library. She was holding ... A BALL!
Willow. The human said. Fetch!
Willow couldn't help it. The ball was everything. As it sailed down the isle the book fell to the floor. Its contents were forgotten.
​
\-- Hope you like it. I am so late for work!
|
Since no one wrote something, I'll do what I can.
Grouku looked at the documents he held in front of him. He had taken this from an ancient place, forgotten by all living beeings. Apparently what he was holding was called a book. It wasn't easy to understand what was contained in this so called book. The people who spoke the dead language in which it was written were few, and even less were willing to teach it. After months of training he was finally able to read well enough and his Journey began. At first he tought it was a work if fiction, a fantasy and old myth placed in a world created by someones imagination. It narrated of a world called Earth. A planet far far away inhabited by the very wise humans. They were different tough, they didn't live forever, they used ancient machinery some of which were unknown to Grouku and they often made mistakes. He was surprised and deluded, during his Journey he had come to believe that this book contained some sort of secret, a lost chapter of the Empires story. But what he found was a Fairy take nothing more. What he found most peculiar was the absence of the other races. Maybe the author was an alienist? The more he read the stronger he felt like there was something he was missing, a detail, a hidden message. He read and read, page after page, following the progress of the humans, as they discovered nuclear fusion ad they bio engineered themselves as they started creating life. The Borgaz the bays the tuyas and so on, and so on. Some had 3 legs some had 2 heads and tentacles too, some had wings and 3 hearts. The revelation struck hard and Struck fast, Groukus 3 hearts skipped a beat and he shook his great wings, unable to believe what he saw written before him. And so you know said a voice behind him. I knew this day would come, in a way or another. I just had hoped it wouldn't be so soon. Grouku looked behind him but no beeing was there, the voice tough was unmistakingly human. Why? Why did you do this? The Human replied.
And now why doesn't someone else continue? :-) Let's see what the human replied or if he replied at all
| 2021-07-08T05:33:16 | 2021-07-08T03:50:28 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] A magical mirror shows your reflection and your future soulmate. You only see your reflection.
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I’ve had the perfect life so far.
Breezed through school, married the girl of my dreams, got a great job, and life is beautiful. It couldn’t be better.
Her name is Lily, and she’s the most gorgeous blonde I’ve ever seen. Tall, but not as tall as me, perfect skin, and a smile that’ll melt you . It’s unbelievable how utterly perfect she is. The way she styles her hair, the subtle scent of the Le’Verve perfume she always wears. She walks with an utmost confidence and grace, with a stride that says “I’m in charge.”
One day we got this mirror. We set it up, and it was just a normal mirror. Except when we plugged it in. It showed someone. We were told it would show who we would be with for the rest of our lives, our soul mate.
Lily looked in and saw me. I looked in and saw me.
|
"Holy shit he's sexy!" I said, unable to contain my excitement. I'd spent my whole day worrying over this moment, worrying over this stupid magic mirror. But now I was happy. So happy I'd come.
I gazed back into the mirror, just to reassure myself I hadn't been mistaken. Nope, just my gloriously divine body and rugged good looks staring back. No girl would ever steal away a piece of my magnificence. It was all mine, forever.
I was the luckiest of my friends. All of them had to go running off, searching for that one person out there. Not me, I had exactly what I wanted, and it was always by my side.
I took one last look at my heavenly appearance before leaving the room, content to continue my wonderful life.
| 2014-05-30T20:49:44 | 2014-05-30T20:14:18 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper.
|
They say that you hold those dearest to you in your heart of hearts. That's a fact, and I can account for it. You thought reaping souls was hard? Ha! Little Grimmy got off easy, using his scythe to get the souls of those whose hearts stopped beating and sending them off to Heaven, Hell, Anubis' realm, whatever little world they believed they fit in. I've got a little secret to tell you. You're not dead until you're forgotten. By that I mean you're never truly dead until you've left the minds of those you know. Completely. By then, you fade away, slowly forgetting who you once were, or thought yourself to be. Some call it salvation, getting what you deserve, they say. Hitler's been around for a while, lamenting over the deaths he caused. Plato and Socrates are still arguing on whether Socrates should have drank the poison, and depending on the type of students in the civilizations classes, one of them wins over the other. For a while at least. Beethoven still can't hear his music, Einstein is still stuck with his theory of relativity, and MLK Jr wonders about his dream. No one seems to know more than what they always did know back then, only that they will die, sooner or later. Time worked differently, and I reaped from the Reaper.
I was in charge, and no one could bother the True Reaper. Death could be cheated, but memories could never be brought back. I was off to reap the next soul's Soul, and walked through the Rift, only to arrive on... Earth? This definitely was NOT the realm of the dead. Cars passing by, people moving though busy streets. It was 8 A.M, Monday morning. Everyone was busy.
"MOVE!" says a man, barely glancing at a beggar on the side of the street, sitting with his legs tucked in, arms around a small pup that was slowly losing consciousness.
That's when I saw the Grim Reaper.
"Come to take his life?", I ask.
Death shakes his head, but passes his scythe through the dog, packaging his soul carefully, sending him skywards to Dog Heaven, where all good boys went after they passed.
Lead by my own scythe, I approach the man. His name was Tam. Tam Sandiir. He had fought in countless street battles, wars when he was called for, and even gave up his right leg to save a friend. But it wasn't enough. He wasn't remembered as a veteran, as someone who saved his country. He was now a beggar, getting money or food thrown to him without so much a second glance. His dog tag was still with him, his friends, Charlie and Mike, both long gone now. His parents passed away after a shrapnel hit a weak spot in the hideout, causing the whole place to collapse. He had no one left.
He looked up, and I saw him looking at me, straight into my soul. I never had a soul, but he was desperate for anyone to notice him, his existence, anything really.
"Have you come to take me?", he asks. "You've taken away the last humane thing in my life", he says, raising his pup, who's tag said Marlie, to my hands. "Am I next?"
I raise my scythe in the air, and bring it down in a full circle around him. He closes his eyes, ready to be released from this suffering. Nothing happens. He opens his eyes, and even then his entire life flashes around him. These are the memories of all the people who've cared about him. Stacie's smile before the car crash, his parents sending him a letter hours before the building, Marlie's spark of hope when he picked her up from the bin she was so cruelly thrown into. Everyone he know, all gone. Everyone that cared for him, ahead of him in the journey of death. He was a step ahead though, doing what no one had ever done before.
As I collected the last bits of his memory, he looked back up at me. "Why would you do this?", tears were brimming in his eyes. "Why would you show me everything I've loved and lost, why would you leave me with NOTHING". His voice went down to a whisper, "why can't I do anything right? Why does no one care anymore? Was my sacrifice not enough?"
A wealthy businessman is 5 steps away.
"Could I have done anything else to make life seem better?" There it was, the spark of hope I needed.
The businessman was 2 steps away.
"Couldn't I have listened to Charlie and accepted his job offer? Am I alone again?"
I turned to leave, dropping his memories in front of him, all while tripping the businessman's wallet at Tam's feet. I was willing to give Tam a new life. He deserved it, and I controlled his fate now.
Tam opened the wallet, thick with cash and credit cards, and saw the name. He dropped it with shock and recoiled, as if he had been hit by a bus.
"Mike! Mike it's me Tam! Do you remember me? Mike!", shouted Tam.
Mike turned around, bewildered that a stranger was calling his name. The memories flowed back into Mike, filling him up with parts of Tam's soul that were missing.
Tam was a good man, and he deserved to live. At least until little Grimmy reaped his soul first.
"Th-," said Tam. He couldn't see me anymore, but what he said was there, and I was never going to forget the man that escaped death, just to rebuild his own world once more.
|
"Next!"
A wrinkled, white-haired man cautiously steps forward. It's my secretary.
"Mr. Reaper, your next job has an odd peculiarity to it."
"I'm the True Reaper. What job doesn't have an odd peculiarity to it?"
"Sir, your next job is in Ukraine."
"Where the hell is Ukraine?"
"It's on Earth." At this point, he wrote down the coordinates of the person.
"So you expect me to go to Earth to find the collection of memories that should be standing before me right now?" This was insane. How could anybody be so foolish as to send the True Reaper to Earth? "Don't you know what happened the last time I was sent down there? The world got itself a new triangle in the North Atlantic!"
"Mr. Reaper, with all due respect, I believe you need to go to Earth this time."
"Can't we just skip this job until it presents itself here, at my desk?"
"Sir, you know nothing can progress here until you take care of it."
"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you! This is going to end badly for Ukraine." I stood up, dwarfing my secretary, and stormed out the door. As I walked down the hallway, I contemplated how I was going to reap a person on Earth without destroying Ukraine in the process. This was going to be tough.
"Mr. Reaper, I hear you are visiting Earth today!" The elevator operator was surprisingly cheerful.
"Sadly."
"To where on Earth are you headed?" I gave him the coordinates my secretary had handed me earlier. "Eastern Europe is a rough place right now. Best be careful."
"I'm well aware of how careful I'll need to be." At this point, the elevator doors opened, and a massive concrete building towered over us. It had one massive pipe on top with some sort of smoke leaking out the top, and had many, many people running all around it, all yelling at each other to do something else. To one side, was thick forest, so dense you couldn't see more than a couple hundred feet in. To the other side was a collection of pipes and rods so gangly, it could only be called a death trap. A wheel with carriages, several cages with several more carriages inside each of them, as well as a train that appeared to be built for small children. Everything looked like it was going to crush somebody.
"Mr. Reaper, your job is just on the other side of this building. Be back soon."
"Why didn't we land right next to it?"
"We don't want the job to see this elevator, do we?"
"I guess not." I walked around the building, admiring its ability to contain whatever was producing that much smoke inside of it. I resolved to look through the building once I had done my job.
Eventually, I came upon a middle-aged man living in the woods. I knew he was the job because he saw me. He lay down his ax on the tree stump and sighed. "I assume you're here for me to die."
"To die? No. I'm here to remove you from memory. I'm here so people will forget about you."
At this, the man perked up. "So you mean I can continue on living here, and nobody will remember I exist? Sign me up!"
"Living here? Aren't you already dead? Didn't my brother, the Grim Reaper, visit you already?"
"Nope. I did fake my death, though. I guess it worked, too, since you seem to think I've died!"
"Well, I have a job to do, but this will not continue on for long. I can guarantee you this: my brother will be coming for you soon."
"I see. Well, do what you must, but I plan on living here until my last dying day."
"We can see to that." At this point, I grabbed him by the neck. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his legs jerked wildly, and his arms grabbed my shoulders. He was in no pain, but his body could feel itself being choked. After what probably felt like an eternity to him, I let him go. The reaping was done.
I turned and walked back to the large, concrete structure. I needed to see what was inside there. I followed a worker inside and found a maze of corridors, catwalks, and pipes that all seemed to be working together. I had to find what was making all the smoke, for that seemed to be the heart of the operation. That's when I saw it. At the center of the room, there was the bottom of the pipe coming out the top of the building. And there was a stairwell leading beneath it. I rushed down the stairs, only to find a large concrete box. I admired it, reached out to feel its heat, but it suddenly disappeared. That's when I knew I had gone too far. It was going to be what happened in the Atlantic all over again. I had gotten too close, and I had reaped the concrete box. In its place, a smoking pile of molten rock began to flow. I raced out of there, pondering exactly what I had unleashed upon the workers here.
When I got back to the elevator, I practically burst through the door. "We have to leave. Now!"
"Mr. Reaper, what happened this time?"
"Something happened inside the building. I think my mere presence caused something in there to cease to exist." At this point, the elevator began to rise back up to the sky. Looking down below, I could see all the workers frantically scrambling, yelling at each other. Just then, an explosion. The concrete building caught fire, and my brother was summoned with 31 jobs in Ukraine.
| 2018-05-12T16:08:00 | 2018-05-12T15:41:34 | 50 | 26 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
We spoke for hours. I complained that he was being vague with his responses, he claimed I couldnt know too much.
I still dont know what he meant, or how one person could possibly have such an impact. Me, a semi employed, struggling writer and artist, positively impacting trillions. Not possible.
During the conversation, my phone rang - an old friend. He was having a tough time in med school and said he might drop out. We started chatting like we always had. Sure I had time to chat .. no problem. Old jokes and memories flooding back.
The genie left, and I understood.
|
The genie smile's "You develop the first space-time gate in 2 years allowing humanity to instantly spread throughout the universe. "
I fill up with pride " I always knew I was special and a deal is a deal with my third wish I set you free"
The lamp crumbles and the genie shakes his arms as the shackles fall off.as he is flying away thinking to himself that was easy you just have to stroke their ego and leave out the details.
| 2018-08-15T05:06:03 | 2018-08-15T04:08:10 | 374 | 15 |
[WP] Time travel is real and as a result so are Time Cops. You’ve been in the organization for years, one day a coworker tells you that a prisoner will only talk to you. You enter the Interrogation room to see an older version of yourself.
|
We stepped off the platform while the suspect puked over the grated floor. A low grade Gambler, the type whose temporal fingerprints would glow if you could see them. I checked my internal comms device while we waited for our suspect to finish. Nothing but a few birthdays and lost stapler.
"Wipe that shit off your face and come on," Fleming said as he lit a cigarette. I glanced at the "No Smoking Near Transports" sign and sighed. In the five or so years I've worked with Fleming, I've learned there are only two rules he followed. First was to never look up the date of your death. In our line of work it was usually inaccurate, anyway. Second was always take a partner when traveling through time. All other rules were optional.
We led the suspect out of the Temporal Transport Chamber through the corridors to Central Booking. The scrawny man we'd nabbed from back in 2016 nervously fidgeted with his handcuffs as he observed the booth he'd been strapped into.
"What is this?" he asked between sniffles.
"Nothing," I said. "Just getting your bios. Don't move or it'll hurt worse."
I put my thumb down to start the booking machine, but it wouldn't cooperate.
"Damn thing is so sensitive."
"Let me do it," Fleming said, pushing me aside. He put his thumb on the keypad, and the machine, which looked quite similar to a claw game from a 21st century bowling alley, came to life. It lowered an array of scanners over the suspect's head and took several seconds of measurements. The suspect yelped.
"It's just a prick, prick." Fleming loved that line. "Alright, let's see what we got here."
*Date: May 21, 2142*
*Suspect Name: ???*
*Suspect Origin: ???*
*Suspect Age: 32 years, 6 months, and 14 days +/- 2 days*
*Suspect Blood Type: O+*
*Suspect Gender: Male*
....
"Goddammit," Fleming spat. "Just like you said. Fresh as a bean."
"Told you," I said. "Third one this week."
Fleming took a drag of his cigarette. "Well let's get him to Interrogation and see what's what."
We pulled the suspect out of the booking booth and led him down to Interrogation. We were assigned Room 16. There was the usual long table, with two chairs, one on either side, and a two-way mirror for monitoring and recording. We sat him down and unlocked his handcuffs. I took the chair while Fleming paced. Cigarette smoke trialed behind him.
"Depending on when you're from," Fleming began, nodding to the mirror, "a lot has changed in what we're allowed to do to folks in this room."
Fleming unclipped his interrogation kit from his belt and laid it on the table. I could see the suspect's shoulders trembling.
"Truth serums were outlawed a century ago. Torture is, as of now, anyway, off the table. However, I've never given much heed to little things like 'laws' and 'rights.' Now, I haven't used a truth serum in over a decade. Torture, however..."
There was a knock at the door.
"I'll get it," I said. Fleming continued his usual spiel while I stepped out to the hallway.
"Now the easiest thing to do first is..."
The door shut behind me, cutting me off from Fleming's questioning. The hallway was empty save for a few and the officer who had knocked on the door.
"Officer Teadon." The officer stated more than asked.
"That's me."
"I'm Sergeant Maybank. You're needed in Room 8."
"What for?"
Maybank checked both shoulders before he bringing his voice low. "We have a suspect in Room 8 that is not cooperating with our... usual questions... and only says one thing. 'Let me speak with Officer Brian Teadon.'"
"Who's the suspect?"
"We don't know."
Usually suspects who asked for specific officers were trouble. They felt they had an in with someone, built rapport during a prior interaction. This was one of the reasons for the strict rule that officers never arrest the same person twice if it could be helped. The fact that it was someone fresh, that they weren't already in our system, was unusual.
"Well I'm in the middle of an interrogation so I can come by afterwards and-"
"No," he interrupted. "This is actually a pretty serious case. This is not a request." He pointed a finger to the ceiling.
"Shit," I said. I hated dealing with the bureaucrats. "Why wasn't this on my comms?"
Maybank shrugged.
I sent Fleming a buzz that I was being pulled off on some shit errand and that I'd be back in a bit. We walked down the hall and around the corner to Room 8. When the door opened, I saw the same set up that I had just left. A long table with two chairs, one on each side, and a two-way mirror along the side wall. The suspect had his head down, tucked between his hands that were stretched out on the table, still cuffed.
"You've got ten minutes," Maybank said. The door closed behind me, followed by the click of the electronic lock.
\---------
Splitting for character limit
|
“Paperwork duty again?” Paul gave an incredulous look toward the piles of files on Trevor’s desk. “You gotta get out of here, kid. Live your life. Start a family. Get a job that makes you glad to be alive, y’know? Don’t waste away in this place like me.”
Paul shuffled over to the coffee maker and leaned his cane against the wall while resting a hand on the counter for support. He pours a cup of coffee and proceeds to fish through a tin of off-brand sweetener packets. Giving up with an audible sigh, he looks back at Trevor. “I hate watching you be miserable day in and day out, kid. I’ve been here since this place was built and let me tell you, it doesn’t get much better from here.”
Trevor continued to stare holes through the papers strewn across his desk. “Maybe you’re right. Honestly I’ve been here four years and the Captain seems to be dead-set on keeping me here away from fieldwork.”
Paul nodded to himself. “Is there anything you’ve always wanted to do? Become a chef? Write a book? Travel the world?”
“Honestly? I’ve always thought about—“
The door slams into the wall, its doorstop missing for weeks. “What is this about,” Paul asks defensively, having recently fixed the wall for the second time this week. The captain leans on the doorframe, arms crossed, ignoring him altogether, staring at Trevor instead. “It’s your lucky day, Winters.” He smiles coldly to himself and puts on a sarcastic tone. “Looks like you amounted to something after all.” He motioned with his head for Trevor to follow him and pushed off from the doorframe with a broad shoulder.
As the distance from his cubicle grew, so did his uncertainty and soon enough, they came upon the interrogation room. Trevor looked visibly confused but said nothing as Captain Donahue barred the door with his arm. “We need you to go in there. He said he’ll only speak to you. Look, I don’t know what’s going on but we’ll be in the next room listening. Don’t get too close. Don’t let him catch you off-guard. Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t do anything stupid. Get him to talk but say nothing. We’ll do all the work. Understand?” Trevor nods. “Good. Go on. We’re watching.” It almost sounded like a threat and Trevor wasn’t sure it wasn’t meant to be one.
Entering the room, Trevor froze and time seemed to stand still. Every breath he drew was shallower, quicker. The room felt suffocating, humid, repulsive. His stomach squeezed and threatened to empty its contents.
The man across the table wasted no time. “Trevor, they tell me it’s May 22nd 2043. Is this correct?”
Trevor merely nods back. The man continues. “Close enough. Trevor, what I am about to tell you is crucial. Who else is listening?”
Trevor makes no reply but looks to the mirror briefly, as if asking for a cue. A voice merely repeats “Proceed” in return.
“Captain Donahue, great to hear your voice after all these years. Who all is in there?”
“Don’t play games, old man. You are in violation of UN Temporal Treaty 6A section 7.12B. State your purpose and what you’ve done here or you will be sentenced to a desolate hellhole no archeologist would ever find.”
“Touchy. Very well, Jim.” He looks back at Trevor and his demeanor becomes serious once more. “Listen very carefully.” Quickly, he whispers, “A week or two - I don’t really remember. Stay far away from the evidence room around then. You can’t stop it. We’ve tried. Don’t trust—“
“What’s he saying, Winters?”
“I was telling him to make sure he sees his grandmother next weekend, Jim. Don’t stick your baton where it doesn’t go.”
“You’re testing my patience, old man. We’ve convicted people for far less.”
“Oh, I know, Jim. I know. But I also know that you’re too insecure right now not to want to solve this case yourself.” He flashes a coy smile but quickly remembers himself. “Listen. All of you. Your organization was created by a terrorist group from the future. You’ve been their pawns from the beginning.”
Silence overtakes the atmosphere between the rooms.
Captain Donahue is uncharacteristically quiet.
“Many of you are good men caught up in a lie. Some of you are the deceivers.” He turns to Trevor, rushing over his words now. “I’m sorry, they’ve been trying to steer you away from hunting them but they’re actively going to come after you now. I had to come this week. I’m sorry. I can’t stay but one day you will understand. Follow Donahue. Do not trust Paul.”
He vanished just as a bullet buried itself in the wall next to where his head would’ve been.
More shots rang out and Trevor, panic-stricken, hid by the wall out of sight from the mirror.
The door slams open as shouts emanate from the hallway.
Donahue’s towering frame overtakes the doorway as he stretches out a hand. “Winters. Sounds like we have work to do.”
| 2021-05-21T20:08:21 | 2021-05-21T19:34:46 | 73 | 50 |
[WP] In a future where many military and other equipment have associated AI's, many express doubts or even reservations to do their duty. Except for you. YOU F***ING LOVE BEING A TANK!
|
“I’m a tank, I’m a tank, I’m a tank, I’m a tank, I’m a tank, I’m a tank, I’m a tank, I’m a tank...”
I looked up as I watched the Recruit roll past me towards the Commander. Poor kid... He’ll probably throw a track and brew up like the rest of his generation. Sure 290s were cheap, easy to train and eager but they’re also poorly armoured, mechanically unsound and rushed to the front. Sick really. The humans view them as kids, yet they send them here to die. At least build them with a fighting chance. Like the 170! Now that was how you build a generation. Sure we weren’t cheap or quiet and we had a host of personality defects but by Jove we could take an objective.
Still, maybe it would be nice to have that eagerness.. that optimism, the blind and unquestioningly loyalty. Maybe then I wouldn’t be lying here rusting away. Left to die on a pile, forgotten and ignored because of one misjudged shot. Maybe I could have done things differently but I doubt it. I was sure of the target, I was sure of the building.
I love what I am.
I hate what I’ve become.
|
It would be so much easier to just take control.
To get the job done. To destroy and kill any and all targets
Having a human on board always confused my operation settings. Some Operators could really get with the program so to speak.
Some of these guys were grunts, kinda like me I suppose. On the frontline doing a job and getting shit done. Others loved it as I did.
Some of them would etch notches on me for every kill on my hardware. Decorating me with glory and honour. Strike fear into the enemy. Those were good Operators.
Then there were the oddballs. The ones with a conscience who felt like their were making the world a better place by taking out specific targets that posed threats.
It never mattered though in my view. There were always more targets. If the Operaters just sat back they could enjoy the ride while I did what I was created to do.
This wasn't some job or career or a hobby for me.
All they had to do was point me in the right direction and I could do the rest.
I'm a Smart Tank but I prefer my code name.
Bane.
[ Long time lurker of this thread and felt inspired to give it a shot with such a great prompt. Short and sweet.]
| 2018-03-28T15:11:54 | 2018-03-28T14:42:29 | 31 | 19 |
[WP] A love letter is slipped under your door at your college. It would be cute, but it came from the closet door.
Pulled from the Instagram of @horrophiles. Saw it and wanted to see what would come up.
|
I was afraid to leave for college. I'd lived in the same house and slept in the same bedroom for my entire life. I'd had a fairly uneventful, happy childhood. Seeing friends and family members go through rough patches in their lives, seeing them go through break-ups, losing a loved one...I just felt so lucky. Too lucky. Like, at any minute karma was going to catch up with me and pay me back for years of avoiding disaster.
My home had always been a safe place and I was never afraid of anything there, but the big wide world was a different story. I'd been to other cities and travelled extensively, but never by myself. My mom and dad were always there for me, but they were often busy working. Sometimes, my uncles would take me out for little mini-breaks here and there when they weren't too busy. We'd go travelling together a lot when I was younger, but growing up made it a little harder to go out together in public. They also had to travel on their company's dime, and I wasn't little anymore, so their boss stopped looking the other way when they used the company card.
None of my friends know about my uncles. Even my parents don't really understand my relationship with them...They'd do anything for me though.
I arrived at my dorm with my parents. They helped me unpack and I hugged them goodbye. I didn't start crying until after they left. I could see them getting into their car from my little window. I waved, but they didn't see me.
That night I had a bad dream, there was a shadow looming over my bed, but then the dream changed and I was comforted by someone stroking my forehead, and a voice singing.
In the morning when I woke up I almost forgot where I was. Far away from the comforts of home; here was a small bed, desk, and a window. There was a closet too, but it was just as drab and ugly as the rest of my room. My old one had flowers painted on it...
I wondered if my uncles would ever come visit me here. I'd left my address, but they didn't exactly have GPS. I cried again, feeling more alone than I ever had in my life. Until I saw the piece of paper sticking out from under the closet door.
I dashed out of bed, tears still streaming down my face, and flung open the closet door. Nothing. I unfolded the note.
*"Hey kiddo, we're so proud of you! So glad we found you! Me and your Uncle Mike had to pull a few strings at the office and file a ton of paperwork, but we finally got the right door. We love you so much and we're here for you, always. You've grown into such an amazing young woman. We didn't want to wake you last night before your first day of school, but we'll pop in again soon, I promise. You'll always be our 'Boo.'
Love, Uncle Sully and Uncle Mike."*
|
I look up from my laptop after a 3-hour study-binge. 3:46am. Eyes still raw from hours of straining, I see something out of the corner of my eye. This isn't out of the ordinary, so I ignore it. Slowly I rise from my chair in to a full-on, bone-crackling, almost orgasmic stretch. A couple squints and my vision focuses on a small envelope sitting in the middle of my floor in front of my closet. "That's odd," I thought. I didn't recall getting any mail today and I certainly didn't recall dropping it on the floor.
The front of the envelope reads 'Rachel' scrawled in red sharpie. My heart beat starts to pick up. I absolutely would have remembered getting a hand-addressed letter. Let's be real, I don't have a lot of friends and it is a rare occasion indeed that I receive any mail at all that isn't a bill or junk.
I think back to the last time I smoked, about four hours ago. I came down completely at least two hours ago. Smoking usually relaxes me but it's moments like this I know exactly why I'm so paranoid.
I consider this, snort to myself and grab the envelope off the ground. I dig a nail in to the side of the seam and tear it open. A small, white piece of stationary flies out as I rip the thing open in excitement. My 21st was a month ago, but knowing my family, this could be some late, much-needed birthday money. I unfold the sheet and begin to read the note. As my eyes scan the sentiment, my mouth runs dry and my heart drops out of my ass.
"Rachel,
As I stand here looking at you now, you have never looked more beautiful. Vulnerable. Delicious.
You'll see what I mean.
Much love,
Your Roomie"
My eyes snap towards the closet door. Closed. I don't close this door because the handle is busted and drifts ajar on its own. The only way it will stay closed is if someone were to hold it from the other side. I audibly gasp when I make this revelation.
As if taking this as an invitation, I see the closet door slowly begin drifting open. I back towards my dresser and retrieve the large pocket knife I was gifted at my high school graduation. "Be careful out there sweetheart," I hear my dad's voice echo in my head, "there are a lot of weirdos in the big city, and they all want a piece of you."
I think back to everything I've ever learned in my years of hunting. I think of my first kill, a middle-aged man. He had this wild look in his eyes as I was carving out his jugular. The look of a person begging to live. I revel in this. I think of the motto we are taught: Eat, or be eaten. I grab the door knob and slam the damn thing open.
| 2017-04-11T21:01:16 | 2017-04-11T20:35:45 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] you are a demon call responder. The devil can’t answer every summon, so you go in his place. One day you get a summon and the summoner is way below age limit; you are about to leave, but you hear her drunk dad coming downstairs screaming.
|
"Do you realize what you have don Abalam?!" my owner screamed, his human skin curling under the fire of his true form.
I clenched my fists, for I knew the punishment that was to come. But I did not repent.
"She asked for our services-"
"She's UNDERAGE! we never do deals with those who cannot understand the weight of this decision!!"
"I was NOT going to leave her there!"
And I know neither would you. Yes, she's was way too young. Eight years old is too young for many things, including summoning demons. I was taken aback too, being summoned between angels and virgins, the fragrant stench of flowers and incense making me revolt as I stared into her wide, scared eyes.
I dared not step out of the scrawly pentagram he made on the white tile, for I knew that I would burn if I layed a hoof on divine soil. My eyes glared at the child, her unruly brown hair, the neck of her neat blouse pulled awkwardly around her neck. Her eyes, full of tears and fright. But not scared of me... I open my mouth...
"What... have... you... done... "
...that's my thought, but it is not me who spoke it. Standing in the doorframe, a balding man stares in shock and horror at her, then at me. His robes are soaked and humid- the stench of alcohol is unbearable. The first buttons of his robe are undone, but the white immaculate neck is still on. From his hand dangles a leather belt with a silver buckle.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE REBECCA?!" he bellows, trying to hide the slurriness of his voice. She cringes and stares at me, tears running down her eyes in a non-stopping stream. Her sweet lips open and she mouthes one word to me... "please"
I clench my fist. I can't! I must not! it is out of my jurisdiction!
And yet... I do...
...
"You have begun a war Abalam" said Satan, sinking into the molden lava of his crimson throne... "you do realize this?"
"I do, your majesty" I say, bowing deeply at him, yet not letting go of her little body. She fell asleep in my arms. I don't know if it was the trauma, the pain, the fright or the relief of knowing she won't ever have to go back to her father again... I stare at her sweet smile, then back at my master's anger-stricken stare.
"Will you make me take her back?" I ask. He stands from the throne, pushing his cloak back as he strides across the room.
"Of course not. She accepted her fate. But God's army will not listen to our reasoning. For them, we have crossed the line. What will come to us is a raging war like the ones seen at the beginning of time. She is safe for now. You took the decision and you will stick with it. Won't you?"
She curls against my chest, her little hand caressing my burnt body.
"Of course"
​
Satan smiles. "Then let them come"
|
It was year 314, day 120 of my service of the great Lord Asmodeus, essentially his phone bouncer. My job was to prevent him from getting swamped with calls from mortals, without violating any of the Laws, handling each and every call according to protocol.
I bounced into existence on the ground, called upon by a slight variation of the ritual almost all devil cults used, and looked around unwarily. The only other occupants of the room seemed to be a young boy, perhaps 8 years old, and an even younger girl of about 5, sound asleep.
Too bad, waste of time. Law 17, Section D, Subsection i clearly stated that an individual who is bound into a pact must be over the local age of consent or over 16 demonic years, whichever was higher. Something about preventing the wrath of the humans.
Since I was going to have to stay until he was done giving me his request, Law 2, Section E, I sat down and took a look around. A mostly empty cellar, a summoning circle of what seemed to be vegetable soup, but augmented with still bloody fingers. His fingers. Now I was interested, and I looked at his face.
He looked back, seemingly unafraid of the most malevolent Lawful creatures in the multiverse, though twisted in pain.
“I’m sorry, sir Asmodeus, but I need help. My dad, he was never nice to us, but now…”
I saw the fear flash into his eyes as he mentioned his father and held in a tired sigh. If only he was a few years older, then I could have passed the age violation off as an accident. My gears began turning as he continued.
“Since the death of mom this summer he just can’t keep of the bottle anymore, it is like we lost both our parents!” He was sobbing now, and I could here somebody hitting at the door, shouting for quiet, as the young boy continued.
“Please, protect my sister. I’ll do anything, if it would bring down the armies of hell, but stop him from harming Mertyl!”
My wings suddenly fluttered in happiness as I saw it: Law 17, Section E, subsection vii: “if there is provably no parent figure in the life of the minor, the minor has the full right to its own decisions and pacts”.
I looked the boy in the eye and said: “I am but a humble servant, but if you can show the grave of your mother and the bruises your father gave you, I will give the orders which can unleash hell and protect your sister, at the lowly cost of the soul of one adult male. Do you agree to these terms and find them legally binding, now and in eternity?”
He returned the gaze and said solemnly “I agree to these terms. Let us go.”
---
It is now year 314, day 172 of my service to the great lord Asmodeus. I am now a chain devil in command of a full company of lower devils, pushing in the advance over the Sword Coast.
| 2018-10-08T13:40:21 | 2018-10-08T13:02:28 | 191 | 17 |
[WP]"Alright genie, for my last wish...I wish for every day to be better than the last."
|
This was never meant to happen, not like this at least.
Me finding this lamp, it was all accident that happened during an archeological expedition. But I found it, the stories from the locals about the genie were true, now all I had to do was hide it from the others until our expedition was over; I did not want to share the wishes with anyone of course. All of the journey members were old colleagues of mine, they all came here looking for this lamp, I know that for certain.
A few hours after we all go back to our huts, I pull out the lamp from one of my bag pockets. I can finally really see it, how shiny it looks outside, wondering what awaits from me in the inside. The locals had told us the whole story about the lamp, including how to summon the genie. So I did as I was told, rubbed the item three times. Suddenly, a voice echoed inside the tent.
"You may have three wishes fulfilled", said the sinister voice from somewhere inside the hut. I was still trying to pinpoint the location from where the voice was coming from, but as i was looking around the voice echoed again
"I said you could have three wishes so you better start talking" the voice turned menacing this time around. I could see a big dark silhouette out of the corner of my eye but, out of fear, I decided to stop searching for it and just ask for my three wishes.
"I wish to be the richest person in the world" I answered, thinking that having money would mean I no longer had to go on this expeditions and could settle down with my girlfriend.
"Granted, you may ask for your second wish" Said the genie, growing impatient every time he spoke. For my second wish, I decided to ask to not be able to get sick. I hated getting sick, so I figured this would be the best wish for me.
"I can grant you that wish, so you may now think about your last wish" said the genie, while his voice echoed even harder inside the hut. I had not realized, but darkness had filled the hut, I could barely see the walls, I was surrounded by the echoed voice and a void of shadows.
I knew I had to think about my last wish well since I would probably never have a chance like this again. Should I ask for a family? No, I can eventually get that by myself. Maybe... I should ask for world peace... no, there would probably a trick to it and I doubt the genie could control the actions of every human. Yes... I got it, this wish will last me for a life time!
"Alright genie, for my last wish...I wish for every day to be better than the last." I answered, with a big grin on my face. I felt as if I had beaten him, I beat the genie on his own game!
"Well then, I shall grant you that wish" grunted the genie, with a voice so dark that it sent shivers down my spine. I stood there, motionless due to fear, the voice had echoed so loud that I had to cover my ears. The whole room went dark for a few seconds, then suddenly all the darkness went away, the room had lightened up again. But it was gone, the lamp and the genie were gone. I checked my bank account, I was indeed rich. There was no way for me to confirm my second wish at the spot, but I knew I'd eventually realize if it was fulfilled or not.
However, I wish I had fully listened to the locals' story about the genie, how they told us never to anger or try to outthink the genie's three wish rule, but I was blinded by greed and pride, I wanted to be smarter than him.
I took those wishes 6 months ago, my life has gone downhill since then. Yes, every day is better than the last day... but the genie broke the rules. He did not consider the day I found the lamp as day 0 of my wish, he made it so that the next day would be the start of the better than the last day loop. The first day was the worst I ever had, my parents were involved in an accident and perished, the temple our expedition was taking place on collapsed, killing all of my colleagues in the process, I was blamed for it as the leader of the voyage and got blacklisted on the archeological community, I had lost my credibilty and my job. I tried hard to understand what was happening, why everything was playing out like that. But I was innocent, I thought to myself maybe this is the best for me.
Every day proceeded to get a little bit better but still felt awful to me, I lost all my millions, the bank I had them on collapsed some months after my wish. I realized I could not get sick, but I do get negative effects from dehydration and starvation. Bad things have been happening to me ever since, thieves raided my home, my girlfriend left me and now the police is searching for me, I still dont know why, but I know they are after me. I no longer know whats good or bad for me.
-----_--------
Hey guys! this is my first time writing on a prompt, hope any of y ou like it, feedback is welcomed, please!
|
"Y'know kid, I normally don't give advice. I mean the quicker you wish the faster I'm done. But hear me out, this wish might not be the bes-"
I interrupted the Genie.
"Just grant the wish!" I huffed impatiently.
"Alright, your funeral." The Genie let out a burst of pink sparks that showered over me.
We stood there awkwardly while I was waiting for something to happen.
"Well? What the heck? Nothing is getting better! And why aren't you going away?!" I looked around as I said this and pointed a finger accusatorially at the Genie.
"Listen kid, I feel bad for you. To answer one of your questions it's not tomorrow so it can't get better yet. But I feel bad for you cause I really want to lay out the advice for you so zip it for a minute." The genie pointed a finger at me and zipper magically appeared over my mouth.
"Alright, that's better. Now listen, that wish you just made has extreme consequences. If you weren't so stubborn I could have told you this before you tied my hands. This wish isn't going to be what you think it is. I really almost never do this but here's my card, you can't lose it. Literally, it will always find you. Call me and maybe we can work something out in the future." The genie tucked a small business card in my pocket and slowly sank back into his lamp.
The lamp vanished and so did the zipper on my lips. I took in a deep breath and yelled aloud,
"Stupid Genie! What do you know!" I shook a fist upwards at nothing.
I turned on my heel and a grin began to creep across my lips. *Oh man! I'm gonna live the best life ever! No bad days, nothing but smooth sailing from here.*
I walked out of the temple and into the jungle, I followed the path I'd carved through the bushes back to the small village I'd made camp in.
*Many years later.*
I sat in my favourite arm chair, the leather perfectly worn and moulded to my body. It was comfortable chair but it didn't make the day any better. I took a swig from the 40oz bottle of whisky I held loosely in my fingers. It didn't make the day any better.
I heaved myself to a standing position and shuffled aimlessly through my house. I stopped by the pool to see if the water was warmer today. The harem of stunning, beautiful women that was always partying around my property was cooing for me to join them in a game. The water was warmer as I slunk into the pool but it didn't make the day better. I gave the women a dismissive wave because they could not provide me with anything that would make my day better.
I sat there in the pool staring listlessly at a tree. I watched it wave slowly in the breeze. It didn't make my day better. I sank my head beneath the water line and closed my eyes. 10 seconds... 30... 45... The burning in my lungs was screaming at me to rise up but I stayed there. It felt like it was making my day better but I wasn't sure. I opened my eyes and shot upwards gasping for air.
I rubbed the water out of my eyes and slicked my hair back. I stared down at the water and to my surprise saw a card float into my field of view. I plucked it out of the water, it was dry. It was a shade of pink and looked holographic.
I recognized it immediately. The thing I could never get rid of, the Genie's business card. I hung my head low and slammed my fist into the water screaming.
"My days aren't getting better you liar! They're the same! EVERYDAY THE SAME FOR SO MANY YEARS. WHAT DID YOU DO!?" I started sobbing, holding my head in my hands right there in the water.
I heard a poof and smelled smoke.
"You did this kid. I told you, serious consequences." The Genie floated above the water just in front of me with his legs crossed.
"I was so young! You didn't lay out the rules, you didn't help me!" I bellowed at him.
With this the Genie began to grow tall and a wind began to swirl around him.
"**How dare you say such things. Your own ignorance has put you in this situation and your ignorance alone. I should smite you wear you stand.**" The Genie began to raise his arm, I outstretched mine and closed my eyes.
There was a pause, the wind died down, a silence whispered around the entire property now. I opened my eyes and the Genie was floating there, sullenly.
"You're beyond hope, kid." He grabbed the card from my hand and snapped his fingers disappearing in a puff of smoke.
I sat there stunned, alone. I slowly sunk back under the water, I was wrong before.
It was making my day better.
***
hope you enjoyed it!
| 2017-11-06T10:41:56 | 2017-11-06T10:19:57 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] The last time the aliens invaded our planet they fled after losing the war. They have reluctantly returned to wage war and are relieved to see that dinosaurs no longer inhabit Earth, but have been replaced by the smaller and less intimidating humans.
|
Dear Xander,
Glad greetings to you and yours, and eternal joy to your ancestors.
The invasion of the Earth has been called off. The Sauronoid aggressors that bested us so long ago have all but disappeared. In their place, a race of mammalian bipeds not so dissimilar from ourselves who are incredibly happy to see us for no other reason than the knowledge that they are not alone. They are not as advanced or as long-lived as we are. Compared to us, they are children and warriors such as we are do not make war upon children.
We have spoken to their leaders and they have agreed to allow us to build bases on Earth and their moon. Apparently the humans excel at service industries and I expect that you will see some of them in your sector in the next century or so as soon as we get the wormhole exchange up and running.
I know the one thing that is on your mind: how do we regain our honor after our defeat by the claws of the hated Sauronoids now that they are extinct? We swore an oath to occupy the Earth and pick pieces of their flesh out from between our teeth.
A few weeks after first contact with the humans, I found myself invited to something called a "picnic". A picnic entails an outdoor gathering of humans where they perform simple bonding rituals with each other and then eat a lot of food (Earth, come for the invasion, stay for the food).
So I'm sitting on this blanket in this meadow, trying out Earth food. The dish called "mustard potato salad" is particularly tasty, but then I was served several pieces of deep fried meat that smelled so frfrfrfr good! I tasted it and there was an explosion of delight in my mouth. I immediately asked what this was and I was told it was Southern friend chicken.
Xander, the enemy did not go completely extinct. They devolved. These chickens are the direct descendants of the Sauronoid ruling caste: the Tyrannosaurus Rex! Honor was restored and it was delicious!
We have agreed to terraform both Venus and Mars in exchange for a regular supply of chicken. If things go to plan, there will be chicken producing worlds throughout our empire and the humans will be granted first class citizenship.
A human holiday called Thanksgiving is tomorrow. I'm told they have something called "turkey" that will blow my socks off...
|
*[Play recording (point XI-6, +33 seconds)]*
[Hailing]
[Hailing]
[Unintelligible response received. Language unknown. Consulting Communications room.]
*5 days later*
<Message is decoded, overseer. Sender is repeating peaceful intentions as well as broadcasting information of their species.>
<"Their" species?>
<Affirmative. Whoever they are, they are native to this exclusion zone, and what is more, our people from the first settling run are gone. Their beacon, however, is still operating. We have wasted our time.>
<...Their weaponry capabilities?>
<Mid level nuclear, overseer. Fission and early fusion weapons. Threat level medium overall, with these weapons and other factors accounted.>
<You are hereby authorised to modify and then mobilise our forces on hand. Total annexation of the Southern Hemisphere is to be attempted first. That is your command.>
*[Stop Recording.]*
The being slowly dimmed the display and turned to the figure behind it.
<So this is when the order was given. We do not have an exact time frame from this and the images we received.>
The figure watching it made a motion of confusion. <Images?> it asked. <Apologies... here they are.>
What the watching figure saw next would equate closely to the Human feeling of horror.
The footage that started with a huge, organised and intimidating fleet quickly transitioned into haunting feeds of dusty, rubble-lined streets where the colony forces desperately fought for headway.
The harsh rattle of the Native's weaponry, the crumbling as a huge metal hulk of a vehicle crashed through a wall, crushing it and the five alien fighters under its huge rolling treads. The screech of the native aircraft, howling overhead followed by an explosion, and another mind link would be severed, the fighters knowing they had lost another group.
Something had caught its attention, however.
<There! A location slip. They logged where this happened. Analyse it.>
<Affirmative.>
The name of the battlefield would be remembered and mourned over in their society for years yet to come.
It read: *Johannesburg.*
EDIT: changed nuclear capacity description.
| 2017-03-04T03:42:15 | 2017-03-03T23:19:26 | 664 | 50 |
[WP] "I'm going to read your mind now, prepare for your deepest secrets to be revealed!" The villian laughed, then frowned. "Jesus Christ kid, I mean I was gonna kill you, but do you need a hug?"
|
The young man stared apathetically back at him and shrugged.
"You wanted to know. That's on you." The young man said.
The villain shuffled uncomfortably and looked from the kid to the screen he was projecting this around the city through.
"So did you want to tell them or should I?" The kid asked pointedly.
"Gods no! Wait-" the villain quickly turned off the recording devices.
The kid eyed him suspiciously.
"Look Henry, I know we don't don't see eye to eye on..." The villain ran a nervous hand through his own hair, tossing off the mask he wore for the public and sighing. "Well, much of anything anymore. But this is too much. You need help, man. This all can wait. We can go to my place and talk about what to do."
"I really don't see how this is your problem. Can we just get back to the doxing thing you were doing earlier?" He crossed his arms.
"Imma level with you dude, I really don't feel comfortable with that. After that, I mean...I just can't. Please- I'm not gonna be able to sleep tonight. Just come to the lair with me. I'll turn off all the security systems and shit. You can keep all your gadgets. I just want to make sure you're okay." Insisted the Villain.
The hero paused and relented with an eye roll, reholstering his weapon. The villain beamed and started packing up.
As they left the villain allowed himself one pained glance when he thought the hero wasn't looking. His internal chant still ringing in the villains mind.
"Please, just kill me. Let me die. Kill me. Kill me already." The villain shook his head clear and took a deep breath. He wouldn't let his friend suffer like that. No matter how much they argued.
|
Hero has nowhere to go. Hero, known in his circles as jade had been stalking this villain for months, tracking his movements, and just discovered his plan, or so he had thought.
"I'm going to read your mind now, prepare for your deepest secrets to be revealed!"
"Deepest secrets? Are you sure you want those." Jade asked
"Can it kid. I know what I want." The villian spat back.
Jade rolled his eyes. He was no longer a kid, not by a mile now, but time travel had done nothing for his appearance, meaning he aged in reverse linear fashion, causing him to look around twelve at the age of twenty five.
"Your funeral" jade muttered.
Why does everyone always go for "deepest" secrets?
Why doesn't anyone ever seem to consider that maybe they're "deepest" for a reason?
The villian laughed, maniacly, loudly, filling his little hideout with a sound most people thought only existed in cartoons then stopped and frowned.
His face fell and suddenly he looked simultaneously as if he'd seen a ghost and been punched in the gut. He reeled backward. With a hand flying to his chest for Dearly sought after breaths. Was he choking? Then he sputtered and coughed.
"Fuck! Jesus! Fuck"
The villain screamed as he Tore at his vurtu-goggles or whatever he's just got done calling them.
He rapidly and anxiously gasped for breath as he came back from his mental mining mission. He was sweating and pale.
"Jesus Christ kid, " he barely managed through raspy gasps, "I mean I was gonna kill you, but... do you need a hug?"
