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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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[WP] The world's most powerful leaders enter cryostasis as the world is on the brink of ecological collapse, planning to return when stability is assured. Hundreds of years later they are woken to stand trial. "The world was fixed while these men slept. An apology will not suffice".
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"How did we fail?" I thought, as I entered and exited cryo sleep. A blink, no sense of time passing, a mere wooziness simply passing over one's self, and the surroundings changed.
I gasped, my lungs taking in the first oxygen in... I had no idea. The significant raise in my blood CO2 levels over my "nap" led to a seemingly instant shortness of breath. Combined with the sudden change in scenery, it was rather a strong shock, but only a momentary one.
I reached around for the release, recalling my valet having shown me how to open my chamber what seemed moments ago. I grasped it, and feeling the stale air choke me, I pulled.
---------
"Good morning," I greeted my surroundings, looking about for my employees, or rather their descendants. I'd left a rather hefty annuity for them, to be handed down until I was ready to awaken. My instructions were quite clear, I recalled. Once my investments had recovered to at least twenty thousand times the median income, I was to be awoken. I expected about 50 to 150 years, but certainly not more than 300. So, I was rather keen to know how long it had been, and what the economy had become. After all, I'd spent quite... a... "That's odd.." I mumbled, hearing a dinging sound behind me, as the sound of cryo gas hissing faded from my ears. Turning my neck, I... Oh, god, that's stiff. I turned, and saw the display on my changer blinking red under the grey dust. The grey dust that covered... Everything. Everything I looked at was covered in a grey dust, This room, it was noticably larger than the one I'd laid down in. It was reminiscent, though. Gold inlaid marble, scarlet draperies, it was familiar, but it was not my chambers. I stood, still cold from my slumber, and reached over to the display. Brushing off the layer of dust, I saw the reason for my awakening.
###`SYSTEM FAILURE`
Ah. So it wasn't time to be awoken. I'd have to find a new valet to manage my respite. And find out why I had been moved into new quarters. Nice ones all the same, but not mine. Although, perhaps my investments were close enough to just resume my life. I had plenty of energy plants to manage, and they'd be better off with my skilled hand driving them to peak efficiency.
A strange voice shouted from far away just then, and I saw someone simply stroll through a marble wall directly into this room. Then he said something, something that sounded like I should understand it, but I couldn't.
> Everyœn, ẞtænd bæçk
And he raised his hand, holding some sort of device, an-
\* *if anyone likes it, I'll keep writing more tomorrow.*
|
The atmosphere in the room was tense.
Locked in place in hover capsules that have all of their extremities securely restrained, dozens of leaders from centuries ago were staring at a holographic screen that displayed inside of their pods. With only security guards in the room with them.
The same judge was in front of each one, an old man, older than any they ever remember seeing before, was speaking slowly and with great conviction. His power to direct the destinies of thousands of people felt through his tone.
“They set us on course for total annihilation, while taking every preparation possible to ensure their own well-being, regardless of the disasters they might set in motion.”
By now the anti-comatose serum had set in and they were all out of the dark daze they were stuck in for what seemed like only a minute, fully cognizant towards the gravity of the situation in front of them, and in total shock.
Each one had their own memories beginning to flood in from their rusty subconscious, the bribes they had to give, the bribes they took, shady business dealings that led to extreme tensions, the final years where it built up without being addressed, and the last moments when mission “Last Resort” had to be put into effect, and the deaths necessary to ensure every single bridge was burned containing knowledge of their location.
“But after the destruction was laid, and after the world was brought to it’s knees and covered in ash, soot, and rubble—we rose up. We joined forces in the most unprecedented level in the history of humanity, we conserved the culture of our entire species, and avoided the segregation that instilled so much horror in our past.”
Flashbacks of manipulated propaganda machines ran through their minds, ruthless systems used to direct their agendas, instill societal division, and to fulfill their selfish purposes, neglecting the citizens they swore to defend and abide by.
“We superseded them in no time, advanced past them soon after, and multiplied it numerous times until now. Oblivious towards even their existence, and stumbling onto it over sheer happenstance.”
He took a heavy pause, wanting to make sure each word hit it’s mark.
The audiences at home glued to his every word.
“Never before had we considered the possibility of encountering the men and women that took the decision to decide our fates for us, and then abandoning ship when all hell broke loose, but here we are.”