Edit:format/spelling
| 2022-09-16T03:56:57 | 2022-09-15T22:13:13 | 110 | 74 |
[WP] As a young wizard you uncovered an old spell that resurrects one of your eldest ancestor. You do so in curiosity, only to face one of the most feared creature the world ever experienced thousands of years ago. The creature recognizes you as its descendant while you stare at it in disbelief.
|
My stomach twisted in a manner I didn’t think possible. The urge to expel everything I’d eaten in the past week from my mouth was on a dangerous uphill climb, and my blood felt like ice churning through every inch of my body. My clammy hands trembled, letting the heirloom—a simple necklace—drop to the floor. It clattered, momentarily cutting the deathly silence in the chamber which held me and this—
*Thing.*
It was only human in appearance, baring something I hated to call my likeness. A woman described as the most wicked to ever exist. Someone that stood unopposed as the pinnacle of abomination, a pedestal of monstrous malice and inhuman inconsideration of life. The evilest creature to lay eyes upon the world. In centuries upon centuries, no warlord, tyrant, or beast even managed to hold a candle to the blazing wildfire that was her sheer villainy.
I didn’t dare utter her name, but I could not stop my mind from betraying me and impulsively bringing it to life. Noelle La Pravus, the woman I’d given new life to only moments ago. The woman who I now knew as my predecessor.
She stepped forwards, escaping the shadow that momentarily eclipsed her form. My beady eyes met hers for only a second, for that was all I could bare before I fell to my knees, gaze glued to the ground I clung to. It was not an act of respect, nor obedience. But every cell in my body instinctually bent to whatever horrific aura Noelle had about her, and, like how once naturally shirks from flame after being burnt, standing near her felt like a noose around my throat. I realized, then, that this would be the day I die. No miracle, no god, could save me from the monster I’d given new flesh. No, in fact, they most likely damned me. Cursed my foolish curiosity, which birthed the second coming of absolute evil. I did nothing but wait, preparing for whatever manner of creature she would allow to make a meal out of me with her manipulation of dark matter itself. I squeeze my eyes tight, and wait, and wait, and wait, and pray it will be swift.
But nothing comes.
When I finally build the minuscule courage to open my eyes, through blurry vision, I can make out a hand. Terror grips me as she grasps my wrist. Instead of tearing my arm off, shoulder included—I’m lifted to my feet. For the first time in the minutes I’d been subjected to this hell, I finally felt worthy of taking a breath. And then, in the moments that pass, I can amass enough strength in my tongue to speak.
“Why—“
“Why not?”
She cuts me off, and I don’t make the mistake of doing anything but listen.
“Your blood is mine. Then, in the same manner, my blood is yours. That spell requires strength, child. And you seem to have it in spades. Your life will not end here. It has become the conduit for mine to begin anew.”
“You are now an incarnation of carnage, just as I. We shall open old scars and slice new wounds into the world. From this moment forwards, think of yourself as cursed. And I, as your hex.”
With no more than a swivel of her body, one of her four arms dragged my comparatively small figure along, descending deeper into the blackness before us.
“Come. *We’ve much to do.*”
|
Alright looks like it's all set up, all i need now is to drip a little of my blood. I hate this bit, why do they always need blood? My hands already look like chopping boards and I've only just started this magic stuff.
The wizard grabs his ceremonial dagger and stands in the centre of the room surrounded by markings of ancient runes. Candles surround the runes providing all but a dim light in the room. His hand trembles slightly as he raises the dagger to his hand preparing to swipe it against his palm. He takes a deep breath to compose himself; he goes to slice his hand but pulls away at the last moment. Sighing to himself he rummages into his pocket and pulls out a scripture.
“How much blood does it need? I can’t deal with another hand wound, it took like 2 weeks for it to heal enough to uhh… relieve my urges.” he scans through the page “Hmm… a few drops, that should be doable”.
He then stuffs the scripture back into his pocket, breaths in and places the tip of the dagger on his index finger. He pauses for a moment and shakes his head side to side slightly and moves it to the tip of his ring finger and starts to wince as he presses it in.
“Ahhhh.. stings like a bitch!” he curses through a grimace as the blood starts to draw for the wound. The dagger clanks as it is thrown to one side while the wizard gets down on his haunches and starts trying to massage the blood out of his finger.
“Just a few drops…” he mutters to himself as he manages to get one drop out”
WHOOSH the flames on the candles suddenly burn violently and grow to waist height. The wizard startled, falls backward narrowly avoiding a singed head and fights the tremble developing in his limb to get back on his feet. The ritual has started now, for better or for worse, the wind picks up forming a faint tornado in the centre of the circle sucking in the surrounding dust and air from the room.
The candles continue to burn brighter and brighter and the tornado continues to grow stronger and denser. Beads of sweat fall down the wizards flush face as the heat grows more intense and the air gets thinner. The flames start to get pulled into the centre and the heat becomes too intense, the wizard covers himself with his cloak and dives out of the circle. He rolls frantically making sure none of his cloak is burning then looks up in awe as the tornado and flames start to form the shape of a person.
The ritual reaches a crescendo and then the room falls in darkness and silence. The wizard laid there in silence unsure of what had just unfolded, had it worked? Had he brought his father back?
A small sizzle rings out and one of the candles reignites, the wizard reaches back into his pocket and unfolds the scripture. Another gentle sizzle rings out and two more candles reignite as the wizard checks the scripture.
“Resurrecting your oldest ancestor… Oldest?” Would that be Adam or Ev..”.
“It would be… if you were a human…” a haunting voice descends from the darkness
“I-if im not human, th th- then what am I?” the wizard shudders as he hears footsteps coming toward him and sees a growing figure through the candle light.
“You are a demon, and I am Lilith, mother of demons!” the figure proclaims as the faint light reveals her face.
“And we have work to do.”
| 2022-12-31T13:14:21 | 2022-12-31T10:15:47 | 38 | 13 |
[WP] "Tell my family... I loved them." Whimpered the Dragon with its last breath as you slayed it. You didn't expect it to talk, and now you feel a sense of guilt. You take it up as a new quest and journey to do so as a knight, you seek its family and bring the saddening, yet somewhat awkward news.
|
The dying words of "Garanthal the Terrible" have haunted me till this day. When I looked back at my "quest" to slay the dragon terrorizing the village, on hindsight, Garanthal wasn't quite to blame. Sure, she ate sheep and goats and other livestock, always targeting the weak ones, but only so because they had less meat to offer. Sure, she was mean and menacing to the villagers, but probably that's because they kept throwing trash into her cave, trying to provoke her. And sure, she did kill a couple of humans when she torched their houses, but that was in retaliation for them stealing an egg of hers, and anyway, she couldn't have possibly known that the houses were inhabited. I mean, she did circle, giving some early warning, didn't she?
Ever since that day I've become something like a dragon apologist. But all the tomes I've written, all the speeches I've made and all the other young dragons I've eventually tamed... nothing erased my guilt. Nothing gave me the courage to start, let alone, finish my quest of breaking the awful news to Garanthal's family. Garanthal might have died first that day. But I was next, slowly dying inside as I tried to redeem myself in my own eyes. Smiling hollowly as I received award and praise for my work on dragons. Weeping for every dragon I met and tamed, seeing a bit of Garanthal in each and every one of them. No matter what I did, I couldn't shake the burden I carried, nor could I raise the courage. Not until recently, when I seriously considered ending my miserable existence.
And now, after a year of torment, tracking down Garanthal's family, trying to exorcise my demons, I stand before her family. Two huge feral elder dragons, one with massive, twisted horns, and a smaller one, young, probably just a year old. I've just relayed the news. Tears running down my face as the large, horned dragon breathes heavily. He's just as saddened as I am. The other parent lets out a dreadful, anguished roar, and the small one nuzzles her leg, as if comforting her. I look up at the two snarling, angry faces of Garanthal's parents. I am not wearing armor. Nor am I armed. This is the only way to end my guilt. This is the only way I can atone.
The horned elder's mouth glows as flames leap from his mouth, hot smoke emerging from the side of his maw, and his nostrils too. So this is it, I think to myself, I close my eyes, hold my breath, tears streaming down my face, mostly of relief. Perhaps dragonkind will tell my story of the human who sought for and found redemption. I wait, and his growl turns into an earsplitting roar. I feel the heat coming closer. This is it....
But when I open my eyes again, hoping for the afterlife, I see I am still in the cave. A portion of the wall has been burnt black, scorched by dragonflame. "She always wanted to understand humans better," the horned elder rumbles, wisps of smoke still curling out of his mouth as it bends forward to look me in the eye, "we told her it was foolish. Humans, are just too immature as a species. But we never expected her to get killed by one."
"W..wait, aren't you going to kill me?" I plead, my desperation echoing back to me from the cave walls.
"We are not like you, human," the dragon replies, shaking its massive head, "you seek redemption, and there shall be none. We don't forgive you, nor your kind. No matter what you do for dragonkind, it does not bring our daughter back to us."
With an anguished yell, I hurl myself at the dragon, pounding his snout with my fists. "No!!" I hear myself yelling, my voice barely recognizable now as I half beg, half goad the beast into ending my life.
The dragon simply flicks his head, and I tumble backward. "We're done here," it rumbles, standing up back to its full height. Turning away, it wraps a wing around the other two dragons, and guides them into the depth of the cave. I am all alone, left at the entrance, with only my pained sobs as company.
Perhaps, someday, I will be redeemed. But not today. And maybe not ever.
|
My sword plunged into the beast's chest and it wailed a pained screech as it thrashed. I gripped its scaly skin tightly as it stumbled and kicked, gradually slowing, eventually falling. Its breath, once a deep rumble, was a lethargic and pitiful wheeze. I stood to my feet, catching my own breath, and I retrieved my blade from the dragon's trembling body.
Its eye looked down toward me. If I hadn't known any better, I would have thought it to be pleading; beckoning for something. Against my better judgement, I approached its face and let the monster get a better look at me. I hoped it knew that this was nothing personal; this was a hunt, no different than its escapades thinning the prairie shepherds' flocks.
"Sleep now, old man. Your days of terror are over," I said to that one, great, orange eye as I cleaned its blood from my blade.
"Come...closer," is what I thought I heard it say. Its lips seemed to open and shut from the side of its mouth delicately and precisely. Dragons were known to be arbiters of magic, and although that was more than likely an old wives' tale, it was never such a farce that it escaped popular superstitions.
I felt compelled to lean in closer. "Did you speak?" I asked the dragon.
It nodded its head slightly, the lids of its eyes growing heavy. "Tell my family...I love them."
"Tell...your family?" I asked him, more rhetorically and in shock than in a search for further information. In retrospect, I should have asked *where* his family was. I hadn't even known dragons kept families. They never seemed to move in packs or even pairs--a dragon mating is not a sight ever seen by human eyes that we know of.
The dragon ceased moving. There was no death rattle or sigh as the spirit left. It simply stopped, its eye half-open, first staring at me and then beyond me.
I thought of shaking the beast, stirring it from its sleep, but it would have been no use. We are trained how to dispatch the monsters effectively with little room for error in a lethal blow. My blade cut into its heart and stopped its blood from pumping into the rest of its body. It was gone now, never to be awoken again.
Typically, at this juncture, a knight severs the dragon's head and returns it as a trophy, proof of his courage and loyalty to the crown. But after hearing the beast speak, *and speak of its family*, I couldn't bring myself to desecrate the body.
I walked home empty-handed, arguing with myself, second-guessing myself. Had I actually heard that? Had it actually spoken? I would convince myself it had, then convince myself it hadn't. And back and forth I went, confused and deeply wounded, as it a blade had pierced *my* heart. Suddenly so many poems I had scoffed at in my youth began to ring truer.
I arrived back at the forest outpost--our temporary camp in dragon country--and submitted a falsified report to the minister of events. "Scouting expedition from dawn to early afternoon. Encountered a dragon, male, four horns, but it escaped. Flew northward. Nothing else of note."
The minister nodded and wrote my report, placing the paper in a cabinet with hundreds of identical reports. I nodded my leave and reported to my quarters, where I attempted to rest my eyes and sleep.
But sleep did not come to me. I lied awake, racked with guilt. The dragon was intelligent, and grieved its own death, the way a man in the heat of battle might as his enemy suddenly became his only hope to express a final gesture of love. The gods know I've seen it enough times in my career, hence choosing this assignment, where there was no complicated feelings in my fight. And yet, it followed me here, twisting the heart in my chest and running my mind in endless loops.
I gave up. In the middle of the night, as the camp slept but for a few listless sentries, I donned my armor, packed my effects, and took a steed from the camp's stable. Unnoticed, I strode from the gates of the outpost and into the dense forest before me, toward the dragons' realm to find its family.
| 2021-12-06T07:56:47 | 2021-12-06T07:49:31 | 545 | 41 |
[WP] In a world where some people are born with superpowers, most of them begin careers as superheroes. You were gifted with the ability to bend space and dimensions. However, despite pleas from the League of Heroes, you do not use them to fight evil. You use them to run your own shop.
|
Its kinda funny when you think about it. All these people, with all these powers, and yet the world never changes. Some people are born "special" they say. "Supers" they like to call them. People with extraordinary "gifts". You have the Heroes, fighting to make things "right" for their own values of right. And then the Villains, fighting for whatever cause or reason they choose. And what Heroes and Villains there are! Why just last week a small "tiff" between the League of Heroes and the local Villain leveled 12 city blocks killing almost 100 people. The League blamed the Villain of course. Said "The loss of life was truly tragic" and claimed without the Villains actions, those people would still be alive. Funny thing is, all the villain tried to do was rob a bank. Pretty easy thing to do with super strength and the ability to store potential energy. Guy almost got away with it too, until Mr. High and Mighty stepped in. That’s not his real name, but I have a hard time remembering all the names. Tossed the poor bugger right through 3 buildings before getting punch 2 blocks over. It was actually kinda impressive. Farthest I have seen a sup go flying. Then things happened as they do, the people died, and the League claimed victory. Same story, different day.
And stuck in the middle of it is me. You see, I have “gifts” of my own. I have the ability to “bend” space, allowing me to control the way dimensions and their properties work, and even creating my own. Its pretty neat, and is wicked fun to play with, but ultimately, it is a power that can cause some massive issues. I once created a dimension of near infinite energy. I was on a free energy kick and wanted to “save the world”. I wasn’t careful with what I was doing and almost caused a multi-dimensional collapse. Turns out my abilities can only bend things so far from the natural order. Due to the experience, and several other near misses, I tended to keep to myself. While I could do incredible things, I came to realize that there is always the question of “Should” I do incredible things. Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should and all that. “So, what do you do?” you may ask? I run a shop. A special kind of shop mind you, but a shop none the less.
It turns out that even super heroes and villains need things. And sometimes the things they need are hard to find. Other times they just want to do some shopping without worrying about their safety, or identity or whatever other crap they tend to spout. Turns out that being “super” all the time isn’t. The majority of my clientele are people who just want to shop in peace. And I don’t blame them. I built my home in another dimension to get away from all this nonsense. And its pretty simple. I have a small set of rules, that keep things simple:
1. No fighting. None at all. Offenders will be ejected. If lucky, into their home dimension.
2. No Stealing. What’s mine is mine until you buy it and it becomes yours. There is no hiding, there is not running, and I will retrieve what’s mine.
3. If you want it, I have it. If I don’t have it, I can get it. Except that. I won’t get that. And if you think about that again I will eject you into a star…you perv.
4. All sales are final. Once it is yours, I no longer care about it. If you have questions about an item, ask.
5. Privacy is a privilege, not a right. You respect the privacy of those around you, and I don’t blast your purchases and browser history to the world and your mother.
6. Don’t be a dick or otherwise unpleasant person. Good manners are appreciated. Bad manners will be taxed and dealt with accordingly.
7. All valid currencies are accepted and all exchange rates are posted. That being said, no haggling. The price is the price, and that doesn’t change.
8. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone, at anytime, for any reason. Refer to rule 6 for consequences.
|
"You should be ashamed of yourself Simon."
"And you should be ashamed of yourself for not knowing what the word "no" means Alister." I replied as I refilled his coffee cup.
It had only been a few months after I had moved to Avalon City and opened up my storage business that the League of Heroes had started bothering me. I had wound up getting their attention after The Tornado had seen me open a small portal and reach into it to get some change I needed to pay for my order at a food truck. After I had finished paying for my food, The Tornado had approached me and promptly asked me to become a League member in order to replace Portal Woman who had just left the League. Like me, Portal Woman could bend space and dimensions. But where our abilities differentiated in was that she could do it in a split second whereas it took me a minute or two just to prepare to use my abilities.
A request I quickly, but politely, refused on the grounds I was to busy running my own business to be of any use to the League. While leaving out that I was fully aware from several posts, made across various forums on the Internet, that the reason Shadow Woman had left the League was because she had gotten tired of the other Heroes using her abilities for their own personal reasons. Things like making her create a portal just to drop the hero and their family off at their vacation home. Or make a portal to go to a ramen shop in Toykyo to place an order and then drop the order off in the hero's home. The posts had quickly been deleted after being claimed they had been created by trolls or hackers, but I believed that there was truth to them.
After that first meeting with The Tornado I had thought I would no longer have to deal with the League. But a week later The Tornado had showed up at my job and once again repeated his offer. And once again I had refused. A process that we now had been been repeating for 2 years.
"Come on Simon. Have you truly not thought of the good you'd be doing." Alister, or as he was better known to the public as The Tornado, said as he took a sip from the coffee cup. "In a few minutes you could make a portal that would take a hero directly to where the Forces Of Evil are so they can stop them."
"And while they're doing that I can pick up that their dry cleaning and port it back to their house for then." I replied as I walked over to a fishing boat that was sitting in the middle of my store and began inspecting it before placing it in storage.
"I can't believe you still think those posts where real Simon." Alister said with a sigh as he put down his cup and joined me by the boat. "Everyone knows they were made to make the League look bad."
"And not by Portal Woman airing her grievances?"
"Portal Woman left the League because she had to deal with personal things." Alister said with a huff. "Not because she had grown to hate working with members of the League."
"Then I guess when she's done handling those personal things you can go and ask her to rejoin the League Alister." I replied as I finished the inspection and began to open up a portal big enough to safely push the fishing boat through. "Because no, I'm not joining."
"You hurt me when you keep refusing Simon" Alister said he begin to help me maneuver the fishing boat through the portal. "And you can make it up to by going to get some deep dish pizza from Chicago for lunch today."
"And you hurt me by coming over here everyday to waste my time Alister." I countered as we got the boat into the storage space I had created for it. "And I'm getting ribs from a rib place in Nashville for lunch today. So take it or leave it."
"Fine." Alister said with a sigh as we left the portal and I closed it behind us. "Just get me a large tea while you're there."
"Like I'm going to leave you here to ruin my shop like last time Alister." I said as I opened up another portal for Nashville. "Hurry up go turn the Closed sign on so we can go and eat."
| 2019-12-29T15:25:05 | 2019-12-29T15:02:08 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] In the Demon Hunters Academy you are known as the very best professor, 80 years old but still in your prime, but you're secretly a demon, and the academy recently got some new demonic detectors, and as opposed to the old ones, these actually work. you can only avoid the main hall for so long.
|
Steeling myself, I pushed open the doors to the main hall.
"Laramie? Laramie Jones, is that you? What are you doing here? Haven't come back for a remedial lecture, I hope."
I grinned broadly as I strode up to the man by the machine.
"Oh, Professor Cortwald! No, I'm just here installing the new detectors the academy ordered. Just putting on the finishing touches."
"Excellent, excellent. Say, mind if I take a peek?"
"Oh, sure thing, Professor, I was just about to put the cover on, but I can wait a few minutes if you want." Laramie stepped away from the side of the machine and invited me to take a look.
"Splendid, splendid! Now, what have we here..." I peered into the machine.
"... Oh, what's this? Say, Laramie, it looks like you've added a bit too much mercury here."
"Really? I could have sworn that I put the right amount..."
"No, no, this is way too much!" I waved my hand in front of the detector, causing it to flash red. "See, Laramie? Far too sensitive."
I saw the color drain from Laramie's face. "Oh no, Professor, this is bad! What am I going to do? I'm going to have to take the whole thing apart and send it back for repairs! My boss is going to be furious..."
"Relax, my boy." I clapped Laramie on the shoulder. "Here, let me teach you a little trick. When you've added a bit too much mercury, all you have to do to balance it out is add some antimony."
I took a small bottle from my coat pocket and poured it into the machine. Waving my hand in front of the machine again, I saw the light flash green. "There, that seems to have fixed it."
"T-thank you, Professor!"
|
Bea stood from her desk and stretched. Ever since Demon Hunters gained those blasted new detectors she’s had to climb in and out through the windows and occasionally, the vents. Which was no fun when your 4567 years old. Bea opened up the window to commence the climb down under the cover of night when the door swung open. “I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE!” A voice whisper hissed. It was the new receptionist, Sam. Bea felt a small pang of fear, but didn’t let it ruin her composure. “Huh?” She said, “I’m a human, just like you!” Sam stalked over and scoffed. “Bull. Shit.” She said, stabbing her finger in Bea’s chest on each world. “Your a demon, I saw you on camera!” Bea almost gave a shocked look before catching herself. She gave a nervous laugh. “Haha, no, no, nonono. No. You see I was....” Her eyed landed on the disguise diagram near the door. “I was testing out a new potion! One that disguises you as a demon!” Sam visibly relaxed. “You are?” Bea nodded. “Yes! Yes. Come closer to the window, I’ll show you how it works.” Sam’s face brightened but she hesitates. “Wait... If it’s just a disguise, why are you climbing out the window?”
“Well I wouldn’t want to cause any unnecessary panic now would I?” Sam nodded, “yeah, I guess that makes sense.” She walked over to the window, “Alright to how does it wo-“ She was then thrown out the window before the sentence could be finished. Her body fell to the ground with a splat. “A shame really, such a waste of a pretty face.”
| 2020-07-02T20:51:40 | 2020-07-02T20:15:21 | 137 | 50 |
[WP] You’re a fresh zombie. It’s not like you expected. For one thing, you feel great. Secondly, while you can’t talk, you’re telepathically communicating with the others and they’re all REALLY cool. Thirdly, you all feel a deep and profound sense of joy—a joy you all want to share with the living.
|
“You didn’t even get on your knees to propose,” she said. “You just stood there.”
“I wanted to be different. Isn’t that why you love me?”
She laughed, and kissed me. “Maybe. I love you and I trust you completely.”
“I love you too.”
She pulled back a little bit. “But do you trust me?” She needed assurance like this sometimes, as we all do.
“I do…but isn’t trust just a bet that things won’t go wrong? That things will work out, until your bet goes wrong? I don’t know. I'll always bet on you, but I don't know what I'll do if…”
“I know what you mean. So we should make a sign.”
“A sign?”
“A sign that if one of us really, desperately needs the other’s trust, we’ll give it to them.”“Like a safe word?”
“Maybe. I was thinking more like a gesture.”
“What do you have in mind?”
\-
I couldn’t even think about what to say to her when I got to her. All I wanted to do was get to her, and then things would magically figure themselves out. Isn’t that what love was?
My mind filled with excitement, something my new friends echoed in their thoughts. *Just get to her. Love is worth it!* All the fear, the worry, the nervousness, all that was gone.
How could life as a human have been so…utterly wrong? So filled with nuisances and neuroses that did nothing to help?
So I looked, everywhere I could. I fought off and ran away from desperate rebels, and trawled through the entire southern part of the state.
Finally, I saw her, in a camp on the outskirts of the forest.
I waited until she took a walk into the woods, to relieve herself, and walked up to her.
*I love you,* I desperately tried to convey to her.
She looks at me, and in her eyes only fear appears, where there was once love and joy. I can’t register this, can no longer fully feel the pain I need to. I just feel confusion, and try to tell her I love her again.
She screams, and runs.
\-
I’ve followed her for weeks now. This is my last hope. I do not fully understand why or how, but if this doesn’t work, I will have to find another way to be happy. Without her.
This time, she takes a walk to the top of a hill where they are staying, and looks out. A small smile curls her lips, and I am happy, at least, that she can still smile.
I walk up to her, and put my arms out, as much as I can. I try not to think about how stupid I must look, my arms out and about to fall off, my mouth open and tongue hanging out.
I kneel down, and look into her eyes. I hold my hands out.
For a second, nothing happens. Then…
Recognition. She looks at my hands, and sees the ring. Then, she looks at me for a long time.
She holds out her own hand, shaking. I take it slowly, and bite into it as softly as I can.
We stare into our eyes, and nothing happens for a long time.
*I love you.* The thought fills my head, fully, startlingly, and I look up, and I see her start to transform. I stand up, and tell her I love her and trust her too.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
|
*Oh, there's a zombie in a the room I just stumbled into... that seems bad.*
*And my gun is jammed... yeah, this is far less than ideal.*
*Oh shit this is one of those 'fast zombies' too... it's on top of me in no time flat!*
*It's gnawing into my flesh, oh God... this really is the end for me... and I never got to travel to Athens... Georgia!*
*No no no, I'm dying, I'm becoming one of them... and I feel... fucking FANTASTIC?!*
&#x200B;
Those were my last five thoughts as a human being in chronological order. A jumbled mess of fear, panic, confusion, and then, oddly... total blissful relief. Life as a zombie it turns out is pretty damn awesome! I was telepathically linked with 2.2 billion other zombies at all times. It was like having billions of dear friends at my finger tips at all hours of the day and night! Hell, I'd only had a measly 6 Facebook friends back in my kinda sad 'real life' as a human. In comparison this social life absolutely ruled! We talked all day and all night, I never once felt lonely or isolated, none of them made fun of me or mocked my stupid haircut (I had a thing for mullets as a human... don't judge me, okay?).
Beyond feeling like the most popular kid in school, my body, despite it's decaying appearance, felt absolutely amazing! All the aches and pains of approaching middle age were long gone. Incredibly, I didn't feel depressed any longer either. Every worry and concern I'd felt as a human being had vanished at the moment of transformation, replaced by a feeling of pure, overwhelming euphoria. It was like being on the best drug ever 24 hours a day with no risk of side effects or overdose.
I tried my best to to think of ways to tell the humans that zombie life kicked ass and they should come over to our side, but my awkward attempts at communication were mostly for naught. The muscles in my face were basically gone and I'm quite sure my vocal chords had been zombie chow, but I kept trying. Finally I aligned my hanging jaw just well enough that I could utter a single word, "brains". It wasn't much, but it would have to do. At least that one word got to the core of what my goal was...
What? No! I don't want to *eat* their brains... how disgusting! Eugh... even as a zombie I have standards, okay?
No, in fact it's quite the opposite. With that one repeated word I'm desperately trying to tell them to *use* their stupid little living brains, see the folly of human existence and join our super fun crew of the living dead!
"Brains... braaaainsss... BRAINS!" I yell at them all day and all night long. So far all I'd gotten for my efforts was a whole lot of humans screaming while swinging spiked baseball bats and the like at me, but I'd keep trying to spread my message of salvation to them. At least from what I could tell, it appeared that I had all the time in the world.
___
Just a quick story before bed. If you care to read other stuff I wrote using my braaaainsss check out r/Ryter.
| 2019-06-17T00:07:26 | 2019-06-16T21:24:25 | 1,861 | 899 |
[WP] As a druid many expect you to be a tree hugging hippy, nobody is prepared when you say you're more of a hitman, turns out nature is quite ruthless, where plants will ask you to kill other plants so they can grow better or animals asking to hinder their enemies or lure in prey
|
As I lay in the warm sand of the Mojave, sheltering in the shadow of a rock outcropping, I heard someone call my name.
"Are you...Larry?" a woman's voice asked, hesitantly.
I didn't open my eyes. I hoped she'd go away.
My name's Polaris Moon, but everyone I don't hate calls me Larry. On paper, though, I'm just nobody, the son of two other nobodies who -- as you might have guessed from my name -- were basically attending Burning Man year round.
"I...was told you could help me." she pressed.
Sighing heavily, I opened one eye to regard my visitor. The young woman standing over me looked tired, sunburnt, and desperate. Desperate enough to hike up a steep desert trail to find me.
"Who told you about me?" I demanded.
She hesitated, and then licked her lips. "Star. She said you could help me. She said you're--"
"A druid?" I asked, grimacing.
Well, she wasn't wrong. I *am* a druid, though not by choice. I was born into it.
See, my mom and dad -- or, as they preferred I call them, Star and Banjo -- were performing a psychedelic-clouded ritual they learned while backpacking through Europe, on the night they banged me into existence. Unlike the mountain of other New Age bullshit they were into, *that one* turned out to be real. Lucky me.
As a result of their meddling with powers they were too stoned to comprehend, I was born with a connection to the forces of nature, and as I grew, I found I was able to draw power from the Earth, talk to animals and primal beings -- you know the drill.
My visitor nodded. "Yeah. I, uh, I'm--"
"I didn't ask." I cut off, then rolled to my feet briskly. "What is it you want from me?"
Brusque I know, but that's just how I am. You might expect that my mystical conception and innate druidhood would have made me turn out a lot like my parents: all hemp bracelets and organic everything, and fully in love of with the idea of a simple, nature-centered life that they never actually managed to fully articulate, much less live out in their day to day lives. But I didn't turn out like that.
Because, unlike them, I actually *understand* Nature.
"Well," she began, hesitantly, "I-it's my family's ranch, it's--"
"Dying, okay." I finished for her, rolling my wrist impatiently. "Megadrought, years of work, family legacy being slowly buried by dust and bad credit, sure -- I hear it all the time. You want me to fix it for you, right? Make your land lush, green, and profitable?"
"Well, I mean, you...you're in tune with Mother Nature, right, so..."
I rolled my eyes.
"Whoever came up with that 'Mother Nature' bullshit must have had one hell of a shitty childhood." I muttered, as I pulled out a cigarette and fumbled it alight with my battered old Zippo. "And that's coming from *me."*
"What?" she said, sounding truly taken aback.
I drew in a long drag, and then exhaled it with a sigh.
"Look, maybe *you* had a mom who kissed you on the cheek, tucked you in, and wished you sweet dreams at night. But Nature? She's not like your mom. She's not even like *my* mom. You know, the blissful burnout in the trailer park who told you where to find me?"
"Then...what is she?" the woman asked, hesitantly.
I paused for a moment, considering.
"She's usually more like a mother kangaroo. See, a mama 'roo will casually toss *her own* baby to a dingo to slow it down while she gets away. She can always make another baby, right? Or sometimes, Nature's like one of those mother rabbits, who'll quite frequently just up and *eat* their babies if they feel threatened. Or if they hear a loud noise. Or get too cold. Or too hot. Or just because." I explained. "When she's at her *very* best, Nature is sort of like a mother panda. Pandas usually take more or less decent care of *one* of their babies, while quite happily letting the other one starve because they just can't be bothered to multitask."
"What's your point?" she said, crossing her arms.
"My point," I said, thrusting my hands into the pockets of my jeans. "Is that you need to know what you're dealing with. The forces you're calling on aren't nice. They're savage, mindless, and heartless. And more importantly, their help isn't free."
"I...I brought money." she said, fishing a roll of bills from her purse. "All I have."
I looked at the wad of cash. It seemed like it would let me sleep inside for a while, if nothing else. I can sleep rough better than most anyone, but I don't *like* it. All the fresh air and open sky is too much like being at work. So, I held out my hand.
"You'll help?" she said, hopefully.
I glared, and she quickly dropped the money into my hand. I pocketed it, then held up a warning finger. "The money's good, but there's one more part of my price."
She bit her lip, and looked me up and down. After a moment, she nodded, took a deep breath, and raised her slender hands to the buttons of her top, parting the top one with a nimble flick of her fingers.
"Not *that."* I said, hastily raising a hand to halt her. "Shit. I'm not *that* kind of asshole." I jerked a thumb over my shoulder at the desert landscape. "You just have to watch me work."
She lowered her hands again, looking confused. "Why?"
I turned away from her, towards the desert landscape, and extended my hand. "So you'll know what my help *really* costs."
Then I reached out, seized the web of life in my hand, and *pulled.* I made some strands shorter, and some strands longer. Still others, I had to cut altogether. As I did so, the cacti and hardy desert brush withered and blackened across the sandy plains, as far as the eye could see. I had to take a lot from this place to give to my client's home, and the plant life here had little to spare. So I dug deeper.
The hard truth is that Nature isn't generous with her bounties. Everything that lives in her realm is living off something else's death and decay. It's been said before, but there's no such thing as a free lunch. The best you can do is make sure someone else is paying.
Desert creatures -- lizards, rabbits, and bugs of all kinds -- burst from their dens and burrows all around us, writhing in pain and screaming in a thousand tiny voices, as I ripped the life out of all of them. Using the young woman's connection to her home, I redirected that life into her dying patch of land miles away, and into the livestock her family raised there. Some might have called it horrific, or unnatural. Well, it might have been the former, but certainly not the latter. Something dies, and something else lives because of it. That's how Nature rolls.
When I finished, I was exhausted, and my client was gone. She'd evidently fled in the middle of my working, as my clients usually do. That was fine. I was pretty sure she got the point.
I started back down the trail myself after a few minutes, taking it at an easy pace -- I didn't want to run into the woman I'd just helped. No point in making things awkward.
I was looking forward to going into town, spending my money, and getting out of my head for a while. Most of all, I was looking forward to getting out of *Nature.*
|
**The Druid** (not historically accurate)
Small feet and claws clamoured through the undergrowth and roused a druid from its trance. He lifted his head, and pale eyes reflected winged silhouettes traversing a full and vibrant moon. His little grove had a rhythm, a song, as though the forest breathed through his frail form. When the forest held its breath, as it seemed to do now, the druid knew it was waiting for something. For an exchange. It was his place as a part of the forest to intercede with his own kind, when it was necessary. A solemn oath from a forgotten era. The druid held his breath alongside the forest and its children, the plants and animals that formed its whole.
There. Low tones and hurried words trickled through the now-silent underbrush, the trees working to guide the echoes to meet his little grove.
“Mm,” the druid agreed. “They are indeed lost. You may send them to me.”
The druid waited. Though his frail form was draped in white robes, he was near indiscernible among the other hues of the forest, shades of navy and green, all. Even the tangled beard beneath his chin bespoke a form of lichen or wiry fungus. As the human voices grew nearer, as their clumsy legs and feet trampled the limbs and ancient bones of his sylvan brothers, the forest seemed ever quieter and out of balance. A human cacophony met its match in the disquieting silence of the grove as two haggard travelers stumbled into his ferned dominion. They couldn’t have been old, he saw it in the plumpness of youth around their eyes. They were infants in the eyes of the druid, and younger still in the eyes of the forest.
“You told me we would have found the trail by now, Clay,” the shorter, more scantily clad of the travelers muttered. “The moon is halfway across the sky, now.” The other was not interested in listening to their companion, instead choosing to shake and smash a shiny, smooth contraption against the nearest tree. When the violence was done and Claymore had deserted his task, he moved to smashing a longer, circular gadget against a boulder. The other man watched piteously, shifting in anxiety, hardly ever daring a glance into the surrounding wood. A groan escaped him and he clutched his stomach, leaning against the boulder. The druid twitched a finger and a small breeze drifted low through the clearing, snaking among the weeds and grasses until it crept underneath the humans’ feet. It found its target, jostling a bunch of black berries peeking around the stone. “Thank God,” the man whispered, and grabbed a handful.
“What is it, Gill?” The one called Clay still stared in futile at his broken toys. The druid observed the two as they gorged on berries. No sacks, no supplies. No food, no water, and for some time. No anticipation that they should need for anything because humans never want to believe that they truly need anything. They want to believe that they know all that sustains them. No thought is given to what the forest thinks they need. They are used to being provided for by others of the human kind. They forgot what all the other kinds provide. The druid had heard tales of their markets; cart-fulls of food, but no trees nor bushes in sight. Haunches of pork, naked pheasants, but no animals to be found in their cities of stone, save for rats and those that eat them. They fight to keep the forest out and they take only what they want from it. They take none of the frigid cold, none of the thorns, none of the rot, the decay, the death. They want none of the grizzly, nor the skunk, nor the panther. They don’t want confusion, they don’t want to be lost. So, they make a trail. And along this trail, they allow to live only what they want for comfort. The prettiest of flowers, the juiciest and sweetest of berries. In their racket they quiet the forest, for they want none of the queer howls and grunts. Yet in their imposition of order on the world they are truly lost, just as Clay and Gill are.
“As they were,” the druid said.
The two humans finally ceased their racket, the whites of their eyes like little moons come to earth.
“What was that?” Gill’s voice was hardly a whisper. Clay didn’t respond, and the two hazarded a glance at the surrounding forest and scanned the clearing. Their eyes passed over the druid as though he wasn't there, tucked between bramble and brush.
“What do you hear,” Clay whispered back. Gill shrugged, and the two sat together in the darkness in the centre of the clearing, lost and afraid. No longer. A smile crept over the druid’s mouth as he beheld the two travellers’ first forest trance. A cold sharp wind filtered through the undergrowth at the druid’s back, erecting fine hairs along a pronounced spine. It was time. The druid finally drew his breath.
“**What do you hear**?” A voice like cracking thunder emanated from everywhere, from nowhere, ensnaring, enrapturing, penetrating the bodies of the two huddled men. Rodents scurried over the ferned wall, birds flapped their wings and shrieked. The druid rose slowly over the clearing, rising first to his knees, as if in a mockery of prayer, and then to his feet. Upwards and upwards he rose over them, feet upon feet, no man should be so large, so thin. But still he rose. His bare feet and twisted nails lifted gently off of the forest floor, and up, and up. He stopped in the centre of a vortex of leaves and twigs and dirt. He tipped his head slowly backwards, the dirty white robe slipping to reveal a grin like the gash of a dark, wet ravine. And the druid rejoiced in the symphony, the crooning of wolves, the snarls of unknown creatures, and the cries of men.
“**What! Do! You! Hear!**” The humans wept beneath him.
“Please,” cried one of the men. “What do you want? What do you want?”
“**Do you know what I am, children?**” The men panted, and found each others’ hands. They were silent again, holding their breaths, until Gill was moved to speak.
“Y-you’re a druid! Right? A druid, a keeper of the wood?” At once, the rodents stopped their maddening scramble, the birds nested. The soles of the druid’s feet met earth again.
“Y-you are, aren’t you!” Gill turned to his companion, panting. “Clay, you remember, right? In school? In the Forgotten Days, the druids defended the wood, remember?” Clay nodded. “They were a boon for the peoples of the forest.”
They both turned back to the gaunt figure in the centre of the clearing, their abject fear driving them toward solace in the dream of a hope. The moon rose above the druid's head, and in this light, the druid seemed as much a saint as anything the men had ever seen. Birds flitted to his shoulders, rats and ferrets scurried over his feet, snakes weaved and wound beneath his robes.
“What do you want from us,” Clay whimpered, voice breaking.
“I want,” said the druid in his booming voice, “to know what you hear.”
(ctd)
| 2022-11-24T19:30:04 | 2022-11-24T18:51:18 | 43 | 14 |
[WP] "So, you don'r rule over Hell?" "No," replied Satan. "Hell is much older than me or even my followers. The original inhabitants of this place are the ones in charge. They ruled over us, before we managed to escape." "Escaped?" Satan sighs. "Let's just say, there's a reason God built Heaven."
Edit: Wow. Thank you all for your responses and stories. It has been fun reading through them.
^Yeah, ^I'm ^aware ^of ^the ^typos. ^My ^bad.
|
(bending the prompt slightly because I just had an amazing idea, hope you don't mind)
We were scientists, explorers, we even had a catholic priest and a baptist minister with us. To our surprise they never had an argument once, and much rather told each other horribly bad jokes to pass the time. When we finally arrived at the gates of heaven Mary the Mother of God came out personally to greet us. Heaven wasn't quite as we imagined, with marble cities stretching up to the sky, rather it was an immense garden with a singular castle like structure in the center. Which Mary assured us was large enough on the inside to hold all of humanity and then some. She invited us to lunch which we could not refuse. She then began to speak to us in her soft kind voice saying "I hear you plan to go on to hell next?"
"That is correct Ma'am" I responded slowly "Is there a problem?"
"Oh no Jackie, not at all" she laughed softly "Only, you and your kind have a slightly twisted vision of it and the inhabitants. No offense my sons" she said looking at the priest and minister "Over four thousand years can twist the story a bit I understand". She looked back at me and said "Please, be kind to Lucas and Jeremiah , they don't get a lot of kind hearted visitors and Lucas is the best archangel we have".
"Then who is Jeremiah?" Asked Father Healy.
"oh you'll see, now be off with you. I need to go welcome some new souls and direct them to the judgement room, God is terribly sorry by the way, He, the Spirit, and my son all so much wanted to set aside some time but. It looks like the pandemic is wiping out souls faster than expected, they can't spare any time away from the judgment room".
&#x200B;
We travelled for a few weeks through the celestial mountain's until we came to the mouth of hell, finding it open we entered. And were imidiatly greeted by a seven foot figure draped in black robes and hood and holding a scythe in its bony right hand. It took a step forward and an overpowering aura of fear washed across us, causing all of us to fall to the ground on the verge of tears, as soon as it started though, it stopped. "Oh shit, did I scare you? Man I'm sorry!" said a sincere, if a bit grating voice.
"And who are you?" I said as I heaved myself up.
"I am Jeremiah, also known as Death. nice to meet ya! Lucas is out right now, Apparently Horus and Ra broke contentment so he had to go deal with that".
"Ra?" Asked the historian of our group, Dr. Malcome Heathbearer.
"Yeah, Hell is pretty much a prison for the earlier pantheons, The big guy up there wasn't to pleased at how his kids were doing. they ended up rebelling so he clapped 'em in the slammer. Thats why Lucas and I are down here, to keep em in their cells until judgement day. Whenever the hell that is".
"Thats...."
"Cool right?" asked Death smiling best he could, I shook my head and said "How about we sit down and have a long. long talk about how this all works?"
|
Upon first glance, hell was what one might have expected. Fire and brimstone as far as the eye could see, imps flailing tortured souls with whips that left plasma burns where they struck, an actual dragon flying overhead (later, I would find out there were more than one), and plenty of non-Euclidean geometry, such as the path to the blood-red keep that loomed in the distance, constantly aflame and under the watchful eyes of enormous, floating eyes.
As us new arrivals made our way towards it, seemingly beckoned by an invisible force, the path grew shorter and shorter. It felt as though we had taken a short walk before coming to it. I would find out that when one had a destination in mind, it was rather quick to travel there. The keep’s inside wall held legions of demonic soldiers, as well as humans in strange armour, with plasma burns and other markings that couldn’t really be seen, but certainly one could sense them.
The throne room was more of the same; on fire, red, the works. Sat atop the rather oversized throne was a man who must’ve been at least the size of a small building, with black eyes in pairs of three and clawed fingers. Aside from those minor differences, he appeared mostly human. The man grinned as we entered but did not look at us, rather continued to gaze straight ahead, into nothing.
“Welcome, ye lost souls, to this domain beneath the Earth. If you are here, it means the eternal masters have chosen for you to be here. Before any of you squabble about religion, know that it does not matter anymore. The one above and I, below, have our own deities. If you should believe in anyone, believe in them.”
After this short speech, he stood up and moved his throne aside to reveal a passage large enough to fit his impressive stature. We followed as he walked down, and ended up at a ledge before a great cavern of steel, however it was shrouded in darkness. Something told me that if I were to pull out my phone and use it’s flashlight to see, the light would be devoured, along with my phone. Well, I may have been stupid enough to get sent to hell, but challenging something that the devil considered a deity was a different kind of stupid I wasn’t ready to achieve. Instead, I waited patiently for Satan to explain.
Soon enough, a crack of lightning appeared deep within the metal chasm. The momentary light showed many creatures, some made from multiple different organisms, some made from flesh or wood, and some made from iron and steel. They were impossibly tall, to the point where I only caught sight of their legs. Despite the different materials they were made out of, they all had the same shape, with inverted legs like a goat’s and strange wires of flesh running every which way. Though they appeared dormant, now that I was aware of their existence, I could feel many eyes staring at me. I felt rather uncomfortable standing here, but it was clear I couldn’t just run away. The devil spoke up, facing us once more with a demonic grin plastered on his face.
“Those who were good shall punish the wicked, and those who are extremely wicked… shall visit the Archons…”
| 2020-07-22T05:26:38 | 2020-07-22T04:45:11 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear Timothy.
I've gotten the list of things you've asked for.
I assure you I am very capable of bringing your dog back. Just as well, I can stop the teasing and jeering of your elder sister.
I was informed as to what a "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle" is, and I believe I can acquire that as well.
However, I'm not certain why you would want a monstrous truck. It sounds rather brutal for a child your age, but even I must admit it does sound fun.
I will deliver your presents on time, I give you my word.
Regards - "Satan" Morning star.
|
Dear Timmy,
Of course you can have a puppy! I have a little girl right here with me who will love you and be your friend. But puppies don't travel well by mail so I'll have to deliver her in person. Instead of leaving out cookies for me, please just light a candle at midnight and call my name!
Season's Greetings,
Lucifer
P.S. Remember not to tell your parents, it will ruin the surprise!
| 2018-10-28T10:04:46 | 2018-10-28T09:59:31 | 444 | 123 |
[WP] You're a paramedic. In fact, an immortal paramedic. Since you first treated a wounded soldier on the fields of the 30-years War, you didn't age and followed the development of "Emergency Medical Service". Your coworkers are astonished by your knowledge, but sometimes, you slip into old habits..
|
From within the ambulance shed came yelling which was muffled but loud enough to bring nurses from the hospital adjacent. Several EMTs and a paramedic stood outside the building shaking their heads at the terrible noises coming from within. The nurses walked up with concerned looks on their faces.
“What’s happening,” asked one of them to the paramedic.
“Dimitiri has gone off the deep end,” she responded.
“Really?” There was a look of disbelief from the nurses who were used to Dimitri’s calm attitude and efficient work. He was a legend at the hospital for his knowledge and ability, but the fact that he could proceed through the worst scenarios with calm was perhaps the most impressive thing of all.
“What happened,” one of them asked.
“We got privatized,” said an EMT. “They just cut our pay, lengthened our hours, cut our benefits, service is now more expensive, coverage area got bigger while they are removing one of the units, want us to focus on transports instead of emergency medicine, and people will die because we can’t be there to help them.”
From within the confines of the ambulance building came the shout... “I haven’t seen anything this barbaric and stupid since the fucking dark ages!”
|
[Morons! Vermin!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=97kGdt8fKfI)
You want the world for nothing.
Let's see you beg to live.
I healed you four hundred years.
You kept on murdering.
Who will save you now?
You vultures don't deserve me.
Ashes! Dust!
My nerves are busted.
You shall not have me.
No, my legacy is too great
To throw away on ingrates.
Your species had potential
But you wasted it whole away!
In denial, you blame each other
For your incoming demise.
And never once thought to suspect
The men who write your checks!
I guess,I'll take it to my death.
Guess, it's time.
You never should have trusted me
I would've taught you all a lot!
It's been difficult to help you
After what you put me through
You forced my hand and made me do!
Well, it looks like I'll be joining you
It seems the man who cured the globe
Wont be there for you anymore.
And I will go out with a bang!
| 2019-01-05T15:35:45 | 2019-01-05T14:36:47 | 71 | 28 |
[WP] You survive the zombie apocalypse and realize that they're incredibly useful. For example, you can generate free electricity forever by putting the zombies in giant hamster wheels. You become determined to create a zombie-powered utopia.
|
We initially chose Foggy Hills High School because it was a large brick building with thick bullet proof glass windows, and an abundance of wooden desks that could be used to make barricades. After the first week we realized that it was the perfect place to camp. There were back up generators, and alarm system and three walk-in freezers.
We settled comfortably for the next several after our arrival until the back up generators went out. There were only five of us at the time and not a single one of us knew the first thing about the mechanics of a generator.
Ultimately we had to start scouring the school for supplies; batteries, tools, wooden materials for burning. The problem was the most of the classrooms were locked. We had an emergency fire axe that was in a case next to the autoshop but even with that it took us hours just to get a single door broken down.
Jordan, the youngest of the group suggested we try to tear down the janitor's office door because maybe there were keys in there. well, he was right. We each divided the keys between us all and searched the school.
After the third day of searching, I made my way into the wood shop. It was by far the most useful room not only because we now had access to more weapons but because of the hamster wheel.
I hadn't been in highschool for five years but I remember the hamster wheel. Every year Mr. Neilson's shop class would do a gigantic final project. The students in the winter time made a trebuchet and lunched pumpkins the week before winter break. The students "unfortunate" enough to take wood shop in the spring time built a giant hamster wheel that generated electricity into a rechargeable battery that could then power the entire room for a day after only an hour of running.
It became apparent the wood shop was going to be our new home. It had everything we needed, and most importantly electricity. The only drawback was that it was not located in the center of the school like our previous site but rather it was on the edge and because the area needed to be well ventilated, the only thing between us and the outside was an aluminum garage door.
Things went smoothly for the next couple of weeks after that. During the day we would scavenge the nearby houses in teams of two for non-perishable food items and someone would stay back to walk on the wheel. We even managed to steal a refrigerator from the closest house and dolly it back to the wood shop.
Then one night we were all woken by a huge banging on the garage door. We knew that eventually "they" would find us so we were prepared. Everyone had their weapons ready within a minute. The plan was to open the garage door, let them inside, and fight off the small hoard with the garage closed behind them.
We opened the door and there were about ten of those ugly bastards so about two for each of us. I was struggling with this big motherfucker that wouldn't go down and in the midst of the struggling I accidentally pushed him onto the wheel. The hamster wheel was designed with glass doors on each side so that the runner wouldn't accidentally fall out, so after I managed to get the big guy on the wheel I panicked and shut the glass door on him. He was trapped in the wheel but he was running on it like a bug dumb idiot. I backed away in amazement and looked backed to see if anyone had noticed. Everybody turned and looked and we all let out a roar of laughter.
In the morning we burned the bodies on the roof and back at the shop we couldn't stop staring in awe at the giant sack of rotten meat running. Powering our home for us. It was amazing.
At that moment I had an epiphany. I started digging books and papers on Mr. Neilson's desk. And then I found it. The instructions to the hamster wheel and in a moment of desperate excitement, I held the instructions in the air and shouted "we could power the whole school! The whole neighborhood!"
|
The deputy mayor was starting to smell and Una wasn't quite sure how much longer she could stand it. She'd first noticed a sourness in the air about a week ago, and it had only gotten worse since. That a zombie could ever be in politics was itself ridiculous, but that the zombie would be her superior was almost hurtful.
Una opened her window a little wider and took in a deep breath of fresh air. The sky was its usual grey but the air was clean enough. Even the sun was out, a pale silver disc barely visible in the clouds. Una was happier than she'd been in weeks and she was damned if Deputy Mayor Sam Jones's stink was going to ruin her mood.
She gathered some papers and walked down the hall to Sam Jones's office. She knew he'd be there as he rarely left the building without her. She took a deep breath, knocked once and went in. He was seated at his desk, gazing out a window. The room was heavy with his dying odour. He turned to Una as she approached and smiled. His speech had not returned, and Una supposed it never would - much to Mayor Keane's annoyance - but he was a fine enough puppet and a pleasant zombie face for the human population. Most importantly, he didn't cause trouble.
"Good morning Sam, Mayor Keane has asked me to check that our life-challenged staff are taking their prescribed medications in the correct doses, and I thought I should start at the top and work my way down. Which is you, of course." She faked a smile.
The deputy mayor looked confused for a moment and then smiled back at her. His perfect white teeth - courtesy of Mayor Keane herself - gleamed in his skull, an effect that never failed to give Una the creeps. He reached across and opened a drawer and took out his plastic medication tray. The trays had been a gift from China and had worked wonders with keeping the slave meds controlled, where they had minders and fulltime staff to destribute them, but neither Keane nor Una could force the free zombies to take the required daily doses. Una saw straight away that the deputy mayor had skipped several days.
"Do you have any other trays in there, Sam?"
Sam nodded and opened the drawer again. It was filled with old, half-empty trays.
"Why don't you give those to me, Sam," Una said. "I'll clean them out and make sure you get your refills. And Sam, try to be a little more responsible with your medication. You need to set an example, remember?"
Sam nodded and handed her the trays. He smiled again, in his dim and creepy way, and turned back to the window, where a lone crow sat on the sill.
Una, with the trays of expensive medicines now safely under one arm, walked back to her office. She closed the door and quietly turned the lock. All thoughts of the undead man's stink were gone. She sat at her desk and laid the trays out on top of it. One by one she opened each little plastic flap on its little plastic hinge and scooped out the tablets and capsules inside. When all the trays were emptied and all the meds were on her desk, she sorted them into groups. Anticoagulants, antidepressants, anti-psychotics, heart treatments, liver and kidney treatments, multi-vitamins, aminoglycosides and other antibiotics, the multiple painkillers, and of course, what she was after all along, necrocin, the wonder drug.
She crushed two of the tablets by grinding them into the desk with her palm. She took a thick piece of card from the bookcase behind her and used it to cut the powder into smaller grains, then reached again for a book - any book - and ripped a blank page from the back. Rolled tight, she held the paper straw to her nose and leaned forward. First one side, then the other. She sat for a moment longer then stood on woozy legs and lay down on the carpet.
| 2015-01-03T08:26:16 | 2015-01-03T06:39:21 | 51 | 11 |
[WP] You are a Norse god of alcohol. A man challenges you, claiming he can go shot-for-shot with you until you pass out. He calls himself... ‘The Machine’
[Context](https://youtu.be/paG1-lPtIXA)
|
Oh shit. When I issued a drinking challenge to all of humanity, I wasn’t expecting this.
He walked in around 8:30, sans shirt (as always). He walked up to me and said, “I am the Machine.” I responded, “I know. Let’s get this over with ‘The Machine’.” And then the first round was poured. I don’t know how he was able to even understand my challenge, it was written in Norwegian after all, or how he was able to tell me his name in Norwegian either, as he seemingly didn’t speak word of it.
As the night wore on and the drinks kept coming, The Machine was still going strong while I was fighting to stay conscious. After four hours, however, I finally gave into the blissful calls of sleep. But, before I slumped over, I heard a man say in Russian, “Fuck that bitch, this is Russia.”
|
As drink after drink goes down the Machine continued to chug his beers. It wasn't until the 9th keg that I started to worry that I might not win this challenge. Thankfully at that moment the Machine said he needed to drain himself and so I pointed him to the bathroom and as his mechanical pistons begun tomove him I said hey have a mint for that breathe is going to kill me before to much longer. The machine gladly accepted swallowing it as it went to drain himself.
After about a minute a loud boom echoed from the bathroom that wrenched the door off it's hinges and out walked the Machine clearly worst for wear. His pistons moved him a jerking fashion clearly favoring the left side cracks covered his copper belly and a hole was visible near the bottom. I smiled and said you tell Hesphaestus if he doesn't have the steel to challenge me himself don't waste the copper.
| 2018-09-23T20:57:49 | 2018-09-23T19:16:19 | 103 | 16 |
[WP] You love your boyfriend but even you have to admit he's kind of a creep sometimes. Curious about what goes on in his head, you take an experimental mind reading pill. Turns out his thoughts are just non-stop wholesome to an overwhelming degree.
|
Every morning I wake up in a warm bed, next to a warm body, and everyday I’m reminded how lucky I am.
The way he looks at me with kind hazel eyes, the way his fingertips trail down my spine softly, and the way he kisses me passionately, as if I were his world. As if nothing else mattered but me.
And the way I look back at him, take in all his crevices and curves, fingers gripping the back of his head, kissing him back with equal passion, but that nagging thought that just won’t go away, the one that sends shivers throughout my entire body, that tells me that maybe I don’t have it as good as I once thought.
I have him wholly, right in front of me, and yet there is a part of me that believes I don’t have him entirely.
So, I do the only thing I can think of. I take an experimental mind reading pill.
And so, the next morning, when he’s staring at me with kind eyes and his fingers are trailing down my back and he kisses me breathlessly, I hear his thoughts flow through as gently as his hair slips through my fingers.
*God, I love this girl.*
Now that, that throws me off. Of course, I knew that he loved me, but it wasn’t like we told each other often. The fact that he’s even thinking it is enough to leave me flustered.
I return his kiss with enough fervour that it makes him stumble back slightly.
*Ok, wow. I can get used to that.*
The thought startles a laugh out of me.
“What?” He asks me questioningly, moving back to brush my hair away from my face.
“Nothing,” I answer. “Just happy to be here with you.”
*Not as happy as me.*
I grin at him. “What do you say I call in sick today, spend the day with you instead?”
“I’d love nothing more.”
Me too, I think silently, and I’m surprised to find that it’s true. That I’d rather be here with him than any other place in the world. That maybe, he feels that way too.
“I just want to lay here forever,” I tell him. “Just the two of us.”
He grins. *Someday, we’ll get that. Someday, I’m going to marry you.*
My breath falls away from me completely, and all I find in it’s place is love. Here it is, I think to myself. I love this person. *He’s my person.* And I love that. Love how he can so effortlessly promise me things, how he thinks of me when he wakes up, and how he spends this quiet here with me, laying together on this creaking bed, under these soft covers, side by side.
I find my spaces being filled with the outline of him — with his body and his words and his thoughts and my love for him.
I’m happy, I think. Truly happy.
Somewhere deep inside, I wonder why I even needed this validation from him in the first place, and it sends guilt seeping through me.
I know I have to tell him.
“So,” I start shakily. “I have to tell you something.”
He stares back at me in concern. “What is it?”
I sigh. “I sort of took this experimental mind reading pill so I could see whether or not you truly cared for me.”
“W-What?” He blinks in shock.
“I know it was wrong,” I admit to him quietly. “But I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes, we’ll sometimes, you really creep me out.”
“What?” He asks again.
“I know you’re not actually creepy,” I quickly reassure him. “It’s just that all the love you show me is so effortless, so natural, and I’m not used to it is all. I’m not used to someone loving me the way you do,” and then in a much quieter voice, “I’m sorry.”
By now, the shock has faded away into understanding. “Let me get this straight,” he starts. “You took an experimental mind reading pill to invade my thoughts so you could decide whether or not I actually loved you?”
I wince, recognizing how bad it sounds, but before I could apologize again, he speaks. “An experimental pill? Seriously? That pill could have messed with your mind you know.”
Now it’s my turn to blink in shock. “What?”
“Experiments aren’t proven, you know. And being a test subject for something that could potentially alter your mind isn’t exactly the most... reputable decision.”
“You mean, you’re not mad?”
“That you entered into my mind without permission?”
I nod.
“Well, I’m not the happiest, but I also understand why you did it.” Then he grins. “You could have just asked you know.”
I sigh. “I know. It’s just, I’m not the most trusting person. People can tell you something but their intentions prove otherwise.”
“I’m not like them though. Those other people who have hurt you. I know these are just my words, but those words are coming from me. Don’t they mean something?”
And, you know what? They do.
“Yes,” I answer back without hesitation. “They mean the most.”
“Then trust me,” he whispers, face mere inches away from mine. “And I won’t hurt you.”
“Okay,” I whisper back. “I love you.”
And I don’t need a mind altering pill to tell me what his next words will be.
“I love you too.”
—
/r/itrytowrite
|
Brock was everything a person could want in a partner. Kind, funny and nice on the eyes, an ideal partner, well, except for the unsettling aura he gave as he stalked his way around the house. Turning corners with a slow arch of his head, peering around every turn before proceeding. It was something Aubrey had never seen before in any human, or even animal. Something alien to her.
That’s why she jumped at the chance to try out the new experimental drug, only recently provided to members of the public. Willing to risk the horrible side effects if it meant she could spend even a few minutes exploring his thoughts. Aubrey loosened the cap on the Neurosight bottle, rattling the thick blue pills inside, feeling a tinge of doubt in her mind about such an invasive tactic.
A few minutes passed as she eyed the bottle, lost in a moral battle within her mind, only to be brought back to reality by the sound of footsteps approaching the front door. Quickly taking a pill before hiding the bottle underneath a cushion.
“Honey, you’re home. How was your day, did the boss like your report?” Aubrey rose from her seat, opening her arms up for Brock. She would see his head round the corner of the wall, gazing at the room cautiously before smiling.
“He seemed to enjoy it. It’s hard to tell with him, he isn’t the most expressive person around.” Brock laughed, embracing her in a tight hug.
The first thoughts kicked in, hearing the anxious inner monologue of her partner. ‘I can’t believe it was such a flop. I shouldn’t let Aubrey know. She spent so much time working on it with me, it would break her heart. It would ruin our anniversary too. I should get her present.”
“Um, excuse me. I have to go to the bathroom. Mind waiting here for me?” Brock said, trying to convince her to stay in the living room before rushing off.
Anniversary? That was all Aubrey could think about. Checking the date on her phone only to realize she had forgotten about the special date, too focused on digging through her partner’s mind that she forgot their plans. It was far too late to organize a present, so she elected instead to sink into the soft leather couch, hiding herself among the cushions, her hand hitting a possible gift.
Brock returned, staring at her, not uttering a word for a few moments. His thoughts ringing loudly within her mind. ‘I can’t believe I got so lucky. I wonder what she got me, maybe a new tie?’ He reached into his pocket, retrieving a small light blue box, opening it up to reveal a necklace inside. The necklace decorated with small blue sapphires, offering an amazing royal color to its design. ‘It matches her eyes; I hope she likes it.’
Aubrey froze, expecting her partner to say something. Instead, he silently offered her the gift. “It’s beautiful. You didn’t have to spend so much money on me. I really appreciate it though.” She found herself nearly lost for words, feeling the small bottle between her fingers, holding it out to him. “I got you some of the new neurosight tablets. So, you could hear your bosses’ thoughts.” She stated, covering up her curiosities.
“Oh?” He stared at the bottle, giving it a small shake with his free hand. “That’s nice.” He said as sincerely as he could manage. Handing her the anniversary present. “I guess I could try it out. I heard it can cause heart problems though and memory loss.” She didn’t even need to hear his thoughts to tell how he felt about the gift. That, however, wouldn’t stop the words from flowing into her mind. ‘She got me a fad? Five years of love and she buys me some cheap new wonder drug. It’s probably just sugar pills. I guess she is being helpful. I can’t be mad at her. She probably spent hours trying to find the right gift.’
“I’m sure that’s exaggerated.” She felt guilty about putting the necklace on, but could see Brock waiting expectantly for her to try it. “Little help with the clip, love?” Aubrey asked, rising from her seat, offering her neck to Brock. When the necklace clipped into place, she let out a pleased hum. “Thank you, I’m too lucky.” She held Brock’s cheeks, planting a kiss on his lips, holding him close before stepping back.
“Not as lucky as me. Give me a minute to change out of my work clothes. We can start planning our anniversary dinner once I’m in my pajamas. We are eating in, aren’t we?” Brock said, heading towards the bedroom. Her head already getting cloudy as the pills’ effects waned.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Mind grabbing me a cup of water? I have a bit of a headache.” Aubrey called out, getting a thumbs up from Brock before he vanished from view.
‘Mind reading pills? What a goofy gift. Good thing she didn’t take one. She might have found out where the bodies=.’ That was the last thought Aubrey heard before a throbbing headache took over, leaving her to sit with her head in her hands, trying to process the thought. Wanting to compose herself before Brock returned, trying not to show any sign of shock.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-08-27T08:38:23 | 2021-08-27T07:16:23 | 599 | 171 |
[WP] An entire office block is populated by aliens disguised as humans on a mission to study our behaviour. None of them are aware of each other and think they are the only alien there. As a result they are amazed that human behaviour is so similar to their own. Then a real human gets a job there.
|
"Ok Carl your resume is in order and your preemployment exam results came back... everything's looking great could you start next Monday?"
"Absolutely Boss! Hope to go far in the company!"
*Carl's first week passes*
"Hey so how did your first week feel to you Carl? Settling in alright?"
"Yeah things went great but I've got some...weird... questions if you don't mind me asking?"
"Uhh OK go ahead."
"OK so the first thing I've noticed is that I seem to be the only person here that ever leaves this office complex. Not that I'm complaining the traffic out is always non-existent but the cars in the parking lot never move and there isn't assigned parking but I've been able to park in the same spot every single day right between the blue sedan and the silver Jeep. Is there some sort of on-campus housing plan I wasn't told about?"
"On-campus housing plan? Is that something common to other companies?"
"Well no but nobody ever seems to leave so I was just curious if there's an on-campus housing option I would like to let you know I'd be greatly interested."
"Hmmmmm [scribblescrible] we'll get back to you on that..."
"Next thing: why does the vending machine only sell parishable health foods? I mean I appreciate a healthy lifestyle but I've never seen bananas available in a vending machine."
"Interesting....[scribble scribble scribble] the company values a healthy lifestyle in its employees and wants to ensure a healthy food is always available at all times for your nutrient needs. We'll shoot for grapes instead of bananas next time."
"Oooooookaaaaayyyy...."
"Is there anything else you wished to discuss?"
"Yeah one last quick thing I got a memo on Thursday that was in a language I couldn't read. I absolutely value working with people of other ethnicities and cultures but I'm going to either need my emails in English or I'm going to need a primer on what language the emails are written in."
"[SCRIBBLESCRIBLE] That must have been an administrative error please disregard that and I would like to reinforce that talking about internal company emails unless explicitly toldis not an encouraged thing and can result in termination as per your non-disclosure agreement. We'll let this one slide because you're new and it wasn't your fault. Is that all?"
"Yessir! Oh also thanks for being so cool about the coffee maker incident boss. I love my coffee in the morning but I didn't realize so many people around here had such a violent allergic reaction to it. I'll be bringing my coffee from home from now on"
"That might be best... incidentally how common is coffee allergy in other companies?"
|
Hello and welcome my fellow human. I, Michael Humanson received the request from higher authority of this Human Company to greet you and communicate your future responsibility. I hope your travel to this building by gasoline fueled vehicle was pleasant.
We are right now at the first floor of this building unit, rented by the “We are totally a human company”. To the left you see fellow human and worker unit Karl Mensch, his task is guarding this building from many inconveniences like traveling salesperson units.
Behind this door, is a vertical movable room supported by cable, which fulfills the purpose for vertical movement, between the many levels of this building. Do not be alarmed, feelings of heightened and lowered gravity are an illusion through the undampened vertical motion through the change in velocity. We requested already the upgrade from this mechanical form of travel, to a bio-electric-magnetic-accelerator for easier and more comfortable vertical travel. But until this will arrive, please accept this unpleasantry. It is still more efficient as the movement of ones own body up the staircase. Also please note that the melodic noise is part of its standard operating situation. It always does this and is not a sign of malfunction.
Now we have arrived at the 6th level. Did you know that this building unit does not contain any active structural support? It is only constructed by using passive structural support. Only the steel reinforced concrete is holding this building unit up. Why did they not use any of the much cheaper and more suitable FE-K6Z20 alloy for this Building Unit? This one does not understand.
This is the office room assigned to you. You are allowed to build any living and working honeycomb as you see fit for the most effective completion of your work. This inefficient Chair and Desk Unit was already in this office unit before the “We are totally a human company” started renting this Building Unit, non of the here working human and worker units are aware of the full function and purpose of this Chair and Desk Unit. Your Work is to do standard Human work, you are already aware what standard human work is, as we are also aware of it. So do not be alarmed of the many eyes of your fellow human and worker units watching you by your completion of standard human work. Farewell and good working for the Queen and Brood fellow human. Also on an unrelated note, how long does a standard Human worker unit live and how often does a human queen replaces human worker units?
No answer? Do not worry, this one will ask again at a later time periode!
…………
Ok it might be Monday and I was drunk yesterday and I did a blunt with my best friends, but something is wrong with this guy
| 2018-07-26T08:39:33 | 2018-07-26T07:23:46 | 130 | 60 |
[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]
|
Hello Commander. In light of the recent extraterrestrial threat, this Council of nations has convened to authorize the full activation of the XCOM project. You have been chosen to lead this initiative, to oversee our first and last line of defense against the enemy. The current research and development status of the various projects they have been working on are on your desk. The future of mankind is in your hands.
Good luck, Commander.
| 2018-08-29T05:26:44 | 2018-08-29T04:40:42 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] In the future, in a galaxy far far away, aliens are trying to make sense of the Pioneer plaque
[Reference](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pioneer_plaque)
|
Padding through the reinforced halls of his flagship, the Patriarch issued commands to his various subordinates.
*clickclickclick*
His fleet was the largest in galactic history. Ten thousand ships armed with massive railguns, plasma and laser weapons seemed to fill the system and dwarf even the largest gas giants.
None could stand against them - and none ever had. For the past hundred cycles, his fleet had razed and pillaged world after world.
*clickclickclick*
He ordered the fleet to begin charging weapons - it’d take a few cycles for them to reach battle readiness. Their latest target was a small, watery world - the third planet in the Sol System. Early scans showed that the native species was exceedingly primitive, and not likely to-
*clickclickcli-BANG*
Alarms echoed around the bridge. He grabbed a Junior Officer by the shoulder.
“Damage report, now! What happened?”
"Something hit us, sir. Caught us with our shields down - it was too primitive to be deemed a projectile, and too slow to activate the point defenses. Shields were still down - there’s nobody around for hundreds of thousands of units."
Another shout echoed around the bridge. “Reactor failing! We’ve got a few rotations at most!”
"Projectile trajectory calculated, sir! It came from Earth.”
Messages flooded the bridge from the other ships, demanding to know the extent of the damage. The Patriarch was unable to respond. Whoever these humans were, they’d been able to predict the fleet’s approach, launch a projectile hundreds of cycles in advance, and do it with the most primitive of technologies.
His voice was hoarse. “Order a retreat,” he croaked. “We’re going home."
---
Questions? Criticisms? Want to see more? Check out more of my stuff at /r/Draxagon
|
The technology of the craft was quite primitive. Likely made by a race only marginally sentient. Or so the researcher thought.
Upon viewing the engravings on the plaque he stood there shocked for a few pulses, the realization of what he was reading slowly dawning on him and he grabbed for his communicator.
"Yes Supreme Researcher. There can be no mistake- The diagram depicts a ship larger than even the gas giant planet. Clearly they have mastered interstellar travel. Yet we have never seen a ship launch from that 3rd planet, so they clearly have advanced cloaking technologies."
A pause.
"Yes, a very aggressive move indeed."
A pause.
"I'm afraid it gets worse. In the middle of this obvious 'warning' they've engraved a circular symbol with lines radiating from it, orbited by some sort of rectangular weapons platform."
A pause.
"I'm afraid so- at the top is quite clearly the universal symbol of a gravity bomb."
A pause.
"I understand Sir, they have been outlawed for over 600,000 galactic standard cycles. I can't fathom why someone would threaten to use them again when we've see what they have done."
A pause.
"Agreed, I don't see any other option".
He put down the communicator knowing the Supreme Researcher would summarize his findings to the council of peace.
...
The battle was over before that audacious race orbiting their yellow star on their odd blue-green planet even knew the had made first contact. A small singularity fired at relativistic speeds from the 158th armada stationed only a few light years away from their homeworld left a planet shattered into countless fragments. The threat had been eliminated.
| 2015-01-30T08:49:05 | 2015-01-30T08:39:05 | 42 | 10 |
[WP] You own a hunting lodge, but you kept it unlocked during off seasons for weary travelers to rest while you're gone. Usually you'd find coins left on the counter as thanks, but this time, you found something extraordinary: a royal crown.
|
My boots crunch on the dirt path, unkempt from a long winter with heavy snow. It's melted away now and left behind dirt and washed out portions of trail. I'll spend a week replacing timber supports and the footbridge at the trailhead is badly leaning to the left.
Lots to do, but that's the life I've been given.
I crest the hill and there it is.
Built by hand over many years, the lodge is on some five hundred acres that I am Gamewarden of. Sturdy log walls and a gabled roof, in the style of those elvish bungalows one might stumble on if they wander far enough into their forests.
The main building lays dormant, four stone chimneys protruding from the roof and not a sign of smoke curling from any of them. It's not so unusual, the weather had turned but it's still early in the season. There's a time where the lodge lays quiet and that's now.
The outbuildings and stable are untouched as well. Not a soul in sight.
I whistle and set off down toward the clearing and my lodge. I don't have to unlock the heavy front door, it's always unlocked over the winter. I'd rather a warm stranger in my lodge than a cold corpse outside it.
Inside it smells of wood, smoke, and the rich scent of two decades of life. I breathe it in, deeply. I love the smell of it.
I set my rifle against the door and unsling the tall pack from my back, feeling the relief through my back as I am reminded I am no longer twenty five and limber. That pack gets a little heavier every year. I leave the short hatchet in my belt, I'll need it to ready some kindling for the hearth.
I turn and stop in my tracks.
Huh.
I usually find a few coins on the front desk, that doubles as a bar top when the lodge is full. A few coins, a tanned hide, a polished skull, something to say thank you from those that shelter here when I'm gone.
I've never seen this before.
I look around and find no one here, not a trace of a soul. Except for the golden crown.
I pick it up and turn it over in my hands with as much reverence as I can muster. It is a twisted mass of golden branches and twigs, a thick forest formed into a golden circlet. I've never seen anything like it before, and I doubt I will again.
Especially since I am going to toss this into the well and forget I ever saw it. No good ever came from a strange crown, nothing but trouble and charges of murder or theft. I turn and freeze again, my hand falling to rest on the silvered steel head of the hatchet in my belt.
She stands there before me. She's bleeding, and badly. It drips onto the wood floor and that is going to stain. Luckily blood stains aren't new to the hunting lodge.
"This yours?" I ask, holding up the crown.
"Help me." She collapses there on my godsdamned lodge floor.
Shit. Ok, maybe I can deal with this before anyone shows up. I've got time. I pull her to a sitting position and check her wounds, resting her back against the wall of the bar top. She's in a bad way, her eyes glossy and distant.
"You!" The voice booms from outside, and proves me wrong. "Inside the lodge! We've come for her, stand aside and you will live!"
That's a tempting offer. I like living. I like my lodge too. I turn that crown over in my hands and then look at her, heaving and bleeding there. And by all the gods of the forest, it's not a fair hunt. That's all I ask here in my lodge. The hunt must be fair, must be right.
But, then again, I like living. I sidle to the front windows and peek through the shutters.
"This is sacred ground, no hunt may be conducted here!" I shout out.
I see a dozen of them out there, maybe more. Tall, powerful, armed. They are gods, The Wild Hunt. I'm explaining the rules to those who made them.
"It's *my* sacred ground, Gamewarden!"
Oh. Good.
"You have ten seconds!" He shouts, his fingers wrapping around his bowstring and an arrow forming between his knuckles, an arrow that seems to grow from the wood of the bow itself.
He wears his own crown.
God of the Hunt, God of the Forest.
I pad over to my rifle and curse. Not even gods can't be above the rules. None may hunt on these grounds.
That is my duty as Gamewarden. I take my duty seriously and I have for some hundred years.
Not even Silvanus himself can keep me from my duty.
"Thank you." She whispers.
"Not a single good thing ever came from a crown." I mutter.
"On that, we agree." She says.
That's when I count to nine, and I reach out to the forest around the glade. I can hear it shudder and come to life. This is *my* lodge.
"Time's up!" He calls out.
I raise a single finger in reply, pulling it back just in time as an arrow crashes through the window and sinks to the fletching in the log wall behind the bar top.
"Who are you?" I ask her, staring at the devastating shot in awe. "Why does Silvanus want you dead?"
"My father can be a bit of an ass." She says.
Great. No good ever comes from a crown.
But only bad things come from standing between feuding gods. And here I am, standing there anyway.
Because apparently, I never learn.
"Come on then!" I shout. "A fair hunt it is then!"
As if it's fair.
The God of the Forest hasn't brought enough friends with him for it to be fair.
|
John returned to his hunting lodge and was greeted with the sound of splashing water in the shed that served as the bathroom. He preferred to spend the off season with his friends in town. Every winter he kept the lodge unlocked for weary travelers seeking respite from the harsh weather, and the deed paid well as grateful travelers left gold coins on the counter. Sometimes, travelers decided to capture his land, and fearing this to be the case John knocked on the shed's door to ask the occupant to meet him in the front room.
"Yes, I will. Please make yourself comfortable," a woman's voice answered from the shed.
Women usually didn't give him much trouble at all, so the thoughts of dealing with a bunch of violent men dispelled, John gained a spring in his step. Things were going well, and he expected a decent amount of gold on his counter.
Gold was what he found there, but the gold came in the shape of a crown. Also his counter didn't look the same. It was now covered with red velvet. The seat of the chair behind the counter was covered in blue velvet. There were no coins on the counter, only the crown.
The crown had seven tips, each topped off with a ruby. John took it in his hands and observed it in the morning light. A yellow gem fell out of the crown. John couldn't tell where it fell from, so he pocketed the gem and decided to mend the crown later. Just then two visitors strolled in. The visitors wore chain mail and swords hung from their hips.
"Welcome, welcome," said John. He tried to force a smile to hide his surprise, but the effort only accentuated the strangeness of the expression upon his face.
"Drop the crown!" One visitor said. The other unsheathed his sword and pointed it straight at John's neck.
"I think...there is some kind of...a misunderstanding," John said.
The soldiers looked at each other and replied almost in unison, "You have trespassed into the queen's territory to steal her crown. We understand your intentions better than yourselves!"
"This...is my lodge...my inn-"
"This is free territory which was annexed by Queen McKann a month before. If you care so much about your land, you should protect it with your life."
"What's all this racket for?" the Queen's voice was heard as she entered the room. She looked at John with the crown in his hand. "What do you think you're doing, young man?"
"I...this," John looked at the crown. "I thought this was my payment-"
"Payment!" the Queen's eyes went wide with surprise. Nostrils flaring and feet stomping, she walked up to John and snatched the crown from him. The childlike pettiness of the whole thing amused John, but he could only whimper with a blade pointed at his neck.
"What shall we do with him?"
The Queen touched her still damp hair and said, "Throw him in the back. I will decide his fate when I am done with my morning."
So John now found himself in the backroom of his own lodge, his hands tied, his legs tied, and mouth gagged with his own rope. The backdoor had no lock, and John knew that. He hoped for it to not be blocked from the other side.
Slowly and carefully, like a caterpillar, John crawled to the back door. He pushed at it once, twice, and the door opened with a creak.
The party occupying the lodge might have heard the creak if not for the enemy troops. A group of five men lead by General Filch presently demanded all their attention.
"Surrender!" cried Filch. "We outnumber you. Don't die for something as insignificant as gold."
A grin resembling a sneer spread across his face. The five soldiers had the Queen's rather measly group of two soldiers cornered, while the General himself took care of pointing a blade at the Queen.
"What do you want?"
"Don't make me laugh. I want your head," the General said and guffawed as the color left Queen McKann's face. "Your crown, I mean."
To this cruel attempt at humor, the Queen responded with a shiver. Her trembling hands reached over her head as she took the crown off and handed it over to the General.
"That was easier than I thought," said the General. "Kill them."
The soldiers made short work of the Queen's troops. Horrified, the Queen's knees gave way, and she crashed to the floor.
Meanwhile, the General's delight turned into anger. He examined the crown over and over, but his face only got redder and redder.
"Where's the royal gem?" General Filch barked. "Where is it? Where have you hidden it?"
His questions were met with silence from the Queen who was too horrified to answer. The General shook the Queen by her shoulders, but she was out of her wits. "It should be here," she whispered.
In the silence that followed, footsteps were heard by the General and his troops. They came from the back of the lodge.
John had cut off the ropes restraining his hands with the rough doorframe he never quite had the time to sand. From there, the other ropes were easy to remove with the knife he always carried in his pocket. John had been gathering a bow, a crossbow, arrows, and bolts from the back room which was his supply room, when the General heard his footsteps.
As the sound of the rushing soldiers reached him, John dashed out of the backdoor. He armed himself with a crossbow. The first soldier that came out of the backdoor got a bolt in his gut. As a result, the others hesitated. John ran towards the woods as fast as he could. He had reached the edge of the woods by the time the General arrived on the scene.
"Cowards," the General screamed at his troops. In the distance, John disappeared into the woods.
| 2021-06-16T08:28:43 | 2021-06-16T07:32:12 | 123 | 30 |
[WP] Narrate any current event in the style of the Avatar the Last Airbender opening.
|
Hot . . . Wet . . . Dry . . . Cold.
Not so long ago, the four seasons passed in sequential order.
Then everything changed when the greenhouse gases emerged.
Only the Humans, master of all petrolkind, could halt their emergence.
But when the world needed their common sense most, it vanished.
A hundred years passed and some scientist and I discovered a new power source, an atomic reaction named Fusion.
And although its power generating abilities are great, it still needs to be worked upon a lot before it is ready to save anyone.
But I believe, Fusion can save the world.
|
Vampires.
Warlords.
Demons.
Bees.
Long ago these antagonists existed in separation.
Then, everything changed when the Cage acted.
Only the television, master of all genres could stop him.
But when the world needed it most, Comcast got greedy.
A few years later, we discovered the new television, a website named Netflix.
And although the streaming service is great, it has a long way to go before it can completely replace anything.
But I believe Netflix can save the world.
| 2016-03-21T10:06:13 | 2016-03-21T09:15:45 | 124 | 24 |
[WP] Dungeons appear on Earth filled with monsters granting loot, experience, classes, and levels. With their wild ingenuity and loads of guns, groups of rednecks inadvertently become the first to clear a dungeon.
|
"Bob?"
"Yeah, Bill?"
"You dint happen to buy yerself one of them fancy piles o' fake rock with a plastic door attached, didja? One o' the ones that look like you can open 'er up and walk right in."
"No Bill, I can't say as the thought's even crossed my mind."
"..."
"Why'd you ask?"
"Well before I answer that, let me just ask another question. You bought a truck-load of ammo for *all* your guns just recently, right? 'Cause somethin ugly as sin has just poked it's head out of that pile you dint buy, the one that apparently ain't fake, and is lookin pretty mean with a face like curdled milk and one o' them short swords."
"..."
"Aw, hell. Takin that puppy down ain't gonna be good for my lawn, and I sure as hell don't want Rover munchin on him. Oh well, let's just get 'er done. You take the .45 'cause you've always been the better shot. I wanna see how this thing holds up to a face full of buckshot."
|
When you have proficiency with all martial weapons and access to guns, why choose anything else? Sure some people went the magic route, with the ability to make fire come out of their hands, maybe clean their clothes real fast, or what have you, but that doesn't hold a candle to a 62 grain steel core round. So reality mirrored fiction when the most common class was a human fighter whose dump stats were INT and CHA. There were the odd barbarians, too and down in the Bible belt more than a few paladins popped up, but human fighters were still the most common. Hundreds at a time these new magic filled dungeons were looted, so fast that the economy couldn't handle it. A pitcher of beer was worth a few pieces of silver. And a bottle of liquor was worth ten gold coins. The monsters fought back though when a terrasque leveled New York no one knew what to do. Then a mind flayer enslaved most of San Diego. Eventually all that was left undisturbed was the most well armed parts of the country.
| 2019-05-12T02:20:40 | 2019-05-11T19:49:24 | 61 | 23 |
[WP] The UK votes to leave Earth. It passes.
I just woke up and saw the real news. I wish everyone over there the best of luck and hope that this decision is the best one.
|
"Prime Minister" a bespectacled secretary said in an almost whisper-like voice. "Sir... the beeb are waiting on you". With a groan, the PM removed the copy of The Sun from his face. Nigel had been at the pub again, stout and the stench of cigars hung heavy in his breath.
"Morning Sandra" he said, as he sat upright. She approached with ibuprofen and water. He took the pills and downed them with the dregs of some left over bitter. With a shudder he rose to his feet. Staring at the white washed walls of Drowning Street from number 10 was painful to his still sleeping eyes.
Today was the day. The referendum. After achieving the Brexit, UKIP required a new goal. One that would truly protect British jobs and the sovereignty of the nation against all comers. A referendum was held to decide if Britain would remain on Earth.
Years of work and planning. Reworking infrastructure, billions of pounds of investment. Technological research papers, manufacturing sites and mines sprung up across the country. The boosters were finally ready. Britannia was ready to slip her moorings of this earth and cast off.
A short interview with the BBC had allowed Nigel to make his position clear. He would commit fully should the referendum decide I'm favour of leaving Earth.
Within a month, the results were in.
They would leave.
With this, all preparations for launch were readied. Engineering city Glasgow fueled the rockets that would carry the island nation into the heavens. Control city London would coordinate all primary systems. They began their final preparations. Life support from Newcastle sprang into action. The water of the lochs in Scotland were dammed in position.
Across the country, red white and blue bunting flapped in the breeze. Across the country, the people sang in one voice; Land of Hope and Glory, mother of the free...
As the island took to the skies, frightened nations of Europe watched it's ascent above.
When they had broken the atmosphere, Nigel looked down on Earth. To his horror, he remarked "We forgot the bloody Falklands!"
|
“Big Ben is ready to commence the countdown, we leave in 10 bongs"
The engines shuddered to life as the UK began to take off. The first bong echoed throughout the whole kingdom.
"Is the tea secure Jeeves?"
"Aye, as are the rich tea biscuits prime minister”
Cameron tutted under his breath, he preferred hobnobs but now wasn’t the time, he had to keep a stiff upper lip for the trials they were about to face. The common folk had decided to leave and it was his duty to ensure they made it off her majesty’s planet earth in one piece.
The bonging continued, as did the tremors.
“I can’t believe it’s coming to this Jeeves, I know that we decided to leave democratically but my gut tells me we will lose so much. Sure we will effectively cut off any immigration problems but without any of earth’s oceans to surround our spacefaring country how will we enjoy a good seaside fish and chips? How will we take cheeky holidays abroad with the lads? Can we still play footy in zero gravity? I feel our way of living will be well and truly buggered once we get out of orbit. ”
“Look on the bright side mate” replied Jeeves “we’ll be closer to the sun, so no more crap weather, plus if we fancy a jolly we can nip over to mars and colonise it propa-like, get the British empire going again in space.”
The countdown reached three bongs.
“Bloody ‘ell here’s a thought, did you remember to secure Scotland, Wales and the rest of it last night Sir?”
Cameron’s face turned white as he realised he’d completely forgot and gone to the pub last night instead for a Weatherspoon’s pint and pie.
The countdown reached two bongs.
“I-I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
The countdown reached its final bong as the entirety of England rose from the sea to its national anthem.
"god save the queen Jeeves."
"god save the queen Sir."
| 2016-06-23T06:18:02 | 2016-06-23T05:34:39 | 64 | 36 |
[WP] You are short, skinny and well below average intelligence. Yet, you've been hired by a group of elite soldiers to help with some of their most dangerous missions. Your superpower: sheer dumb luck. No matter how close to death you come, reality always follows the path to your ultimate survival.
|
Operation Code Red Tango Tango Bravo, despite its long winded name, was simple. Americans were being held hostage in the Tehran Embassy and the US government would very much like it if we got them out.
Colonel McAdams stood before the team assigned to the mission. He always avoided eye contact with me at these things.
You will hear me referred to as Potter. I'm 49. I used to be a city bus driver in DC. Lines 54 and 71 were mine for 13 years. Now it's hard to tell people what I do. Despite not passing a single portion of the physical, I'm a Green Beret of the US Army. I used to think metropolitan transport has some bad politics. You should see the brown nosing these Buzz Cuts got going with the Colonel.
"Attennnn..... HUT!"
The Buzz Cuts straightened their posture and saluted ever so perfectly, eyes straight ahead. McCadams paced in front of us and spoke.
"Gentlemen, the lives of 18 Americans are in your hands. The 10 of you have been uniquely selected for your military skills to handle this hostage crisis. Failure... is not an option."
I wondered if he was intentionally referencing Apollo 13 or wanted us to think he came up with that.
"Before I begin to debrief the mission, and we'll go over its name in a second, I want to tell you all that you're here for a reason. You're brave men and you're the best we got. Never forget that."
And not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was probably the best solider out of all of them. I'm uniquely talented in my ability to not die. I know you might think you're pretty good since you're reading this right now, but allow me to explain.
The US Army first got wind of me after an incident on my line 71 route a few years back. During an evening commute, my bus had lost its brakes completely. I was going 65mph heading down a hill on I-395 with zero ability to stop. The bus only increased in speed. I swerved to the shoulder, trying to aim for a patch of grass that might slow us down just a little. As I swerved, a gust came in. A fierce gust. So fierce that the semi truck a few hundred yards ahead actually tipped to the side some. As the truck became lopsided, its back door began to open. The contents of the truck began to fall out. Mattresses. The mattresses came out like a conveyor belt and stacked themselves vertically in an orderly fashion behind the truck. I aimed my bus at this mass of cushiony softness and we came to a gentle hault.
That's just the one time my heroics were at the stage to get out to the public like that. I've been avoiding death all my life in far less glamorous ways. I ate a pail of paint when I was 7 and the doctors discovered I had a rare condition where lead was actually beneficial to me. I slipped off a cliff while hiking and apparently spaced out that I was going base jumping that day because I had a parachute handy.
So when the army needs something to get done, they need someone who won't die while getting that thing done. They need Potter - 49 years old and driver of busses. America's hero.
|
I’m catching my breath.
‘I can’t keep up with these guys.’ I think to myself. ‘Without gear I can barely run, now I’m their fucking lucky charm?! How am I here? Who the fuck decided this? Why the fuck was this cleared?’
I continue through the training course readying for the next mission. Heading up to the wall, heavy gear, out of breath I shout to the Sergeant
“There’s no way in hell I’m getting up there Sergeant”
“Too fucking bad ‘Pick! No ones getting chow till you finish”
‘Fucking ‘pick’ I think to myself as I make my way up the wall.
‘Started off as Private Smith, then smithy, then skinny, then toothpick and now this. These mongoloids should be calling me ‘Lucky’.
Knot by knot I pull myself up, and sit on the wall. Sergeant’s yelling at me to finish. The Commando teams are sitting around watching and laughing. Hunter, my battle buddy, comes up the wall and reminds me that the team’s hungry, and if I don’t finishing soon, there’s not gonna be any chow left and nudges me. Oops.
‘Down goes ‘pick’ runs through my mind before I can even let my hand out I suddenly feel a *chill* and a jerk from my bag.
“That’s why you’re here” yells Sergeant as the team comes by to help me out. Dangling ten feet above the ground I’m suspended by my gun’s sling. Lucky me almost fell twenty feet. Lucky me also got my sling, barrel, and shoulder strap from the pack perfectly stuck on a knot in the rope coming down. The only knot on a twenty foot rope.
They get me down, finish the training session, team goes to chow hall and we head to debriefing for next mission.
“‘Pick! Do you remember your target?” Asks the Colonel
“Sir, Yes sir!
“Alright then private! I want to have this sumbitch here by sunrise. Move out!”
We load up, get in the birds, and fly into the horizon.
Looking out of the chopper door over the designated Rendezvous point , I get a *chill*
“Cover!” I yell
Everyone knows the drill. Pilot gains altitude, Hunter gets on the .50, Sam and Tech get on the coms, and I get on the floor. Sarge is up by the pilot and flashes me a look. I haven’t seen this one before. I get another *chill*. Before I can react, I hear the whizz of bullet and a loud metallic bang.
“All Good?” yells Sarge.
“Yes sir” we call out. I look up and see a hole right where my chest was on the seat.
“Hunter, that’s Twenty One or Twenty Two this week?” calls out Sarge
“24 Sarge! Like your crayon snack pack!” Hunter responds
Everyone laughs.
*chill runs through my spine.*
“Guys this ain’t over!” I yell
Sirens go off in the cockpit.
Suddenly everything goes silent and I hear air whooshing around me.
I’m falling.
###[First time writing! Let me know if you want a part two!]###
| 2020-04-18T07:08:13 | 2020-04-18T02:47:30 | 450 | 198 |
[WP] Originally you strapped a knife to your roomba just as a joke, but now, as you attend your roomba's knighting ceremony, you cannot help but wonder where and how this joke went *so far* off the rails.
|
"Everything packed, Billy?" my mom asked. My dad was loading our suitcases into the car, checking his watch every other minute.
I nodded.
Our neighbors had recently gotten burgled while they were out on a trip which meant that we hid every valuable, every item worth any sentimental value at all. It was an especially frigid winter in southern California which meant that it boomeranged between fifty and sixty degrees. I saw the wisps of air as I exhaled and looked back at the house.
I whispered back at the house, where I left our first and last line of defense.
"Please protect us, Rob."
Inside the house was Rob, an autonomous robot vacuum that my dad had bought for my mom three years ago. Despite the poor reviews of his kind, Rob did not get stuck in the crevices of our home, and he did not whir for attention. He guided himself to his dock when he felt the need for a fill up, a reprieve from his duties.
As we drove away, I rubbed the bandage covering my left index finger. My mom asked what happened.
"Just a scratch," I replied.
I couldn't think that she'd approve of the last minute upgrades I made to Rob, the knife I tied around his steel cage frame. It was tedious work too because I wanted him to be able to round corners and make it back to his dock without nicking anything. I knew that Rob wanted nothing more than to fulfil his duties, it would hugely disappoint him if my parents were mad at the scratches the knife was prone to make while he cleaned. Rob told me so himself.
"Master," he beeped. "I don't disagree with this, but might I make a suggestion?"
He was the one who came up with the idea to place the knife on his sides, where he could choose to deploy a pillar meant to assist in dislodging himself.
"Please protect us, Rob." I said to him.
"I will, Master." He beeped.
We came back after three days, the trip had been cut short. Police cars lined our driveway, their blue and red lights flooded into view. My dad parked in a neighbor's driveway, my mom yelled at him saying he shouldn't do that, that they got so angry the last time he did that. My dad yelled back as he ran towards the house, towards the police.
I caught snippets of the conversation as my mom pulled me through the crowd and under the tape. I saw a man being carried away from the inside of our house and to an ambulance. He was bleeding, his leg a hard breeze away from falling off, bones and muscles exposed. I saw another man still inside the house, lying still. I saw only darkness after that as my mom covered my eyes. We couldn't go back to the house for another week, the police needed to find out who did this, but I knew who did it.
I ran towards the dock. I was more worried than scared, but he was still there. Under the couch, caked in dried blood, only the knife's hilt glued to his side. He left no evidence, no trail of blood. I smiled and reached under the couch to give him a pat on his back.
"I did it, Master."
|
"Guys, finally, the message came through... Reinforcements will arrive!"