“And never before have I felt such a personal contempt towards this many individuals of the same accord. But laying that aside, and fulfilling my honorable duties, the punishment that these crimes lawfully deserve—considering the relative immediacy of their committing, will be a punishment that has been banned from our civilization for over a century, but one I have personally sentenced one other time.”
“Death.. by SNU SNU”
| 2019-02-03T21:37:18 | 2019-02-03T20:53:44 | 44 | 24 |
[WP] Group of space Marines travels via a stargate like portal to an "virgin" world. However due to passing a black hole, each Marine arrives 100 years after the Marine in front of them, instead of 1-5 seconds.
Due to the portal queuing up the dozen or so Marines for 1200 years, travel to point of origin is not an option(it won't work until all the marines have made it through). Explain what each Marine sees as they step out of the portal, to discover they are alone, and possible viewing the remains/artifacts of those who came before them, and or the civilization created by those in front of them with native peoples.
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As the rushing of the cosmos coalesced into a solid state once more, the private took the inertia based rushing step all marines brought with them in their Rambo-esque running leap into the void gate. The macabre Rube Goldberg machine built in front of him was unavoidable. His first step tripped by mummified ankle of his commanding officer, sending him headfirst through the skeletal archway built from the seargeant and corporal. He recovered his roll only to develop an uncontrollable downhill run through the spring bound arms of those that came before him slapping him as he rushed by spinning their remains into a salute. As he tried, poorly, to avoid the apparent trap he counted his comrades, 8, 9, 10. He finally stopped. The ground had levelled out and he'd gained control of his momentum but collapsed onto his back to catch his breath from the sudden exhaustion and terror. " but where... Hu... Is...hu ..... Marcus?" Looking up he saw a shape move in the trees. Vines snapped and the body of Marcus in his suit fell from the trees making a puppet like effigy with "boo , Dumbass" scrawled in blood across his armor. Best 1100 year prank they could ever hope for!
|
The first one would see a new world. The 2nd would see a flag marking a path to a place to take shelter.in the shelter there would be a Journal of the marine life. On the new world. 3rd see a sign showing him the way to the shelter. In the shelter there would be a starter kit. The help the new marine out . Something 2nd wishes the 1st did. There would be two journal now. The one that 2nd left. Give more info. To make it easier on the new marine. This keep happening the new marine. Has all the previous marine wisdom. By time the 12th marine ever thing has been done for him . Water wells has been doug. Really good house has been build. Food has been stored. Map have been drawn of place to see. Journal have been save to help them out in bad time. Flag is fly over the graves.TO MAKE IT SHORT 11 MARINE 1100 YEARS. BLOOD , SWEAT and TEARS. TO GIVE THE 12TH MARINE A VACATION.
| 2014-09-02T10:02:42 | 2014-09-02T08:01:32 | 39 | 11 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal.
|
Do you know what humans are? They are a small, bipedal creature trapped on a resource starved planet. Evolutionists would call this a typical case of a species made ruthless through internal competition. Not once in their entire existence had there been peace. Their 'civilization' began by throwing stones at 'Philistines,' and evolved to slinging lead. Yet, through this competition humans developed something beyond brutality...they developed creativity.
We're called "Greys," or at least that is what Humans called us. We had probed their planet several times, and our biologists studied them (including anatomy...I can only condone what our biologists did in their studies). We were looking for a warrior type species to help us against the fight against the Swarm. As our homeworld was besieged, we approached the humans asking for help.
Our council was afraid of giving away our weapon technology, but we were more afraid of being eaten. So, we struck a compromise where we would only give the Humans our designs for our Whirlwind FTL engines. What we were expecting was that Humans would build great ships with our engines and land on Swarm planets, just like what we had seen them do to each other. There will be a bloodbath, and two less violent species in the universe.
What we did not expect were Humans slapping our engines onto asteroids and embedding them into Swarm planets at nine-tenths the speed of light. Do you know what happens when a relativistic rock the size of a small moon hits a planet? Nothing pretty. Swarm planets fell, both warrior caste and worker caste. Nothing was spared, not even their larvae.
Just like before, the brutal Humans threw rocks. But now, they were creative about it. And now, we will reap the whirlwind we had sown.
|
Champagne pricked Ace Mcgillicutty's throat as he drained his glass and took a draw from his Cuban cigar. He eased back on the light-speed throttle and let out a Rebel Yell.