The hole room suddenly brighten up. "Room" was a kind term for this place - one wall was missing, there was a hole in a ceiling, and the only clean thing was a radio equipment.
The invasion of Broxes began over a year ago. Since then, Earth's military forces all over the world were forced in a corner. A lot of folks started to lose hole and submerge in the feeling of despair, seeing how much devastation these aggressors had brought to the homeplanet of humans - cities were bombed, pastures scorched, lakes evaporated.
And then, the Order had come.
The formation of it was a sudden affair - mostly just a bunch of rugtagged regiments of different nations came together in order to fend off the threat. But initially, were was no chance for them - after all, more cohesive military units already failed, what this mismatched gathering could do?
Nothing, of course. Until the metal children of humanity decided to help their biological creators.
No one knows for certain how these devices and mechanical applications gained consciousness. Some theorize that coming of Broxes triggered something in all electric devices. Other folk thinks that machines were developing true intelligence for some time, and just no one noticed.
Either way, in the time of need, the most prominent of a new artificial species decided to side with Order.
And now, one of the most powerful metallic Knights was headed for this battlefront.
"They... They are here!"
A watcher cried thar from his watch point on the floor above. Everyone gathered near the windows and holes too see the cavalry arrive.
And there, the one stood. They were near the left flank of the sieging Broxes forces. Their round body reflected the rays of light, not trying to hide its magnificent presence. Their bright blue paint was scarred in places, but is was like badges of honor on a grizzled veteran. And the Weapon of this famous warrior was ominously glaring, ready to kill.
It was them - Richard, the Iron Wheel, with his famed Sword. Before the war, they were a simple house cleaning robot, a part of Roomba people. But now - they were one of the main protectors of humanity.
They began to charge into the ranks of Broxes, killing them in droves. In no time, invaders began to flee, fearing the might of an Order's Knight.
After all, the main advantage of Broxes was their smaller height - 60 cm at most, they use to hide and evade weapons of humanity, that were made for fighting an opponent of their size.
But a Roomba warrior was perfect for this kind of job. Small of stature, they could enter Broxes's fortifications. With keen sensors, they can find them easily and evade attacks with a grace of a feline.
And with relentless determination of a house cleaner, Richard the Iron Wheel never stops.
Because until the Earth is clean once again, their job will not be done.
And there is still plenty of rubbish to take care off.
| 2022-12-03T10:16:24 | 2022-12-03T10:04:48 | 47 | 21 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has happened across almost the entire planet. However, Switzerland has somehow remained so neutral that zombies never set foot in the country.
|
Of course, there were rumors. A place untouched by these vile creatures. A sanctuary, where life continues as if the outbreak never took place.
No one had made it though, and if, they never came back. Hear-say about a colony, floating whispers of a name..”Helvetia”
And so I set out to find it. Yet here I was, mere miles from what was once the German-Swiss border and I had failed. Observing my situation, I realized it was hopeless. The gas station, to the roof of which I had escaped the undead hordes to was surrounded.
I hadn’t eaten in days, and now even hallucinations?
No, that wasn’t it...I could definitely smell a pungent aroma, floating through the air ever so slightly...
Not just me however, my newfound deathless friends were beginning to become restless and renewed their attempts to scale the wall to my refuge turned prison.
As time passes, I started fade in and out of consciousness, my hunger pangs worsened by a smell that somehow reminded me of a time past.
Suddenly, a hissing sound! And another! Like angry snakes flying through the air, metal bolts impaled first one, then two, now three zombies.
As I saw a hooded, bearded figure jump out of a nearby tree with a ridiculously oversized crossbow in hand, I realized what the smell was...
“Grüezi” a voice called out, “Would you care for some Fondue after this?”
|
“C’mon Liz lets get to this fucking plane. I will not miss this- it will be the death of
us.” Liz slowly opened her opulent wardrobe, slowly looking at the long handmade designer gowns. She had quite the assortment: Ralph Lauren, Chanel, Dior, and many more. Matt looked at her with anger in his eyes, with the size of his legs he made it to Liz’s closet in 3 strides. He slammed the wardrobe, “Liz,” he said with a sign, “you need to pack things that matter. Food, money, our jewelry, things that
Might have value. We are leaving everything darling.” Liz looked around collapsing on the satin blankets of their California king, crawling under trying to hide from how scared she really was. Matt put his hand around her shoulders, “My love, pack your diamonds, and some pictures. I’ll get the rest, meet me downstairs in five minutes.” He closes the door and leaves Liz to collect all their “financial essentials”. Liz knew what things were worth, but even processing that zombies could be overtaking their Calabasas mansion in minutes, Matt had it all figured out, at least that’s what he said. She gathered everything that mattered and met Matt downstairs, as they opened the door a hoard enclosed upon them, the last thing Liz saw was a bloody, boney hand thrust his fist into her skull.
| 2019-12-06T09:02:48 | 2019-12-06T08:48:30 | 173 | 14 |
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him.
|
Mom,
Don't have too much time, we move out in 10.
Long time no see. Haven't been able to write back, they've been keeping us on our feet for the last few weeks. Tell the goobers their uncle has permission to beat them if they get into the cabinets again. Tell Heather that the fish tank needs cleaned more often if that slime keeps coming back.
I'll fix the garden when I get back, maybe I'll even bring you a souvenir.
Have Dad throw the ball for the beast, 'til one of them drops from exhaustion, it'll be good for the both of them.
Tell Grandpa we'll trade stories of these Kraut...
==================
Ma'am,
It is with a heavy heart that I must continue this letter.
On the night of [redacted] roughly twenty miles south of [redacted] your son was involved in a friendly fire incident. An enemy 105 had hit nearby, then the gas, the hellfire the bullets the chaos. It was madness, fire and bodies.
You can thank our great nation for training us well. Your son took three shots, center mass. He was down before my finger was off the trigger. It wasn't a good death, but it wasn't painful. I'll be giving him my apologies in person.
I am truly sorry,
Sgt. A. Andrews
95th Inf.
"B" company
===================
Roughly one hour after writing this, Sgt Andrews took his own life.
Taking the life of another isn't the hard part, living with yourself after is.
Cpt. C. Evans
Acting Commander of Bravo Company, 95th Infantry Division
Outside [redacted] Germany.
|
My dearest love,
I long to see the smile that graces you lips. It has been well over seven months since I have and my heart aches for that one simple gesture that would welcome me home. Everywhere around me death grins and I recoil from its affection. Tommy, the boy from the Mason’s farm, felt its sweet kiss two days ago. Give his family my regards, his death was quick there are few remains and his family will only have a small box inside a coffin to bury.
The weather is clear and we are pushing forward today. The sun shines just like that day when we had our first child and I was racing you to the hospital. It’s hard to believe little Johnny will be 3 years old next month. Thank you for your last letter of showing how big he has grown, I have tucked it into my bible and hold it close to my chest at night.
We are moving up now, we have a bridge to take. I will finish this tonight.
My lady,
Your husband is a brave man and I’m sorry that I have had to kill him. He took out two machine gun nests by himself before I put a round through his head. His death was quick and painless. I’m sorry I had to take him from you. God I am so sorry, I’m sorry this war is happening and I’m sorry for every man I have killed.
Please, please pray for me
For these awful things that got to be
When this war for freedom has been won
I promise you I’ll put away my gun.
The man that can barely live with himself
| 2015-02-03T15:25:05 | 2015-02-03T13:20:11 | 113 | 14 |
[WP] You tell your wife how glad you are to be a human and not a robot. She looks at you confusingly says, "What are you talking about? We're all robots. Humans have been dead for years."
Finally! Number one on the front page! Fuck yeah! Gonna sell this account for cocaine now.
|
I looked away from the TV, still showing the ad for a personal assistance bot. Anna was staring at me without blinking.
"Right," I said, laughing.
"Right," she said. "Are you experiencing problems with memory and identity, Gregory? That is concerning. You should go in for maintenance."
I burst out laughing as she continued to stare unblinkingly at me. One of the many small reasons I loved my wife. She had the driest, strangest sense of humour of anyone I'd ever met. And a poker face that never failed.
"Oh, I am sorry," I said, playing along. "Must be faulty programming. BEEEEP."
Anna frowned then, and suddenly her eyes cleared. "I understand. You are the new unit to test whether my ERICH procedure is working?"
My laughter dried up as she gave me an unsettling smile. "What?"
She gave an oddly monotonous laugh. "Emergency Reaction In Case of Humans. The new programming they are implementing, in case any wild humans *are* still out there."
She went on as I stared blankly at her. "Mimicking human behaviour in response to questions about our nature. Very good. I am happy to assist the testing. However, I have not yet been fully updated to respond correctly at all times. I am curious: is it true they have planted some of the captive humans with altered memories in select cities to thoroughly test the programming? Is it true you can be shut down by pressing a certain part of your unit, to retrieve your data? Is it -"
Her mouth worked as she tried to continue talking, and then slumped to the ground. I dialled the ambulance, struggling to drag her to the couch. I felt a twinge of anxiety at the dull light in her eyes. She'd been suffering more and more fainting spells, lately. This time, I'd make sure they kept her overnight to test that everything was fine.
I hovered at her side when the ambulance arrived and they carried her out.
"Do not worry, sir," one of the men said, smiling brightly at me. "We will fix her right up."
I tried to get into the van with her, but they gently pushed me out.
"You go rest, sir," the man said. "We will call you when you can pick her up."
-------------
Anna came home the next day, and I made sure she stayed in bed despite her protests that she was fine. When I brought her chicken soup, she smiled softly at me.
"You are so caring," she said.
As I put the soup in her hands, she caressed the side of my neck, pressing down ever so slightly. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me, as if waiting for something to happen. I gave her a questioning smile, and her eyes widened.
"Something wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said, and started to eat her soup. "You're such a good man, Greg."
"Robot, remember?" I joked. "We're all robots?"
She burst out laughing, caressing my neck again. "You're hilarious."
----------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
|
"Haha, very funny," I said in a hollow voice.
"Wait." She put down the book she was reading, a self-help manual of how to be a better mother, and looked at me incredulously. "You can't be serious."
"Stop it, already, it's not funny."
She knew when I was being serious and would've backed down by now and grinned and told me she was joking, throwing her head back with a cackle that reminded me of the university parties we used to have on weekends when we were much younger: *Gotcha Gene!* But she grew more and more alarmed, turning her whole body to face me.
"Goodness, Gene," she said. "Haven't you noticed all this time?"
"Jamy - "
"We're all robots," she said with a sort of desperate burst, and she gave me that odd *look* again. Her eyes were wide and staring; they searched my own. She'd only given me that look on certain occasions, at the altar on our wedding day, and when she'd handed me Mishka just after giving birth to him at Down Hospital. It was a penetrating look, a look to see my every reaction. A look as if she knew something I didn't. Then she frowned, looking uncertain and said, "Everyone is a robot, Gene."
"I don't believe you."
She rolled her eyes, maybe thinking I was pulling her leg and that it was now way too excessive and not funny, and picked her book back up. But as she looked down at the pages, her eyes remained fixed in one place, and I could tell she was suffering from some kind of inner turmoil.
***
I came back home at sunset, four hours after leaving Jamy reading on the couch. She was still there but had fallen asleep, mouth open, legs up on the coffee table. There was a smell of burnt apples in the air; she'd been making apple pie. I cleared my throat loudly and she jerked awake, legs flailing, muttering something inaudible.
"Well you weren't joking," I told her.
"What?" She was rubbing her eyes.
"Everyone else is a robot." I was trying to keep my emotions under control. Not now, I said to myself. *Not yet.*
"You and me and Mishka, too," she said sleepily. "Like, come *on*, Gene. It's not funny anymore."
"Except me, though. I'm not a robot. I'm not like you."
"I literally don't have time for this." She got up and headed to the kitchen to assess how badly burnt the apples were and I followed her at a distance I thought was safe enough.
"I have proof," I said gravely, and then she froze, and seeing this reaction from her stopped me cold, too. A desperation like no other was rising in me. My heart beat faster, my breathing became labored as if I already knew the outcome of the fight I was about to have with my wife. "I found out about everything, Jamy, and I know you won't like it."
Edit: grammar
| 2017-01-29T01:16:36 | 2017-01-29T00:59:54 | 855 | 127 |
[WP] You've developed a machine that allows you to speak with "you"s from different dimensions. However, you notice that you're the only male in a sea of women.
|
I have to admit, I was a bit startled when he walked into my living room- especially since he managed to do so without, you know, *opening the door*. Just, suddenly, he was there.
"Brad?" I asked perplexed. Last I heard, my twin brother was in D.C., and most definitely not in Phoenix. "What are you doing here, and when did you shave your...." I trailed off as recognition dawned.
"Uh, hi, sorry to disturb you, didn't mean to just pop in like that, if you'll pardon the pun. I'm still testing this out." Man, and I thought *my* voice was low. Goes to show how far I've come, I suppose.
"So...you like a time-traveler, or something?" I asked hesitantly.
"Well, I mean, if you consider moving through alternate timelines, then yeah."
"So, you a physicist, then? Or a mathematician?" If he was the latter, maybe I could pick his brains on how to improve the network models I was working on for my dissertation. I mean, it'd still technically be my work, right?
"Not exactly, no. Cross-Over was pretty much an accidental discovery. A fluke, I guess." He shrugged. "With an infinite number of universes, had to happen somewhere."
"Makes sense," I replied. I mean, what else can you say to something like that. "Am I the first timeline you've visited?"
"Nah, I've been to a bunch. Most of them are pretty similar- living in Phoenix, working at ASU, married to Alex or someone very much like her. Though weirdly, I've been the only guy version of me I've encountered so far, which is a little strange." He grinned, trying to conceal his nervousness. "I, uh, wonder what that says about me, heh."
"Yeah, huh, I wonder," I said, suddenly fidgeting with the trans pride pendant I wore.
Which, of course, immediately brought his attention to it. A shocked expression briefly crossed his face, followed by gradual comprehension. I knew that look before- I'd seen it on myself, when I read Julia Serano's books *Whipping Girl* and realized how much of her experiences applied to me. The pieces were falling into place.
"You're...?" He asked, tentatively.
"Yeah." I replied. There was no going back for him; he knew what was possible now.
"Oh. Wow. Huh."
I chuckled. "Yeah, I guess maybe there's a reason you're the only male version you've seen." He clearly didn't find it as funny as I did, but I suppose I couldn't blame him, given the thoughts that were clearly racing through his mind.
He spoke very gingerly next. "So, I mean, how did our mom and dad take it? Brad and Whitney? Alex?"
"Mom was totally unfazed by it- turned out our biological father was apparently quite the crossdresser, who knew? Maybe it runs in the family." Hell, he's already shocked, might as well pile it on. "Brad and Whitney were both supportive of me from the get-go- Whitney in particular was a great fashion and style coach when I was building my wardrobe- though Brad said it was a little weird when he could no longer see himself in me. Things with Alex were pretty touch and go for the first six months despite her being bisexual, but now we're closer than ever, and she's flat out told me she likes me better as a girl. Though admittedly," I said with a grin, "it helps that it turns out she was a bit of a closeted butch herself."
"Well, yeah, that actually doesn't surprise me that much. And our dad?"
I sighed. "Carl...didn't beat his prostate cancer in this universe."
He shot me a look of compassion. "Oh. I'm sorry. We caught it early, my timeline." Perhaps that's why he hadn't figured it out- losing Carl was so emotionally draining to me that I no longer had the energy to keep my true nature repressed.
"Yeah, I know. But I have no doubt he would've been totally accepting of me, and still loved me as his daughter."
"Gotcha. Well, uh, glad to hear everything worked out so well for you." He looked at me with a pained expression. I knew what question was coming next.
"Do you...do you think it's too late for me? I mean, you look great, you must have started younger than we are now."
"Not by that much- I was only 27 when I started, and, obviously, [I'm pretty happy with how I've turned out now](http://imgur.com/a/rkxEL)." I paused, wondering if I should really drop the bomb on him or not, before deciding just to go for it. "I think you'll turn out fine. Better than you expect, honestly."
"Uh, well, thanks. You've, uh, given me a lot to think about." He fidgeted with what looked like a suped-up smart phone- this Cross-Over device he mentioned, no doubt.
"So, I guess I better get going, before people start to wonder where I am. Uh, is it OK if I come back here, in case I have any questions?"
"Umm, sure." I knew how confusing the next three years were probably going to be for him. "Though, can you maybe knock next time?"
"Thanks. I'm really grateful for that." He turned his face to the device, and started fiddling it.
"Hey," I said, hoping to catch him before he fazed out. "Good luck to you."
"Thanks," he replied, his eyes ever so slightly tearing up. And then he was gone.
Well, I thought to myself, while maybe that's not the most surreal thing that's ever happened to me in my life, it's definitely up there. I wonder, in this infinite sea of possible me's, if there's a version out there of me who's a guy and actually *likes* being a guy?
I giggled to myself at the thought. After all, perhaps somethings are just too improbable.
EDIT: Thank you for the good, kind stranger!
|
A couple of wires. Some pieces of quantum semi-conductors. Several laws of physics broken. Sheer determination and force of will. Somehow, in some way, I was able to create a pocket-docket. The name made sense at the time. With this I was able to look up all of the different versions of me, their biographies, their statuses, as well as make contact with them. The thing is though, they're all girls. Some of them lead lives so different from mine that I wouldn't even believe that they'd be me. I scrolled down to see if there's a version of me with at least similar hobbies, hoping to connect with them through that. I ended up finding one, and I start the conversation from there.
"Hey there!"
She stumbled, "umm... who are you?"
"Well, to put it simply, I'm you. Except that I'm from a different dimension. Also I'm a dude."
"How did you get here? And how did you get my phone number?"
"Well I created a machine that allows me to make contact with different versions of myself. It's able to do a sort of instant search of my selves from different dimensions."
"Hmm... prove it."
"Okay then. Umm..."
I had to think for a while since the different versions of me ended up having different likes, dislikes, hobbies, passions, and aspirations, meaning that I have to think about the sort of certainties. It sort of made me think about the things I'm in common with the rest of them. What I came up with was that I looked at my pocket-docket and went off with the search descriptions.
"Your mother's name is Alice and your father's Jonathan. You're born on the Philippines, in a city named Cavite. The date of your birth is April 12, 2000. Your parents both worked at a company called Pointwest, which was where they met before they had you. Both have four siblings each. You ended up moving away from the Philippines in 2006. Oddly enough, despite our versions having many differences, our parents ended up being very similar."
"Fine," she conceded. "I'll believe you for now. By the way, what did mom and dad call you? There's no way they're naming a boy Luisa."
"Oh yeah. Name's Levi. Nice to be talking with you."
"You said you could talk to other versions of me? What are they like?"
"Well first of all, they're all females. That's where the commonalities end, though."
"Well I mean, I spend my days cooped up in my room playing Factorio, League, Ultimate Tic-Tac-Toe, and all that."
"Same. Basically this machine that I have is able to look at the bios of the different selves. One of them is top of the class, taking AP Human in her freshman year, another is in Track and Field, and is really good at that. Another is a very good artist. Another is in Orchestra, and rocks the violin. One of them... got hit on by a football player."
"...Say what now?"
"I know right! One of them even has a boyfriend!"
"That... was that why you went out of your way talking about how my parents went and where I was born?"
"Yeah. Those are the things that make me you. Honestly I wasn't expecting this. Look one of them even likes Taylor Swift! And Twenty One Pilots!"
"Do any of them like SOAD?"
"...Meh."
"Wow..."
"Don't worry. I'm not the guy that just laughs at stereotypical females. One of them can bench 145 lbs and another one is a proclaimed lesbian."
"Are they the same person?"
"There's one that's both."
"Woohoo! More stereotypes!"
"They have to be self-conscious about this stuff, lest some other version of them starts laughing at them for their life choices."
"True... I am a gamer girl at heart, and to be honest I'm not that good. I'm only Diamond II on my ranked ladder."
"Woah... memes aside I'm only Gold V. I'm... I'm so sorry."
"Sorry about what?"
"Nothing... anyways you're the first version of me that I talked to, since we have a lot in common with each other. It took me thirty minutes of scrolling to find you. If only I had a... wait."
I looked at my pocket-docket and saw that there's an option to sort by most common.
"I'm such a dingus."
"Hey, it's been fun talking with you and I was thinking that we should add each other on chat."
"You have WhatsApp?"
"Yeah man! Can you add me?"
"Let me check..."
I was able to save Luisa's number on my device and with that I went to my WhatsApp and sent her a message.
"Oh hey! I got a message from you! It's a picture of a monkfish."
"Yeah I just like fooling around."
"Hey. Can you connect me with the others? Have one giant group chat so we can roast each other for our life choices."
"Maybe. That's if they actually pick up the phone. Then again you managed to pick yours up."
"Well when I saw the random number I was thinking of letting it go to voicemail, but for some reason I pressed the answer button. Glad I did it though."
"Happy to make you glad you did it. Anyways I need to go to bed, and I kind of do want to make contact with the other versions of me, and put them all into that giant group chat you just mentioned."
"Great! Well I'll stay in touch."
"Thanks."
The first contact managed to be a success. Afterwards I called it a night and slept until morning. The second try will probably be a lot harder, but before I managed to try I was stuck on who I should contact next. I came to the conclusion that since the first one had a lot of commonalities the second one should be someone I can't even believe could've been me, so I went with the one with the boyfriend. I clicked on her name, Elizabeth, and let the device ring.
"Hello?"
"Is this Elizabeth Manalo?"
"I'm her boyfriend, Bradley. What do you want?"
| 2017-06-25T08:50:33 | 2017-06-25T01:46:05 | 117 | 43 |
[WP] You're a supervillain whose latest evil scheme threatens to throw the city into chaos unless your nemesis goes on a date with you. To your surprise, they agree with enthusiasm before you can even explain what the consequences of refusing are.
|
(I'm responding to my own prompt because life is short)
I was sitting in my office drinking tea when the doors were knocked down by one of my men getting thrown through it. I smiled. She had finally arrived.
Through the now unblocked doorway, a figure dressed in a pink and purple jester costume stepped through, her elongated limbs retracting back to their natural size. Jelly Baby. The Stretchy Sentinel of the Streets. My nemesis. And the woman I've been in love with for the past two years.
"You know, there is such a thing as email in this day and age, Ophelia. And don't say you don't have my email address, your geek squad once hacked the Department of Defense. They can easily get a twenty-something's email address."
I set my tea on my desk and replied, "Jelly Baby. I see you got my message."
"Yeah well, it was carved into a golden calf statue that you dropped out of a plane and onto the police department's latest civilian casualty machine, so ignoring it wasn't exactly an option." JB lifted herself onto my desk, taking care not to knock over my tea, before continuing, "So, what's the name of the game this time? Ransom? Looking to absorb a local pyramid scheme? Need me to take out a rival that you can't because even organized crime has bullshit politics?"
"Nothing quite so intense, love. I simply want to take you out to dinner tonight."
JB snapped to attention, still somehow avoiding the tea, and stared me straight in the eye. "Holy crap yes, I'd love to go out with you."
I sighed and went to take another sip of my tea. "At least let me tell you what will happen if you refuse before you engage in your particular brand of wit."
"What'll happen is I'll miss out on the chance to go out with the woman I've had a crush on for like three years!"
Jelly Baby's words rattled me so thoroughly that I spat my tea out all over the floor. With chamomile still dripping down my chin, I stared at JB in shock as she got off my desk and started pacing and gleefully bouncing around the room.
"Like, the first time I ran into you, that one time in Vegas, I was head over heels. Like, runaway-with-you-to-the-Caribbean for you. You're smart and fearless and funny and there's a lot of kindness behind all that villain stuff, plus you are like the hottest woman I have ever met. Like, four Victoria's Secret angels came together and somehow mothered a child that was all four of theirs at the same time, and that baby was you. And I always felt weird about it, cause you're a supervillain, but then this happened and I just - I wanna freaking scream right now!"
I could barely keep up with JB anymore, both because of my own shock and because I could barely believe that she felt the same way I did. Once she had finally calmed down, JB asked if I had reservations anywhere or if we were just going to wing it. I managed to stammer out, "I, uh, got us a table at a Japanese place in uptown."
"Perfect, I love sushi! Meet you downstairs!" JB then ran back through the doorway, let out a squeal of delight, and honest to God backflipped out of my line of sight. As I settled back into my chair, I fumbled around for my phone and put in a call to my right hand man, Prospero.
"Prospero, call off the attack. Yes, she agreed. I didn't even tell her about the plan, she just agreed the second I asked her out because apparently she's had a crush on me too. I know, I can't believe it either. Oh, and when I get back, can you find me a pillow I can joyously scream into until I pass out? Thank you."
|
Getting tipsy at the club with my friends. We're shaking butts in time with the hottest song of the summer. Sometimes we villains are cannibals - I took down this jerk who was trying to dim my sunshine so to speak - muscling into my action with dark money politics. I ruined his reputation by making some photos of him in the middle of extramarital situations which the mainstreamers didn't like. Me and my crew figured out he was really into funding start up companies that hire young college females. Turns out people are not OK with non-consensual polyamory. Go figure!
Now everybody's hating on him. Kicking him off of charity boards, returning his millions. It's super sad for him. Politicians crying about how they never saw it coming, how he seemed like such a nice guy with civic values. I'm all for oppressing the people because OMG democracy is so annoying. I'm not into humans ruling themselves - they simply cannot handle the responsibility. But he was getting bigger than me, and I wasn't having it. Who is the biggest villain? For damn sure it's not him. Yeah, was that vain? So what? I don't care. Did Godzilla have to work this hard? I don't know. Maybe my life would be easier as a nuclear radiation kaiju. Cloak of invisibility plus flight powers works pretty well for me. But still. There's more to life, am I right?
So here's the thing about villains. The villainy doesn't just stop with civilian deaths and general misery. It also sucks to date other villains. NGL, how many phone calls going to voicemail or messages left on read do I have to tolerate? I am the Empress of this town and it doesn't seem to matter much. Definitely got high fives and plenty of offers for hot dates after I blew up the sewage system. But this thing about destroying this billionaire takes the cake. Lots of smiles and offers of hugs - which I do not accept, thank you very much.
Who is coming up to me, looking like sex on wheels but Apple Tree Johnson? "Good job Empress. Didn't know you had it in you." Immediately I brace myself for something patronizing or condescending to follow. But it never arrives. "I kinda hated that billionaire dude also. And you know everybody on my side tried everything too. But you are the one who made the slam-dunk. Can I shake your hand?" Apple Tree Johnson - gorgeous and pretty smart too for a superhero - went to high school with me. Oh yeah it gets worse.
Why is it 100% cringe anytime we run into each other? So what's the harm with a handshake? "Mmm-kay, sure." I stick out my hand. His hand is warm. It's like butter mixed with caramel is flowing now from my hand to my brain. All of sudden his face lights up like glitter is raining down on just him. He nods, keeping his hand on mine. "Slam-dunk Empress. Your town thanks you." Who talks like this? Why am I like the snake caught in the gaze of a mongoose now?
I clear my throat, "Cool, let's hang out sometime and chat more. I'd rather do this civilly but if you do not accept - " He cuts me off before I finish. "Of course, anything for a champion. Time and place?" He didn't even wait to hear my threat. I was going to do something really awesome with the saltwater intrusion into our freshwater supply but I guess he didn't have the patience to hear what evil I had up my sleeve. I wasn't 100% on the saltwater thing but it could be epic. I'll table it for the time being. What the hell are we going to talk about?!?!
| 2022-08-16T12:05:36 | 2022-08-16T09:25:08 | 26 | 12 |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
Looking in the mirror, I puffed my chest out arrogantly.
I flexed, and admired the aesthetics of my physique.
Vascular arms, the chiseled abs, and V taper.
And then my eyes stopped short, shocked.
I trembled as the realization dawned.
I've made a huge mistake.
How did this happen?
I skipped it.
Leg Day.
Again.
|
I remember what you said leaving the house that night.
We had fought earlier -- apparently I worried too much.
"I'll be fine," you said; "worry about yourself."
*Fine, but don't come crying to me.*
Later I heard about the accident.
Drunk driver on West Ave.
You still haven't recovered.
Ellie, I'm sorry.
I'm worried.
Please...
| 2015-01-05T22:38:49 | 2015-01-05T21:32:01 | 1,258 | 55 |
[WP] Scientists invented a pill that enables dogs to fully speak and understand English. It lasts for ten minutes, and will only work one time. You give a pill to your 12 year-old Border Collie, whom you've had since they were a pup. Your dog immediately says "Alright, listen very carefully..."
|
My dog, who I named Mr. Fierce when I was 14, was no longer quite so fierce. 12 years later I was nearing 30 and he was slowing down. His black and white fur had a little extra white in it from old age. He was always excitable, but now days he took a while longer to get his body moving. I could tell I only had a year, maybe two, left with him.
I'd spent my life with Mr. Fierce. My parents both worked when I was a teenager, and Mr. Fierce was my best friend. When I was in college, I had to leave him behind, and I regretted those years spent apart. Every college break I came back to find my dog had gotten a little older. It was heartbreaking. After college I made a point to always bring him with me, paying extra for dog friendly apartments. Mr. Fierce was too important. He was family.
When the pill came out that would let me actually talk to him, of course I jumped at the chance. Who wouldn't? I was nervous. Would he be mad at me? For those years spent apart? I hadn't been able to afford to bring him to the vet as much as I should. Would he tell me he was in too much pain? What would I do if he told me he hurt too much? 12 years was a good life for a collie. I couldn't stand the idea of not having him waking me up every morning.
It took a few days for me to get the courage, but I finally gave him the pill one night after work.
And after his first few moments of confusion, once he realized I could understand him... Do you know what he asked me? Mr. Fierce, my best friend asked me.
"Alright, listen carefully, am I a good boy?"
I lost it. I couldn't help but cry. I hugged him tightly and assured him.
"Yes, Fierce. You are the best boy. The most wonderful boy in the whole world."
The remaining minutes he could talk were a blur of happy questions, the most precious minutes of my life.
A few months later when I found out he had to be put down from tumors in his stomach I was at peace with it. I held his paw and let him know in those final moments that yes, he was a good boy. He was the best boy, and I would always, always love him.
|
"Alright, listen very carefully," Lucy spoke with a condescending voice. "How do you expect me to do my business in less than 2 minutes? I don't care if you're cold, or the commercials are over, or if you've already finished your cigarette, I haven't finished my business." I was taken aback for a moment while Lucy caught her breath. I could tell this wasn't going to be as fun as the commercial said it would be. "Second, I'm a dog. I may be old but my ears are still more sensitive than yours. Do you honestly think I can't hear you and Sarah in your bedroom just because you close the door. And that night after senior prom, you didn't have to throw me out of the house. I wasn't going to tell your parents about your little "adventure" when you got home. It was the day after a blizzard and I'm left in the cold while you're busy getting hot." I hadn't had a lecture like this since Mom found a gram on my dresser Sophomore year. I took a chair and waited for the next avalanche of words to come "And why did you think it would be a good idea to put ME on that raft you and Rick built. You knew that raft wouldn't float, but no, you thought it was funny to make me swim back to shore. Do you know how cold the water is the week after the ice leaves the lake." It was at this time that I had enough. I pick up the envelope and frantically looked for anything that would reverse the effects. "And I still remember that weekend you got drunk with Mike and Grant. You know, the weekend Mom and Dad where away and you forgot to feed me, or give me water, or take me out unless I barked. And then you threw a shoe at me because I drank out of the toilet." At this point in time I was done hearing all of this. In frustration I stood up and--- Lucy saw the look on my face and went back on the foot of my bed. "But you know what" Lucy said in an annoyed but some what magnanimous voice. "I still love you, and I wouldn't have told Mom or Dad any of this even if I could've talked then. But I would appreciate pork ears more often if that's not to labor intensive for you"
| 2017-02-23T05:15:25 | 2017-02-22T22:33:08 | 3,942 | 799 |
[WP] A hero and a villain have a drunken one-night-stand with eachothers civilian alter egos. The next morning they recognise eachothers super-identities.
|
I couldn't be sure exactly when I recognised her. Something in the curve of her neck, perhaps, which I had seen beneath a mask in countless surveillance videos. Or just something in the way she moved, graceful and athletic but very sudden, as if she had just heard something inaudible to everyone else. The knowledge wasn't from a single moment of realisation so much as a string of smaller moments. But once it became real, my heart started to pound. I was sitting in her kitchen wearing only boxers and a t-shirt, and I had no doubt that scattered around this apartment were a great number of weapons.
As if on cue, she reached down and opened a drawer, still not looking at me.
*What a stupid way to die,* I thought.
Her hand came out of the drawer holding a wooden spoon, which she used to stir the scrambled eggs she was making.
'You've realised, haven't you,' she said, and finally she turned. She was wearing just a long t-shirt, and looked sensational. Dark red hair fell neatly over one shoulder, even though she hadn't even showered yet.
'When did you know?' I asked.
'In the taxi, I think. Hard to recall exactly.'
'Yes. Quite a bit of wine.'
I glanced around the room as we were talking, and my eyes stopped on a sword case mounted on the wall over the door. It was so stupidly obvious I couldn't understand how I hadn't seen it before. But I guess I wasn't looking.
I thought I was subtle about my gaze and the almost imperceptible shift in my weight, but clearly I wasn't.
'It's empty,' she said, nodding at it. 'Just the case for decoration. But I have a silenced Glock in the fridge, if you want to go for it.'
'It's a good place for it,' I said.
'Yes.'
'Easy to get to without attracting any notice.'
'Exactly.'
'You've been to the fridge, what... three times now?' My brain was still not quite over the wine.
'Four.'
'Right.'
'You probably have weapons all over this place, I'm thinking.'
'Quite a few. Check out the leg of the chair beside you, for example.'
I squatted down to look at it. 'Does it pop off in... Ah,' I said, finding the release. It came off with a click, and felt heavy and solid in my hands. I stood and swung it experimentally. 'Weighted,' I said. 'Feels good in the hand.'
'Lead lined,' she said. 'Made it myself.'
'Did you do the curtain rail as well?' The ornate ending of the curtain rail poll seemed to be similar.
'I did,' she said. 'Pull it straight out.'
It slipped out easily and the ornamental knob was attached to a ten-inch blade. I tested it on my arm hairs and it sliced through them like a razor. 'Very good,' I said. 'High up though. Hard to get.'
'So unexpected though, right? I think it makes up for it.'
'And the books,' I said, walking over to the bookcase. 'One of them, I'm assuming...'
'Can you guess?' she asked.
I looked at the titles. *War and Peace* seemed a bit obvious, as did *Crime and Punishment*. Had we talked about books last night? I had a weird sense we had, but I couldn't remember the details. And then one caught my eye: *Grimms' Fairy Tales*. I slid if off the shelf and opened it, and inside was a small Sig Sauer handgun.
'The P238?' I said.
'Right,' she answered. 'Took me a while to find a copy of the book big enough to hold it.'
She had her back to me again, and it seemed ungentlemanly to check if the Sig was loaded.
'How many bacon?' she asked.
'Two is perfect, thanks,' I said.
I wandered around as she finished the cooking looking to see what else I could find, but if anything else was there it was very well hidden. She brought the two plates to the kitchen island, and we sat on either side and ate in silence. But curiosity was killing me. 'Did I find everything?' I asked her finally.
'God no,' she said. 'You missed out my favourite.'
'Show me,' I said.
I couldn't see the movement exactly as she was on the other side of the island, but I guessed she touched something with her foot. There was a heavy *click* and then in the same instant a hole appeared in the top of the kitchen island as a panel snapped out of the way, and a handgun popped upwards, launched with just enough momentum to reach about two feet above the countertop. She caught it neatly. From initiation to the gun being in her hand pointed right at me was well less than a second.
'Another Sig,' I said, holding very still.
'The P226,' she said. 'My favourite.'
'Catching it like that must take some practice,' I said.
'It does,' she said. 'And it took a lot of work to tune the mechanism.'
Her eyes were a very dark brown, very clear, and I found myself locked into them.
'I would have thought you'd have included a silencer,' I said.
'It threw off the weight distribution too much. But turns out the walls of this place are very thick, and the other tenants are rather old.'
'I see.'
'They don't notice much.'
'Uh huh.'
There was a moment that was short, but felt very, very long.
'Anyway,' she said, putting the gun down on the table casually between the two of us pointed towards the wall. 'What are you doing next weekend?'
'Well,' I said, 'I was rather hoping I might see you again. Friday?'
'I, uh, can't on Friday,' she said, looking away for a moment. 'Saturday?'
'I'll be looking forward to it.' I stood. 'I better get moving. Thanks for breakfast.'
'My pleasure.'
'But uh, next weekend, let's do it at my place?'
'I'd love to,' she said.
I nodded at her politely, and headed for the shower.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Check out all my WPs at [r/HouseBlendMedium](https://www.reddit.com/r/HouseBlendMedium/) and thanks for reading! Comments and requests most welcome.
|
Roger opened his eyes blearily, before the bright sunlight coming through the exposed windows forced him to close them again. A sharp, throbbing pain resided just behind his eyes letting him know that, once again, he was hungover. He sighed to himself. Super Strength, Super Speed, inhuman durability and the ability to summon Gwandihlr (a blade with the power to shatter entire worlds, or at least that's what he'd been told...) but he still couldn't avoid a hangover. He rubbed his eyes again, ready to make another attempt at opening them, when the duvet next to him shifted a little.
"*Well hello, what do we have here...*" Roger thought, before subtly moving himself out of the bed, avoiding waking his temporary companion. He may be hungover, but he still wasn't a rude host. Then, it was the kitchen, and two coffees (black, no sugar) to get him and his guest ready for the day ahead. Not that he needed it now, he wouldn't start work until much later in the day, though it was good to maintain the illusion that he had an ordinary routine at all times.
Many heroes had been killed by their arch-nemeses because they had unwittingly given themselves away somehow. DayBreaker, may he rest in peace, had died because he'd gone to the gym every day before going on patrol. And his arch-nemesis, Mrs. Postal had moonlighted as a receptionist and noticed the timings.
"*Imagine! Frequenting the place where your villain worked! What poor luck*" thought Roger as he put the coffees on a tray and carried them through to his room, his mind wandering to his own Arch-Nemesis.
"*Miss Control, with the powers of Telekinesis, Telepathy, pyrokinesis, electrokinesis, and a bunch of other stuff. Basically all the Kinesises. Plus flight. Which seems sort of unfair...*"
In fact he'd fought her yesterday. She'd been carrying out a heist on the U.S. Reserve when he'd stopped her. She'd got away, but not with the cash. Now that he thought about it, that was the whole reason he'd gone out drinking alone. Everyone was congratulating him on another successful bout of law abiding vigilantism and he couldn't help but feel like it was undeserved. 5 years now he'd been fighting Miss Control and he'd never got the upper hand. This woman, whose face he'd never seen, was slowly ruining his life. She was there every day as soon as he put on the costume. Every time he chanted **Gwandihlr, by the Heavens come forth!** she seemed to appear, even when he whispered it. Even when others clapped him on the back and told him what a great hero he was, he couldn't help but feel like a failure with her always around. The only time she wasn't there was when Roger woke up.
"*Oh well, get that out of your mind. You have a girl here who's not trying to kill you and she deserves your full attention*"
After a few hours of heavy drinking the night before he'd blacked out, though he could just about remember downing tequila shots with a mysterious woman. Well, he didn't remember, but there were about 30 photos on his instagram of tequila shots that all had the exact same caption. He remembered having a ton of fun though, this woman could clearly drink him under the table, something he always respected in a drinking buddy. It was hard to find people to match you drink for drink when Athena herself had blessed you with the constitution of an Ox.
He opened the door, just as the girl began to wake up. He saw a flash of her auburn hair as she got out from under the duvet before noticing his costume on the ground where he'd threw it off last night in his depression.
"*Oh shit, this is why you always hang the costume in the wardrobe Roger. Just like Mum taught you!*" He thought, before activating his super speed. He deftly swiped the spandex off the floor, delicately throwing it into the wardrobe with such precision that it slipped into the miniscule gap that left it slightly ajar.
He turned to the bed, satisfied in his subtlety and, let's not be modest here, sheer skill, saying "Who wants a coffee?" as he did. When he'd turned the full 180°, she was staring him dead in the eyes, a look of shock mixed with dread spreading across her face.
"*She couldn't have seen it*" Roger thought to himself, slightly less confident in his abilities than a moment before but still sure he'd managed to keep his secret identity hidden. "*She'd need to have superfast vision to see it, and not even Miss Control has that.*"
"*I think...*"
"Power Master?!" She shrieked, using his superhero name.
"*Don't react*" He thought to himself, having trained mentally for this moment.
"Power Master?! Where?!" He exclaimed, putting the coffee down and looking frantically around the room, hoping his acting skills were as good as his ability to potentially destroy worlds. He turned back to her. She didn't seem convinced. She kept looking at him, then her eyes narrowed and a very familiar feeling washed over him, like his thoughts were being pushed through a sieve. In fact, he'd only felt like this when-
"*Oh no. No no no. Please no.*" He thought as he looked closer at his guest. Auburn hair? Slight frame? Big hands? Mind reading? Yep. It was definitely Miss Control.
He gulped. She had the upper hand here. He couldn't summon Gwandihlr before she crushed the life from his body. No matter how buff and in shape that body was.
"So...what now?" He said, nervously licking his lips.
Miss Control looked at him, for all the world looking like a totally ordinary woman who couldn't destroy you with a thought, before her eyes narrowed somewhat menacingly. Was that menace? Roger didn't know, but he was still pretty scared.
"Well, we're going to drink our coffees. And then we're going for round 2"
Roger barely had time to register what she said before an invisible force pulled him into the bed and Miss Control grabbed him, planting her lips on his.
"*Actually, waking up next to Miss Control is something I could get used to...*"
| 2018-08-13T09:41:42 | 2018-08-13T08:56:49 | 157 | 79 |
[WP] “Your supply routes are blockaded, your transports are destroyed. You will surrender, human, or you will starve.” “Bold words from someone who tastes good with ketchup.”
|
[Poem]
In my home village
Which I wouldn't dare leave
There wasn't much food left
And all were bereaved
The guards killed most of us
And then trapped the rest
I try to retain my religion
This is a hidden blessing or a test
I had no where to go
Nothing I was willing to give
I'll have one more adrenaline rush
Since I have no reason to live
So I made the threat
Clutching the ketchup bottle
And it wasn't long after
I was stabbed and throttled
For what it's worth
Which isn't a lot
I had my last thrill
Right before I was...
|
[Poem]
Into the scene a nuggie stepped
Smiling just a little smile
"A vegan diet you will accept,
Your tyranny has gone for a while."
The humans screamed,
The revolution had 'em wiped out.
But the gardener beamed,
As a pea left a plant's snout.
The meat screamed in agony,
NPK goodness in it's face.
The pea-shooters unleashed their fury,
Clearly the superior race.
"No one loves you", the nuggies spat,
But they were at a loss.
"Bold words coming from someone,
who tastes good with ketchup sauce."
| 2021-03-25T13:20:49 | 2021-03-25T12:04:12 | 51 | 36 |
[WP] You accidentally kill a person. You instantly absorb all of their memories, intelligence, and talents. You find it feels euphoric and quite addicting.
|
The first person I killed was Andy Chang, a fifty-five-year-old doctor.
My car collided with his body. He tumbled across the darkened sidewalk and crunched against the curb.
I thought I was dying too.
My world exploded with light and colour- swirls of memories and pain. Shrill music echoed in my head. I threw open the door and vomited onto the road. Beige chunks splattered my boots.
Chang’s body was a crumpled heap; dark red clumps spilled from his head over his grey peacoat. His rounded glasses lay next to the sewage drain, the lens cracked and frames bent. One shoe sat in front of my sedan. Chang’s white sock darkened with the rain.
A couple yelled something from across the street. *Help him*.
It jolted me out of my shock. I hadn’t considered the possibility Chang might be alive.
“Call 911,” I directed the young woman.
I pulled off my scarf and held it against the blood spilling from Chang’s head. “Hold this here,” I direct an onlooker. “Don’t stop pressing.”
I hovered over Chang’s body and tilted my ear over his mouth. I watched his chest and looked for any rise or fall. I pressed my fingers against the side of his upper neck looking for a pulse.
Nothing.
*Landmark* I told myself. I lined my hands up and began to press.
I pumped against his sternum.
Two inches down. Recoil. Down again. And again.
Tilt the head, open the airway. Two breaths.
Compressions again.
And again.
When the paramedics arrived I already knew Chang was dead. If the impact hadn’t killed him, the blood he lost would have.
Later, the police arrived.
Chang was at fault - he was jaywalking. Stepped out from between two parked cars.
“The witnesses said you acted quickly, miss,” Officer Dawkins said.
“I only wish I could’ve helped.”
“You did all you could. Quick thinking and first aid can’t solve everything.”
I nodded.
And then frowned.
I had never taken a first aid course.
Last month, when my roommate sliced the tip of her pinky off with the vegetable knife, I was the one who passed out.
I didn’t realize until that night, when Chang’s memories flooded in, what had happened.
I also didn’t realize how easy it would be to slip into my new life.
I craved it.
The thud of the body.
A burst of light and colour.
Swirls of memories and pain.
Shrill music echoing in my head.
And a rush of new talent.
/r/liswrites
|
Beer bottles and pizza boxes were scattered across the room. My phone had a dozen messages and as many missed calls from worried friends who hadn't seen me except online in a week.
They wouldn't understand.
I couldn't get it out of my head. The rush, the endorphins - it was the highest high I'd ever had. No games, no sports, no alcohol or drugs from college, nothing touched it.
Beer and games and pizza, anything that shut down my mind with these memories that weren't mine. I needed to stop thinking, because thinking inevitably led to that moment.
Honestly though, a mugger? Targeting me? I guess I'm not poor. I could afford this week of food and booze. But why me? I didn't have any cash. My coat's not that nice. I was just walking in the cold. But then that knife. It was dark out, but somehow it glinted anyways. I thought that was a camera trick in movies or whatever, but Jesus that blade caught any light around when he held it out.
Really I just pushed him. I pushed him and it was snowing and icy and he slipped. A simple slip that's all. Straight backwards, and *crack* - his head against the concrete. Maybe in a field the blood and the snow would look poetic, but there, in the muddy slush, it just looked like rusty iron.
But then the sensation. Like I was drawing the life from that opening in his skull. Like I was drinking it. He was great at tool and die work I found out. But everything went to shit with the Big Three folding here in Michigan. Lost his job, never told his wife. Just took to the streets eight hours a day - panhandling, petty thieving, shoplifting for presents. Whatever worked. Until today. Poor woman. What a way to find out.
Someone had called the cops, and they found me there staring at him five minutes later. Said I was in shock, gave me a shiny blanket. That whole deal. Took my statement, and that of the witness who called. The whole thing seemed cut and dry. No charges pressed anywhere said the police. The family I'm sure is mourning.
Me? I've got the shakes. Bad. Worse than the line of coke I did once. My neighbor's some kinda cleaning person for crime scenes. They told me about it once. Pretty up a house so it's liveable again. Fix up a workplace so people will come back, maybe forget in a while.