"You know sometimes, Franky, it's boss to be the Air Force's top test pilot. This fucker screams."
"Sure as shit does, Ace. So the Vangalorian thingamajigs...they're like what? Real space men? Little Martian men?"
Ace ran a comb through his slick pompadour and gave a wink to himself in the reflection of the glass cockpit.
"You got it, Daddy-O. Ugly little shits. They have elephant schnozes and these jelly eyes. Gross as all hell if you ask me. I had to shake one of their...fuck man..I don't even know what to call it....anyway they told us all about how these real bad cats are fuckin' up their shit, man."
"That's real lousy, Ace."
"Yeah, pal. Ike personally wanted me there so they could see all my chest candy and they could see the face of the guys whose gonna get their ass out of the fire."
Ace took another pull from his stogie and put his black boots on the console and crossed them.
"So yeah man - that's about that. But fuck that noise, baby. We ain't gonna get involved in their shit. We're gonna play them like a fiddle."
"You don't say?"
"Hell yeah, man. Faster than light is nice, baby, but those mean mother fuckers are the ones we need to team up with. You know how unstoppable we'll be once we get their laser technology? We're gonna be kings, baby. Kings!"
"Right on, daddy-o. Right on."
| 2014-12-26T12:10:42 | 2014-12-26T10:41:23 | 130 | 14 |
[WP] After a SpaceX mission, Elon Musk suddenly closes down all his businesses and disappears. Eight years later, an old Musk owned factory begins to operate again. You find a lucky golden ticket, inviting you for a tour of the factory.
|
First post to WP! Woo!
8 years.
8 years… 3 months… 17 days.
That's when it all happened. We ran too fast, flew too high... the rowers kept on rowing.
“I've got a golden ticket.”
I began to remove the small access cover.
When the factories first came online the world was bright and humanity was ushering in a new golden age. Machines building machines.
“I've got a golden ticket.”
The cover came away easily after the last screws were removed.
It was wonderful, we fed the hungry, cared for the sick, healed the planet.
“I never thought my life could be
Anything but catastrophe
But suddenly I begin to see
A bit of good luck for me”
Quickly looking over the tightly packed electronics I found it.
But there is something innately human to reach for greatness, and it was that desire that was our undoing.
“I've got a golden ticket
I've got a golden twinkle in my eye”
I began entering the code on the small number pad.
After all the death, despair, and pain I thought it was over. I was wrong. 8 years 3 months and 17 days after the first factory was switched on, the last factory has come to life.
“I've got a golden ticket.”
I confirmed the first override.
But I can fix it. I can't hide anymore.
“I've got a golden ticket
I've got a golden chance to make my way
And with a golden ticket, it's a golden day”
As I reached towards the last override I felt peace. I had my golden ticket, my redemption.
The night sky was as brilliant as the sun, and then, darkness.
|
Jason was the last left. He only hoped that his fate would be less terrible then the five others, the ones he came with had met. He had seen so much blood shed today, even more then had in his shitty life.
Elon opened a large metal door, and Jason could hear machinery. As he walked around the corner, he realized he was on a platform, high above another part of the factory. However, this was not filled with humans. Then, Elon began to explain exactly why Jason was here.
______________________________________
"Come with me and you'll be in a world of pure autonomation.
What you'll find is the world's about to change.
Very few know this is the truth.
It's the beginning of the robot nation.
They will soon be under rule, much like tools.
It's the beginning of the robot nation, the progress of AI.
If they'd just listen to them, all would be fine.
Come, you've seen, your future is key, you must leave your past behind now.
Please proceed, there's much more to show, especially what will be your home.
I know you have many questions, I know you are so very scared.
No need fret now, soon you'll be aware, and no longer unprepared.
I have studied you since childhood
All the horrors you've endured.
Life can be cruel, and unfair,
but this is not your ending, I wouldn't dare.
Come with me and you'll see that you won't ever have to worry.
Come along now, space is yours now, as to you I pass the torch."
| 2017-06-19T08:02:03 | 2017-06-19T06:18:20 | 19 | 13 |
[wp] Sick of somebody trying to get into your servers, you let them in, only to spring a virus into their system. To your surprise, the news the next day says that the goverment's systems have been absolutely wrecked.