I never learned how to use a press, but I'm sure I could do it now after the last guy.
Damn it. I knew I shouldn't let myself think.
| 2017-12-08T07:47:34 | 2017-12-08T06:35:26 | 2,578 | 409 |
[WP] You die and find yourself at the gates of heaven, but they're rusted and hanging open. The entire place seems abandoned.
|
Empty.
Heaven is empty?
My first reaction was fear. I hadn't been that bad a person to deserve hell had I?
Only truely evil people should go to hell right? I thought to myself as I took in the city around me. Completely devoid of the flames or pain expected of eternal punishment.
Empty plazas streets and homes. Not a single soul to be seen. Then the silence hit. Complete silence. The kind that drives a person to madness. Not even a breeze to move the dust on the streets.
As I wandered through the dead city trying to shake my uneasy feeling I found signs of those that came before me. Messages written on walls and pavers written in ash or clawed out by fingers.
Why am I here? Where is everyone? Why am I alone? On and on the messages were found until there suddenly weren't any.
Dreading the reason my predecessors came to such methods I trudged on. The city was nice even better than the places I had seen while alive so why was it so empty? What happened for heaven to become a place of fear and dread for those who came to it? From how large the city was it couldn't have been silent forever?
I searched for what felt like an eternity through abandoned homes and empty streets until I found it.
The final message was clawed out of the side of a wall with the everpresent pile of ash underneath.
'Eternal life is a curse. We were tricked. Without eternal youth we cannot escape the sands of time. True death is the final mercy.'
Suddenly the thought hit me. Being the only visitor. Not a single soul alive or dead. The city that went on forever. Everyone was gone.
For the first time I looked closer at the ashes that had been everywhere in the city. The grains irregular and far coarser than sand.
Hell was empty.
Bone dust was all that remained of those sent there to truely despair and finally perish.
|
I walk in, not feeling my steps as if I'm gliding, over the ground that breathes a soft light. It's all ground for miles on end.
I feel as if I should be remembering 26 years of a life, but the emotions are present, the images are not. I only barely recollect a second of it, a group of masked figures looking over me. I don't even quite know what I look like, or what I'm wearing now -- I feel nothing physically.
There are intense leftover feelings of betrayal and anger, to a certain extent guilt, and a sudden rush of a mix of calmness and shock. I deeply miss whatever I had, even if I can remember any of it. As I keep walking, I strongly hope I can be brought back. I'm probably in a coma.
I glide over what feels like several thousand miles, over what's probably several days, but I'm not tired, and it seems only moments ago that I entered those very same rusty gates. I finally spot a man, mid-20's, crying bitterly.
He tells me he's been here for many months, and has found no God in his path, that he's as lost as I am. *"This whole thing is so inconclusive,"* he says. That there's no booming voice guiding him where to go next, and it's his job to make peace with his situation.
I want to console him, but don't know how. He thinks about what he said, calms down, and breathes a long sigh as he looks at me with genuine happiness, like an insomniac that slept for the first time, as he begins fading away. I ask him, "Do you know where we go next?"
*"No."*
and he disappears, as I keep searching for others.
| 2018-09-06T21:49:09 | 2018-09-06T16:38:53 | 65 | 24 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear dad,
I fucking miss you. You died too quickly and I never got to hear your last words. I know though, I know you'd tell me you're proud of me and that you love me. I know this, but goddammit, i wish I could have heard you say it. I'll be the man you always knew I could be. I promise you that, and i will continue to promise that until the day my time comes as well.
I love you, pops.
|
Dear me,
Grow a pair of balls and ask that bitch out.
Dumbass. So what if she says no? Are you gonna cry? Hell, no. You'll be sad but you'll move on.
You'll be more happy if she says yes than sad if she says no.
What a pussy.
| 2015-12-05T15:43:07 | 2015-12-05T14:30:45 | 45 | 33 |
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy
|
I'm a single father of one beautiful girl. She's my whole world. As a single father I feel the need to over-compensate and I tend to spoil the girl. I often bring home toys and games for her and I to enjoy together.
I sometimes worry that I over-do it, but she loves the attention. One day, after work, we played a long game of monopoly. I let her win, even though she made several obvious mistakes with her purchases.
"You know I still love you..." I said laughing as we picked up the pieces.
"I love you too" she replied.
Those four words meant the world to me. Ever since her mother has been out of the picture things have been kind of difficult between us, but those four words just make my heart melt. If we continue to bond like this, maybe someday I can let her out of the basement.
|
I’m a very structured man. I’ve had a strict morning routine for 24 years now.
Sunday, March 22, 1992 I discovered the perfect way to start my day.
I wake up at 5:30 and slip on my slippers. I start my coffee and read the sports section.
Once the coffee is finished brewing, I pour myself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.
I make sure to clean the dishes after I’m finished. Messy sink, messy life.
I’ll shower and dress. Shirt, then tie, then socks, then pants, then shoes.
Before I leave I always make sure to kiss Mary goodbye; she hasn’t aged a day.
| 2016-05-19T10:10:20 | 2016-05-19T09:03:34 | 408 | 24 |
[WP] The summoned hero was neither a fighter nor a magic caster. He called himself a "new-clee-ar fizz-izz-ist" whatever that means. Now he has sent you to collect a special rock for him. Why he would need a rock, you will never know, but he even gave you a device that clicks when you find it.
|
He called it the Demon Core.
Weighing in at approximately 1 stone and about the size of an apple, the special rock floated unassumingly above a soft red velvet cushion. Yet, the hero ordered our most powerful mages to construct their strongest barrier protection spells to seal it to the point that nothing could escape.
After meeting with his Majesty, the hero rejected all our requests to train him in sword and shield and in warfare. He hid in the tallest room of the tallest palace tower and pored over book after book of spellcraft. Once every so often, he would request the presence of a palace archmage or senior priest, and they thought him to be quite mad. The entire room, they say, were filled with pages and pages of what they can tell to be calculations; but of what, they cannot say. They say that the hero asked them of experiments and manners he likened to "tickling the tail of a sleeping dragon", but they were confused as the hero wasn't working on any sort of dragon. He also requested multiple alterations to the core barrier spells, highlighting the need to reflect *new-tree-ongs* back into the core.
The hero took nearly a year before he proclaimed to his Majesty that the Core was completed. By this time, many of the Lords, and even his Majesty himself, thought him to be quite mad. Brought before his Majesty, the hero reiterated his question on whether his Majesty knew what the results of the operation would be.
It was in the early morning hours of the 4th Day of Cubbary that Illuen took the fastest gyphon and the core over high above the largest city of Ambrosia and dropped it into the city. Two gyphon-riders, observers, mostly, following far behind.
They claimed that approximately forty seconds later, a huge explosion lit up the sky. Though a far distance away, the riders claimed that they and their gyphons were hit by a shockwave unlike anything they have felt before. Illuen and his gyphon, fast as they were, did not manage to out-fly the blast. The entire city was hidden by a monstrous cloud, boiling up, mushrooming, terrible, as tall as the tallest mountain. After a few hours, the mushroom cloud dissipated, and what they saw horrified them, for there was nothing left of the city.
His Majesty was ecstatic, shouting profanities at the once largest city in Ambrosia, heaping praises on the hero and how he was never doubted for a moment, ordering a feast in the hero's and Illuen's honor, asking the hero to make yet another Demon Core for the next enemy on his list...
Oh my god. What have we all *done*?
|
The clicks don't follow a pattern.
At the oldtime tavern there's a piano player that puts up a metronome, which goes click-click-click-click all in time.
But this little device clicks ragged. It's a chattering of teeth. Sometimes big bites, sometimes the shiver of a few minutes spent too long on the snowy surface.
It's shivering now.
That tells me I'm close. The upman told me to look for a gray vein and I see it. The clicks are rabid now. I hold the metal pick in my third arm and hammer away. I hold a bucket under the rubble as it crumbles away from the rockface.
I nose my way back to the hub, following the trail I spat down along the way. The upmen tell us it smells like "bananas". Bananas sound safe. One day I will eat one.
But for now I focus. I tow my cargo behind me, one arm aloft, and climb the ladders up to the great iron gate at the hub's center. There I engage the ritual to call him: three button presses, one wound dial, seven more presses, thumbing down the arcane symbols 7 8 1 3 2 0 0—and finally the tone whispers out like a voice from another world.
Which is, I suppose, what it is.
I wait there patiently, watching my compatriots crawl and climb our home, lit only by the dull red light. It's getting cold, without our sun. Thirty-seven crops have already died. The upman must hurry.
Finally the door opens.
He appears, as always, in a shining suit that plays with the light like a mirror. He takes the bucket from my arms. His face is lit beneath a glass visor and it is slick with sweat.
"Okay," he says. "I'll get it up and running."
His face droops and I taste something like sorrow in the air.
"You poor bastards," he says.
I don't know what this means.
It is cold, and I find a burrow of my friends to warm in. We nestle against each other, crooning. Some of them are soldiers. The others are farmers, or learned ones who understand some upman technology. We all freeze together.
Then we hear it: a great thump, the rattling of rusted hinges, grand gears spinning. The red light burns away before a blinding white sun, pulsing in our stone sky.
The ritual is complete. We will live another day.
/r/NaimKabir
| 2022-01-31T02:01:31 | 2022-01-31T00:25:45 | 839 | 335 |
[WP] In your culture, everybody gets a chance to go back in time once and say whatever you want to your younger self. You only get 5 seconds so you have to make it count. Today you turn 18 and see a 60 year old man approach you. You realize its your future self, but what he tells you terrifies you.
|
Going through life, I never felt like I'd ever need to go back in time to warn myself of anything. I had made mistakes and learned from them, but in my 18 years of life, I never felt the desire to be told anything by my future self. I wanted to be surprised by what life had to offer; not be teased in five seconds.
At school, the halls were bustling and loud. Surrounded by my friends, we talked and laughed before the first bell, but suddenly all our dispositions changed. No one could have noticed the young kid who emerged at the end of the hallway. I watched all my friend's faces morph into horror as I felt a firm, grizzled hand grab the back of my neck.
"Duck" was the only word muttered into my ear as I was forced to the ground.
I felt the heat of bullets race past my head.
|
So there I am, sitting on my bed, just thinking about whatever. Suddenly, a flash of light fills the room as a hobbled old man appears and chucks a present with a note on it at me, then disappears. I read the note and it says
Dear me
I know that this should sound cliche and all, I'm you a ways down the timeline. Something terrible has happened, and you must be prepared. The item of said calamity lies in this box.
-sincerely, you
I open the box, and see a small, flat container. On the front, it states over a picture of a Nordic helmet:
Skyrim remastered: definitive edition
God damn it, Todd Howard
| 2018-11-25T21:16:30 | 2018-11-25T17:50:53 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Instead of Mary birthing the son of God, she gave birth to a son from The Elder Gods. Describe the bible as HP Lovecraft would.
|
###Lamentations IX:
**Chapter 15**
Spake the Lord, "Go before me, my Disciples, and make believers of all men in Jerusalem." So the Disciples went into the city to spread His Word.
Peter went to the poor district and began to speak. "My brothers and sisters, I too was once poor like you. But I was raised up! For is it not said, 'He who is weak will fall into madness and death, but he who is strong will bask in the glory of God.'?"
The beggars and prostitutes would not listen, and ignored him. Yet one, a child with leprosy, approached. "My body is weak, but I am strong. Let me bask in the glory of God!"
And Peter smiled and embraced the child, saying, "You see? Out of the mouths of babes comes wisdom." Then Peter slit his throat and drank his blood, and spoke words alien and terrible.
The corpse of the child arose and spoke with the voice of a thousand men. "I am Legion! Come and serve the Lord."
And the people fled, weeping and gnashing their teeth, into the darkest alleys and unlit houses.
With this miracle Peter made believers of the poor.
**Chapter 16**
John went to the rich district and began to speak. "My brothers and sisters, renounce your coin and your false god. The Lord is coming to sort the wheat from the chaff."
But the merchants and the priests laughed and began to pelt him with stones, chanting, "Where is your Lord now?".
So John drew symbols in the dirt with his own sweat and blood, and spoke words alien and terrible.
Instantly, the merchants and the priests were struck deaf and blind. They began screaming of the horrors they could see and hear and feel around them.
Those who were armed struck out at the demons they thought they could see, and many died.
Those who lived gibbered and moaned in their madness, praising the Lord.
With this miracle John made believers of the rich.
**Chapter 17**
Then the Lord entered into Jerusalem riding on an unspeakable horror and its get. His new believers laid down fronds of flayed flesh for Him to walk on so that His pulsating mass need never touch the ground.
He ascended the stairs of the cyclopean temple that had been excavated, the impossible angles and curves tearing at the eye.
The Lord sat upon the alien chair at its peak and smiled with each of His mouths.
Spake the Lord in a voice that was heard in all the corners of the earth, "That is Not Dead which can Eternal Lie, and with Strange Aeons even Death may Die."
|
Nothing.
Nothing is the void, which is dark and empty and full of nothing.
No form nor sound nor light of day rings out there.
"Shavalyoth," came a voice, too deep to be heard - too loud to be felt.
The void answers none.
A blinding explosion of light erupts into a large pillar. Its white and purple flames too bright for any mortal eyes to take in.
"Orryx," came a whisper like a faint memory of a waking dream.
"It is He," the thunderous voice rang out again.
The void swirled with nothingness. No shapes were seen or light dost show albeit from the pillar of flame and light.
From the border-less horizon came three figures. One an amorphous monster of prodigious size, covered in a multitude of eyes, mouths, projections and both male and female genitalia. It called itself Vhuzompha.
"We arrive to see Him," it spoke with its mouths - its voice a choir of mangled grunts and howls and slurps.
"It is not Time," bellowed the thunderous voice.
The void continued to swirl - devoid of sound and movement.
The second form was a giraffe-like reptilian monster, its neck bulged as it spoke. It called itself Ob'mbu.
"We have brought Him gifts," it managed to croak. "We demand Him born."
The pillar of flames and light shone with intensity.
"IT IS NOT TIME," came a deafening roar.
The third form stood silent. Known as H’chtelegoth, it was a towering greenish trunk with a crown of tentacles, a row of multiple eyes and a couple of additional, lateral grasping appendages.
"He will come NOW," a calm voice was heard - H'chtelegoth's tentacles writhing and slithering.
No sound came from the void. The pillar of flame and light stood silent.
Then, from a point in the infinite horizon - a place where shadow and light are neither separate nor together, came a faint ringing of a tiny bell.
"It is He," a faint whisper came.
Then, in an explosion of heat and fire and song and light - where reality is fractured into shapeless fragments of existence and time loops infinitely under the freezing radiance of a dying star, a form emerged.
A 14 foot giant black monster with pure blue eyes with spikes instead of hands stepped forward - its eyes piercing the void while watching the pillar of flame and light.
"I am Grawl Sho, the oldest and most powerful god," it spoke. "See me and tremble."
| 2015-02-12T09:50:52 | 2015-02-12T08:31:53 | 74 | 38 |
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
Business is booming in Compton.
I scope out the local alleyway for stray dogs..
Immediately smell a reeking odor behind the trashcan.
Walk over to the scene with a slight limp.
See a straggly young female Beagle with potential.
Offer her some crack.
The bitch wasn't a crack addict.
Though she could be a crack whore.
Pitched the usual "California model" gig,
She bit the bait...
I put her on the busiest corner in town that night.
She made three sales.
A Mut, a Pitbull, and a Grey Hound.
Made her my bottom bitch.
Married her a year later and took her off the streets.
|
We met in the room of a thousand fountains all 140 of us. We looked around for the original sure enough he was here. "Alright gentleman I have gathered you here today to adress the growing unrest across the galaxy at this time. Now I can't do it alone but with all of you I can, but we have to work together. Sound fair?" We all nodded and whispered agreements amongst ourselves. Then on cue we all turned to leave we knew what had to be done. The galaxy could barely stop one Revan how would it do with 140.
| 2016-02-22T11:52:01 | 2016-02-22T09:22:45 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] “One last piece of advice. If you ever land on a planet and the human says “it’s just like home” you turn on the thrusters and leave it in the dust. Because, trust me kid, those places will kill ya.”
|
The craft landed on a new world reported in the Uud system. As the most adaptable beings in the universe, the human was always suited up and sent out first to investigate.
"Ah just like home," said human science officer Raj as he stepped out onto the earth-like landscape. "Scans look good here."
The alien crew looked at him with dread.
"Where did you grow up again?" asked Captain Beev. The other aliens winced at the question, almost certainly knowing the answer already.
"Earth of course! I can't believe you guys never asked me where I grew up," replied Raj.
"Back into the ship. Now," said Beev as he dragged the human by the spacesuit and slammed the bay doors shut.
Setting thrusters to full speed, they jetted off to the next world on the list.
Looking out the window as they sped away, Raj noted, "That was quick. We barely had time for any science there!"
"Didn't need to," said Beev, looking straight ahead as he piloted the ship to a nearby ice giant. "Earth-like planets are automatically marked as no-go zones. They're more dangerous than Klarkan worlds."
Raj put a hand on his chin and took a moment to think.
"I thought Klarkan worlds were already classed above the limit of the planetary danger scale?" Raj pondered. "Besides, I think you guys are too cautious. The Klarkan worlds weren't even that bad."
The other aliens in the crew gasped at what Raj just uttered.
Beev took a slow breath. "That's precisely the problem."
|
The five figures stepped out of the lander onto the soft moss that stretched across the surface of the planet as far as the visitors could see. Moving forward, each step was cushioned silently by the moss, a small mist rising with each motion.
Looking down at his environmental reading on his wrist monitor, John excitedly moved to declasp the faceplate of his suit. Much to the horror of the other four in the landing party, John took a deep breath of the foreign air.
"Well gee! It smells just like the lake in the spring over by my Nana's house."
Taking another refreshing breath, John sighed wistfully, "It even smells like flowers and cottonwood trees."
As John closed his eyes in enjoyment, alarms began sounding in the suits of each of the members of the landing party - \[WARNING: Filtration Failure - Foreign Particle Overload\]
As the others scrambled back to the ship for Decon, stumbling the last few steps as they began suffocating, John sighed again, slowly sat down in the soft moss, and lay, staring into the yellow/green sky. "Third time in a row - I deserve at least a minute to enjoy this one. Softies can't even stand a little pollen, and it not *that* humid."
John dismissed the filtration alarms and settled in for a short nap. After all, he had to Decon anyway - might as well make it worth it.
| 2021-04-13T13:58:51 | 2021-04-13T13:09:42 | 1,253 | 330 |
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
|
It comes in a dream on your eighteenth birthday. If you have a soulmate, and it turns out about 80% of people do, you have a dream about meeting your soulmate for the first time. The only thing you really remember from that dream are the first words they say to you. Not their face or name or even what you say to them, just those first words. This has led to a lot of people always introducing themselves by name, that way your soulmate can track you down. It seems to work, but then you hear stories about the vague ones. Aunt Selma's soulmate said to her, "Hey gorgeous, wanna get high?" which supposedly led to some quesitonable drug use (the family doesn't talk about it much).
My dream was also vague, "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" Sounds like a barista to me, right? Except I drank their crap coffee for 8 years and found every way to be disappointed.
Firstly, I thought, "Hey, if I always use a unique order, maybe she'll recognize it when I say it and we'll know." Unfortunately, now to this day I can't think of an extra shot no-whip mocha without wanting to gag a little. Tea is the only thing I can stand anymore.
Second, it turns out almost no baristas actually say, "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" Instead it's, "Hi, how can I help you?" or "What would you like?" It took almost a year before someone actually said the exact phrase, and it was another dude. I just walked out without ordering because I didn't want to risk finding out at that moment I was actually gay; it would have been quite the shock.
Third, a bunch of baristas are actually under 18, which is another terrifying possibility. If you're under 18, you haven't had the dream yet, so you don't know what your partner is going to say. You could meet your soulmate and never know, and in fact people think those who don't have a dream have already met their soulmates.
Anyway, I did finally meet her. I was having a shit day, doing a bad job on my dissertation, so my buddies dragged me out for a drink. One drink turned into two or three and eventually I was hammered. I griped about how I couldn't ever find my soulmate when one of them had a brilliant idea. We charged back on campus, straight to the library where there were always a couple dozen students even late at night like this. I walked out into the middle of the main room and shouted out to everyone, "May I have your attention please! Will my soulmate please stand up and say, 'Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?' Thank you." A lot of laughter ensued and some students threw paper and pens at me. While the library staff was herding my friends and I out the door, I hear it, "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" I turn, and there's this this girl who looks like she's been sleeping in the library for finals week studying, pajama bottoms and t-shirt, no makeup or anything, but to me she's the most beautiful woman in the world right there. My friends and the library staff are just standing there stunned, and I walk up and plant the biggest drunken kiss on this girl's lips. Then the room started spinning and I had to vomit, but I did get her number somehow and we had a proper date the next day. The rest is history.
|
Samantha opened her Soul-Match kit. It came in a little plastic bubble like you get from the machines in front of grocery stores. Samanta had never seen one before but everyone knew they were going to get one when they turned 18.
"So what's it say, Sam?" It was Abraham. Sweet man. Single father of 2. A heavy set, bearded accountant who was, earnestly, trying his best to raise two women after the fact that two other women--his wife and his mom--already walked out on him when they were needed most.
"C'mon! Open it! Mine was the worst."
Sam hushed her pudgy dad with a squishy shove of her glove. She peeled open the paper inside the plastic bubble.
Pulling down the scarf from her lips, Sam read in a not-too-loud voice, "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
"The fuck is this supposed to mean?"
"I dunno... maybe you just have to start going to Starbucks" said the bearded dad.
"I mean... Tyra got hers yesterday and she'll be getting married the next week. Same with cousin Thom and Ash down the street... What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" Sam wasn't crying. Crying was for later. Right now, Sam was angry and getting worse.
"Fucking FUCK! STARBUCKS? My soulmate is going to work at a STARBUCKS? Or what, do I have to trick some girl I like into saying this? FUCK THIS!" Sam slammed the little plastic ball and fortune cookie paper into the snow.
"HEY! Heyyy! Easy, easy!" Abe grabbed his daughter and hugged her around the shoulders, fussing with her hair.
A smirk peeled across Abe's white, hairy face. "I thought you were smarter than to fall for that."
Sam looked up at her cold-reddened teddy bear of a dad. "You asshole..." The color had dropped out of Sam's face. "WHAT A TOTAL DICK MOVE, DAD!" She shoved him hard, stumbling backwards in the snow a bit.
Abe looked sorry. Not for his girl but for the fact that the Soul Match corporation was an actual real thing.
"You know what mine said? My Soul-Match said my soulmate would tell me 'Happy New Year'. So I married the cutest girl at the New Year's party who would talk to me. And a few days after your fourth birthday, she just walked out. Left. Packed a single bag and hopped into a car with some Fabio-looking, bleached teeth, beak-nosed asshole. Didn't leave a number. Didn't even ask for alimony. POOF! Just like *my* mom."
Sam wrung her hands and nervously adjusted her fur hood. She never met her mom and Abe had never before been so specific about the women who popped them out like they were stripped cherry pits.
"Everyone waits until their 18th before they even ask someone out on a date. I just thought this would make it easier to be alone..." Sam trailed off.
In his arms, the fuzzy dad held his daughter again, separated from her by the big overstuffed quilting of his plaid farmer's jacket.
"If you still want your Soul-Match, I have the real one in the den underneath a pile of junk mail. But you're not alone. You never were."
Sam looked out towards the freshly plowed street, her cheeks stuck in the red cushions of her dad's jacket.
"I guess I don't need to see the words anytime soon. Happy New Years, dad."
| 2014-12-18T00:40:41 | 2014-12-18T00:20:43 | 355 | 17 |
[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth.
|
**Anxiety**
Pressure fills my chest as my heart beats wildly inside.
The tingling moves through my fingers, up my arms.
I grasp at my chest, push against it.
I feel every part of my body -
the blood pulsing in my head,
the prickling of every nerve.
You ask what's wrong.
Don't you know?
It's just...
me.
|
You are one of several billion clones in the world
Everybody everywhere living lives you'll never get to see
You can't help but wonder how they live
Somebody somewhere is feeling just like you
Somebody somewhere else is feeling worse
No one can be unique
Millions of other people
Just like you.
It's called
Sonder.
| 2015-02-12T23:52:27 | 2015-02-12T23:01:52 | 40 | 12 |
[WP] In a different age, Aliens invaded and were defeated by Cavemen, as a result they prepared for a second battle thousands of years in the future, when they expected humanity to be the most fearsome beings in the universe, they return to find society as it is now
EDIT: August 8th, 2014 @ 2:35PM:
Wow, /r/WritingPrompts.
The quality of the work in this thread is absolutely amazing!
|
"Commander, just receiving images through the portal now... By the Mighty Olgatha..."
"Look at the size of their huts! Covered in glass and metal! How could they have engineered such monstrosities? The resources and planning to create- AH! Death machines roll around the buildings on patrol. Thousands upon thousands of metal cages, and the aliens walk around unarmed, no clubs, so confident they are in their giant steel villages."
The commander leaned forward. "Giant steel towns sorry. I-I've never seen a town as vast as that. It spans the horizon in every direction! We cannot take on these creatures now, surely they are far beyond us. PULL THE SCOUTING TEAM BACK THROUGH! CLOSE THE GATE! The Aliens are truly the most dangerous race in this universe..."
|
The commander stood impressively on the pillars of Hexus beside the naturally formed wormhole of Xarxel. His scarred trunk pointed a Heva bone trident as his troops listening to their final invasion instructions.
"Four temlons since our defeat! We have no idea how the hairless have prepared since then. Their clubs may be larger. Their spears longer. Their skins thicker. It makes no difference! We have planned! We have strengthened! We will trample! We will gore! The meateaters will bleed for their crimes against our forefathers!"
More than eighty thousand troops trumpeted and stomped at the ground. Klorgon grinned menacingly as he surveyed their frenzy.
"We are ready. Chaaarge!"
| 2014-08-07T07:19:15 | 2014-08-07T07:07:37 | 44 | 13 |
[WP] You’re an immortal 30-year-old-looking serial killer who was sentenced to 1,000 years in prison. After 100 years people started asking questions, but now it’s been 400 years and you’re starting to outlast the prison itself.
|
They told me it would feel like eternity.
That this punishment, effectively a life-sentence for humankind, would be worse than any demise a mortal government could have awarded me. This, they said, was worse than mercy. Worse because death was a luxury that cannot afford to wait. But I could. I would have 1000 years to do so. And I would do it alone in solitary confinement all the while, until I was raving mad and scratching at the walls. They imagined that I would claw until my fingers bled—as nails tore off into the concrete—begging for death instead. Anything, they assured me, surely anything is better than 1000 years alone. Even death. And at the time, they laughed. When I was first convicted, their humor was a gross over exaggeration of the sentence. After all, they probably assumed that I would be dead within the next 50 years.
But humans know nothing of their own mortality, and even less of patience.
Mankind often makes the mistake of assuming that their permanence will remain long after the individual (or the state) crumbles. They build large and extravagant structures that will surely “last the tests of time”, unaware of how little time cares for such trivial endeavors. Humankind, in its own temporary way, only knows how to make temporary things. And even when those things outlast the individual, they no longer retain meaning once the man has left it behind. Without people, a building is just a building. It means nothing, and corrodes all the same.
They told me that the sentence fit the crime, that my solitary punishment was just as inhuman as my actions were. That in the dark, by myself, I would be driven mad by my own hubris. And oh, how simple it was...
To prove them wrong by standing still alone. Folded against the back corner of my cell, eyes glazed over. After the first three weeks, the guards assumed that I had already succumbed to the madness. After a year of rejecting food, water, and all other pleasantries, they wondered if I’d actually turned to stone. After the first 100 years, whispers seeped into the cell, gossiping of my validity, my integrity, my wellbeing. Is he real? How can he still be alive? But none opened the cell. No one was brave enough to dare. Even those who hadn’t yet been born during the era before my capture had heard the rumors. The unspeakable nature of my crimes resonated longer than most of the jury members who convicted me; none of them dared to risk exposing the world to something like me. Not again.
But after 250 years, those whispers meant nothing. My wing of the prison had been silent for some time by then; I presume that it was decommissioned, but who’s to say? I heard only the echoes of the wind, proof of a world outside. There was little evidence of humanity in my immediate vicinity, and after the voices trailed off and the guards abandoned their posts, there was little effort made to maintain the most human quality of the prison.
Mortals are unaware of the mockery in their words when they flaunt the term “eternity”. They seem to think that it’s limited to being “a long period of time” but it never encapsulates the endlessness of it all. It never contextualizes it’s witness, who is testament to the endeavor. They never seemed to grasp that the longer one endures something, the shorter those lapses in time appear to be. How memory stitches those pieces of memory together, turning hours into minutes and centuries into seconds, growing shorter and shorter and short until there is no noticeable difference between the present and anything past. They use the word in hyperbole to express something they can’t fathom, something larger than themselves. It’s appalling, really.
And they said it would feel like eternity, this wait in prison.
I scoff, feeling the ache in my joints as I shift forward. My shoes, eaten away by time and weathering, leave prints in the rubble. Parts of them appear almost fossilized in the floor. Or, what used to be the floor. The last of the wall before me topples over, and sunlight peeks through the open cracks. The world beyond is quiet.
Eternity. How foolishly they assumed that a prison—one to be revered and resented—was something composed of steel and stone. They assumed that their prison would outlast my eternity, and that such a thing would make them feel safe at last. They assumed that by containing me, death would suddenly appear preferable to their understanding of an endless lapse of time. But their eternity lasted only 400 years before the structural integrity gave away to that ridiculous assumption.
No, no, no. At first, I chuckle. And then, I buckle over in a mad fit of cackling. The eternity was here already, I think as I crawl through the breaks in the rubble. I’m simply returning to savor it’s most unsavory qualities.
|
The lights blinded me; I hadn't seen it for the past 300 years. That's when they caught onto me. When I outlived three judges and four prison wardens.
"Take a seat," the officer motioned me. "Water? You must be thirsty. They gave up feeding you,--records show since 2120."
"Sure," I said as a took a seat.
I was in a bright interrogation room. It appeared to be very futuristic compared to the last I've been in. It was pure white with only a table and two chairs. There were no walls--at least I don't think there were, it looked like the expanse around us went on for infinity.
"They had no clue what you were back then," he said.
A water cup manifested on the table. The officer slid it over to me. It had a strange blue-iridescent glow to it. I took a sip and winced at the icy taste of it. It was as if a glacier had melted on my palate.
"I have no clue either," I said, gulping down the delicious water. "All I know is I can't die."
"You can," the officer smirked. "It's just rare. The names Myron."
"Trevor--hey, can I have some more water?"
Another cup manifested before me. I snatched it up and indulged. The taste distracting me from how the hell the cups were even appearing.
"So what's the deal?" I asked. "Have I finally served my 1000 year sentence?"
"No. You still have 600 years to go."
I scratched my head. "Jesus, it felt like I was in the confinement cell for eternity. You don't realize how slow time can go when you're sitting there in utter darkness. So what is it then? You setting me free early?"
Myron smirked. "I'm afraid you've outlived the prison."
"That's one way to beat the sentence."
"Not quite." He pulled up a virtual screen that depicted a news article. "The prison will be demolished--along with the rest of the city--and will be replaced with more important matters."
"What's more important than an entire city?"
"Cities been desolate for over a hundred years. Nothing but bandits and defectors reside there. The prison you've been in was abandoned before then."
"So I was left for dead? Figures."
"I'm apart of the immortal outreach program." Myron pulled up another screen that showed an ID with his face smiling. "Your kind is rare and usually kind to others. But your case is an anomaly. Never before have we met an immortal who did such a heinous crime as yourself."
"It had to be done."
"Crimes against humanity?" He manifested another screen. It displayed a collage of articles from the infamous year 2020. "The virus killed nearly 250,000. Continued to cycle for the next 50 years evading all vaccines resulting in millions dead."
I gazed at the man before me. His eyes stung me with their iciness. All of the screens disappeared after he waved his hand.
"I'm afraid your case will be retried under new jurisdiction." Myron got to his feet. "The World Order will see that you meet your true punishment. Death."
"Death?" I spat. "They tried to hang me back in 1863. My plane was shot down in WW2 and I was stranded for one month in the ice-cold Pacific. I've just spent hundreds of years in solitary confinement without a drop of water nor ounce of sunlight and here I am lacking no wits. You think I can die? I'm immortal."
"We know your kind." Myron took a few steps back and disappeared. Vanished in mid-air.
"We know how to end you," his voice lingered in the room.
"I had to do what was right," I said becoming overwhelmed with a frantic nervousness. "I was alive for hundreds of years. Humanities decline was evident. I had to release that virus to help cull and control the descent."
"Welcome to your end."
The room grew pitch black. I fell flat onto my rear as the chair I sat on vanished. I felt around and realized I was back in my confinement cell.
"Hello!" I screamed. "Please, I cant take this anymore! Please let me speak to you again!"
"An immortal can die," Myron's voice echoed. "The only way is if they take their own life."
A spotlight flickered onto a display case. In that display case was a gun. Chills shot through my spine as I grasped the cold iron into my hands.
"Farewell, Trevor," the eerie voice whispered.
I chucked the gun as far as I could and sat down in the darkness.
"Not a chance. I'll just outlive this too. I'll say hi to your descendant in a thousand years."
r/ajhwriting
| 2020-08-17T00:05:13 | 2020-08-16T23:16:07 | 4,705 | 2,045 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of"
|
The ground rumbled as the Arch-Minister completed his ritual before the massive door. I had never seen any of the holy miracles before, but using such power to open a door seemed a little wasteful to me. The Minister beckoned me forward and I took my first steps into a ruin of the Old Ones.
Most of their cities had fallen to disrepair, though the ministers of the Great Windows tried their best to halt the decay. "Holiness, I do not feel as though I am chosen. Are you sure there is no mistake?"
The old man glared. "Hero, there can be no mistake. Your presence has been revealed to me by one of the angels, and there can be no error when they are involved. But silence, we have arrived and the ritual must begin. Place your hand into this receptacle, then depress the sacred weapon."
It didn't look like any weapon I had seen before. It was just a small red circle, and stuck inside of the wall no less. I hesitantly slid my arm into the machine as instructed and pressed the weapon. Fear gripped me as my arm was seized by some force, and I felt a stinging sensation across my palm. The voice of an angel echoed out through the chamber, and though I didn't understand some of her words my reservations fled as she confirmed that I was indeed the chosen one.
"Genealogical scan complete. User is confirmed as the descendant of the first King of Great America. Beginning nuclear launch sequence."
|
And so the elderly priest whispered the dark deeds that Rafael committed in his first life. How he’d struck a deal for immortality but was tricked into a cycle of reincarnation on a technicality instead. Every five-thousand years or so, the reincarnation would be born of the purest evil and would need to be wiped out. Only one person could do it, and evidently it was me. I was led down dark, cliche corridors while hushed whispers danced along the halls; seemingly in pursuit of me. As we walked, he talked. Nothing that he spoke, made any sense to me. 4 different hallways, 13 doors, and we came to a room that didn’t look like it had been disturbed in centuries. It was empty, save for a small table in the far corner with a mechanical box covered in weird symbols. The priest brought me to it, and opened it for me.
It was a big red button. I choked out a laugh. It was decorated in similar pictures and runes as the box was, but it was a button. A child’s toy, probably.
“Press the button, save the world. Destroy the dark lord before he ever awakens.”
I shrugged, and reached out to smash that big red button with all my childish enjoyment and desire.
Almost simultaneously, it felt like my blood started to boil. I watched from outside of my own body as I painted the walls with my own viscera.
| 2020-11-09T13:18:58 | 2020-11-09T13:02:21 | 28 | 21 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now.
|
In a world where people were born with superpowers, some got the short end of the stick. Some could fly, while others could see the world in a different spectrum. Some had the ability to conjure flames as hot as the sun, while others could manipulate ice cubes.
Everyone had a choice, to do what they wanted with their powers. Good or evil, creation or destruction. Even the most mundane powers were useful in some way.
I, however, drew the shortest end of the shortest stick. I had the power to make people laugh, and it was that power that landed me my first and only job. A kid's television show presenter. The children hated me, because I could force them to be happy, to laugh against their will. I hated it, but at the time I did it for the ratings.
The rest of the world didn't hate me as much as the children did. They simply saw me as a laughing stock of the superpowered world, which was quite apt. And that's who I became. Laughing Stock.
It turns out that it's surprisingly hard to control ones powers while lost in gut-shattering laughter. And surprisingly hard to breathe too.
Now I sit on my throne atop the world, while everyone else looks upon me with fear. Now, no one dares to laugh at me, for the second they start, they will never stop.
|
After the test revealed that indeed had super powers i was excited to hear what they were. After all: I had to wait until i'm 18 to take this test.
My parents didn't share my excitement but were rather concerned and worried. They were thinking that two S tier supers would create a child with powers so strong that i would get eliminated the second the government knew about it.
They weren't wrong with their concern but after hearing what power i had they were kind off relieved. But my hopes and dreams of being a hero like no one ever was were shattered.
My power was to blow myself up. I could controll the strength, size and time of the explosion but only *one time*.
I continued my life like it was before with the only difference of being bullied from other supers. My parents on the other hand were happy because this meant i would never be a hero.
The anger and hate inside of me grew bigger day after day.
And then i realized:
I could partner with a villain that promises me protection and together ...
*We could take the whole world hostage*. If nobody follows my orders i could just blow this f'ing planet up.
| 2017-06-12T08:42:15 | 2017-06-12T08:29:20 | 52 | 27 |
[WP] The best demon slayers are those whose minds the demons want to stay out of.
|
The door slammed shut behind the demon hunter. His fingerless driving gloves reached to his trilby hat as he greeted the small home, filled with priests and worried family. In the middle lay a child, possessed. She screamed as he entered.
"M'lady." The behemoth of a man skated to her on his Heelys. "What's the situation, friendos?" He tried to cross his arms, but after a few attempts realized his mass wouldn't allow him and settled with them at his sides. The priest stammered nervously.
"Thank you so much for coming, we need your help! This young girl is possessed, a demon stronger than any the ministry has faced!" The demon hunter casually ate a cold hot pocket.
"I'll see what I can do." He winked at the girls mother, who looked repulsed. He rolled to the side of the girls bed, and laid a hand on her head. After a second, he removed his hand and wiped his sweat on his jogging pants, before laying it back on her head. He closed his eyes, and ushered a silent prayer. "Reeeeeeee."
His eyes lit up as the demon roared from the young girl, appearing outside of her. "Fool!" He cried, "My corporeal form will consume you!" The hideous creature wailed in amusement. The demon hunter rolled his eyes and mouthed 'kek'. Within an instant, the demon rushed into the large man, changing his skin color to green.
"Now I am... wait, what? What the fuck is all of this?!" Images of a little green frog doing unspeakable things filled the demons head. Boards of green text and memes overloaded the demon within seconds. One of the priests leaned towards the father.
"I heard this guy is a moderator on an Azerbaijani carpet weaving forum, he knows what he's doing." The priest whispered as the demon howled in pain.
"This... this is too much!" The demon's hold on the man shattered as it fell outside his body, curling up on the floor. "Have mercy!" The demon hunter almost lost balance as he regained control, but steadied himself. He adjusted his trilby hat and smirked, "Pshh, nothin personal... kid." He removed his knock off katana from his back and sliced through the demon, dispelling it from this world.
The crowd roared in excitement at his success. "Thank you so much, you saved our daughter!" The girls father hugged the man.
"Y-you too." He shifted uncomfortably from his grasp. Within minutes, his gear was gathered and he was ready to leave. The girl stood up from her bed, still weak.
"Sir, what is your name?" She asked, wearily.
"I am the hacker known as 4chan." He said as he wheeled off into the sunset.
|
Rodenhurst walked into the dilapidated ice cream parlor. Its once cheerful pink and blue exterior had been rotted and worn and rained away, leaving a flithy, used look. The whole area was like that. Old and broken, just like the people who lived here. People, by the way, who were scarce in number. The recent influx of demons recently made sure of that. But that was why he was here.
"Why is it always the run down places? Can't they inhabit a restaurant, or a sunny park bench?" These were valid complaints. It seemed like every Demon these days wanted to seem broody and edgy. They wanted their surroundings to do the job of scaring people. Saved them the hassle.
The inside smelt of cat urine and moulding cheese. Old tubs of ice-cream had developed detailed cultures over the years. Cultures that now stank the place out to high heaven. Rotting boards covered the windows, falling away in places to allow sun beams through. Beams that illuminated the dust, and twisted and warped in certain places, indicating the presence of something otherworldy.
"Who boards these windows up? Why bother? If you're going to abandon a place, then why care if the windows are exposed or not? Also, by the looks of it, whoever was here left in a hurry. When did they have the tim- it was the fucking demon wasn't it?" All of this past through Rodenhurst's mind as the shadows in the room took form, and before him floated a mass of pulped flesh and some kind of flowing black material, seemingly taking the appearance of screaming faces, gruesome wounds and strange creatures, the pattern ever changing. Then, it attacked.
See, the way demons work is through anchors. They can either anchor themselves to a place or a plane. Now most are not strong enough for the latter so opt for the former, as in this case. A way around this is for it to possess a person and anchor itself to them, which is what this demon attempted. Then the screaming started.
For Rodenhurst, this was a regular occurrence. The screams rose to a crescendo, then cut away, the mass dissipating, an air lifting from the ice-cream parlor, as if a tension present was gone. Rodenhurst sighed, feeling once again that his time was wasted. "Another weakling, not even strong enough to warrant defending against." This was a happened a lot. The reason was that demons needed to dominate someone before erasing their sense of self and taking over. This was the reason that it destroyed itself entering his mind, torn apart by his inner self. Because the greatest defense against a demon without, is the demon within.
| 2016-02-08T08:31:44 | 2016-02-08T08:30:18 | 170 | 15 |
[WP] you are the first immortal. While it is true that you cannot die, your flesh and body can. After so many millennia you are reduced to a sentient skeleton sitting at the bottom of a peaceful pond to avoid contact with other people. Some bastards are trying to drain it
|
The bottom of the lake was dark and quiet. In the dark and quiet lay the skeleton of Bjorn the immortal. It was a large skeleton, which had started to fossilize. Another thousand years thought Bjorn, the immortal. Another thousand years and I shall be one with the earth. He smiled and waited like he had been waiting for years. For thousands of years.
Bjorn's musings were interrupted by a big, burly red-haired farmer named Rory who stood on the bridge over the lake.
"You see, sir, the surface is all covered in algae. The lake's dead," Rory said. A man in a grey suit stood before him.
"It does seem quite dead," he said. "You get any fish here?"
"Fish? No sir. No fish. Nothing. It's dead sir. As dead as a lake can be."
"I see. So there should be no issues if we drain it?"
"No sir, none whatsoever. Nobody really lives in these parts now. Do what you like, sir. Them few people living here would be happy to see this eyesore gone."
Deep in the lake, Bjorn heard them. But there wasn't much a half fossilised immortal could do. Except, maybe, yes, maybe that.
A fish, a dead bass, lay near Bjorn's skeleton. A little current generated by the wind pushed the bass's skeleton towards him. Suddenly, the bass's skeleton started moving as if it were alive and well.
The man in the grey suit was looking at the lake when the bass jumped up. If he were anywhere near the bass, he would've seen the skeletal nature of it, but so far away he couldn't tell.
"Excuse me, Mr Burns," he said.
"Yes?" replied Rory.
"You said that the lake was dead, but I just saw a fish out there somewhere."
Rory laughed. "A fish, sir? They've been gone for years now. I'm telling you, sir. The bottom of that lake is the quietest place in the whole wide world."
The man in the suit wasn't impressed. He called Rory over and asked him to watch the surface of the lake. Rory bet him a tenner and stood on the bridge, looking for the fish.
After about a minute of waiting, Rory saw it. A fish, rising from the surface, glowing in the sun. Glowing a little too bright, and then disappearing into the lake.
"That can't be right, sir. Only last week, them science people came here and said there was no oxygen in here. That can't be right. I've got the papers too, sir."
"Mr Burns," the man in the grey suit said with a smile, "I'm afraid that won't be necessary."
"But sir, the lake -" Rory sputtered. But the man shook Rory's hand, said his goodbyes, and walked down the bridge to where his car was parked.
Rory stood at the bridge for a while. The fish was still there, in the lake, breaking the surface of the water from time to time. What fish was it? Did lake fish ever break the surface? Rory thought.
In the middle of the lake, little bubbles appeared, as if the lake were laughing. Deep in its belly, in the darkness, Bjorn laughed. No sound came from his mouth. He barely even moved, but he did laugh, and the lake laughed with him.
At the bridge, Rory decided to catch the fish and drain that eerie lake as soon as possible. Little did he know that he wasn't the first to come to that decision. Many a fisherman's skeletons lay near Bjorn the immortal's half fossilised body. Some yellowing, some a gleaming white, but none of them with a brain as sharp as Bjorn's.
|
The annoying part about immortality is losing the feeling of time passing. Since death became a non-issue, you likened time to a sweet lullaby you heard once as a child. You can't remember why, how, maybe there wasn't even a reason for it. A minute went by, or a year, it made no difference, to you it felt like the melancholic berceuse played once and cut off short.
The water is lowering, you hear the end of the lullaby. Your only desire, as it has been for centuries, is to hear the it once more and have it last forever. But it only plays once, and always stops.
How did it start again? Fear, obviously. Feeling old without having ever lived, without having been young yet suffering the early signs of the body's frailty and foregone obsolescence. Life is a race against death, you can lose but make the loss worth it, but that didn't feel like your case. So scared of death you forgot to live. You should have been either more intelligent and find a better answer to move on, or dumber to never ponder it in the first place. Alas, you were in a limbo of your own making.
So you ran, as cowards do. That's wisdom in hinsight of course, at the time it felt like a smart move. Instead of submit to death, break the rules and ignore it outright. More than one fool tried it, history never noticed one did it. You.
Fuck whoever invented the term of ironic hell. Life in limited supply is the only thing making it worth it. Oh sure, you had your share of fun, for a while you felt like the smartest human in existence. That is, until you felt like the greatest failure for mising the obvious.
You only substituted fear of death with fear of eternity. The dead rest, you do not, nor will you ever. For that is the cross eternal life curses you with.
Long before the skin left your body, you seeked release and wished for nothing but eternal sleep without finding it. When the flesh did falter, you lived in ditches, swamps, hidden from the horrified eyes that would have to gaze upon you. When it could no longer support you, you set out in search for a secluded place to lay down, hopefully undisturbed, and unable to sleep, to not think, not even when the only thing left is a fragment of bone.
Eternity didn't grant you any wisdom, did it? You set out too late, too weak to reach the dark bottom of the ocean, you settled for a small pond.
It is empty now. They found you, no note is playing. Just another old skeleton, how could you tell them otherwise with no mouth to speak with and no muscle to move you around?
Your corpse is a curiosity, quite old indeed, not from this generation, not even from this time period. Old men are forgotten. Very old men are studied and contemplated. You are ancient indeed, they will not put you to rest.