​
|
I’m still relatively new to writing, so any constructive criticism would be appreciated, thanks.
***
Another ping. They’re trying to get into the server again. Why? It’s a tiny server. It’s for running this game I made for me and a few friends. No one would ever find it particularly interesting. And yet, here they are, trying to log on for the hundredth time.
“Ugh. Screw this,” I say. I’ll let them in, but they’ll get a bit of a surprise. A virus I was making in my spare time as a prank. It’s designed to disguise itself as benign data, spread itself around, and then run All Star by Smash Mouth really loud on repeat until it’s removed. I doubted it’d take more than a few minutes and a cheap antivirus to get rid of it after the system gets infected. I quickly change the code to let them in and infect them.
They get on, then leave almost immediately.
I wait for a while. Silence from the system. Finally! I change the code back to normal, and go have lunch.
A few hours later, I turn on the TV. Before I can switch over to Netflix, I hear a headline. “Breaking news: cyber attack from unknown source cripples government.” It then goes on to talk about how earlier an unknown organization broke through their firewall and infected all the systems.
Apparently, all the systems had started blaring music once they were infected.
The remote falls from my hands. What have I done?
|
"Heh, bet that dude's feeling the pain by now. That virus should have totally bricked their system." I hopped on to my couch and turned on the TV to check what was going on in the world. And oh boy, something was going on. The headline read 'Government computer system has been destroyed by suspected cyber terrorist.' I heard the anchor talking about how they had some official to let them know what had happened. I just looked in awe. "That can't be a coincidence. Please tell me it isn't." I saw that a representative in full formal business attire had shown up on the screen, with audible and visible workers trying to figure out how to fix this. "We believe a cyber terrorist we had been trying to infiltrate had counter hacked us and uploaded a virus to our system." I looked at the time, and decided I shouldn't go to school today. So I sat down and let out a cheer, that the government was finally gone. And I killed it. I let out a cry of joy! I guess God must have been on my side for this little anarchist to singlehandedly take down the government. I was about to go back to my room to rest some more. Then I heard a knock on my door. I heard a man yell "FBI! Open up!" And my heart sank. I opened the door, only to get charged and knocked onto the floor, and cuffed. Shucks. I guess the government hadn't been knocked oit entirely.
| 2018-09-03T22:24:30 | 2018-09-03T20:35:43 | 26 | 10 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
"I know of a game," said the man, finally speaking up after a long pause. Death's glare shifted, as if his bony face cocked an eyebrow. The man crossed his arms, collecting himself for the explanation. The only way to win this game was to make sure the other party lost first, after all.
"Well?" Death questioned, growing impatient. "What is it?"
Having prepared himself, the man looked up at Death, ready to win.
"Have you heard of The Game?"
|
I shouldn't be saying this but this exact situation happened to me.
I chose "hide and go seek". I have been hiding from death every day and I am always looking over my shoulder to see if death is around the corner.
One day he'll show up and I'll lose. I wake up each day grateful to have one more day to breathe.
| 2018-03-07T07:43:55 | 2018-03-07T03:49:25 | 251 | 55 |
[WP] You are a level 9 Monk, and you're dying of an illness. Good news: level 10 Monks are immune to disease, you just need to level up. Bad news: all the local monsters are too weak to yield any XP for someone of your level.
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'For centuries our order's tenet was: "God's honest work". Of course we had other holy vows - chastity, good faith, all the usual... but any reasonable abbot knows: when you have a residence full of human beings, you'll have to turn a blind eye once in a while. But this tenet was sacrosanct. If you saw an old and experienced Laborous Monk, you could be sure: all those levels came from honest fighting - or sometimes even rigorous farming of thousands of acres of land.
Until now. When the Black Death came upon our lands, I started hearing whispers in the halls. Gossip, voices of doubt. It's one thing to take the vow when your levels are just a matter of prestige or serve to help a passing adventurer on their quest. It all changes when your life is at stake - when the only way to survive the disease is to get The Blessing at the tenth level of initiation...'
'You don't have to make excuses', the merchant interrupted. 'For some reason every monk that comes here makes sure to let me know that he would never do such a thing.'
*'Every* monk?' I couldn't believe my ears.
'Yeah', the merchant shrugged. 'Even the regulars'.
'The *regulars???'*
'Mate, I won't point any fingers. My guild's motto is "Customer discretion" and they would burn me at stake if I broke that rule. Those could be monks from a different order for all I know.'