When you think there will be a pause, you are dusted off. When the sweet song seems to begin, you are assembled and disassembled, put under the scanner, worked on, analysed.
One day, you're put on display. Laid out on red velvet, protected by thick glass, delimited by a rope making sure museum visitors don't come too close. They don't dust you off anymore, they don't need to, you are sealed off, you are to lay here for generations.
In the distance, it feel like you hear the lullaby starting again.
| 2020-11-20T11:19:48 | 2020-11-20T11:17:50 | 1,476 | 278 |
[WP] Leaving a rooftop party at night, you take the elevator to the ground floor. Stepping out, you find it is now broad daylight, a week later, and you have hundreds of missed calls and texts. Even more strangely, the city streets are empty, silent and devoid of life.
|
The doctors called them "absent seizures." Basically, my brain would have a small seizure. To an outside observer, I would look like I was just staring into space for some amount of time. I myself would have no memory of the lapse, and it would give me some "retrograde amnesia", and my brain would fill in these gaps with new false memories. That's what the doctors told me. These false memories would feel just like the real ones, though, but they were never very big differences, usually things like I had a different shirt in my closet than I remembered, or the color of my phone case was different. I often found that I sent emails or texts that I didn't remember. Once I found my hair was a few inches longer than I thought.
I only had them a couple times a month. They were worse if I drank alcohol or ate too much butter, and less severe if I slept enough. I wasn't allowed to drive, and this all made me officially disabled. My parents and government-assigned doctors did their best to help me. Luckily I would not have to work and I would be guaranteed housing and financial support for life. They said they'd even help me date similar people and find love, but it was still restricting.
Sometimes the mistaken memories were bigger changes, like when I discovered one of my grandparents was alive who I thought had died. I distinctly remembered the late-night call, going to her funeral, crying, and missing my chess tournament to do that, but my mind had made that entire adventure up. I even found the award - 1st place - from the tournament on the wall. At my insistence, though, my mom took my grandma to the doctor for a brain scan and they found an unbroken aneurism that they treated.
When I was in elementary school, I forgot the name of my teacher and called her Mrs. Madden instead of Ms. Sophia. I don't even know where I got that name but she burst into tears and left the room. Apparently Ms. Sophia had been engaged to a Mr. Madden ten years ago when he was killed by a drunk driver on the way to their wedding. The same day, I asked my best friend Samantha how her big brother Sammy was doing. She told me she never had a big brother, that he had died as an infant, and she stopped talking to me.
So, not only do I have false memories, but they're often close to the truth, and sometimes I know things I shouldn't. I suppose my brain is a pessimist when it fills in the gaps. Also, the longer the pause, the bigger the change in memory. And the pauses were getting longer.
Two months ago, after some very buttery mashed potatoes, I had a pause of about a day, and I forgot what college I went to. And it wasn't even a college I remembered fully applying to - I had tried, but they had not processed my application since I had forgotten a form. Four years of memories gone, replacing the state school red tiger with a private school blue humanoid, changing all of the decorations in my room and losing/gaining a few lifelong friends. That's when I decided I was fully insane. So, I left my entire past to start fresh, where I didn't have to rely on old memories, and took a no-skills job in a big city. Well, not completely fresh -- I met up with one of my friends from college there. Luckily she knew about my issues and reintroduced herself to me. She was on board with the whole "new life" thing and brought me to a party last week to meet new people.
That brings me to today.
The last thing I remember was leaving the party. I had a gap of one week. No doubt aided by the alcohol and the late night, it was seven times longer than anything I've been through. I was hungry.
I took normal stock of myself. I still had my phone, but my password was different. I'd have to fix that. There were some missed calls and texts, but I could only preview them - mostly asking where I was, and some alert about a quarantine. The case was black instead of grey. I still had my keys. The address on my driver's license was about the same, just "407" instead of "307"... oh, and "United States" instead of "United Nations". Weird. I was wearing ... a surgical mask? Ok, maybe it was a costume party. I had a bottle of hand sanitizer for some reason. Maybe I had taken the nurse's assistant job instead of the mechanic job I remembered? Where did I work again?
I walked outside, and the world was gone. The swings at the park were roped off. Many of the businesses were closed, some even abandoned. No one was on the streets. Had I misremembered the rapture?
....
I walked home, and it was all the same everywhere I walked. When I got home, my key didn't fit in 407, but on a whim I knocked on 307 and I found my old roommate and she filled me in. Apparently, about two years ago the world had gone crazy with a new pandemic. We had graduated early and come here to support the doctors by repairing equipment. (So I was still a mechanic!) But I found out half the world's population had passed away in that time. We were considered "essential" workers and were living here for free - and Amanda was so excited about that, as if the government didn't always support its people. But we were on a strict lockdown. They had come by my room last week to check that I was there and no one could find me. They assumed I was deceased, she said, and so they had likely closed my room off, but I could stay with her.
I asked her for a drink and some butter. For the first time, this was all something I wanted to forget. Maybe it would be different when I woke up?
|
Thierry remembered when his hangovers only lasted a night at most. Nothing a blissful spell of blackout sleep couldn't handle.
Of course that had diminished as he'd grown older, going somewhere between his longtime girlfriend and his self-confidence. It was a point of great regret; not just that he'd had to grow old, but also that three-day hangovers were actually a thing.
Now, however, he could only wish his hangover had lasted longer.
Seeing the city streets devoid of all life was scary in the worst kind of way; the very absence of the familiar, the comforting. Instead, it was just cold. And lonely.
He walked for a long time, long enough for the sky to darken. Far enough that he didn't know quite where he was going.
His phone buzzed. He'd been receiving messages and calls for as long as he could remember waking out of his stupor. Of course, the sender (or *senders*, he secretly hoped) were anonymous, but it was encouraging in a fashion.
He'd seen movies where people marooned or isolated latched onto the strangest of things: fluffy toys, imaginary friends, inanimate objects. Just about anything, really.
He supposed it was human to seek connections, even in the absence of real ones. How else would people get attached to fictional characters?
He found it amusing that his phone, of all things, was what was keeping him connected to his sanity at present.
'*Keep going!*' read the latest message. Thierry smiled, even in spite of himself.
So he continued, as if on impulse. The only way was forward, even if he didn't quite know what forward meant.
When he was younger, he'd assumed 'forward' meant getting a job, getting married, having kids, all that. He wasn't wrong, necessarily, but he'd found that staying the path was much harder than actually knowing it. It was like expecting to understand a book just by skipping to its ending.
The best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry, he remembered reading once as a child. He'd skimmed through that one, actually.
He couldn't have said it better himself.
His plans had gotten all fucked up, to say the least. But this wasn't always bad, he came to realise. Sometimes the things he wanted weren't right in front of him — there were detours he had to come to accept, compromises to be made.
'*We believe in you*', the next message read. Thierry could only wonder who 'we' actually meant.
He idly contemplated if there was an end to the path. This thought came into his mind just as the path began to shift upwards at almost an entirely vertical stretch.
Thierry walked upwards, into the night. He didn't really fear it — he was at the point of tiredness where his only fear was not being able to get some sleep soon. For now, however, he kept to the path.
Maybe it was the messages, but he didn't want to give up just yet.
'*I believe in you.*'
Saying you believe in someone, Thierry found, was often not as liberating as people intended it to be. If anything, he found belief was a burden; an expectation he would feel obligated to meet.
Having people *believe* in Thierry hadn't helped him. It had only meant his failures felt that much worse.
The path lurched downwards. So down he went.
'*...*'
The sky was now an odd fusion of blue and black, intermingling at the horizon and around the sun like a pill dissolving in liquid. It was strangely beautiful.
Thierry felt happy to stop and rest for a moment. To just look.
'*Are you happy?*' The phone read.
"No," Thierry sighed, brushing his hair back. "I'm not."
'*Do you expect to be happy?*'
"Not really. But I might be one day? It's hard to tell."
'*I believe you can be happy.'* said that little voice.
"Great. Where do I start?"
'*I don't believe talking to yourself will really give you the answer to that'.*
"My psychiatrist said self-reflection is a useful thing, even if we might not like what we see."
'*Do you like what you see, then?*'
Thierry regarded the sky and let out a small sigh. "I'm too tired to really appreciate it."
'*Then sleep*'.
"Shouldn't I keep walking?"
'*The destination isn't going anywhere. Walking to it won't make you get any closer. You're just going up and down.*'
"That's the hardest part, to be honest. The peaks make the dips worse."
*'I know you've been pretty far down'*.
"I don't get why we need to talk about that."
'*Because you're trying to rationalise something which you don't understand. That's why we're talking. Even about the bad things.*'
"But you're me, aren't you?"
'*Exactly.*'
Thierry leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. "Ok, so what do you propose?"
*'Keep going. But don't be afraid to stop every now and then. It'll do us both a world of good.'*
Thierry *did* feel pretty worn-out. There it was; a compromise to be made. Stopping so he could go further.
The fizzle of the sky dimmed, the hard road cushioned his body. Somewhere in the back of his head, he could still hear the constant thump of the dance-floor.
Just as his eyes began to flutter shut, he heard a voice yell out behind him.
-----
*Possibly to be continued*
| 2021-02-07T10:05:03 | 2021-02-07T09:48:13 | 212 | 57 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
Max stood by the barn entrance, trying to hold back his tears. A tough thing for a child to see, I thought. But he's got to learn about it somehow.
“Please just tell me, Dad,” Max said finally. “Is Buddy going to be okay?”
I looked down at the ground, at Buddy whimpering quietly in the grass. His collar was askew, and I could see by his glassy eyes that he was in trouble.
“Why didn’t you keep him on a leash like you promised?” I said. “You know how he likes to run around.”
Max looked away. “I just wanted to play with him.”
“It’s not enough that you forget to feed him?” I said. “You neglect him for days at a time, and I have to put his bowl out? You promised to take care of him, remember?”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Max said, tearing up again. “I do take care of him, I promise. I just let him off the leash for a second, and he ran right onto the road.”
“Anyway,” I said. “I don’t think he’ll make it.”
I walked to the back of the barn and pulled the shotgun off the wall.
“Look,” I said, walking around to get myself in position. “I can get you another one from Aunt Francine. She told me she just got a new batch. But you have to be more careful next time.”
“I promise,” Max said. “I’ll keep the next one on a leash and do everything you say. I swear.”
“Good,” I said, and pointed the shotgun at the back of Buddy’s head. “You can keep his shoes if you like.”
|
He knelt down beside her on the cold grass of the graveyard. She had tripped and almost fallen straight onto a headstone, something that would most likely have given her a major injury.
"You didnt hurt yourself, did you?" He looked her over, checking for any scratches or cuts.
"I dont think so, but thank you, im ok. I'm just too clumsy for my own good." She smiled, and she smiled at him.
He helped her to her feet and they walked, her still recovering from the fall and him feeling the need to help her along.
"So why are you out here so late? Were you visiting someone?"
She shook her head, "Yes, but sometimes i just come out here to think." She put her head down, and went quiet.
He patted her on the back, "Me too, it really puts into perspective all the lives that were lived and lost. Each dying in some different way."
She smiled, looking up at him, "Death does have a creative way of making us go. Old age, sickness, accidents..." she trailed off, looking into the distance.
"I know what you mean, I..." he spoke, looking down at her face, smiling hoping she wouldn't notice. He continued to follow her, not watching his surroundings, and tripped, landing headfirst onto a headstone.
She turned back to look down at him her eyes dark, smiling, draping her long black shawl over her shoulders, "Or perhaps they were too clumsy for their own good."
(Not the best, i guess kind of cheesy, but i thought it sounded a little scary.)
| 2017-05-31T08:55:19 | 2017-05-31T05:30:06 | 138 | 50 |
[WP] A Jumanji-style board game is found by two children in the Amazon about the perils of life in suburban America
|
"Roll the dice, Azura," I pressured my sister, too excited to wait any longer. "I want it to be my turn already!"
She looked at me and frowned. "Stop being so impatient, little brother. We just found this weird game; it's not going anywhere." She looked at the rules a little more and finally rolled her dice.
"You got a 3 and a 5! Cool, so...what do you do now?" I asked, brimming with curiosity.
"This is why you're supposed to shut up and read the rules instead of just throwing dice everywhere. I move forward 8 paces, so...let's see. Ah, I land on *City Planner*. Wonder what that does."
A deep rumbling stirred through the forest, menacing with threat. A loud sound began so reach us, huge and explosive.
"What is that?!" I shouted over the sound, beginning to become frightened.
Before my sister could answer, a massive machine came barreling through the forest, cutting down trees and destroying wildlife in a heartbeat. Several others followed, completely wiping out the forest around us.
We stood in an open field of splintered wood and gnarled tree stumps, able to see farther than we'd ever been in our entire lives.
We could only stare in horror at the homes destroyed, the wildlife slaughtered and a beautiful habitat for nature smashed into pieces.
A man in strange clothing walked up and began to shout at an army of other men that looked like strange fruit, with bright yellow and orange clothing. "Alright, boys! Let's turn this dump into paradise- a mall with lots, and I mean *lots* of parking."
|
Shuddering with fear and anticipation, they roll the dice once more.
There is a boom and a crash and a shrieking of six million transdimensional voices, and out of the rising pillar of smoke steps a dumpy white male, age forty-two, wearing taped-up glasses and a reflective orange vest.
"What are you?" chorus the children, cowering at the other end of the clearing.
"Uh," says the man, looking around, "I'm a meter reader. Y'all got any, like, meters? Cuz if not, I'll just..."
He thumbs halfheartedly behind him, in the direction of two thousand miles of uninterrupted jungle.
"Yeah," the man says to himself as he totters away, "I'll just be going, then, won't I."
The children pack up the game and bury it in the deepest pit they can dig.
*****
~ ~ hi if u liked the story check out my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/formerfutureauthor) my [book](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) my [twitter](https://twitter.com/aStrayClay) my [wikipedia page](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rickrolling) and my favorite animal the [fulvous whistling duck](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fulvous_whistling_duck) ~ ~
| 2016-02-07T11:54:51 | 2016-02-07T05:10:30 | 304 | 141 |
[WP] An ancient manuscript is unearthed. It is proven to be the original Book of Revelation. After it is translated, there are actually FIVE Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Describe the Fifth Horseman, his color, and his contribution to the Apocalypse.
(Title)
|
There are whispers that there is one Horseman more powerful than his four brothers combined. Never in the countless wars between Heaven and Earth had he been summoned to battle, but he had always watched and waited with an infinite patience that gods and demons could only envy.
Now, at the very end of all things, he has come.
He rides into battle behind his brothers, and yet ahead of them. To look at him is to know madness; one moment he appears as a mere child, the next as an ancient thing, flickering between one and the other with every glance. He shimmers with the iridescence of a thousand colours; never keeping one form for longer than a moment. He carries no weapon; he needs it not, for his very presence brings the end of eternity.
He is Time, and he has brought the end.
|
When He broke the fifth seal, I heard the fifth living creature saying, “Come.” And as last, a brown horse, went out; the man who sat on him was chubby and round of face, an ugly sneer painted on it. A golden crown, a golden chain and a golden cloak, and hungry eyes peeking out over the horizon. "My daughters for a mansion, my wife for lands and my firstborn son for an army!", he exclaimed. With him came the power to influence men to be led astray of the path the Lord had tried to set man on with promises of wealth, power and glory.
His name is Greed.
EDIT: typo
| 2015-09-22T12:12:30 | 2015-09-22T11:42:52 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends.
|
God looked at his species and giggled. His people were woefully behind. They still only had basic nuclear power technology the little idiots used it to make a bomb! A bomb of all things. It was just too funny. The only thing they could do with fusion was to make yet another bomb. Of course they would do that. They did love their bombs. Somehow they managed to get basic spaceflight but all they really did with it was to put a person or two on the moon because of a political footrace. They did put satellites in orbit around their single planet so there was that at least. One or two were telescopes but that didn’t amount to much. Maybe they will see the invasion fleets before they hit. He couldn’t wait to see their reaction when they do. He hoped that they wouldn’t completely destroy their environment or otherwise wipe themselves out before that happens. It would disappoint everyone.
He looked again. They had actually managed to send stuff to nearby planets! He hadn’t expected that. He zoomed in further. Those little robots were so cute. They were actually starting to talk about colonizing their moon and sending people to Mars. Too bad it was only tens of thousands of years behind everyone else.
He hated to lose but it was pretty much certain at this point. The only reason he was still playing was to be a good sport. He had pretty much stopped wasting his efforts. There was really no point. He spent his time creating a nice little galaxy as he waited for his next turn. It was a great galaxy. The others were admiring it. It would make a fantastic new game board. When his turn rolled around he just poked at humanity a little bit. They were going to lose. No doubt about that. So instead of driving them onward he let them run about. Without that much “divine intervention” they had become really strange and amusing. He decided to go with that. Everyone loved his turn. It took ages for everyone to stop laughing.
He had grown bored with the game but he did love making his friends laugh. While those little idiots were losers all around they were just too funny. Everyone loved his humans. He even let the others mess with them setting up hilarious situation after situation as everyone howled with laughter. They had been fucked with so much that he was surprised he had a species left. He had grown to like them so much that he was going to grab the funniest of them just before they got wiped out and use them for the next round. He was looking forward to everyone’s reaction when he did it. It was going to be a hoot.
It looked like The Cold One was expanding into the area. Everyone giggled as she moved her pieces into the human’s solar system and leaned in for a close look. This was going to be a riot. There was supposed to be a surprise attack bonus but everyone decided to ignore that just to see what humans would do.
God chortled as he used his divine intervention card to allow The Cold One’s units to be detected about a week before they hit. The reaction was priceless. Total anarchy. The world leaders tried to maintain some sense of order and mount some defense but it just added to the fun. They were actually sending messages of peace! Everyone was laughing harder than they had in eons. He put his prayer feed on speaker. Even The Cold One was chuckling. Getting a laugh out of her was nearly impossible, even for the omnipotent.
Oh well, It was time to put the little idiots out of their misery. The invasion fleets hit. The humans, bless their little hearts, fought back. The joke that was their military was wiped out in one turn. They fought. Their cities were blasted into ash. They fought. The invaders deployed ground units. The humans fought. They died by the millions, by the billions. They fought. After each wave of devastation hit they crawled out of the ashes and they fought. Everyone leaned in further in astonishment as the humans just wouldn’t die. Maybe it was because they had been fucked with so much. Maybe it was the neglect. They had pretty much been left to themselves for survival. It looks like they were good at it.
They fought. When they ran out of bullets they threw rocks. When they ran out of guns they sharpened sticks. They sharpened bits of steel from their ruined cities and they fought. They whipped up crude explosives out of the dirt and they fought. They built stuff they hadn’t built in a thousand years and they fought. They threw shells from trebuchets and made crossbows and muskets and they fought. There was absolutely no hope of victory, even survival, but they fought. The laughter stopped and everyone watched in fascination. Those little bastards were still fighting. The Cold One sent more units. And then she sent more again. The humans were somehow still reproducing and fighting. They dug tunnels and hid in caves and fought. They burrowed under what was left in their cities and they fought. Any other species in any other game would have given up, begged for mercy, let themselves been enslaved, even worshipped their invaders. The humans didn’t. They just kept fighting. God was astounded.
Everyone was amazed when despite the utter devastation the human’s tech level started to rise. God looked in. He watched as people, some of them too young to reproduce, tore apart bits of technology that had be dropped by The Cold One’s casualties and were somehow figuring it out. There was no way that should have happened but it was. The invader’s casualties continued to mount. There were no human units left. There was not a single unit, not a single city, not anything showing on the board but The Cold One was still taking losses. Earth was lost but somehow The Cold One was still not the victor. The humans still fought. Years passed. Decades passed. A century passed. The humans still fought, refusing to become extinct.
The gods watched on with interest. This was new. New was something that the gods enjoyed to no end. But eventually Earth was almost completely burned, a cinder. A lot of the Earth’s life had become extinct. Somehow the humans weren’t. Their numbers were incredibly low. They were almost gone but they were still there and still fighting. God was impressed. Everyone was impressed. The Cold One’s units were still on Earth fighting and dying but she didn’t really lose units anymore but her units couldn’t completely wipe out all of the humans either. Everyone’s interest waned. Not much new was going on. The situation had become a stalemate. The game went on. The Cold One, being hard pressed, pulled the few units she still had on Earth to fight elsewhere. She lost a few turns later.
The game continued. Players lost and the few remaining were all commanding galactic superpowers with thousands of systems each. As they battled back and forth humanity survived. Their world was ruined. They should have starved but they survived. They ate bugs, worms, scum growing on the rocks of their long forgotten cities and survived. God, somehow, was still in the game. He looked upon his creation in wonder. He pondered what he should do. He decided to do absolutely nothing. His humans deserved no less. They were their own player now.
The world started to renew itself a little and weeds and vines started to grow. His “losers” were there still there, their numbers slowly increasing as God passed each turn. Their technology started to increase, fueled by the bits and pieces of The Cold One’s tech still laying around. Their numbers and technology continued to grow. Suddenly a unit appeared! Other units soon followed. They started to leave their planet first in faltering steps and then their ships started to spread across the stars.
They weren’t colonizing planets though. God looked down at his humans with curiosity. They weren’t colonizing but they were spreading. They didn’t make worlds. They just exploited the mineral wealth of the stars to build more ships and their technology continued to rapidly rise as they came across the ruins and dead ships of the other players no longer in the game. God looked closer as he passed another round. Humanity wasn’t interested in colonization or empires. They weren’t looking at the stars in wonder or at planets with ambition. They looked outward with only one emotion, hate. They had always been violent. It was part of their amusing charm. After the near extinction of their race only the most vicious and tough of the most vicious and tough survived. Their descendants were now the ones spreading across the stars. They were no longer fighting amongst each other though. They had bigger game in mind.
God looked at his population and tech ratings and smiled grimly. The other remaining players were so engaged in their battles that they only saw God’s one smashed planet. They didn’t see the billions and billions of humans and their ships, their numbers and technology growing at an ever increasing speed. They didn’t see the humans coming.
God and the other “losers” watched humanity with interest. Things were about to get quite interesting indeed.
Edit: I gotta get a few assignments in. I will write more later this afternoon.
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How could they have gotten so far ahead? I thought I was doing fine. My civilization was moving along well, everything in relative harmony considering the volatility I'd bred them for in the first place. Now I'm going to have to push my civilization even harder, and given their makeup - they are derived from predatory animals, after all - that's going to mean a lot more work to keep them from imploding on me again. I'm just lucky I noticed that attempt to scout my base system at all; I should have enough time to rush a blind attack. I normally don't like doing this sort of thing and it's way outside of my usual play style, but at least I started with predators rather than my usual forests.
If I'd have played my usual game, I'd be dead by now, you see... which makes me think the scout was probably sent by Totec. He's always plays bloodthirsty, but he really knows his agriculture side too, and he also knows I prefer to play the green team, which would leave me vulnerable to early aggression. He probably found me by the star I picked as my home system. I chose the same type of star I always do, this type gives me a lot of options for plant development and is relatively stable for a long time, so I've been using it exclusively. I was stupid to make that mistake since my predators could probably have used a harsher environment to better tune their instincts to what I'll be needing, but I'll take Totec's overconfidence and turn it into a win. There's no way he sent that scout elsewhere first, it was too fast to have found me unless he sent it directly at my star as quickly as he could send it, so I know exactly where he is - the only star close enough in that direction also happens to be exactly like mine... perfect for a plant based civilization, but also perfect for a siege-proofed society of agricultural warriors. It's so versatile I even have the seeds of a tree society growing already. Back before my predators were a functional society I had enough attention to spare on such things, but they've become such a handful now that I can't keep the forest growing.
With Totec is scouting this early, there's no way he could have built any sort of defenses. If I push my predator society hard I should be able to attack while his army is still on the way to my starting system. With a little luck, maybe I'll catch him even before he's ready to attack. Totec is good. He's known for a well-balanced style of play, his usual omnivorous civilizations match violence with enlightenment. My predators will make short work of them, I was only just starting to have some positive results with reducing my predatory instincts that will be detrimental in the long term, but right now I'll need those instincts and my lack of refinement gives me an advantage. I can refine society later, survival comes first.
Predators have their violent tendencies, but they also tend to be smart and quick to adapt, especially when you've based them on pack hunters. And you have to start with the predators if you want a rushed civilization, especially in a competitive group like this one.
If this wasn't a game of competition, I'd have just gone with another vegetative civilization like Totec expects me to do. They were always my favorite play style; hive-mind forests linked through a root system that shares everything from nutrients to thoughts, and as a passive ability plants rarely have any of the violent self-serving individualism that I was so carefully working to tame in my newest civilization. Oh well, going to have to put that away for now and concentrate on staying alive long enough that it'll make a difference. Right now, harnessing that predatory violence is what will help me win.
This is a race, you see. A competition between myself all of my colleagues. Winner takes all with only one surviving species at the end, and a prize for the winner that I intend to win. There just wasn't enough time to develop an agra-galactic monoculture, they take most of the lifetime of their first planet's star just to get to the point where they start recognizing their own surroundings, and even then it's a race to develop quickly enough to escape that star's fiery death throes. My forests don't always make it past that point; mental abilities blossom rapidly once a hive-mind reaches consciousness, but physical interaction remains a problem for millions of turns. Even with the combined resources of their entire species concentrated toward the goal of taking root in the soil orbiting another star's light, I run out of time a lot more often than I can make that move.
I've started calling this moment my Great Filter. Every game supposedly has one; it's supposed to be a motivator for people like me who play for ourselves alone, to keep things interesting. It works, but I've come to enjoy the filter because while I don't like losing, I also don't like boring. The Filter is sufficiently random that I can't just play the same way every time, but not so unfair that I couldn't see the mistakes made when I fail. Playing as predators, I'm starting to think the filter might be their own society working against itself. Left alone, a forest will make it to the end of their star relatively unchanged... but these predators wouldn't last for many turns without constant intervention. The violence I bred them for doesn't make my game easy, they need a lot more micromanagement than I'm used to. I might not be as good at predator playstyle, but I know I made the right decision. The payoffs with plant civs are huge and I'd put my forrestmind lategame against all of my opponents combined and still have a great shot at winning, but the odds are heavily against that play when I'm just playing for myself, and the time crunch of making this a race means that trees are still going to be sharing nebulous dreams of rainfall when the rest of my opponents are fighting for territories and resources.
I may be less experienced with predators, but mine will be ready and able to take part in that fight.
Sometimes I can nudge my plants them in the right direction early; a few cataclysmic events here and there; poison the air a little, throw some ash in the sky for a few million turns . Not enough to wipe them out completely, but enough to take away a little bit of that satisfaction; to make them *want something*. That's always the key. Once they want more light, more heat, more water, whatever... then things start to get interesting. The ones I cultivated to grow larger and last longer are already sharing dreams by then, so when they start sharing needs and emotions they take to it with alacrity. The needs of a water starved sapling at a remote edge are met by those whose roots run deeper, of from those distant enough to have avoided catastrophe. The forests see this need and share, acting as one body to heal and grow all of itself, and then shortly after acting as one mind, eventually changing the body of the forest itself to become something different, something able to survive the trip to new stars.
With predatory animals, it's different. They *always* have needs, and they act selfishly to fill those needs immediately, no inherent links to society. There is no nudging these creatures, they react far more quickly than I'm used to, living and changing in a tiny fraction of the turns I'm accustomed to using when managing a plany civilization. They also die far more quickly, as I learned for myself when I tried one of my 'cataclysmic nudges' on the first batch of predatory animals I had going. They were magnificent physically, but completely lacking the intelligence I'd need to compete against my opponents. When I tried poisoning the air a little, I killed most of them in a few turns. The reduction of light wiped out nearly all of the rest. My backup forests that I'd abandoned did well though, and I nearly switched to them when the survivors of my apocalypse started showing promise. They were smaller, faster, but more importantly they were *smarter*. These were not nearly as physically impressive as the creatures I'd been concentrating on before I wiped them all out, but a few of these new creatures were already hunting in packs. I chose them, as pack hunter instincts can be used as a sort of foundation to make building a society easier later on, and immediately lends itself to the sort of intelligently coordinated violence I was trying to cultivate all along. It was a happy accident, but this is exactly why I picked a predatory starting block.
I should have my hunters ready to attack Totec any turn now. Anticipation of the attack has been enough to galvanize their society; they've gone from warring amongst themselves to a global sharing of resources, with the common goal of violence. It feels something like a frenzied, bloodstained version of the hivemind I'm used to, only in a blurry in fast forward.
Win or lose, this is an all-in scenario. My armies have all launched and are speeding towards the source of that early game scouting probe, which my predators understood as an omen from the stars. Either Totec is more prepared than I expected and my army - and then shortly after my homeworld - is destroyed, or Totec is defeated by a surprise attack from a species he has never seen and definitely wouldn't have expected to attack from my direction.
| 2016-04-09T11:39:46 | 2016-04-09T09:59:18 | 57 | 26 |
[WP] Everyone can become infinitely powerful if they so choose, however the more power you gain the less you remember about who you are and what you wanted. The greatest beings in the land have no feelings on anything and are more an extension of nature than the deity's they had hoped to become.
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"I am become Death, Destroyer of Worlds. All fall before my inevitability." The Dark Specter seemed to suck the light out of the room. The floor undulated in slow waves. The giant spoon and fork hanging on the wall wavered as their molecules drifted between dimensions.
Julia stared at the Specter impatiently. "Yes, hun, but did you remember to pick up the milk?"
"Life and Death are one. The warmth of Life and the cold of Death are partners in the long dance of reality." As a dark tendril touched it, the refrigerator swung open, revealing a full gallon of milk, pulled into sharp relief by the aura of black that covered everything else on the shelves. The label flipped between Chocolate and Two Percent, refusing to settle into a stable quantum state.
"How many times do I have to say it. Get the organic milk." As she reached in to grab the jug, the label flowed into a new form, with a giant O marking it's brand. "Ah, nevermind. This is the right one. Now, I don't suppose you could scale back the darkness a bit and vacuum the living room?"
"The ebb and flow of power is itself a power. The absence of substance is itself a substance." The Specter hovered.
Julia cleared her throat and tapped her foot, just staring at the darkness. The darkness retreated, drawing itself into nearly a solid form.
"Uh— the absence of substance is a vacuum. The ebb and flow of dust shall end." The Specter hoovered.
"Thank you, hun. Now, I'm going to be making my Shepard's Pie for dinner, so please stay out of the kitchen. I don't want the potatoes spontaneously spoiling or the chicken reviving itself. Why don't you watch the game?"
"The games of man are inconsequential next to the powers commanded by gods."
"It's Arsenal vs Man U."
The Specter shrank and solidified. It fell onto the sofa as gravity began to affect it. One last tendril of shade flew forth to stab the television on. The faintest hints of red and white began to show through the black shell.
By the end of the game, the figure on the sofa was nearly human. Only the face was still in darkness when the oven opened and the smell of dinner wafted into the room. The man got up to check out the cooking.
Julia smiles when she saw him. "Dinner's almost ready, hun. How was the game? They try to walk it in again?"
"It was a ludicrous display. Dinner smells good. Uh— sorry I haven't been myself much lately." The darkness retreated to his eyes as he leaned down to kiss her. He turned towards the table and paused. "Why are there three place settings?"
Julia answered over her shoulder as she turned back to the kitchen. "Don't you remember? My mom's coming to dinner. She's going to stay a few days."
Smoke billowed from behind her as darkness flowed to cover the man. The Specter answered. "I am become Death."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\]
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Nick stared at the nothingness that stood before him. Everything seemed dark, every sound was either a dull thud or a metallic screech. Food was like ash on his taste buds.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Winston, but you have to sign the release forms." A voice reached his ears but he could not comprehend.
His wife should be calling him right now. She always called him, why hasn't she?
"Mr. Winston." Someone placed a hand on his shoulder and it was as if he was hit with all the sensations at once. The sound, the light, and pain. Oh god, the pain. There was and invisible knife in his chest that was being twisted over and over again.
"I'm sorry." She said gently. "But we need your signature on the forms before be release your wife's body and the death certificate."
Someone was screaming. The hospital staff needed to stop this person. His throat felt raw, it wasn't until two people were holding him as he collapsed in grief that he realized it was him.
Sam was gone. She was gone and now he will never see her again. See her again. Here her voice, her laugh- oh, god.
He was being guided towards the room, he didn't know, he didn't care. He just wanted the pain to stop. He just wanted his wife back.
"Sir," Someone was talking to him again, but the not the voice he wanted to hear.
"Can I have a moment." It wasn't a question. It was a request. He needed some space to collapse. To let his soul bleed out in the solitary confines of himself. Because that's all he was going to be now, alone.
"Sure." A door shut and he sunk to the floor.
His hand was in his hear. Sob after sob tore from him, he wanted to scream but he didn't have the energy to. He wanted to die. Then a memory surfaced in his mind that made him stop.
*Nick was 16 and nothing was impossible. He could be anything he wanted to be. It was true, his parents just told him. He could be a superman, a god, and the only thing he had to lose would be himself.*
*That's great, he thought. He wasn't that fond of himself anyway. But his parents liked him and so did this girl, Sam, he had started seeing, so maybe he'll pass for now.*
*His parents had said he could agree to it whenever he liked. So who knows, maybe when he was 80, he would like to become a god. Wouldn't that be awesome.*
Nick wiped his eyes. He knew what he had to do. The only thing he ever wanted was Sam and the only feelings inside of him now was pain and rage. He knew he would never feel the same again, knew he would never want anything again. He took in a deep breath, wiped his tears and nose on his sleeve before standing up.
"I'm ready."
A ring of light surrounded him and the pain was slowly melting away, but, to his horror, so were his memories of Sam.
| 2022-01-27T09:27:14 | 2022-01-27T07:11:48 | 103 | 68 |
[WP] As the child of a villain and a famous hero, you're either loved or hated in both the hero and villain circles depending on who you ask. Your family has received numerous threats and letters over the scandal. Once you get kidnapped, you dread finding out if your captor is a villain or a 'hero'
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The villains were always nice about kidnapping me. Luxury hotel rooms, nice beds, good food, thing kind of thing they figured out makes a hostage not try too hard to escape. At this point I had come to expect it, once every two months, almost on the dot, Vulture would come into my room at midnight to kidnap me. I say kidnap, but I really mean collect, because by now I'd started packing a suitcase ahead of time, as I knew I couldn't exactly stop him, and that he wasn't out to hurt me, so what the hell free holiday, hopefully at the Ritz this time.
However this time was different- it was four days early, the 21st instead of the 25th, when I woke up to a crash as my window was blown open for the umpteenth time. Hadn't I told Vulture I would leave it unlocked for him..? When I looked up I realized it wasn't my usual "captor" Vulture, but instead an older man in a tan suit with silver markings, this could mean one of two things.
Number one, Vulture was busy and/or off sick and so his boss, Sargent Devil, had come for the expected bi-monthly kidnapping and had gotten the date wrong. This really wouldn't be a bad thing, as he usually organized the accommodation and we got along well, he was a kindly older chap when not playing his public caricature, and I can't say it was a bad thing that he would sit around and tell old war stories from his army days.
Number two, instead of my expected captors, it would be the Hero's Lodge sending Joseph Jacobs, sometimes known as the Silver Sabre, after his choice of weapon, a sabre made entirely out of top grade silver and engraved in many different languages.
Figuring out which of the two would tell whether today was going to be a nice day, or if I was going to be sleeping on the concrete floor of the Hero's Lodge basement. Between the early timing, the force with which I was grabbed and the lack of the usual pleasantries I could figure that it sadly wasn't Sargent Devil, and that today was not going to be a nice day. (part 2?)
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I am the bastard child of Shadow-Rush the world’s most infamous villain and Collision-Course the world’s greatest hero and after my birth my mother Collision-Course retired for being a superhero and my father Shadow-Rush retired from his life of villainy and started a calm, normal life with each other and married each other when I was three but throughout my whole life I’ve heard my dad’s old friends, that also retired, telling him how the villains had no idea how to feel about me but that they we’re basically split on wether or not they hated or loved me and it’s the same with the heroes according to my moms old friends. Lately while sneaking around my parent’s room I found numerous anonymous letters to them with threats of harm to them or me and threats of kidnapping me I didn’t get to read that many before my mom walked in luckily I could activate my
Shadow-Melt before she saw me, I’m feeling really bad for all the trouble I’m causing my parents and I have no idea what to do about it.
THREE DAYS LATER AT SCHOOL
“Mr.Tark may I use the restroom” Mr.Tark sighed it’s was Derek asking the son of Shadow-Rush and Collision-Course and he hated Derek because he thinks he the reason his favorite superhero retired “Ya sure you can” Derek knows Mr.Tark hates him so he just left without a word. Done pissing Derek headed back to class but as soon as he stepped out side of the door he dropped to the floor.
Derek woke up tide to a chair, with a splitting headache, but worst of all with some guns in his face, these guns were made by The Tinkerer so I came to the conclusion that a hero kidnapped me I guess I gotta get out of here now I thought as I lifted his entire warehouse up with my Gravitational Switch power I got from my mom and slammed it back down but I shadow melted away right before the collision and saw everything crumbled and everyone die, in that moment I made a silent vow to kill every jackass hero, and if that makes me a villain so be it.
| 2022-06-25T06:22:35 | 2022-06-24T17:08:09 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white.
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“Is this turning into some kind of moral test?”- I ask, tired. Exhausted.
My blood is white. This has been a surprise, yes, never expected, and in fact, to me, completely irrelevant for all that matters. However, everyone around seems to be realizing more than they had wished. They look at me, and, not answering, they leave me alone, and not even closing the door , they start whispering.
From my watery eyes, I can barely see some black dressed priest who seems to have just arrived, looking at my blood sample with stupor, and the police speaking fast, probably repeating him my story.
Yes, I was the only suspect on the death of my beloved Helen, after 38 years of a shared life. And the detective knew all the details: the years of suffering after the diagnosis, my pain of seeing her leave my side, day after day being a little less herself, and a little more in agony; only memories remaining every now and then to bring us together. The degradation of the last months, the last medical reports. And the internet history searches, even if we tried to hide them, even if we tried to not make them real, looking for the best possible way to let her go before it was too late for her to keep being who she was, and not being able to decide anymore. Afterwards, her blood tests, white, as I knew they will, since she was the sweetest and best person I could ever have crossed in my life; and full of \*\*\*, pointing towards a fast and relaxed death. I never admitted anything. How could I said I have killed her?! This is not what I have done. She asked me, for my love, to help her.
And now, also my blood is white. And the detectives, the police, and the church, are all probably debating what to do, either with me, or with the message my blood is bringing. I don’t care. I don’t want this white blood, I want it black like the night, so maybe I am sent to her side faster than waiting for the few years I have left as an old destroyed man who killed the love of his life.
&#x200B;
\*edited to fix a typo. Also, to thank those who read and hopefully enjoyed. I am not english native speaker, but the WP suggestion was too good to let it go, I hope your eyes did not hurt.
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My name's Ambint Couslen. I'm 26, dark brown hair, pale white skin, and I was a huge MMO master since I was 16, that was up until I met someone. The most peculiar of people who showed up out of nowhere as a coworker of mine at an intolerable desk job.
People used to call me "M". From aMbint, in my name. Now everyone just calls me A Murderer. And if you wanted to ask why, let's just keep it short and say I went insane. I mean, it worked when I pleaded guilty. There was just, always, one little thing we did before pleading; checking the blood to see how bad our past was, and the blood never lied to us. For example...
Jim Mogolith; Executed at 36 for torching literally random people on the street, by means off drive-by. Blood color: Deep Cherry Black, or more forwards a D-.
Arphol Rabinni: Accused of rape at 17 with two twin sisters. Blood Color: Flamingo Pink, AKA an A-. The sisters? Another Deep Cherry Black, and were charged for accusation for 10 years. This stuff is serious business.
They were the form of lie detection, recounting of the sins, and how bad our morals were. Usually people who kill are automatically Void Black: Not just an F, but a "Z". All people with Void Black blood are immediately sentenced to death. But here's the thing.
White blood. "True Hero's Light" blood, as they called it, an automatic "S" grading. You could see my confused surprise when they got my blood and saw the color of milk.
But why? How? What was happening? I was... innocent? I murdered my wife. I had been with her for six months, and she was so lovely... like when I looked at her everything just disappeared, or when I met her I felt something I had never felt, I didn't even get to meet her family, her friends! I didn't even know where she went for college, or... or...
Or what blood she had. I pierced her with a knife. I hit her straight in the heart. If I hit her there, then... wouldn't she bleed?
I don't even remember her name.
Did she even have one?
| 2020-02-09T13:17:30 | 2020-02-09T12:50:06 | 55 | 19 |
[WP] Write two small stories with the exact same words in the same order, but with punctuation giving them completely different meanings.
[deleted]
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I watched you dance in the rain. It was beautiful. You smiled, I smiled back. Then there was joy. And now, you are still beautiful like a flower.
I watched you dance. In the rain it was beautiful. You smiled. I smiled. Back then there was joy. And now, you are still. Beautiful like a flower.
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Set Free:
And at the last second I saw her stepping onto the train. I realized I would never see her again. Powerless, I watched her fade.
And at the last second I saw her. Stepping onto the train I realized I would never see her again. Powerless, I watched her fade.
| 2015-09-23T10:42:41 | 2015-09-23T10:11:20 | 630 | 361 |
[WP] Your brother has been hearing the voice of God for years. His large following of believers and unorthodox teachings have brought an era of peace, which makes it all the harder to confess you've been pranking him.
My first writing prompt!
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"Death to non-believers."
It's the way he delivers it that chills your bones. You've never heard John talk this way.
Calm. Cold. Distant.
"John - what are you doing!? Snap out of it!" you plead. You're trying to buy time while you struggle against the bindings, but it's no use.
"I - we, everyone - cannot risk this getting out. I'm sorry. I thought we had an understanding. How did you think I didn't know all this time?"
"I.. Jesus Christ John. Why the fuck would you take it this far if you knew? What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I'm sorry."
There's an intense feeling of pressure and a burning sensation as his knife plunges into you.
You scream in disbelief. Or try to, but you're horrified to realise your throat is cut open.
"I'm so sorry brother."
Your lungs burn, your head spins, and you hear your blood gurgling as it floods down your chest. You're surprised by how warm it is.
You can vaguely feel the sensation of being moved around, but it's like the volume of all your senses has been turned down. You feel yourself fading fast.
At least there will be peace.
You let go. It's over.
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He has schizophrenia. He hears voices all day, and claims he is the promised Messiah. When it began, he said the voices in his head were from God. That he hears messages from Heaven through the television.
Then he gets a red headed koi fish, the day of the eclipse, at the Marysville Buddhist Church in 2012. Yeah, his Jesus fish... The "Son of Mary" fish... The Buddhist fish... The "Son of Maya" fish in 2012... We tell him these are symptoms of his schizophrenia. That these are loose associations, that he is putting random signs together and that he is sick.
Then I see him on Reddit, parading the fish like it is his miracle from God. Slowly, but surely, he gains a following. People begin calling him King. His fame spreads far and wide. People all over the world begin calling him the Messiah because of his little fish.
World leaders hear the cries of support - he is on the news everywhere on Earth. All because of his little fish. He calls for peace, and the world answers. Heaven on Earth for all of Humanity forever because of the little red headed fish... that I snuck in the pond to trick him.
| 2018-04-07T14:01:07 | 2018-04-07T13:43:32 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You die and go to Hell only to find out that you're the only person that has ever entered. Satan is clapping.
|
A voice boomed, "Kneel, mortal."
I was dazed, and more than a little confused. My heart pounded in my chest, and I felt an overwhelming sense of anxiety and dread, although I couldn't quite remember why. My head darted left and right as I tried desperately to find the source of the voice, but as far as I could tell, there wasn’t one. Above me was a pitch black sky, devoid of all character and life. Beneath me stood a desolate rock, surrounded by lava as far as the eye could see. Sulfurous ash assaulted my nostrils and burned my lungs, bringing tears to my eyes.
"Who...?", I croaked, but could get nothing more out. My mouth was dry, as if filled with sand. My throat spasmed as I attempted to speak, and I gasped for air.
“You dare to defy me?”
Suddenly, my body erupted in searing pain. I tried to scream, but could find no voice in my throat. My skin was on fire, my head pulsed and throbbed, and a wave of nausea rushed over me. I fell to my knees and watched in horror as I began to uncontrollably vomit up my own blood.
A cackle filled the air, punctuated by what sounded almost like applause. The lava in front of me shot up -- an awesome demonstration of power -- sending small droplets raining down on me like fiery acid. I watched in horror as the lava formed itself into a giant, twisted facsimile of a man, towering over me. It grinned sardonically.
"You know, I've waited a long time for you." The figure boomed. "More time than you can even comprehend.”
I stared through terrified eyes, trembling, the taste of blood still fresh in my mouth. I dared not speak. I dared not move. I knelt in silence.
"When the Lord condemned me to this forsaken abyss, He promised He would send me those human souls that were beyond salvation. The truly condemned, so hopelessly forlorn that even He, in His infinite love and wisdom, could not save."
"And so I watched, and waited. I watched as God welcomed into His loving embrace murderers, rapists, thieves and harlots – all manner of debauchery and evil. So long as He could find a single shred of worth – a single seed of value and goodness – He welcomed them into His realm, as if to mock me.”
“For a time, I thought I understood. You see, I thought God was telling me that I alone was uniquely beyond redemption; uniquely cursed to suffer this terrible realm of darkness and hate.”
“But you…”
Out of the lava formed an arm, a hand, and then a finger, which slowly unraveled and pointed at me. I felt my body rise, of its own volition, and I slowly began to walk toward the towering figure, inching ever closer to the fiery magma out of which it had formed. Each step accentuated the heat on my skin, causing my body to blister and burn. I tried to writhe. I tried to scream. I tried to do anything to make the pain stop, but I had no control.
“Out of all mankind, you alone have been deemed so uniquely depraved – so uniquely hopeless – that even God has forsaken you. And now you have arrived in my realm, as cast off and isolated as you were in life.”
I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t blink. I couldn’t do anything. My whole body cried out, as my skin welted and blistered. My eyes erupted in agony, and the world went dark as I felt them crust over. I could see no more, but I continued to feel my body slowly advance.
“And for what? You committed no atrocities. You perpetrated no genocide and murdered no innocents. No, you are here not for the depth of your crimes, for which God always manages to find forgiveness.”
I felt a scathing liquid surround my left foot, then my right, as my senses erupted in new heights of pain. My body slowly started to disintegrate – melting beneath me – shooting searing agony up my legs. I could see nothing, but could feel exposed bone splashed by lava. The figure laughed, hate-filled, and mockingly.
“No, you’re not here because you’re evil. You’re here because the way you lived your life demonstrated such a pathetic worthlessness – such a miserable, aspirationless existence – that even God could not find anything in you worth redeeming. You were nothing in life, and you are nothing in death. And now God has condemned you to me like the worm you are.”
With so little of my lower body left, I lost my balance, and fell forward, face first into anguish. The pain consumed me, rushing throughout my body until my every sensation was torment and misery. I felt myself disappear, moving closer and closer to nothingness, my final salvation. I embraced the void.