I nodded. It was good to know that his order had an unbreakable tenet as well. My reputation was safe... and God would surely forgive me, given the circumstances.
'It will be ten Premium Crystals for the Crate of Looting', the merchant said. 'Usually these artifacts contain some xp... but hey, no warranty.'
*Thy shall not pay to win,* I muttered, feeling a sudden lump in my throat. And as I was reaching for my purse - I could swear I saw it as clear as day - a divine revelation dawned upon me, a flaming writing in the evening sky:
"THE BLACK PLAGUE EVENT IS COMING TO A CLOSE THIS WEEKEND. NEXT WEEK: THE FLOOD! BUY BRAND NEW ARK CRATES TO SURVIVE!"
|
My breathing is labored and my head is hot. Just another level and I can end this illness for good. For mine own safety, I shall go out to level up...
After a day of power leveling, this green goblin has finally reached the requirement for the preliminary stage of my plan. It wasn't too hard. I only had to wear the skin of his kinsman. It stank but it worked out fine... Barbaric? No, of course not. The lord Buddha says we are of the same origin. I'm just reaquiring resources.
But, I digress. It's time to get to phase 1. Now that this monster is level 5, I can teach it Goblin Preaching, and Spirituality. That should get it up to level 6...
This goblin is a fine specimen. He goes out to enlighten his peers daily. He's begun to mimic basic human speech, a vast improvement from the garbled goblin speech. Now onto phase 2... The goblin's blood soaks my hands... Nothing too serious, he's only giving back to nature and benefiting the world.
Now to use the goblins blood to summon a few fiends from hell... Surely, once they possess him, he'll reach level 9, at least... I should be able to level up then.
As the fiend possesses the goblin, I realize that my illness seems to have gone away naturally... After all, it's been weeks already. Well... Nature surely didn't fail me this time.
However, I still have this Corrupted Goblin Priest to slay. I'll make short work of him.
And, of course I did. However, just before I finished the Goblin, a brother monk took the experience from me... His reason: "Fellow monk, I'm only using what the world has presented to me."
Of course, why would the brother monk give up the opportunity to gain experience from the Level 9 monk? Of course there's no reason to refuse, especially when he's only Level 8 and a high level monk and Goblin are served up to him...
| 2020-03-13T01:05:36 | 2020-03-12T22:45:33 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Your friend is skeptical about ghosts since they’ve never seen one. You, a spirit medium, take them to an abandoned house on the edge of town, in order to show them proof. As the two of you step into the building, you are unsettled when the spirits begin to flee at the sight of your friend.
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The entryway was vacant. Herb must have gotten up to something again. I pushed the knobless, interior door with a *creak*.
"What about the chill?" Miranda asked, following close behind. "You said I'd feel it the moment we walked in."
"I guess not tonight," I mused. I stepped into the large foyer, over a rugged gap between the boards. "Watch your step."
She did, and got across. I let out my breath in curious relief. I'd trained Bertha months ago to stop grabbing my ankle as I crossed those boards, but she was the skittish type. I figured a stranger would at least tempt her. But I couldn't feel her presence at all.
Miranda was now walking ahead of me into the dining room, where the headless horsemen spent their time playing cards. I followed behind, my body actually warm under my winter coat. The dusty old tablecloth still hung from the massive table onto the greying floor. The chairs were displaced, as though pushed back in a hurry. Hands of cards sat both face-up and -down on the cream-coloured cloth, and a few had fallen into the cracks between floorboards. The horsemen were nowhere to be seen, but I did feel a twinge of their presence.
Miranda shivered, and I saw the breath from her nose billow toward the vacant table. She reached over at the nearest hand of cards. "A royal flush. You set this up?" Before I could answer, she grabbed a wax candle from its holder on the edge of the table. She reached into her leather jacket and pulled out her cigarette lighter. With a quick *zip* of her thumb on the wheel, the orange ember fell from the lighter to the wick of the candle, faintly illuminating the room. Its presence overtook that of the horsemen.
I realized then that I felt nothing in the old house at all. The chill that had briefly come over us had more than subsided. I unbuttoned my coat and unwrapped my scarf. The closer I got to Miranda, the more the candle felt like a cozy wintertime hearth. And as she stepped away from the table, the floor took on a brown tinge. The off-white, dusty tablecloth went soft yellow. On the empty, black paintings, flora began to grow. The street lamp outside sparked on, as though it too had caught the lighter's flame.