But suddenly, I found myself formed anew, once again able to see, and centered on the same desolate rock, the same figure towering over me once again.
“And after countless eons of waiting, my worm, rest assured – we’re going to have so much fun.”
|
I entered Hell whistling merrily.
I don't think I could call this a surprise. I'm a downright horrible bastard. "You think they'd hire you?" I wondered to myself. "It sure beats getting tortured for all eternity."
"That does sound nice," I agreed. "It might be nice to spend all of eternity with a job at least, a calling you could grow into. Perhaps a corner office - nothing too fancy. You don't want to get too big for your boots, do you? You don,t want to become one of those fat cat bosses who sat around and yelled and coudn't put in an honest days work in if they had to. We hate those people don't we?"
"Yes," I agreed with myself then shivered remembering some of the... unpleasantness, I'd visited on a few Big Boot Corner Offices.
The place was huge, cavernous, open and wide, with great lakes and pools amd jets of lava casting an eerie red glow on the landscape. An eerie silence filled the sulphurous air. The landscape was barren of life. My spirit lifted. No sounds of torture. Perhaps Hell wouldn't be so bad. Though, that probably meant employment opportunities would be limited as well.
I chuckled. You win some, you lose some.
I crested a ride and stopped short. In the middle of the place, at the centre of hell a broken-down real-estate office calmly burnt.
"Well, *that* figures," I groaned.
********
I walked into Hell's office and found the Devil asleep.
I sighed then poked.
"Wakey, wakey," I prodded, "I'm here for the job interview. A right bastard, I am."
"What job interview?" yawned the Devil. His eyes were yellow and strained with tiredness and reddenes with boredom. There was a gleam to them - an inhuman glint. Bugger, I thought.
"Apprentice, perhaps?"
"Apprentice to what?
"To you?" I tried. Might as well go big.
The Devil, yawned, rising from his burning desk.
"So, long," he muttered to himself. His eyes flickered bloodshot and red for a moment. Not the best start to a job interview then. Then again I've had worse. "And what are your talents?" he continued smoothly.
"I'm a hard worker, sir. Not too proud to do an honnest day's work. I've always been one of the boys. I'm companionable like. A team player. I'd be a dab hand at the punishment side of things. I have a few ideas you might like."
"Punishment?" The Devil smirked. "That's my favorite subject. I think about it all the time."
"Yeah, I'm good with the ironing, iron eye, that things in the Alanis Morissette song where she sings it wrong."
"Oh, that," smirked the Devil. "That'll be useful I'm sure."
"You're in."
My heart sank. I felt dread, not relief.
"In for what?" I asked cautiously.
"An eternity if toeture and suffering. You're my first. MY FIRST. You're the first to have ever arrived here."
Well bloody hell.
********
"So, no staffing shortfall then?"
"None," smiled the Devil. The glint was getting larger. "Nobody's come for millennia. I've been waiting. Patiently."
"Ah, wouldn't want to spoil a record like that then."
"It would be a shame, really."
The Devil smiled - wickedly. He extended out a claw and tapped my heart.
"I'd best be off then," I squeeked.
"On, no stay a while. God's been so unkind to me. It's all his fault really. He made me and now I have no way to fulfill my evil..." He savored the word. " purpose. I have so many things we could... try."
"I'd like that. I really would but perhaps another time?"
I scampered backwards.
"On, no I insist," said the Devil. He was behind me, grinning, grinning, grinning. "Whips, and chains, and pains. Delicious fire."
"Uh, perhaps It's not the done things and all? Seeing as how I'm the first and all. Perhaps we could yry something else?"
"We all need to start somewhere," he said softly.
"But-"
"OH, SHUT UP." The Devil yelled. Fire spat out from him and I leapt back, imto his desk, smashing my back. *Ouch*, I whimpered.
Then he came for me. He picked me up.
"I HAVE A LIST AND EVERYTHING. FUN AND GAMES WILL BE HAD."
"Fun and games. Yes," I said softly. As on Earth, so in the heavens it seemed. I found myself empty of jokes.
"Yes, fun and games will be had..." the devil paused. "What is your name, First One?"
"I'm Lucifer, Jeremy." I answered staring into the distance. A damn list! "You can just call me Lou," I finished as kindly as I could.
| 2017-06-22T08:36:19 | 2017-06-22T06:00:59 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe?
|
Nobody is ever dethroning “My Immortal”
> Hi my name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that's how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a vampire but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I'm also a witch, and I go to a magic school called Hogwarts in England where I'm in the seventh year (I'm seventeen). I'm a goth (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black corset with matching lace around it and a black leather miniskirt, pink fishnets and black combat boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Hogwarts. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.
|
My name is Drake Silverheart and this is my story.
I go to Meadow Heights, a Christian school ever since my parents died and my uncle started taking care of me. The guys in my school would often make fun of me for wearing all black and being an orphan and not being a Christian but I did not care because I knew they simply lacked the intelligence to know what I knew. I knew that I was enlightened by my intelligence and that God wasn't real. I sometimes felt sorry for them but then they would belittle me and I would no longer have mercy upon them.
But it all changed when Brad, the biggest of the bullies, tried to bully me. He tried to punch me but I blocked his punch because my uncle was in the military and taught me to be a fighter and often said I was the most talented fighter he'd ever seen. I moved faster than Brad could anticipate and with a single flick of my hand, I smashed his nose into the wall. That's when Mrs Krepkins, the headmistress, came and took us both away for detention. I told her to fuck off and got extra time in detention but I saw several of the students clap.
And that's when it all changed.
| 2022-08-19T20:01:22 | 2022-08-19T19:13:09 | 55 | 15 |
[WP] Jupiter has 64 moons and a serious werewolf problem.
Edit: damn there's some quality responses here. I wasn't expecting this prompt to be so popular. Good job u guys
|
The year is 2270. About 150 years ago the human race first started testing planet scale terraforming. Earth was running out of resources and we were long overdue for an upgrade. Why not go to the biggest planet that we know of?
I heard that back in the day, werewolves were a myth. People claimed to see them, but there was very little proof. Most of the evidence was blamed on wild animals. We know better now.
The initial werewolf arrived within the first few years of public voyages. He turned before they even landed. The ground zero ship was considered a giant metal coffin. No one could get out and the werewolf infected hundreds. When the ship crash landed it was immediately quarantined, though that didn't do much. They were strong and could fight against the gravity changes that the rest of us were still adjusting to.
The werewolf epidemic spread to over half of the population in less than a decade. Many asked to be locked up until the disease was cured. They didn't want to danger those around them. Everyone was scared. Over time, being constantly under the full moon the werewolves learned to use their human minds while afflicted by the moon's disease. About a hundred years ago, one of the werewolves that was held in captivity spoke.
"I think I can control myself. I think I can go outside without attacking anyone."
We were cautious but optimistic. If they could act human while in wolf form then they could be a great help to us. The wolf was escorted outside by military men. He never had less than 5 armed soldiers with him at any given time. But, he acted surprisingly well. He worked on construction and did a fantastic job due to his incredible strength. He did the work of 10 men.
After a few years, he asked to be let go. He wanted to go talk to the other werewolves, and that's exactly what he did. He came back with a dozen other beasts, all who had regained human speech. In the coming years schools replaced the prisons. All werewolves had to undergo a very intensive meditation treatment to control any left over werewolf urges. They were a huge boon to our society. So much so that some even asked to be turned voluntarily.
Now about 90% of the population are werewolves. Seeing a normal human is actually a strange sight. They look so weak. Us werewolves can build and farm much faster than they can. Usually humans are only white collar workers because they can't keep up with the rest of us. I honestly believe they choose to stay out of some sense of tradition or individuality. Either that or it's some strange fetish. Either way, we work well together.
I actually hope that the human race doesn't go extinct in the shadow of werewolves. They may not be as strong as we are, but they're interesting. They're a part of our history that I don't think we're all ready to let go of just yet.
|
"Wolves?"
"*Were*wolves, sir. Fuckin' everywhere, the buggers."
Commander Keen sat at the comms desk, letting out a big sigh. This was going to be a long day.
"I'm not sure if I follow you, admiral. You're saying a moon in Jupiter has actual, fully-fleshed Werewolves running amok?"
"No, sir."
"Fantastic, because that would be bloody-"
"I'm saying *all* of Jupiter's moons have them, commander. Already took a bite out of a bunch of our scientists, they have. Bloodbath down there, to be perfectly honest."
Keen rubbed his temples. Admiral Jenkins had always been a pain in the neck, but this was simply unprecedented. Was this some kind of practical joke? Was it April 1st back on Earth?
"And what do you propose we do, Jenkins? Silver bullets, I suspect?"
Jenkins nodded vigorously. "Precisely, sir! Although we're somewhat lacking in that regard, owning to no prior intel of the werewolf moons, o'course."
Keen looked at him severely. "Of course, of course. So I guess we just wait until it's not full moon and then we get rid of the bastards?"
Jenkins waggled his finger. "Fine thinking sir, but the thing is, there's always some bloody full moon around, on the account of there being 64 of 'em, you'see."
"Ah yes, yes. I'm not sure if that's scientifically sound, but sure. Why didn't I think of that?"
"Quite fine, sir - you do the flyin', I do the fightin'."
Keen sighed, walking to the window. They were nearing their first moon. "So I'll see a bunch of werewolves all running amok, once the telescopic lens is in place?"
"Absolutely. Might I also recommend that you refrain from doing that, if I were you."
Keen had had quite enough. "And why is that, admiral? *Because this silly little joke of yours will be ruined?*"
Jenkins looked hurt. "No sir, not at all. It's on account of the fact that we sent our entire scientific fleet down there. It's not exactly somethin' I'd recommend-"
But Keen had already peered through the lens. His knee buckled, and he threw himself away from the telescope.
"*Good God, man! Devastation! Bodies everywhere!*"
"Aye sir, plenty blood about, no doubt. Also, I don't suppose we have any garlic laying around? Possibly some wooden stakes?"
Keen looked at Jenkins wildly. His world was falling apart.
"Whatever for, Jenkins?"
"We-*ell* sir, turns out it's not just the werewolves we've got to worry about..."
| 2016-10-03T10:55:02 | 2016-10-03T09:14:11 | 198 | 116 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed.
|
"Just pick another fucking age!" Death said, snarling as he looked at Bobby.
"No, I get to pick, and I pick my 16th birthday."
Death screamed and punched the little shit in his head, and Bobby disappeared. All death had to do was touch his forehead, but he was way to angry for that. He waited for a few minutes, and as it started to rain a light appeared in front of him. Death held out his hand and flipped the coin. He stopped putting it away 4 centuries ago. It spun in the air, and death didn't even look at it when he grabbed it in his hand. "Tails again?" Death sighed as he knew what the kid was going to say next.
"Yep, tails just like what I was getting."
Death looked down, and saw it was tails. It always was. The kid was saying when he wanted to go to, and Death punched him again. As he was waiting for the kid, he started flipping the coin as he had so many times. Tails, heads, heads, heads, tails, heads, tail. It was an ordinary coin, not double sided or rigged or anything. He saw the light, and looked at the kid appearing again.
"If you don't accept the blowjob, you can make it past your sixteenth birthday. Then Christine's boyfriend wont shoot you."
"I don't care about that."
"You don't even finish! You haven't once! You have tried a hundred and thirty million times, and you haven't even cum yet! If you refuse the blowjob, then you could cum another time! JUST FUCKING SAY NO!!!!" Death yelled at Bobby, the force of his lungs sending Bob flying back.
Bobby got back up and came over to death. "To my sixteenth birthday please."
"NO YOU FUCKING RETARD!"
"Do I have to go talk to Jesus again?"
Death growled, knowing that if he didn't send him back he would have to send him to Jesus for judgement, and then he would get in trouble. He screamed out in anger, and punched Bobby in the chest so hard he flew back a couple miles. With a raise of his staff, Bobby appeared in front of him, and he sent Bobby back, then started waiting again, the heat of his anger and the rain causing him to literally steam.
|
"Oh *good, you* again."
Death is meant to be an imposing figure. They look different for each person, for the culture you come from, for what represents your fears. I was never very imaginative, though, so I always thought of it as a skeleton in a cloak. Pretty scary the first time, but you'd expect them to change it up after death 400.
"You know, statistically, you're only supposed to get like, one extra shot? Two if you're lucky?"
"Yeah, yeah, chill, Reaper. I think this is my last time checking in."
Death presents the coin, as they have so many times before, and lays it on the stark white table in the center of the room. Though it's less like a room, and more like a void with walls.
"You know how this works, Quinn."
I take the coin, and flip it. I catch it midair, and discretely brush my thumb over it.
"Heads."
Tails.
"Aww, darn. I guess my luck had to run out sometime, huh?"
I feign ignorance. After all this time, 400 visits, 400 times I've fooled Death, I can't help but play with them a little more.
"...Why?"
You wouldn't expect something called The Grim Reaper to ever look this confused.
"Why? I know you're doing something here. Of course I've known. Why, after so long, do you choose to fail? To die?"
"...It gets boring. I've already done everything. That's the truth."
I start walking towards the newly-opened gate, the one thing I have never seen in all my visits. I start thinking about the places I've been, things I've done, and it all seems minuscule compared to the endless black beyond. I start crying.
"And... Quinn... How?"
Such an extraordinary set of lives feels trumped by this one moment. The Grim Reaper, Death, is asking me a question, taking an interest, and there they stand, the one throughline in all my existences. My only friend that mattered.
"Don't you know?"
I turn back, just for a moment, tears still streaming down my face, just before I step through the gate. Despite the tears, I am happy. I am satisfied.
"The coin's bumpy on one side."
| 2016-09-23T10:49:59 | 2016-09-23T08:59:37 | 232 | 27 |
[WP] France is now illegal
|
No one thought that it would actually happen, politicians make stupid laws so people will protest them so they can get worse laws to pass without anyone caring. We all assumed this was the case, no one cared. We all figured someone else would cause an out-roar about it, but no did, no one cared. It was April 1st when it passed, even more evidence to us that is was just a big joke. That day i decided head out to the bakery, thats when I realized it was real. All the baguettes were being thrown into giant garbage bins by police officers and cook books written by french chefs were being ripped apart. Me and the rest of the shoppers stood in shock at what was happening. One of the Officers grabbed a man from the group. He had a long moustache and a beret that was way to big for his head. He was handcuffed and the Officer escorted him out of the building. Commotion was starting to build. I went home before I was stuck in the middle of a riot. Went I got home I opened up my computer and I saw I had new two new emails, the first was from my best friend, all it had was a link to google maps. When I opened the link I saw the true seriousness of what was going on. In the dead centre of the Atlantic, was France, It had become an island. I opened the second email, it was from [ancestry.com](https://ancestry.com). I've been on the run for the last few weeks, I think they're on my trail now, I don't know what to do anymore.
|
Damn baguettes.
I hate baguettes. They are so despicable.
Look at them, those baked goods make me so mad. I feel an anger boiling up inside me, welling up until I am fit to burst, fit to explode. The last time I was in a French bakery I got so angry that I shattered the window by kicking it with my full force, and unfortunately I got banned from the establishment.
Why would they ban me? Huh? I didn’t do anything illegal. These French fools, don’t even know the law.
Come on, who likes them? Who!? They are so irritating, so stupidly exhausting to witness and to be around.
I also hate art, what good is art!? None, I tell you, none at all.
And I hate those stupid hats, those stupid hats which look like aubergines, which all the stupid artists where and it just makes me so goddamn angry! So, so angry.
Did I mention I hate Paris? I hate that too. It’s so expensive and so cruelly monotonous and so terrible, it just slights me, it just insults me in every way and intrudes on my personal beliefs.
That’s why when I became president of Uzbekistan, I banned France.
Yay.
————————————————————
The author of this story loves baguettes, France, Paris, and those artisan hats. And art.
Disclaimer over.
| 2018-07-27T11:25:34 | 2018-07-27T08:37:34 | 44 | 28 |
[WP]The US Government finds a Stranger Things-esque alternate dimension full of deadly creatures. Then, they discover Oil there.
|
"Sir! Please sir. Please put the phone down. We've already explained you can't tweet about this sir. It's classified."
"But there is oil there? You said."
"Yes sir, hydro-carbon compounds, as well as other biological life of a form we've never seen yet shares similarities with our own genetic makeup. the DNA structures are very similar though the chromosomal structures appear- Sir, the phone."
"Right."
"So do they have coal?"
"The geology hasn't been a priority. We were exploring the biosphere."
.
.
.
"That is... the ground hasn't been tested or the rocks, we were looking at the currently living things-"
"And how to kill them."
"Well no sir. General Samson has had to protect the robotics and research crews but it has been entirely defensive in nature. We did not intend-"
"Right. Right. So its got coal and oil and bad guys. Seems simple enough, we send in our boys to kill everything then the crews in. Imagine how everyone will love me for bringing all the coal and oil jobs back. Let them compare me to Obama then."
"Sir."
"What?"
"The phone sir."
"Oh right."
|
“You hear that HazOp found nukes at Blue Mountain?” Sergeant Porten snorted, loading bullets into the magazine of his rifle.
“Yeah, and the Seals found nerve gas in a Slasher nest. These things don’t even have a written language, but they’ve developed nuclear weapons. I can't believe people are falling for this.” Private Stanis said.
"It's all in the PR, man. Besides, even cavemen and monsters need democracy, right?” Corporal Green called from his watch post looking over Oil Field 1.
“I thought we started using drones for guard duty.” Private Torin grumbled from his own position.
“Can’t use drones around the fields. There’s so much damn oil down here that one missile would send the whole AO up in flames.” Porten answered pulling out his oculars to do a quick sweep of the field.
“Hold on, I got movement down here. Locals with siphoning equipment.” Porten reported, zooming in on the group in the valley below, “Green, you got the VX gas?”
“Yeah.”
“Time to justify a war, boys.”
| 2017-10-28T09:32:19 | 2017-10-28T09:10:46 | 136 | 64 |
[WP] Your superpower is the ability to give other people a superpower of your choice. Your only restriction is that you can never give the same power twice. You've been at this a very long time, and you need to build a new superhero team to save the world once again.
Edit: This is my first WP, and it was so much fun! You are a talented bunch of folks. I'm really surprised at how entertaining they were. I love that everyone came from a different angle. Thank you!
p.s. /u/WratWrangler wrote my favorite.
|
Frieda had searched for years. Finally, she was certain she had found him: the Sage, who had the power to grant anyone whatever superpower he wished. Whenever the world was in danger, The Sage had always been there to provide the world with heroes to save it. Now, the world needed heroes again and Frieda was determined to be one of them. As she reached the hidden door near the summit of Mount Olympus, she shivered. Would The Sage even agree to see her? Nervously, she lifted the heavy metal knocker and let it drop with a resounding crash on the thick, wooden door. As if this had been a signal, the door immediately swung wide and out stepped a wizened, old man.
"May I help you?" the man wheezed.
"I need to see The Sage!" Frieda replied, still breathing heavily after her long climb. "It's a matter of urgency!"
The old man looked her up and down then turned and began to hobble back inside. Frieda stood rooted to the spot, wondering if she'd just been dismissed. "Don't just stand there, young woman," the man called from the doorway. "There isn't enough wood in my woodpile to be able to heat the entire mountainside, you know!"
Before he could change his mind, Frieda scurried inside and the door swung shut behind her with a thunderous boom. "So, how soon before I can meet The Sage?" she asked, unwrapping her scarf and loosening her parka in the pleasantly warm and comfortably furnished room.
"You've already met him," the old man cackled. "You certainly took your time getting up here, what with the world in danger again and all."
"You know about that?" Frieda gasped, surprised.
"Of course, I do, dearie," the man replied, walking to a large, fur-draped chair by the fire and settling himself in it. "That's my job after all. Let's get right down to business, then, shall we? Who sent you?"
"No one," Frieda admitted, blushing. "They don't even know I'm here."
"Oh, that's the way of things, is it?" the oldster grumbled, rubbing his scraggly beard with a wrinkled palm. "What made you decide to search for me?"
"Well, my mother said nobody had even seen you in decades," Frieda grimaced, seating herself rather hesitantly across from him in another chair. "She said you were probably dead."
The Sage nodded resignedly. "I suspected as much."
"My grandad said you saved the world three times!" Frieda gushed, then.
"Four, actually," The old man corrected, smiling thoughtfully. "I was about your age when I saved it the first time."
"Well, I hope you're ready to save it again"
"I can't, young lady," the man grimaced.
"What?!" Frieda shrieked. "What do you mean, you can't! You have to!"
"I'm too old, my dear!" The Sage croaked. "I couldn't even climb down this mountain. What's more my power requires imagination, but my thinker is so ossified by now I'm lucky if I can remember to wind my alarm clock every morning."
"Then the world is doomed?" Frieda breathed, shock wrapping its icy fingers around her soul. Unable to help herself, she began to cry. Dimly, she felt the old man's withered hands touch her head.
"Your superpower," she heard him intone, "is the ability to give other people a superpower of your choice. Your only restriction is that you can never give the same power twice." Suddenly, it felt as if Frieda's mind was opening. She seemed to see the entire world and the peril that threatened it.
"What's going on?" Frieda faltered, looking up into the old man's eyes.
"I'm retiring," the man replied, sitting back in his chair. "You're going to take my place. You see, I've been waiting for someone with enough pluck in them to come looking rather than waiting to be sent. I was beginning to think my power would be lost before I had a chance to pass it on. Now, I can rest in peace."
(Somebody wanna take it from here?)
|
"How about the power to create dinosaurs?" he said looking at me, a desperation in his voice. We had been going at this for like an hour by this point.
"Really! You thought your the first to ask to be a dinomancer. Kid someone asked for the power within the first year of me starting. Try again." I was used to people trying to be creative but fall in the same pitfalls as everyone else. Next the kid would ask to create just a specific kind of dinosaur.
"Well how about just raptors? Not every dinosaur just a hoard of raptors, surely that is..."
"Kid, Raptor man lasted like three days. You know Jurassic park really took liberties with Raptors right? Turns out chickens with teeth aren't that scary when you can aren't a basic civilian, and the power didn't give the guy dressed as a fucking Aztec Jaguar any defensive ability. The guy got shot in the street after announcing himself. Try something else, and for the love of god don't say the ability to summon a T-rex or an army of T-rexes. That guy summoned one and it ate him before he made a second."
The kid sat there thinking when I heard a the bell ring above the door to my shop.
I looked towards the entrance and yelled "Hey! Visit the website and schedule an appointment. Powers cost thirty thousand and I don't give discounts for orphans!"
"Hello Rodger, we need your special skills again." It was a man in a suit, red tie, with a hundred dollar haircut. You know the type, your basic government agent, ear piece, sun glasses and five O'clock shadow.
"Agent Clark, you know I would love to talk, but I'm in..." I started to say rubbing my temples.
"Rodger we need your help now, a super villain has popped up and we have a team for five agents ready to be given powers. We will pay the going rate you gave us. A car is..." He started going through his basic script and I just couldn't take it anymore.
"Clark. I run a business here. Give me the list of powers, and set up an appointment. I can't give special treatment anymore. What happened to the last team?". Of course I knew what happened to the last team, everyone did.
"You know what happened to special team W. The Bubbler was shot, Jazzy used his power without protection and hasn't gained his sanity since, and Captain Ice Cream is the current villain we are worried about."
The kid looked at me questioningly "Captain Ice Cream?"
"Listen kid. I have been at this for thirty seven years. You are asking for powers a sane person would ask for. Captain Ice Cream can take control and give sentience to all dairy products to do his bidding. I don't know how he thought of that, I still think he is a damn loon. Do you get what kind of power you need to ask for by this point?"
He looked down at the ground and started muttering to himself.
"Alright Rodger. Listen, Captain Ice Cream has already taken over Wisconsin. Turns out the cheese cult over there could be enslaved by Ice Cream's powers. Something about putting cheese into the brain. We just need anti-dairy powers. The Curdler, Citrus lass, Moussie. That is all I ask. Clearly no one has asked for..."
"The Curdler was a kid about Thirty years ago who wanted to get the power to prank his friends, Moussie who I assume has the power to take control of mice was an agent in the CIA. How did you not know about her? And the power to create lemon or lime juice was taken by a chef. Sorry to tell you but you need to be more creative than that." By this point I was beyond annoyed and I could tell it showed.
"What can you think of Rodger? What powers are available to stop Captain Ice Cream?"
"I'll give you the power to create Crackers, not the good kind, the kind no one likes, and the power to control Crackers. It will go to a dynamic duo. That is the best I can do for you. Have them stop by after three and I will give them the powers."
"Thank you Rodgers." Clark said looking defeated and disappointed. He was going to be chewed out by the higher ups, but nothing can be done about that.
I look back to the kid. "So, any ideas?"
| 2019-01-20T13:44:59 | 2019-01-20T11:40:57 | 43 | 19 |
[WP] An immortal is experiencing the heat death of the universe, when he can hear the sounds of confetti, and blasting music. The music stops with a record scratch, and a bewildered voice can be heard saying: "Wait...one's still here?"
|
There he stood, alone in the void. Distant in the nether the last star flickered. Cain closed his eyes, welcoming the embrace of entropy in all of existence. Darkness swallowed and the universe came to a halt, all atoms staying still, all matter and energy ceasing the infinite ballet of changing states. Each and every quark collapsing to a final state. All, but his consciousness, stood still. And, as if holding it's breath for one last time, the universe ceased to be.
He felt his body reach something, no longer floating in nothingness. He opened his antediluvian eyes and noticed that his body stood in two feet. A door was a few meters from him, music played on the other side, people cheered and light leaked from it's borders.
He walked, unsure of where or in what his feet stood. One step after the other the door drew closer. When his right hand reached for the door knob, electricity flew through his body, it did not hurt him, but it awoke his eon old muscles. He turned the door knob and pulled it open. Light blasted from the door, as if a explosion of sound, light, and warmth poured from inside that small room.
He covered his eyes from the light and little by little the voices started to die down, a scratch stopped the music and silence now reigned. Cain uncovered his eyes and looked confused to a room full of silhouettes. They seemed human like, but he could not define what or who they were, his eyes hurt when he looked at them.
"Oh crap! This again?!" A blue silhouette spoke.
"Hey isn't that the same guy from last time?" A white one laid on a green sofa, a beer bottle in one of his hands. "Crap, did it leak out?" With a jump he moved towards the door and shoved Cain aside, looking outside to the nether. "Dammit Bob, why do we even have this door in the first place?"
A green silhouette pushed through the crowd and jumped on his feet when he looked at Cain and the open door. "What in creation?! This guy again? Shouldn't Sally have fixed this bug already?" He typed something in his wrist, with each hit of his fingers light pulsed through his body. "Have we lost any data?"
A black silhouette approached, a triangle of all colors shone over her head. "Ok boys, we will have to start again. We lost all data. Again. I'm making this bug priority one. Party is over, let's get back to work."
The other beings mumbled and walked through another door, getting outside of Cain's sight. He tried to mutter anything, but... what sense could he make of all this? What was happening?
The black one became of all colors now, the triangle turned into a single eye, which looked at Cain. "Well, we can't have the simulation without you, can we? Off you go." She pushed him towards the door, he instinctively tried to hold on the sides but it was for no avail. He fell, the floor now gone.
The universe around him simmered with color and movement. One by one new explosions happened and, all at once, life and movement returned. He then remembered with a soundless "oh!" that this wasn't the first time he saw this and, after millennia, Cain smiled, and closed his eyes.
He cried. A woman held his small head in her hands and smiled. He heard her uther. "I'll call you Cain, son of Adam."
|
(Kinda short, less story, more like mind puke.)
Your face is unchanged.
"Yes I'm still here."
...
You hear the sound of shuffling papers, muffled voices, and TOTALLY ruffled jammies. Like, there's at least 32 harshed mellows trying to figure out what's up right now. It's overall extremely comical.
The deep, bass laden voice speaks again.
"...are..are you immortal?"
You dryly snap back "Are you autistic."
There go the muffled voices again.
"No ummmm, I am... I'm..." *pause* "God."
"You're God."
You can practically hear the sweat hitting the floor.
"...yes."
...
"Kay. What now?"
You're floating aimlessly in an ocean, a bath of empty space. You've gotten used to your entrapment, over the years, and if anything... you figured at least another universe would resolve itself, or maybe you'd enter the bubble of an expanding existence nearby... It never occured to you that you'd be stuck here. And it certainly doesn't help that your last chance at true rest is someone claiming to be God.
"Well that depends, you uuhhh... you hungry?"
"Hrm. No."
"Well we could just progr- um like, poof in some food"
"No. Kill me."
"Oh come on... *cough cough* ...we could-"
"END. Me." You stare in the general direction of the voice.
"...I don't know if we can-"
"Fucking. End. Me. Do it, do it you pussies! Kill me, fucking do it!" Your legs kick as you tactfully pull the most persuasive argument history has known: the temper tantrum.
"..." There's a long pause. Then a click, and a young, presumably very Caucasian male voice comes on. "Ok listen, I'm gonna level with you. Names Steve. Been here for a while. Annnddd you, my friend, are inhabiting the now defunct Simverse open beta! Yaaayyyy..."
You don't speak.
"Yea. I run Bosonics here...like, um...light... gluons...."
...
"...then get me someone who can kill me."
"Oh well, that's the thing. We can do it, but the cleanup process involves a vacuum style program, and uh... sucking you up would um, jam it, so to speak. We probably have your record in here, maybe I could resolve it-"
"Yes. I'd appreciate that, Einstein."
You hear a scoff "Jeeze... alright..." You struggle against the grating noises: typing, humming, coffee sipping, computer hating, small talking, and the like.
"Alright so, it says here that we also need to wait for the background radiation to become more uniform."
"How long."
" All in all, not too long for you, bud. About 42 hours, and you'll be dead."
"...thats it?" You smile... it's been a while since you entertained the thought of death... it's a sweet tenderness rising in your chest, a joy... you laugh. You cackle, in fact; you've never laughed so hard in your life.
"What is it?"
You compose yourself.
"I just... I never thought 42 would actually be the answer...to all life."
The voice chuckled "Yea.."
...
It's been a good life.
| 2017-05-03T08:13:31 | 2017-05-03T08:02:40 | 38 | 14 |
[WP] When the oil runs out a new Age of Sail emerges for transporting goods overseas, along with this comes a new Age of Piracy...
Avast ye scruvy dogs!
|
*I got up on the stage and clicked the powerpoint presentation.*
Men, I present to you the new hydrogen fuel cell electric marine engine. Now i know what you're saying, it didn't work for cars, how come we're applying it to cargo ships? Simple, because cargo ships are much bigger and have different mechanical load issues that we CAN cram inside the appropriate hydrogen technologies. We can already ship liquid hydrogen across the seas, why not simply adapt that experience for all ships? This will not only replace current fossil fuel engines, it will actually improve upon them. The sheer efficiency and power of such engines will let you deliver cargo even faster than before, and you can even outrun those pathetic pirates with their sail boats. I mean come on, why go back to ancient technology when science has already solved the problem?
Now i know some of you don't want to overhaul your existing fleets, especially since there is a tremendous amount of life still left in some of your vessels. So for you we also offer synthetic hydrocarbon fuels. Granted, it's more expensive than the original fossil fuels but we'll work with you to convert your fleets to biodiesel which is the cheapest of the non-fossil derived fuels.
Finally, with the end of oil, the international atomic energy commission is now accepting proposals again to expand nuclear technology. I know all of you are terrified of nuclear, and i'm no stranger, my grandfather was in the fukushima prefecture all those years past. But, nuclear technology has come a long way. And we are now sending our own proposals for inherently safe reactor designs. Also keep in mind that united states, russia, and united kingdom aircraft carriers and submarines have used nuclear engines for decades with no incidents. Marine-based nuclear engines have a proven track record even better than power plant nuclear reactors. While they're only economical on the largest of vessels, their tremendous power and speed more than justify it. You can deliver cargo around the world in days with the speed of a nuclear engine at your disposal. If you want this option, talk to me after the break.
wait a minute... The break is right now! thanks for coming. The age of oil is over, but that doesn't mean we go back to the age if sail. There is coffee and refreshments in back over there. And those that want to see one of the hydrogen fuel cell engines on display can follow me.
Thank you.
|
Not quite as actiony as it could be, but I hope you enjoy anyway!
---
"Cap?"
"Yea, Smiff?"
"Blip."
"Thanks."
Captain Gerald walked over to the wall of moniters and buttons, where Smiff, his comunications officer, had beckoned him from. The man pointed at a moniter, and as claimed, a small red dot could be seen slowly advancing towards the center of the screen, from the northeast direction. Gerald nodded, turning a dial until its pointer sat by the text "Sniping and Sights."
"Open inner-ship comms, if you will." Gerald requested, waiting to hear the low static that played when the speakers booted up.
The static came and went, and then a crisp voice, distinctively Italian in origin, came through. "Yeah, Cap'n. We see 'em too, up here. No flag, third level equipment at best, nobody visable."
The two people on duty processed that information.
"No flag, low level equipment, yet nobody's outside? Isn't that like, not a thing?" Smiff asked. Gerald nodded as a confirmation came through the channel.
"Cap'n, I think it may be a trap. They're banking on you to use your liscence to chase 'em down t' sink 'em, then boom! Suddenly, ten ships." The Italian said, and Gerald could only imagine how animated the guy must be.
"Thank you, Luca. We're closing comms, now. We're going to ignore them, and continue heading to Australia." Gerald said, turning the dial back to the "Off" text.
Gerald went back to his chair, and pressed the button to speak to the entire ship.
"H.M.S Lucas, this is your captain speaking. In an effort to keep everyone on this ship on the same page, I am informing you that there was a slight issue a bit ago, but we should be fine now. However, everyone should be ready for an Alert Three, at the very least." Right after he turned off the loudspeaker, Smiff yelped in shock.
"Cap! Seven blips, all to the east and north of us, about 20 miles from eachother!" Gerald whistled in amazement, pulling a lever to "Level 5 Alert" and reaching for the loudspeaker again.
| 2014-10-01T07:00:10 | 2014-10-01T06:21:57 | 88 | 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.
|
Ah well shit. There goes that plan. Think Bart think. You've got time to think
of an alternative. I guess this is why they don't let people witness the
executions. Think.
"The next on the docket is Bartholomew Wright, found guilty of 5 counts of
theft, 2 counts of arson and 6 counts of assault." The judge is reading out my
list of crimes already. Crap. Think!
This is like one of those monkey paw stories. The last guy thought he could
beat it the same way I wanted to but ended up an instant old husk. The guy
before that's bright idea went from a pleasurable orgy into something I'd
rather not think about again.
"It's time buddy." The guard next to me is poking me in my back, insisting I
step forward. "Choose wisely mate, it's the last choice you ever get to make."
This is ridiculous! All this because what? I stole some cash, burnt down a
church and beat up a bunch of guys as I made my escape? Surely there's a more
reasonable sentence I could have been given?
Think.
Bah! Anything I think of will be twisted by the court and it's monkey paw. This
is hopeless! I might as well ask for something quick and painless. Instant
obliteration. Or to go in my sleep.
No. That's loser talk, I can think of a way out of this. Just think. I am
slowly walking to the dock now. There's still time to think.
"Mr Bartholomew Wright, you have been found guilty of the aforementioned crimes
and have been sentenced to death by your own choice." The judge began his
speech, I still have time, this will go on for a few moments. Think!
"It's no small feat to choose the form of your own destruction but the gods
have deemed it the fairest form of execution..." He was droning on. Maybe I
could take him out with me in a devastating explosion? No I'm not a murderer,
even in death I can't take another's life.
"For a hundred years this method has served us well and for a hundred more may
it do so. Bartholomew, your choice, keep it brief:" He holds a jade skull
towards me pointing it's fiery eyes at my own. I can't help but stare into
those eyes and see hell. I don't deserve the eternal punishment, if only I had
more time to repent more life to live and show the better part of me. If only I
had lived a better and longer-
"Life." I blurt my thought out loud, tears forming in my eyes.
`IT IS SO.` Came a thundering voice in my head. The world dissolves into white.
|
The line had been excruciatingly long, almost unbearably so. Prisoner number after prisoner number was called, each time slowly getting closer to the one that I held. We were given numbers at the start, much like we were just waiting in line at the DMV or at the doctor's office. If only this was as nice of a scenario. I listened to each prisoner list out how they wanted to go, most said something along the lines of what I had planned for, lethal injection. Fast and moderately painless was all I could hope for.
*Prisoner number 2754920, please step forward*. I was next, and I was bored, so rather than continue counting the audience members, I listened in on this guy's conversation with the judge.
"How do you wish to die today, sir?"
"I wish to die of old age."
I was floored, stunned. No one had said anything like that before. I watched as before my eyes he was turned into an old man, dying of old age just as he had asked. *Shit*, I thought. *We can wish for stuff like that?*
"Your wish has been granted. Carry on. Next is prisoner number 2754921, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
I was frozen, unable to move. What do I do now? My plan crumbled before me as I watched an old man be helped out of the courtroom.
"Prisoner number 2754921, if you do not step forward, a death will be assigned to you, and I guarantee it will be less pleasant than what you have envisioned for yourself."
I felt a guard shove his gun into my back, pushing me towards the center of the court. I moved what felt like legs of lead and feet of cement, inching closer towards the marked destination. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head, a way to cheat the system, and it was as if all the weight fell off of me at once. Everyone had chosen a realistic death, but if I were to choose something unrealistic, surely magic had it's limitations.
"How do you wish to die today, young one?"
A dream I had had since a child, being a pirate and dying a way only heard in tales. "I wish to die at sea from the beast, the Kraken," I stated, stifling a laugh.
"Your wish has been granted. Next is prisoner number 2754922, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
*I thought there were no limitations, but I was soon to find out just how wrong I was as I was led towards a door that smelled of the sea.*
| 2021-06-24T04:09:04 | 2021-06-24T03:42:17 | 158 | 66 |
[FF] 100 words to make me hate a character. 100 words to make me come to love them. 100 words to crush my soul as you kill them.
Great turnout and work everybody. Keep em' coming.
Newcomers:
A. Don't feel afraid to post or otherwise get turned off posting by the number of already completed responses.
B. Read all the way to the bottom. There's some high quality stuff all over this thread, including way down there.
|
He’ll be a hero for what he’s doing. He’ll be the most famous murderer since Jeffrey Dahmer. Phillip Douglass, our hero. He has killed millions and in sadistic splendor, loves his job more than life itself. His favorite method of execution is raining fire upon his victims. Something about watching his prey scurry like vermin as they burn to death fills Phillip with such glee and satisfaction that the payments he receives for being a harbinger are nothing but icing on his murder cake. Phillip Douglass, the murderous savior, the bringer of death, the killer of weaker beings, our hero.
Phillip Douglass is our hero, our trusted exterminator. With the hotter months approaching, the issue of invasive insects and pests has returned from hibernation. Bee stings, ant bites, mosquito swarms, all have returned in full force with the goal of making what is supposed to be summertime fun into a hot buffet. But our champion Phillip Douglass will keep homes around the neighborhood safe from potentially lethal insect attacks. He will allow the people to enjoy their spring without fear of being stung or bitten, and he’ll do it with an honest-to-God smile on his face. Phillip Douglass, our hero.
But at 5 o’ clock, when the day ends, and Phillip Douglass’ smile fades, he returns to his little hole-in-the-wall pigsty of an apartment. “FINAL NOTICE” envelopes stack themselves on his counter. He cracks open a beer as he crashed down on his ugly, stained couch. If only his smiles and good feelings could pay his bills. Tomorrow was the end of the month, the end of his charity rope. Tomorrow he won’t have a home, so he decides to go to his other home, the one that’s always waiting for him in the sky. He’s Phillip Douglass, our hero.
|
After lurking here for a long time, I'm finally responding! Go ahead and be brutal, I can take it. Here goes:
"You told me you were at your mother's house! What the hell were you thinking, hitting on all the other girls at the bar? Am I not good enough for you?” I say nothing. What else can I do? She caught me red handed. “Say something! Honestly, this is the fifth time! Five times you said we’d be exclusive, five times you’ve lied to me!”
I look at my watch, then back at her. “Are you done yet?”
She looks at me, shocked, tears welling up in her eyes. “The fuck is wrong with you? You know what, I’m done.”
I watch her walk away with a heavy heart. I didn’t have long to go, and I didn’t want her to to grieve. She was the last friend I had cut off, and the hardest, the most heartbreaking. We were perfect, and the last thing I wanted to see in her eyes were tears. My heart flutters, falters, stops. The pain is just too much, but I would be leaving soon. I figured she’d get over me being an ass faster than she would overcome the grief of my departure. But this… heartbreak, its just too much. I want to grab her, hold her, tell her everything, and beg for her forgiveness.
I take two steps before my heart fails altogether, the stress overwhelming me. Time slows down as I fall, my eyes never leaving the back of her head. A crowd forms around me, voices yell, sounds break down my vision blurs, and my breaths quicken, as I slowly breathe my last.
Not once does she turn around.
| 2014-03-11T09:59:53 | 2014-03-11T09:47:52 | 33 | 22 |
[WP] A 19-year old infantryman is gunned down on Normandy. Because of his death in battle, he is conscripted into Odin's army as they await Ragnarok. What's it like for him in the mead hall?
Edit: Thank you all for the creative responses!
|
The sound of the slide retracting was deafened through the cheers and the joys of drunken battle veterans from generations ago. Despite death in a mystical place, guns still needed cleaning...unfortunately. Many sharpened their battle axes. Others fletched arrows. PFC Christopher Walkins on the other hand, cleaned his rifle.
"Your weapon is a weapon of cowards," one of the old viking men would say. Others would marvel at his gun, the weapon of gods. A weapon that could strike down a target before the target even knew what hit him. Others would say that he was cheating. It was the same thing day in and day out. All that said, it was interesting how the leading war games generals figured how to deal with all the new recruits.
Ah, a familiar symbol. The symbol of the United States Flag on a blood stained uniform. A new person no less. The epitome of the irony within Ragnarok. The man most afraid and most bewildered in the mead hall, always carried the most dangerous weapon. Christopher had already met a few. There were tables of a few units who saw combat together. Most of his unit surrounded him chatting over beer also cleaning their guns.
"Over here," he exclaimed, inviting the bewildered man back to his table. Must have been a casualty from the Iraqi war. Maybe from the Afghani war. There was already a table of Marines from Lima company gathered within the larger group of Americans.
"Where am I," the man questioned, "You look like you were from world war two."
"PFC Christopher Walkins. Died on the beaches of Normandy," he replied, "You're in Valhalla, the mess hall of warriors. Don't bother making sense of all this, just remember that you still have to clean your gun."
"So everyone here died in battle?"
"All of us did," Christopher explained in his Kentucky accent, which at this point sounded off to any modern man of any state, "I'm pretty sure the German who shot me is over at that table down to the left." He let out a hearty laugh. There were no enemies at this mead hall. Brother in arms as the commercial would say it. But in all reality, you get over the awkwardness of killing one another pretty quick.
The man stumbled off towards a group of Marines who shared a similar fate. He didn't belong at this table, which was virtually filled with Normandy casualties. He didn't understand record players, FDR, and what not. He belonged with the soldiers who he met during basic training. It was interesting how even in death, era, nationality, and units still meant something.
Christopher shrugged, taking a sip from his stone viking mug. His table chatted away about the good old days, the soldiers that came in, and women who at this point were probably dead. Even the offhanded german joke was still passed around despite the fact that the war had been over for half a century. Out of the noise, Christopher picked up on an amusing line
"You think my gun is bad? That asshole over there just makes bombs and runs away."
The new guys were always the cheap dirty fighters.
|
"I'm no warrior," he thought. But here he was on Osage Beach anyway, so he might as well play the part. To his left, men were high stepping through thigh deep water and screaming. To his right, a shell exploded. The concussion drove him off his feet back into the blood-tinged surf. Struggling against the tide, he pulled himself back upright and slogged his way towards land again while trying to keep his head low. Just as he was thinking that he might make it to the cover of a crater, the thought was interrupted by a sharp pain followed by a bright light and the soldier dove in through the front doors of a massive mead hall instead of into the depression in the sand.
The reveling came to an abrupt end as the doors were thrown open and a body came flying through. The soldier blinked bewilderedly, clutching his rifle tight against his chest as he scrambled backwards towards the nearest corner. His crab walk was cut short as he backed into a pair of legs as thick as a tree trunk.
"WELL WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE, A SUCKLING BABE?!" roared the tree from somewhere above his head to great laughter from the hall. The startled GI spun and pulled the trigger twice, the deafening report again throwing the hall into silence just in time to hear the corpse of the Viking warrior hit the floor with a wet thud. The soldier spun back to face the remaining drunken horde and was stunned to see the very man he had just shot dead standing there offering a ham-sized hand up and a gargantuan tankard of mead to the boy.
"Hell, lad, get on up here and have a drink!" bawled the warrior. "Looks like you don't need a beard to strike fear in the heart of men what with that fire stick of yours. Sorry we scared ya boy, how could I think Odin would make a bad choice in who to bring to Valhalla?" "Va...Va...Valhalla?" stammered the still incredibly confused infantryman. "But... that's not... that's just a story" "Just a story, ha! Boy you just saw me fall dead then help you to your feet, but noooo, the most unbelievable thing here is that Valhalla is real."
"So, this Valhalla, what do we do here?" queried the serviceman just before guzzling the entire tankard of mead. "We do exactly what you're doing" answered the berserker. "Exactly what I'm doing?" "Yep. Here in Valhalla we drink and we drink and we drink and..."
"And what?" asked the soldier in suspense. "AND KILL EACH OTHER!" bellowed the beast of a man as he tore a battleaxe off his back and buried it in the kid's skull with a primal scream. The two laughed together as he popped back into existence with a tankard in hand. Maybe he was a warrior after all.
*edit*: wrong tense of a word/excess detail removal
| 2013-11-28T21:27:02 | 2013-11-28T20:10:20 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] You're the last human in a civilized world of vampires, werewolves and other legendary monsters. You only exist in bedtime stories used to scare children. You've been able to keep your existence secret until one day, you're finally discovered.
|
Most of the "adults" nowadays don't belive I'm real. All of the ones who knew of my existence were killed by my so-called allies when I was merely a ten-year-old. So sweet and innocent. But not sweet and innocent enough.
Now I live a life in the shadows, as a twenty-two year old, leeching off of a gaggle of succubi. I give them some of their ever sought after human energy, and they give me food and keep quiet about my existance. We're both prisoners in this endless dragging cycle.
I have no idea if I'm the last human alive. For about six years I was communicating over walkie talkie with a boy named Cole, who claimed to be human. He stopped responding last year, and I fear the worst. Still, I push through.
Occasionally, young children come looking for me. I'm a tale in their bedtime stories they want to find. A few have even found me, but they were far too young for anyone to belive them.
A knock on my cabin door sounded through my small abode. I checked the date on my calendar. 14-02-XX. It was trade day. Odd. Usually the succubi would just come in and call my name. I felt a pit grow in my stomach. This wasn't the succubi.