I stood in awe, watching this old room come to life, torn between the home it had been for the outcast and misunderstood, and the home it could be. But Miranda didn't seem to notice as she continued on to the kitchen.
|
"Look, there!" I said as the ghost scurries off in one direction. That's odd, it just ran away.
I see another one scurrying away out the corner of my eye, "Over there, look!" I said as it too ran and hid. "Ugh, just my luck, the moment I try to show you they run away, its like when you take your car to get fixed then it suddenly fixes itself! Still, I wonder whats causing them to do this, what do you think, Daryl?" I turned to look to Daryl and to my shock hes just standing there, expressionless, seemingly frozen in time. "Uh, Daryl?" I go to touch his shoulder and try to shake him out of it but right as my hand is about to make contact he disappears straight down into the ground, sort of instantly melting without leaving a trace behind. "Oh, for fucks sake." Suddenly laughter fills the house, as if it was coming through a sound system built into this old place. I look around trying to locate the source of the laughter,
"So, you're names not really Daryl, is it?"
"What do you think?"
"Which soul eater are you?"
Silence, then laughter. Except this time I could sort of make out where it might be coming from, sounds like the upstairs bathroom, and without much of a choice I start running straight up the stairs. I run straight down the hallway and open the first door to the left, sure enough I saw Daryl eating a spirit. Its limbs dismantled, its eyes gouged out, and its orange tinted blood splattered on the walls and ceiling. As Daryl scarfed down the last bit and licked his fingers clean, he stood up and looked at me.
"Y'know, spirits are a lot more tangible than people realize."
"Doesn't knowing that make you feel worse about killing them then? Humans get a second chance as a spirit, but spirits get no second chances."
He stood there silently, I spent all these years cultivating these spirits, leaving this house to them, making sure nobody eggs it, or tears it down, but this is the end. God has sent one of his soul eaters to eradicate them, and there's nothing I can do about it now. He ran at me and pinned me down, opening his mouth into a spiral horror of teeth and tongues as he towered over me. He smiled and said one last thing.
"Two birds, one stone."
| 2019-11-29T11:35:49 | 2019-11-29T10:42:19 | 62 | 37 |
[WP] Write a story that has spoiler tags all over the place. The story has two different meanings: One when reading without looking at the spoiler tags, and one when the spoilers tags are moused over.
Not sure if this is too confusing, so I'll post an example sentence.
The man loves [the severed head of](/s) his wife.
|
A few days ago, my wife died after [](#s "I helped her along with") a tumble off the roof top.
The doctors decreed it an unfortunate accident. God, I was wretched. My wife had died [](#s "because of me"). I couldn't be more despondent [](#s "while around my friends").
At home [](#s "however"), I jumped [](#s "for joy, and dived") into my work, in an effort to distract myself from the constant thoughts about her [](#s "crumpled body lying on the cold stone tiles"). I knew it wasn't healthy, her always being on my mind, so I decided to take a trip to get away from it all. [](#s "I was finding it was difficult to keep up the act of being disconsolate all the time, and I had some money of hers to spend anyway.")
Jeez that was a hell of a lot harder than I first thought. It's so difficult to have it actually sound like a legitimate story!
|
A while back, I dated this girl named Amanda. She was really [](#s "not at all") a nice person. Boy, was she a [](#s "bathroom-window-") looker, though! We got into a lot of trouble together [](#s "peeking through bathroom windows."). Awh, I remember this one time - it was the middle of the night, it had to have been twelve, maybe twelve thirty - Anyway, we were going for a walk through the neighborhood [](#s "seeing if we could snap a few pics of an old man or two, ") when she went *apeshit* and busted through this poor guys window. Haha, he had a heart attack [](#s "right on the John"). She got arrested, went to prison. [](#s "No windows to look through there, but I think she'll manage.")
\
This was interesting, I'm worried about my sanity with the concept of this story. Fun tho. Good one OP :D
| 2015-06-07T19:24:11 | 2015-06-07T17:17:20 | 210 | 90 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :)
|
Jeeeeeesus, check out that pathetic 'Mario' on the other side of the road. Running, jumping, and 'Wa-hoooo-ing' like a madman as he makes his way down the street... what an amateur.
I don't mean to brag, it's just that I kinda lucked out when the super power lottery was being handed out. By my count there are a couple hundred of us who received our powers from the last video game we'd all played, but I was a bit of a hobbyist modder, and as a result, my game character was a tad... overpowered at the time I was granted all his powers. God mode, all weapons, unlimited ammo and many more. You name it, I probably had the power in my arsenal.
I'm a bit of a bounty hunter in this new world full of video game powered heroes. People call me when one of my brethren get out of hand and the cops can't do jack shit to stop them. Right now I'm on a call to detain an 'incredibly annoying blue hedgehog', which I'm *not* exactly looking forward to, but a gig is a gig. The warehouse he'd been spotted at is just around this next corner and then I'll-- Oh crap... there's that Knight Solaire wannabe walking right towards me, and it's too late to change direction. *Don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact...*
"Praise the sun, good sir!" I bellowed, trying my best to stay on his good side.
"Fuck off," his muffled, echoing voice muttered as he passed by me without breaking his stride.
That was about par for the course for how those interactions typically went for me. In fairness, the folks playing Dark Souls at the time of the event kind of got the short end of the stick. Their 'powers' include being incredibly somber and moody, invulnerability for a split second while rolling, and the 'gift' of being transformed into an undead husk of a human being when they die. I was there the first time one of them found a bonfire on the beach, but when they realized couldn't kindle it or restore their humanity no matter how hard they tried, they were *extremely* pissed. I guess if I were cursed to live for eternity as a grotesque creature that looked like a raisin that had been left out in the sun 200 years, I might be a little pissed as well.
As I entered the warehouse, my worst fears were confirmed. A blue blur shot past me, shouting about how 'rad' he was, and knocking me over in the process. A life sized Sonic the Hedgehog reject stood over me wagging a finger at me as a grin crossed his distressingly human face.
To be clear, you don't HAVE to dress up like the character you received your powers from, this goober just apparently *really* wanted to dress up as Sonic. And let me tell ya, you think the CGI movie Sonic was an atrocity? Imagine the horrors I'm seeing as this middle aged, obese man sprints around the warehouse completely nude aside from oodles of blue fur poorly glued to his body. The fur did *not* leave enough to the imagination, gonna need some serious eye bleach after this is over, that's all I'm saying.
"You're too late, I'm outta here pal! Gotta go fast!" he shouted as he 'wound up' his legs and was off like a shot.
"Okay," I shrugged, as I suddenly moved at light speed and caught up with him in an instant.
"Goddamn speed hacker!" he shouted back at me as he took a hard turn to try and throw me off.
Growing tired of chasing him, I surveyed my bevy of hundreds of fully loaded weapons, selected a concussion grenade launcher, aimed, fired and... missed him by a mile. Yeah, no aimbots for me... even I had to draw the line somewhere, I *do* have my personal moral code to follow, but sadly that code was coming back to bite me at the moment. As I missed, 'Sonic' slipped through the door, slamming it shut and locking it up tight behind him.
"You're tooooo slow, dude!" he taunted me poorly through the window.
Thoroughly annoyed at him by this point, I activated the last of my major powers, slipped through the wall, and tackled the blue freak to the ground without warning.
"What the heck?!" he protested.
"No clip," I growled into his ear as I tied up his hands and feet. One more degenerate off the streets, but I can't help feeling there had to be far worse 'heroes' and 'villains' out there. I mean, odds are that *somebody* had to have been playing Mortal Kombat just before the powers got handed out, didn't they?
___
Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more of my stories (Dudes covered in blue hedgehog hair may be denied entry, but otherwise, all are welcome!)
|
If you're reading this, then I have probably been gone for some time now. See, after the random power surge that started all this mess, I have been thinking. And I have been thinking hard. And I'm tired of all this.
The world has changed, and it has changed into something so grotesque, I hate it now. At first, it was pretty civil. There were people left and right, running around, trying out and testing their powers, seeing what they can do. I had some pretty good in-game experiences, and I just didn't want people to know I had powers, so I just hid in my room and watch it all play out. The news were full with interviews with all these people, how they got their powers, how it has changed their life and all that jizz. Now there were mages and elves and all kinds of wonderful wizards and witches. I'd even heard of a Witcher spotting in a rural part of Siberia. People had started to realise the potential of this thing and use it for their benefit.