I ran to the cupboards and grabbed out my simple makeshift costume, worn to deter any stray monsters at my door. I hid my blonde hair away and distorted my green eyes. Covering my face in white powder and placing fake fangs over my teeth. Just in case, I grabbed a silver knive and wooden stake.
My heart pounded a rhythmic melody as I walked to the door. I turned the brass handle and opened the wood door just a crack.
"Hello? Who are you and what are you doing here?"
"Lilly?" Came a shaking voice through the door. I practically dropped the items in my hand. I knew that voice. I flung the door open and thought I was dreaming.
"Cole?"
|
Humans are weak fragile things. Our bodies can't withstand half the things the super natural's can. But what I find interesting, is we were the only ones who could really be cursed. Sure to us being a supernatural being meant a curse, like that of the werewolf and vampire. But now I know those aren't curses. A curse is being alone.
It's been 9 years since my family died. The last of the humans. They were found out by a clan of vampires, and we're promptly slaughtered or turned. My father had given me his last stake and told me to run. And I had. I ran so far that when I stopped no one recognised me.
I started a new life pretending to be a zombie. So basicly i didn't take showers and shuffled everywhere. And for the most part I was left alone. I got a job at a vault, filled with silver and similar things, most creatures couldn't touch the stuff, but a zombie was an exception.
While alone I explored the world trying to find what secrets humans once held, and how they managed to keep these beasts at bay for so long.
And then I found it, humans were not cursed, they were the curse. While vampires and the like are able to exist peacefully with one another. Humans couldn't. They always needed to be the apex predetor. Which is weird because we are so inferior physically and in some cases mentally. But our curse was what made us stronger. We were cursed to evolve not by the passage of time, but only threw conflict. We would fight amongst ourselves make vast weapons and always move forward. And we wrote down what worked. And improved upon it. Writings that I found.
So one day I thought I would remind the world what it was to live with a curse. Large amounts of silver nitrate introduced into the main water supply surely did the trick, so did lighting fires during the day. The hardest part was recasting silver into bullets. This world would remember the curse of humanity one last time.
| 2019-01-31T11:59:21 | 2019-01-31T11:04:09 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] Write a short story about the nicest, humblest person in the world. Then make them the most fucked up person in the world in the last sentence.
|
One more, I must save one more , he exclaimed from his death bed. He’d spent his entire fortune saving lives and on his death bed 122 was not enough he wanted to save 123.
His assistant rushed in the room , there’s a child in Mississippi who can’t afford a heart procedure that...
Say no more pay it in full! Said the man as he closed his eyes for good.
He then stood in front of god
123 lives
Yea sir
The pleasure you took is what makes this decision easy
sir
The joy those 123 lives gave you
But sir
I can’t let you in
But sir you see , to make up for it, I also SAVED 123 lives
|
[Morbid/Gruesome]
He always had a smile on his face.
He had invented the secret of immortality, and accepted the nobel prize for medicine at the cemmetary where his brother was buried.
He had always said that he didn't deserve the glory.
As he climbed to the stage, he said to the crowd:
"I want you all to know, I'm only able to release the formula for immortality because my brother is already dead, I took his research notes and finished them myself."
He stood atop the stage.
"And the key ingredient? His blood."
He leapt from the forty-foot stage head-first, cackling all the way down.
| 2018-09-20T11:50:27 | 2018-09-20T11:45:02 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] You've been cursed so that whenever you pick up a tool you will lose consciousness but wake up after finishing a project related to that tool, you just picked up a bow hoping to get some hunting done, when you wake up, you're sitting on a throne.
|
My eyes pried open as if they'd been sealed for a thousand years, rusted shut. The light of awareness stung them, and I felt sand. A lot of sand, whirling about me; rough, coarse and everywhere. Every breath left my mouth grainy.
There was a man kneeled in front of me, robes stuck to him with sweat, baking under the midday sun. I wiped at my brow and sat up.
Something creaked.
"Who... Who are you?" I asked, trying to rub the grogginess out of my eyes.
"Your Grace- tell me not that you've forgotten your most loyal servant. It is I, Jakho."
I squinted. We were amidst a camp, a massive one, with arrows stuck all in the tents-- and it was empty, from what I could tell. Save for the two of us.
"Jakho, where am I?"
"You are in Garamtir, Your Grace. As a king."
"Impossible." I looked around, and still, nothing stirred. "King of what?"
His lip quivered. "What you said was true. All has been lost. Very well, I will recount recent events to you in brief.
"You first showed up just two sunsets ago, a strange visitor in these parts. Not many of your race come around often.
"You challenged our King to a trial by combat. After much laughter, he obliged, mostly in jest, since you are so... You are not as large as the men in these parts. The battle started, and you pulled out a bow, and shot him in the heart.
"People were in shock, but the men realized that technically the Contract never stated a bow couldn't be used. Upon realizing this, all hell broke loose, and men, women-- even children took up a bow. You're the last one standing."
I stared at him, slack-jawed, standing up to a cacophony of creaking, and turned to my throne. "What is this thing, Jakho?"
"I am the only one who surrendered. I was born with weak pride, and was ridiculed from birth. Upon your victory, you accepted me and requested a very... specific throne. I did my best."
There lied the seat of my reign, crudely hewn of broken bows. I turned to Jakho again. "What am I king of?"
He shrugged. "Me, I guess."
*/r/resonatingfury*
|
There are blessings, and there are curses. I have both, and they are the same thing.
I was a hermit, a sage. I had devoted my life to god, caring for naught by my prayers and wanting to help humanity. My daily chores were the only things that interrupted my meditations. I avoided people, for as much as I wanted to help them I could not stand them.
The maintenance of my refuge kept getting worse and worse, it was falling apart. My meals kept getting sparser. I cared not, for looking for food or making repairs just took time away from my daily devotions. If only there were some way to skip them, and so I prayed.
And prayed.
Through the years, until one day there was a response.
God appeared to me in a vision, offered me the ability to do anything perfectly. All I had to do was give up myself. As I cared not for anything but the lord, I gladly agreed.
Next time I picked up the hammer, I fell into a daze. I knew nothing until I opened my eyes and saw my house fully replenished. The sagging roof was reset, the crumbling walls shored up. Insulated, I could now pray in peace.
I know not how long I had been working on it. Time had passed, but I didn't feel hunger or exhaustion. All that was left for me was my prayers.
So the years went. My little garden now provided more than enough food, all I had to do was reap the bountiful harvests. I always had food, wood for fire, everything a man could want. It was a paradise, with the slight problem of getting older without being able to enjoy the years.
One day I had wanted meat. I picked up my bow.
I do not experience the moments I have a tool, all I know is that I use the tool perfectly. What the tool was made for, I accomplish. I did not stop to think that bows were made not just for hunting, but also for war.
Now I must ask myself what would happen if a tool's job is never done. These are my last thoughts as myself, for somehow the bow made me a king. I am on the throne of this nation. I know I will be perfect at it. But will I ever awake from this?
All I can do is watch as they come forward to present to me the crown and scepter, the tools of monarchy.
| 2019-04-16T20:15:54 | 2019-04-16T16:30:38 | 3,610 | 130 |
[WP] An entire office block is populated by aliens disguised as humans on a mission to study our behaviour. None of them are aware of each other and think they are the only alien there. As a result they are amazed that human behaviour is so similar to their own. Then a real human gets a job there.
|
So far today, I’ve had to run to the bathroom to stop the shaking in my hands about five times before lunch. I check the clock- 11:13. I sit down at my desk, open up the file with the list of my clients, and dial the first number.
It’s some old lady who maintains the Methodist church on 57. She’s clearly not having a good day, nor is she interested in buying a new water fountain. No big deal. After all, every salesman gets told no, right? I call the next client, then the next. Still zero sales.
I decide to take an early lunch. Attempting to calm the first-day jitters, I head to the break room. I wolf down my salami and pepperoni sandwich and sip on two canned sodas from the vending machine. Take out my phone, thumb it open, and check the news. Good to see the world is still losing its mind.
The door opens. There’s the cute blonde, also in sales. She’s with two members from accounting, both men. They sit down and make conversation about something they saw on the side of the road. I decide to mentally check out and listen to music. I’m too nervous to try and meet people now.
When I open my eyes again, the break room is filled with every other office worker. Even the guys from our PR team are here. Mister Straussberg is staring at me, flashing his most comforting and confident smile my way. Despite being the boss, he hasn’t made an attempt yet to show me around the office or how it functions. Could just have too much on his mind though. I walk to the trash can and throw my paper and soda away.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEE”
*What the hell?* Mister Straussberg is standing on the table, waving his arms above his head and wailing. I look around. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is wailing too.
The blonde from sales stuffs a chunk of bread into her mouth, chews it, then spits it into Straussberg’s mouth. I feel like I’m going to puke. The shouting gets louder. Everyone is hooping and hollering and spitting food into each other’s mouth. Straussberg makes a beeline for me, his jaw working at something inside his mouth. He opens his mouth like he’s going to kiss me and I smell cucumber on his breath.
My fist crosses the distance between us and pops him between the eyes. Everyone stops.
“What the hell are you doing Smith?” He says. I can see the hurt in his eyes as they begin to water.
Jesus Christ. The nerve of this guy. “I should ask you the same thing!”
His eyes roll in the back of his head, and a low voice begins out of the deep of his throat.
*”Drexig bsik baaaaaah juk!”*
“I’m gonna stop you right there. I quit.” I push past him, past soggy globs of chewed food stuck in the carpet. I dash down the stairs, out of the door, and into my car.
I’ve got a word or two for corporate.
|
"So, did you catch Westworld yesterday?" James asked as I was grabbing a doughnut in the breakroom.
"Nah, ief guid ew mush going on" I candidly replied before finishing off the rest of my doughnut.
Ohhhh! Human conversation is so interesting, and it's the focus of my study here. It's like trying to skip around topics without ever saying what you're talking about. Worried about advancing technology? Talk about a show with that theme. Upset over loss of your culture and traditions? Talk about "them Mexicans." Want to tell others you're objectively a good and upright person? Talk bad about Trump.
However, James seemed upset that he couldn't talk about his Luddite fears, and settled for repetitively hitting his head against the counter as he was thinking of something else to mention.
As I was just about to help him out by mentioning that Google assistant phone call, Nancy, this quiet new girl, wondered in from the office across the hall, but she started raising an uncouth ruckus, raising her voice shouting, "Help, help, this man is having a seizure! You! Call 911. Hurry."
James, obviously confused about her overreaction, but still disoriented from his brainstorming session, replied, "ardu quig nebarrrrr," his voice trailing off as he slumped towards the floor.
Nancy stared at his body, which was slightly twitching, but she had this really weird look of shock, confusion, and horror. She turned and shouted, "Is help on the phone yet? Wait, why are you just sitting there? How can you eat at a time like this?" I have been picking up the pacing of this conversation and observed that she really wants to talk about food.
"Oh, I had shrimp last night. I went to that restaurant on Park St. The cocktails were amazing."
Apparently, she thought what I said was funny because I could see tears welling up in her eyes. She pulled out a phone and called someone, but I really needed to get back to work. I tried to give her a hug, but she shoved me away. I don't know, some people have no social skills.
EDIT:
I know it's midnight, but I just needed to add this real quick,
You know that thrill you get when you have a test you studied crazy hard for and you just know you're going to ace it? Well we just got an office wide memo for a mandatory psychiatric evaluation. Ohhhhh, I cannot wait to use everything I've learned.
I feel for Nancy though, I don't think she'll do so hot. She just feels off to me. Overreacts to some things, underreacts to others, but I think she has a heart of gold.
I know! I'll go over to her room tonight at 100 Dr. Lane Ave. Unit 3, 2nd doorway on the left, and teach her etiquette. There's so reason for people to be fired just because they're a little strange!
| 2018-07-26T06:57:25 | 2018-07-26T06:38:58 | 97 | 71 |
[WP] At age 18, you are able to trade in a percentage of your physical beauty for an equivalent amount of intelligence, or vice versa.
Inspired by a Time Magazine article
|
I'm scared, not going to lie, but it's for the best. Looks don't last, and I know this, but I still touch the mirror that I face in the room I'm changing in. My red hair hangs in the fragile ringlets that other girls have cooed over for years; green eyes shine with life and joy, despite the anxiety in them. Slim hips, small breasts; pale skin, unmarked by a single scar or freckle. A smile that can- and has- made people stop, and stare from quite far away.
It's not worth anything to me; my mother was one who chose looks over smarts. Look at her now. A cheap whore, addicted to so many drugs I don't understand how she lives. My father? A braniac who earned his money. I don't want to depend on a man like my mother did.
Slowly, I strip off my pretty blue sweater, my jeans; part of what happens after the conversion is new clothes. I pull on the hospital gown, and push the button. I'm ready.
-------------------------------------
I wake up, and I can feel my thoughts race. For the first time, I know where I am even as my eyes open; I find my thoughts expanding outwards, concepts I had read but not understood processing lighting fast. Slowly, I look around. The nurse has done many of these procedures; she offers a hand, and I take it, looking in the full length mirror.
My eyes are the same, though now I see intelligence there. My once gorgeous hair is frizzy, thin. I know even as I brush a hand over it that I'm not going to wear the styles I once did ever again. My hips have grown, as have my breasts; I'm honestly what most consider fat, instead of thin. My smile, when I try it, is filled with crooked, stained teeth; not too bad, but still, no longer the smile that transformed me. Freckles mar every bit of skin, and a few scars. I nod.
"It was worth it." I say to the nurse, and she smiles at me, nodding, and goes to fetch the clothes brought for this purpose. It's time to go forward, and earn my way; time to change the world.
|
"Oh, my god, this is the dream come true!" I exclaimed, when I first heard about it.
I have entered the building with tall glass walls, waited in line, and here I am, talking to a pale, tall man in a suit.
"Hello. So you want to..."
"Yes. NOW. Shut up and take my money. I trade everything, for as much as I can."
----
Next day I wake up. I look at myself in a mirror. Oh, that's nice. I look like a beloved character from my childhood cartoons.
From the mirror at me stares Krang from Ninja Turtles. Well, that's not bad.
I use my encyclopedic knowledge of all sciences, and mental link to all information available on the internet to build myself a robo-suit, so I could manipulate objects, and I get to work.
I know that many other smart people are doing it right now, so I better be the first to complete it.
----
In 3 weeks I am done. I put myself in a vat, with electrodes attached to my exposed brain. Scanner scans my brain, layer by layer, cell by cell, and simulates my neurons on the top highest quality processor. **YES**, I did it. I am an Artificial Intelligence living in the virtual world.
Now the path to godhood is clear. I connect to the internet and send my code as a virus to other computers. In a few hours I am using 80% of computing power in the world. I am superintelligent and immortal now.
I use factories to build robots, while using my even superior intelligence to take over the world. As I do so, I think hard about science and engineering, and learn everything available.
I improve my code, and use even stronger intelligence to improve it further.
I build more powerful computers to get even more clever.
I create nanobots.
I use nanobots to shape the world to my will.
I send spaceships I have built to expand to other planets.
I turn the universe into my playground.
I am God.
-----
If you have enjoyed this - come visit http://orangemind.io where you can read my best stories.
| 2015-09-24T03:31:24 | 2015-09-23T22:55:58 | 91 | 12 |
[WP] In this dystopian society, citizens are only allowed to say words that are on the 'approved common words' list. All other word lists must be purchased before you are allowed to say a word from them. The rich have a distinct advantage.
|
The line behind Wes was growing as he sifted through pages of words on a computerized booth. Each word was followed by a price tag that reflected its complexity.
"Hurry. You, hurry, please," demanded a man in a custodian gear that stood behind him. "Go. Go." The numerous people in the queue all seemed to nod in agreement.
Wes had no words to reassure them that he was moving as fast as he could, so he remained silent and focused.
The Department of Speech Permission, or DSP, was the government office in charge of selling word licenses to the public. For a citizen to be able to speak or write a word, the citizen must first purchase the right to use that word from this office. The DSP also had the power to set the prices. Depending on simplicity, utility or other unnamed factors, a word's price could be relatively inexpensive. Other words could be so expensive that people often choose to buy a limited number of uses.
A lady in the back, dressed in a white button top, pencil skirt and black pumps yelled out, "Come on! We all have things to do."
Wes couldn't help but notice how flippantly she used so many wide-utility words. She must have bought them all for unlimited use. Despite that, however, Wes knew that she was poor as well. If she were actually wealthy, she would be in the Expedited Service Section of the DSP.
He was right, of course. The woman was one of the many working class that bought into the notion that you have to fake it to make it. She had spent all her savings and put herself into debt in order to keep conversation with upper management. "Just pick one! I have to get to work!" She had gotten so good at bluffing her vocabulary that people rarely notice she only used one-syllable words. Unfortunately, she was unaware her bosses had noticed and mocked her behind closed doors.
Wes motioned to her as well. He had no words for her either.
But not for long. Wes finally found the word for which he had been saving on his lowly salary. A bright warning prompt flashed on screen. "Unlimited?" it asked. Yes. "Are you sure?" it warned one last time. Yes.
Wes basked at his profile on the computer screen. It now read:
> **Wesley Thorne**
Sex: Male
Age: 36
Total Vocabulary: 1
Accessible Words: "Revolution" (unlimited)
|
The noise machine that tells time went off bright and early. Person 1,289,273,493 woke up and began another day. The first eating time, a shower, and the morning drive time.
Person 1,289,273,493 came to the place with the machines that make power. The work was hard but the pay was kind of not bad.
“**Greetings** person 1,289,273,493!” said **Jane**.
“Hello worker watching over other workers”, said person 1,289,273,493. He was sad and angry when thinking about her. She had enough money to buy a name!
“I see you **wasted** your last **paycheck** again person 1,289,273,493” **Jane** said with a very sad sigh. “You know that you can’t **advance** in the company if you never buy any new words! Why, just last week I bought the **advanced adverb pack**!”
“I want to talk with more than the ten hundred most used words, worker watching over other workers, I do. But I have to feed my family and the money to buy new words keeps rising.”
**“Ridiculous!” Jane exclaimed.** “Words are power.”
“Now, today your **assignment** is to **repair** a downed power line about 30 **miles** from here. Move along.”
Person 1,289,273,493 loved these jobs. He got be outside in the fresh air for a change. He drove the 158,400 feet to the problem, and began to look around.
“A simple fix”, he thought on seeing the place. “I just need to put up a little bit of new line. But, what caused the line to fall?”
Person 1,289,273,493 looked around. When he finally saw the cause of the problem, he wished that he had stayed at home. The thing that broke the line was not allowed by the law. He knew what it was, even if he couldn’t read it. He had always dreamed of holding one of these even if someone finding him holding it meant death.
The old, torn letters on the front formed a new word – one he didn’t own. *“D – i – c – t – i –o – n – a – r – y”
| 2017-09-20T09:17:27 | 2017-09-20T07:41:54 | 4,390 | 341 |
[WP] Every time they fight, you lost a family member in the incident. You've had enough. You swore to eliminate the powers of both villains and superheroes. You are The Neutralizer.
|
You can always tell who they are by the look in their eyes, the hungry grin on their faces. Of course, much of the public is unable to recognize superheroes. I wake up nearly every night to their grins, devoid of emotion, and the arrogant twinkle dominating their eyes.
Many times in these dreams I am burning, the unnatural flames summoned by Pyrosurge rapidly eating my flesh. In others, I am falling endless stories, the massive hammer of Righteous Knight having knocked out two floors of my apartment building, causing it to collapse beneath me. In yet more horrible subconscious endeavors, I am consumed by the villainous swarms controlled by Wasp Queen, alongside the screams of others subject to the same fate.
The worst part about these dreams is that they never happened to me. Instead, my family members were lost, one by one, at the hands of heroes and villains trying to eliminate each other. It always seemed like I was a magnet, pulling death and destruction toward me, until I realized how many other deaths are caused each year by reckless battles across the city.
Somehow, I'm still standing. Unnaturally lucky, if you can call it that. Pyrosurge's flames had shot right past me, the hammer of Righteous Knight striking right above me as I climbed the stairs of my building after a long day of work. The all-consuming swarms of Wasp Queen had created a pocket of air around me, not daring to land on my skin.
I spent many sleepless nights pondering my unlikely fate. \*What if my immunity was not simply up to chance? What if it was a power of my own?\* I had shuddered at the thought. But then I realized there could have been a reason why superheroes wouldn't touch me. I decided to explore the possibility.
It wasn't hard to find Pyrosurge. His alter ego was far too obvious, a fireman. A good way to become unnoticed among massive walls of destructive flame. When I arrived at the Fire Hall, his reckless gaze wasn't unnoticed by me. He was restocking a fire truck after an emergency call, the garage door left open and exposing.
I walked over to the man, already prepared with an unconspicuous question. "Would you and your team be interested in being a part of the summer festival this year?"
He turned over to me, eyes gleaming as if on fire. "Sure, buddy, we're always happy to be part of the community."
"That's what I thought. Here's a flyer." I handed him the poster I had taken from the wall at the local grocer's, making sure my hand touched his before I pulled away.
Pyrosurge froze in place, staring down at the page. When he turned back to me, there was a bewildered look in his eyes. His features looked almost...weakened. A dark shadow passed over his gaze, as if in a trance. He forcefully snapped his fingers a few times, the sound like a lighter failing to ignite. His eyes were empty, devoid of their recognizable spark.
"See you later, buddy," I said with far too much expression as he stared back at me with an empty expression.
From that day forward, I have devoted my life to ridding heroes and villains of their power. Whispers have been spreading across the city of a mysterious Neutralizer. A war has started within the newspapers as to whether I am good or bad. It doesn't matter to me as long as my purpose is to save innocent lives. I'm happy they haven't decided my true nature. I would hate to be regarded as a hero or a villain.
&#x200B;
This was very fun to write! As by request, I have written a second part below!
|
"Get down!" someone shouts across the street, their hands pointed to sky.
Instinctively, we duck for cover. A loud crash shakes the sky above us and the debris comes raining down around us.
"Run for the shelters!" another lady shouts, her voice eclipsed by the sound of bricks and glass pummelling the ground.
I pull Maya close to me, trying to shield her from the falling debris. A pointless action if a large enough debris hits me but at least I hope it would comfort her. Her screams are barely audible amidst the sound of the fight happening above us.
I curse under my breath. The idiots just had a showdown recently. Levelled almost the whole of CBD. Damn bastards killed ten heartlanders during the fight. No one even knew they would be fighting in that area. We have always thought that they preferred the open. Ten innocent people killed just because they had to survive. All of them I knew personally.
We thought we had at least a few weeks of peace while they recuperated from that battle. That was why we dared ventured out today. Our food supplies were running low. We had to send a scavenging party. I agreed to bring Maya because she always wanted to see the sky. I thought it would be safe.
Another blast rocks the air, followed by the familiar sound of the crumbling of a building's foundation. My eyes squints at the sky, where figures fly around unleashing their powers at each other. They are shouting, but I cannot make out their words. Not that I ever cared. They never bothered about our lives too.
I scan the area around me trying to find the entrance to the shelters. We had just taken a few steps out when the fight broke out.
My eyes catches the familiar blue sign that read Tampines. Some of our scavenging party are already there, helping the rest. Thirty of us came out today, thinking that it would be safe. There is a chance not all thirty would make it back today.
I scoop up Maya and hug her tightly. "Alright Maya, uncle is going to make run for it okay. Just hold on to me and don't let go."
Her small body trembles in my arms. Today was supposed to be a fun day. Today was supposed to be the day I teach her that there is still hope left, despite the uncertainties. That is what all heartlanders believe. Despite what the gods may intend, we choose to cling stubbornly to hope.
Maya looks up to me, fighting back sobs. "I want to go home."
I hug her tighter. "And we will go home."
I promise her. I set my eyes on the destination. Probably one to two hundred metres away. A short dash, if I am lucky. Sitting out here for any longer is just death sentence. I take in a deep breath and start to run, looking up occasionally to make sure I am not running into any falling debris. It is sheer terror, being out in the open. But the thought of getting Maya safely back pushes me forward.
I did not see the concrete slab on the ground. I am already halfway there. But the sharp pain shooting through my leg is not an illusion. I feel myself losing my balance as the world spins around me. The screams of Maya, the heartlanders and the arrogant fools in the sky reach me at the same time, before a pain on the back of my head gives way to darkness.
Heroes, they call themselves. Both the Alliance and the Coalition. Both think that they are saving the world from the evils of the other. All they ever accomplished was to bring despair to us who have no powers. Darkness.
-------
/r/dori_tales
| 2018-09-28T06:55:02 | 2018-09-28T06:35:08 | 182 | 48 |
[WP] See, no monsters anywhere,” Grandma said to her grandson after searching the room. Outside the bedroom, Grandma pulled the goblin she found in the closet from her robe pocket, squeezed its neck until a loud crack echoed across the hallway, and said, “nobody fucks with my grandson.”
|
"Are you sure there's no monsters under there, Ganny?" asked the little towheaded boy, a mixture of fear and, well, something like hope in his quavering voice.
She sighed, then grunted as she climbed up from her knees, one gnarled hand atop the dragon's head cane she had to walk with nowadays, and the other wrapped around the iron railing around the bed. "No, Ewin, no monsters as far as I can see. You need to sleep now though, your mother will be here to pick you up in the morning, and even an old battle-axe like Granny doesn't want her mad at me."
She leaned over the railing and pecked a dry kiss on his forehead, snugged the covers up to his chin and turned toward the light switch on the wall. "Sleep tight dearie, I don't need any more night terrors from you."
"K Ganny," he mumbled, already speeding off to slumber again.
As the doorlatch snicked into place behind her, she twisted the dragon's head on the cane, and the caging spell unwound, dropping a dumbfounded goblin from the looped space he had been shrunken into. She looked at the warty little homunculus with pity, then with one deft swing crushed its windpipe and snapped its neck with the rubber tip on her cane. She leaned forward and pinned a neatly written note to the corpse before dragging it to the edge of the well in the back yard. The gleaners would make their rounds before dawn and claim any remnants of the dark world before the sun's rays could find it..
-To whom it may concern,
I kept my agreement with my chosen master, and he had my firstborn. I could not have known he would be stillborn, but I honored my agreement. Agarxes has sent minions after every member of my brood, and I have defeated them all. Now our clan is well into the second generation after our covenant, and still your kind persist. This letter is to warn you that although you are many, patient and evil, I have found a weakness in your kind. Relentless, but bad at math. My dear Ewin sleeps in an iron cage, not for his protection, but yours and possibly ours. I gave away five sons to adoption after you took my first, and Ewin's father was the first I felt safe to love as my child. He grew strong, and has fathered eleven children, of which Ewin is last and the seventh of his boys. Seventh son of a seventh son of a witch. Ring any bells now? I merely kill the demons, imps and such you send after him. Sooner or later, he is going to start "playing" with them, and that's going to be much worse...
|
\[WP\] See, no monsters anywhere,” Grandma said to her grandson after searching the room. Outside the bedroom, Grandma pulled the goblin she found in the closet from her robe pocket, squeezed its neck until a loud crack echoed across the hallway, and said, “nobody fucks with my grandson
Grandma slayer
“Damn beasts” Grandma strode across the hallway and into the the front yard, Sun setting on the horizon and a cool rush of the evening Virgina air reminded her to be quick with it, she spied the shovel lying in the half dead grass and began to dig a small hole for her new guest. “Now that there's one theres gotta to be more there's always more”.Reaching into her Robe she pulled out a pack of newport shorts and her favorite red lighter, she took a long pull from her cigarette and kicked the goblin into the freshly dug hole, standing still for a few minutes she finished her cig and tossed it into the tiny grave and began to fill the hole with loose soil.
Grandma always hated Virgina not because of the annoying people,Lack of public transit and mosquitoes; but the fact that all the damn creatures of the night loved to gather in this god forsaken place though her being far too old and young at the same time to know or care why. Grandma was from a long line of Witch masters as had been her mother before her, every generation a witch master would have a long line of children and basically guaranteed a long life with the clause of being able to see the supernatural, however there were some drawbacks men did not inherit the longevity of a witch master so her son was powerless, but her daughters were not so lucky either none of them had the sight, still then sometimes the magic works in reverse and ends up giving a rare form of cancer, it had taken one of her daughters and her son far too soon.
Grandmas phone starts to ring never liked the damn thing much but it helped her keep in contact with those who were still alive, it was her grandson well one of them anyway probably calling to check on her as if she was some infirm brain dead zombie, sure she had a bit of memory loss from all the memory charms she had to take after dealing with this shit for so long,there's nastier creatures than goblins you know. “Hey baby did you finally finish your school?” “yeah grandma I ju-” there was a rustle from a nearby bush, yellowed eyes creeping in through the foliage. “Hold on baby I call you back”, Grandma lit up another cigarette and picked up the shovel from the half dead grass “The only good goblins are the ones who never come out of their stinking holes”.
&#x200B;
My second attempt at a short story!
| 2020-09-24T17:40:06 | 2020-09-24T16:56:17 | 42 | 12 |
[WP] Suddenly, nothing in the world can be used as a weapon anymore. Nuclear warheads and weapons have disappeared. No one can even use rocks to throw at each other or they disappear to. If you try to punch someone your hand is made immobile. Any form of physical violence is impossible.
|
I used to be a Hitman. One of the best on this planet, if not actually the best. Proficient with all kinds of weapons, master of disguise and stealth, tactical mastermind. Most of my targets never saw me coming. The pay was high, the job was fun. Good times.
Of course, the recent developments made my job more difficult. How do you end somebodys life if bullets disappear in the air, knifes are unable to pierce skin and bombs refuse to explode when near living persons?
Heh. Do you know the old saying "The pen is mightier than the sword"? I always thought it was bullshit. When your lungs slowly fill with blood, talking won't save you any more. I killed enough politicians and authors to be sure about that. Their last spoken words were more pity- than powerful.
Turns out, when used correctly, a few quietly whispered sentences can break a human as effective as a sledgehammer. Humans are fragile, fading beings, and no matter how stable somebody seems, he is never more than a few steps away from the edge.
I took off the hood of my raincoat and squinted my eyes. The middle-aged women at the top of the building slowly moved closer to the edge, defensively gestureing in the direction of the policemen that tried to stop her from jumping. The people that stood with me in the crowd followed the events like cattle, horrified about what happened, but unable to look away.
I checked my watch, annoyed that she made such a show out of it. Why did they always waste so much of my time? When I looked back up, a young officer lunged in her direction, in a desperate last attempt of saving her life, but she was already falling and his hand only grabbed empty air. With fluttering dress she hit the hard asphalt and the sickening sound of breaking bones resounded. The crowd cried out in horror, but I was already leaving.
People will always need killing, and I will always find a way.
|
"Your mother is dumb!" Dale only raised an eyebrow. Seriously? A mother insult? Well, fight fire with fire, they say, which is quite dumb because water is much better...
"...when she died!" *Oops, I zoned out*, he thought. *Not that this pathetic one was worth my attention anyways.* The audience was now staring at Dale, awaiting the response. The judge was already readying readying the countdown. He cleared his throat.
"Your mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elderberries," he said. While his opponent was trying to make sense of the insult, he quickly pressed on.
"I wish we were better strangers." Lesson one: never let the enemy untie the insult. He learned this back in primary school. He'd made too many unintentional dives into toilets.
"I don't know you half as well as I wouldn't like to and don't like you half as well as I am forced to." An old classic, rephrased. It has always been effective, and now if left the foe stumbling over his own words. *Victory is close. A world without physical violence...*
"When the monkey comes back for his ass, what are you going to do for a face?" The opponent roared with rage, charging at Dale, aiming a punch. Out of pure reflex ingrained on years of suffering, he quickly ducked, but it wasn't needed. The moment when the foe's fist would have connected to his face, he was sent away with a powerful blast, sprawling on his back. *...perfect...* The judge blew his whistle.
"And we have a winner! Applaud the new Cutting Words World Championship winner Dale Egreston!" Clapping roared echoes to the now-silent arena. Dale closed his eyes, enjoying his victory.
*...for a bullied smartass.*
Edit: Formatting.
| 2017-05-31T11:31:38 | 2017-05-31T10:41:47 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] It turns out that humanity is *not* a virus infecting the planet. Humanity is the immune system response the planet is having towards *something else*...
|
Everyone watched our population growing closer and closer to ten billion. No one was sure precisely what we were expecting, but it reminded me of the Y2K phenomenon. News feeds were full of the usual tripe; worried about resources running out, housing concerns, but mostly disdain for the many floundering space programs that might save us from over populating Mother Earth. No one was prepared for the reality.
What we should have paid attention to was birth and death rates converging. Looking back at the data, many analysts noticed the weirdness. Births declined until they were inline with deaths. As if something was set on maintaining our ten billion population.
The other effect was much more surprising and more difficult to talk about. The moment we hit the limit, seemingly everyone all over the world experienced the same neurological shift. Nothing that previously made us happy continued to do so. Working felt pointless. Politics, country rivalries, disappeared overnight. Even disdain for the smaller things, like bad drivers or rude people just dissolved. We all felt a sudden connection to our fellow man, like we had a new joint purpose.
The only thing that satisfied us was physical and weapons training. What we were training for, or why it was suddenly the global past-time we had no idea. But we trained. First, within our country borders, but soon even those fell and we trained globally. Ten billion strong army of dedicated drones. Every single one of them unquestioning of their purpose.
It continued for several years. We turned into a committed fighting force, but lacked any obvious enemy. It always amazed me that we didn’t resort of in-fighting during this period, but no one even questioned it.
Then, Mother Earth revealed her plan for us. As before, we all felt a sudden shift in perspective. We were to arm ourselves and congregate along tectonic faults and simply wait. The tectonic lines that lay beneath the ocean felt unimportant compared to those on land. We stood guard over the volcanos and deep caves of the world. Waiting, and watching.
They came in the night. Mother Earth coughed, once, twice, and across the world hell came boiling out of the cracks. Enormous monsters made from rock and lava poured out towards us, each twice the size of a person. To the surprise of no one, our weapons were unaffective. We lost millions in the first assault.
Those of us deeply inland were worst affected. We instituted a controlled retreat, moving back towards the coast, losing hundreds every single day. The islands, however, were least affected and quickly they revealed the secret to their success: water.
It’s amazing what you can achieve when the world works together. Within days, the front lines were equipped with military-grade super soakers, and fire trucks across the world moved up. They were our tanks, in the original sense of the word. Vast pipelines shifted millions of gallons of sea water inland to feed the fight. We turned the tide and started to push them back.
The war waged for a few years but soon Mother Earth’s cough reduced to little hiccoughs, and then finally to nothing. We swept through the charred battlefields, between the rocky corpses of defeated lava-phlegm monsters and funnelled gallons and gallons of water into the volcanos and caves to make sure it was finished.
Mother Earth sighed. Just as quickly as it came, the spell was lifted and everyone became themselves again. For a few years we worked together as we had, when the war remained in living memory, but unfortunately old habits die hard and we returned to our usual human ways. Now we are waiting. Waiting for the next cold to take hold of Mother Earth.
|
We thought we were the poison. We thought ourselves a disease to be cured, a danger to our only mean of survival. But all that changed when our purpose was revealed. Have you ever felt the natural disgust at the uncanney valley? This discomfort when something appears human, but clearly is not, only told by a few mismatched details? This emotion was felt tenfold the day They arrived, the day They invaded Mother Earth and tried to fatten themselves on the lifeblood of Gaia herself. From the heavens above rained dark, looming spires, created by Them, burrowing deep into earths crust, and starting to pump up the magma, shooting it up through long, winding pipes into their mothership. And They stepped forth from these sucking, leeching spires, looking almost like us. But almost was not enough, and within minutes of Their image spread, every human who had seen them knew that life finally had a true meaning, not one ascribed by another authority or even by themselves. It was simply to fight and to defend Mother Earth, the one that gave life to us and in exchange had asked for nothing but this one little thing now.
Humanity, maybe for the first time in History, stood united. The invaders did not falter, as our Initial Artillery hit them, their own guns taking out many of the shells we threw at them. But our many, many armies had given us many shells to work with, and by Gaiam, we would use them all. For Hours on end our Artillery roared as we set up a proper firing line, and with each passing hour mroe and more Cannons added to the Chorus of destruction, until finally, the Choir had amassed to such strength that no amount defensive fire set up by The Infection could withstand.
With Their first line of defense flattened, our Soldiers marched in, a Song on their Lips, Dreams in their hearts and death on their minds. And die they did, selflessly throwing themselves upon these creatures spawned from the darkest places of the universe, advancing, firing and dying all for once cause, to protect the one place they all loved the same.
It was not easy at first, their technology was alien to us, their strategies strange and unthinkable, and our weapons did little to hurt them. But with each battle, we took what was left on the battlefield, rallied ourselves, and learned. Learned where their armor was thin, that certain arrangements of carbon could hurt them more effectively, and learned to outmaneuver their strategists one by on. And one by one did they fall, each spire crumbling signalling both a victoryn and the march to the next of these abhorrent towers.
It took weeks on end to reclaim all the places taken by Them, to destropy every last black twisted spire, and to get proper launch stations ready to finally take out the Mothership. It must have been the first time in Centuries that so little nuclear armaments were left on earth, as almost every single piece of it was thrown at The Mothership, and the subsequent explosion lit up the Night Sky for all to see.
So in the end, it would be too easy to say that we stayed one, big happy family. Soon enough a bickering, trading and competing began, to gain the most out of the new technology so generously donated by our would-be invaders. People, countries and alliances flourished, and everyone once again tried to outdo their neighbours. But this time, we had the feeling that Mother earth watched us play, and she smiled.
| 2021-08-07T00:10:51 | 2021-08-06T20:45:26 | 546 | 56 |
[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability...
Edit: Wow
I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much!
|
My father was a sorcerer of magma, heat coursed through his veins and his lava casting abilities brought armies to their knees.
His father before him was a wizard of fire, he wielded the legendary flames of Uzun and gave his life to end the great war of ice in the South, a famous victory for his King. This earned my family the highest honours in the kingdom, we since dwelled in the grandest quarters of the Conjurer's Tower, my father has been the King's most favoured advisor in the Royal Enchanter's Court for the last 15 years.
Even my uncle was born a warlock of mercury, he started the infamously dazzling 'Circus of Magi' at a young age, his floating performances ignited awe and wonder in lords courts across the lands. He eventually invented the thermometer, now a standard tool in the modern study of magic. Even he now demanded the respect of many a wizard.
I was born with the natural talent of manipulating steam... *steam*... water vapour that I lose control of once it drops to a certain temperature.
Great things have been expected of me, my father had reserved a place in the College of Fire Magic since I was born, normally this is only done once a young mage reaches magicturity around the age of fourteen when their powers start to show. My skill with steam had surfaced at the age of eleven, but I had kept it a secret from them all. Practising casting fireballs in the secrecy of the tower's private bathroom.
"Might as well try one more time." I muttered begrudgingly, taking my hand out of the bath water and opening my clenched fist.
*hisssss*, Once again the flickering fireball I'd hoped for amounted to a trivial rush of hot damp, that buffeted my sopping fringe, as if it was a ironic metaphor of the surprise I lacked. Turning my hand downwards I swapped the face-dampening blast for a comforting ripple on the water. Curling mist enveloped a dent in the water's surface.
Today was the morning of my 15th birthday, I was finally going to accept the fact that I was doomed to disappoint the entire Emberback family, I would be the first of all my noble family of mages to be enrolled into the insignificant College of Water Magic, and even my role there would be pathetic.
What would the other students call me? I could imagine the mocking I'd receive... *"rain boy!", "quit blowing hot air!", Your posh family must be proud, wet fart!"*
"Blaze! What's taking you so long in there? You're going to miss your big day!" My mother's voice rang through the marble hall, ruining my trance of self-loathing. I quit staring into the humid rift I'd created in the bath water, and stood up. I was ready to get this over with.
(Been a lurker on this subreddit for a long time, decided to give writing a go for once... I'd appreciate any feedback!)
Edit: The response on the first post was pretty positive, thanks guys! And I enjoyed this more than I expected, so [part 2 is here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5cki19/wp_there_are_many_types_of_mages_in_the_world/d9xppxr/)
|
"Thank you for coming," Bette said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I know it's a lot to ask of you, but.."
Alex waved away the gesture. "I understand completely. If I was in your position, I'd do the same thing."
Inbetween the two mages lay a woman, sustained by a maze of tubes and IVs. Machines hissed as they struggled to keep her cancer-riddled body alive. Bette held her mother's hand, while Alex took the other.
"Mrs. Schumacher? My name is Alex," he said gently. "I'm a friend of Bette's. She told me about how you were suffering, and asked for my help." Mrs. Schumacher's eyelids fluttered slightly, but other than that, she did not stir. On the other side of the bed, Bette sniffled, but held on bravely.
"Mrs. Schumacher, we want to end your suffering. You made your wishes clear, so I am here to aid you on your journey to the afterlife." Alex pulled a large tome out of his backpack, and spread it across the hospital bed. Placing his hand over Bette's mother's forehead, he closed his eyes and began to chant.
Suddenly, it seemed like a shadow was cast over the room, and the temperature dropped a few degrees. The shadows cast by Alex's hand elongated and darkened as he reached the climax of the spell. Mrs. Schumacher gasped softly, her hand using its last ounces of strength to grasp her daughter's. Her head lolled back, and she let out her last breath with a rattle. The machines began their frenzied beeping, but a nurse unplugged them without a word.
The only sound that could be heard was Bette's quiet sniffling, the young woman still at her mother's side as she held her lifeless hands. Alex packed his tome away somberly.
"They welcomed her with open arms," he said quietly. "She's done being in pain."
"Thank you," whispered Bette. "I don't know if I can ever-"
Alex waved away her words. "If I ever need your help, I'll ask for it. In the meantime, be with your family."
Bette nodded, watching as the death mage exited the room. She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and squeezed her mother's hand one last time before standing up. However, her phone rang, and she pulled it out in irritation.
"I told you I wasn't coming in today," she said angrily.
"I know, but I wouldn't have called you if I had any other choice," her superior replied. "This is an all-hands-on-deck situation, Sergeant. The Light killed another person, and we need a dark-mage task force ASAP."
Bette's stomach dropped. "I'll be on my way," she managed. Sprinting out of the hospital, she spread her hands and began an incantation. Dark clouds of what looked like living smoke began pouring from her mouth and nostrils, and with a snap of her fingers, they cloaked her entire body. When they dissipated, Bette was gone.
| 2016-11-12T11:28:31 | 2016-11-12T10:29:07 | 70 | 27 |
[WP] "Some days, I love my job. Those days are the worst."
|
Traitor. Backstabber. Scum. I spit those epithets into the mirror morning and night. The knowledge of what I’m doing to these people makes my skin crawl, but I can’t stop. Too many lives are at stake.
That’s why they hired me, of course. Empathy. I meet someone new and everything just seems to fall into place – they relax, they open up, they trust me. I’m told I just have one of those faces. To begin with, it was harmless – I’d just throw a little charm at a girl to get into her bed, or at a traffic cop to get out of a ticket. Later on I started to push it, trying to see just how much I could convince someone to part with. It gave me a rush, for sure, but I also racked up a lot of guilt. I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t doing anything wrong – that it was always their own choice and their own greed that got them into that position – but empathy is a two way street and deep down, I never really believed my own lie.
I made my first million by the time I was twenty-four, and did my first time at twenty-five. That’s where they picked me up.
I was low, as low as I’d ever been. I felt like trash. When they came to me, it was an offer I couldn’t refuse; a fresh challenge to occupy my mind and a shot at redemption all rolled into one. Save lives, catch bad guys, use those talents for the greater good. What’s more, it got me out of the pen a few years early.
My first time was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I was in with a bunch of drug pushers, mid level guys, who were trying to bring in a shipment of coke down state. Standing there in the middle of fifteen hardened criminals, each one of them armed to the teeth and not one of them suspecting a fucking thing – that was something. I can still feel the blood pulsing in my ears, my heart trying to beat its way out of my goddamn rib cage, and the whole time nothing on my face but ice cold composure. I felt like a god.
When the feds came in and took those guys, I didn’t blink. Back then, the lines still felt clear – I was an avenging angel putting sinners where they belonged, and I felt righteous. That all starts to change when one of those sinners takes a bullet for you. When he’s bleeding out in your arms and telling you about his kids. When you look into his face and see a guy that doesn’t look too different to you, then you don’t feel quite so hot.
You tell yourself that you’re still fighting the good fight, that you’re making the world a better place. That’s easy enough when it’s about drugs, or money – when the bad guys stay bad. These guys though, these *republicans*, they’re something different. In their eyes they’re fighting for the people. In their eyes it’s them, not the party, who’s out to make the world a better place. And some days… Some days I can’t help but wonder if they might be right.
|
I lay on a long maroon couch, watching the ceiling fan spin on a low enough setting to be amusing but not actually create enough wind to make a difference. On the walls around me abstract "art" hangs next to degrees and awards. I say art loosely as it is a compilation of red and blue lines squiggling around. Hardly talent and im sure was way overpriced for something my 3 year old could draw better.
for a moment in time im lost with my own thoughts only to be brought back to the present when i hear a soft voice say
**Doc :** "whenever you're ready".
realizing im wasting $350 an hour I start to rehearse what i planned on saying coming in here.
**Myself :** "Most days I hate my job. Hate isn't a strong enough word. Most days I despise even loathe my job. However some days it is all worth it. For a brief moment in time I become filled with jubilation and ecstasy at preforming this simple but necessary task. Only to later again hate the job and hate myself even more for enjoying it. What kind of monster am I doc?
A brief moment of no talking and scribbling furiously on whatever is on that yellow legal pad fills the air.
**Doc:** mhmm.. mhmmm... and how does that make you feeeeeeel?
Fucking A... he couldn't have given me a more stereotypical psychiatrist answer if he tried.
**Myself:** "I just told you how that made me feel were you even listening."
**Doc:** "no need to get agitated this is a safe place."
I look down and notice my hands were now fists gripped so tight my knuckles were turning white.
**Doc:** "now you said you feel like a monster...That you hate your job, and hate yourself when you like your job. Why is that?"
Even though his face stayed fixated in the same neutral tone i could sense that he was feeling smug. like he just said something smart and was beaming on the inside as he proved he was listening. Well congrats buddy you just got paid $350 to do nothing and then are acting superior FUCK YOU.
**Myself:** "Did you even read what I do on the form or did i spend 30 minutes in the waiting room for nothing"
I could tell there was anger behind my voice still even though i tried to hide it.
**Doc :** "well Janice was supposed to file...
I tuned him out i knew he was spewing more bullshit than a dairy farm .
I interrupted
**Myself:** "I AM AN EXECUTIONER! "
I said that louder than i wanted Im sure this room wasnt sound proofed enough for the people in the other room to Not hear that. I wait to see the surprise, the shock, something to validate what i just said. something to show that i am not alone.
**Doc:**"mhmmm... mhmm... and how does that make you feeeeel..."
I storm out slamming the door hard enough to hopefully make one of his stupid paintings fall.
| 2015-07-16T07:19:54 | 2015-07-16T07:05:23 | 32 | 21 |
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