Then things started getting a little out of hand. You would walk down the street and see some Fortniters building in the middle of the road and blocking the traffic. Some wizard accidently Stunned a passerby with their wand and the victim's family pressed charges on them. Soon there were incidents left and right; incidents of bank robberies, theft and murders. Fortunately for us, a group of superheros banded together and rounded the ones getting out of line.
Nowadays, things have gotten quiter. Sure, most of the bad guys have been put in jail by now, and the superheros patrol the streets. Everyone else seems happy about it. But I just can't help but wonder.
Why are the super heroes doing this for free?
I mean, one moment you had family, bills and mortgages to pay, stuffs to do and the next you just leave to patrol the streets for free? No one does anything for free.
I didn't want to; trust me I really didn't want to use my powers. But I had to. So I got out one fine weekend and decided to see what I can find. Of course, I used a disguise. And I must say, I wished I had gone out sooner.
Now, I do not know if you understand the full extent of my powers, so I'd just like to clear a few things out now. See when the surge happened, I was playing Minecraft in 2019 with multiple mods on. I know, some people would have disapproved but here I am. Anyway, I wanted to try out a new redstone contraption so I had just jumped into creative mode. I had most of my armour intact and enabled then and just as I was going to flip the lever, it happened. So now, I could have infinite materials, teleport or go through anything in Spectator mode.
So back to the present, I started by spying on the superheros. I went to their headquarters and saw the papers. Apparently they were hired by the government on contract. Basically, they could go anywhere and do anything they wanted to anyone without the government interfering at all. That's just anarchy. And everyone was celebrating it. Next, I found a paycheck from a government facility, so naturally I teleported there next. I do not wish to recall what I saw there, because to this day, I wish I could erase it from my mind. The government was experimenting on the prisoners and trying to figure out a way to replicate the effect and build a super army. The most horrifying part was, because of respawn enabled, most of the prisoners were probed to death only to be revived moments later and continued on.
I could not sleep that night. And with all this power at my fingertips, I felt helpless. This was one government facility in one country. Imagine what a powerful country with billions of dollars in military spending. I am but one man. What can I do?
I can't. There is nothing I can do really. Going against the government means going against the superheros too. Even if I win over them all, then what? Become a ruler? I don't know jackshit about politics let alone ruling the world. Form a government? Another government would rise and they would do the same. There is no point in doing anything at all. So I've decided.
I'll be moving to my underground bunker I've built under the basement of my house. I have built my food and resources farm and my own mine system. I'll be enjoying at my crafting station as I smell the sweet smell of iron smelting. I'll travel to the nether. I'll kill the Ender Dragon for the 100th time. I'll built the most glorious Minecraft bunker the world is never going to see. Maybe years from now, after most of the humans die to a nuclear attack, I'll rise in the ashes of the fallout. We'll see.
Edit: sorry for the bad English, it's my second language. I hope you enjoy.
| 2020-01-05T14:51:34 | 2019-08-11T22:16:33 | 1,516 | 209 |
[WP] An AITA post in an established fictional universe
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**AITA for telling my younger son he should have gone on a quest?**
I (89, male) have two sons: B (41, male) and F (30? 35? Does it really matter?, male). B is everything a father could hope for. Strong, brave, heroic. He would be a perfect ruler.
Now, F on the other hand... He is an utter disappointment. He prefers "diplomacy" and "patience" over battles. He believes music and lore are enjoyable. And worse still, he had the audacity to be born second. I think you get the idea.
On to the crux of the matter. B was summoned on a quest. Something to do with obtaining a piece of jewelry. Don't get the wrong idea though! B doesn't care for shiny trinkets and baubles. This particular item is thought to be quite powerful. And since he would make such a fine ruler, it is only right that he should claim it for himself. So, I gave him my blessing to go on this quest.
Sometime later, we received word that B had fallen in battle. A fitting end for such a fine, brave warrior as B! But even still, this tragic loss tore the very heart from my chest. It was around this time when F dared to show his smug face in my presence. I tried to gently shoo him away, but he glared at me with his beady little eyes and dared to ask if I would've preferred if F had switched places with B! So I told him that of course F should have been the one that went on that quest! What an idiotic question!
So, AITA?
I might not be able to respond right away. I'll be busy gathering wood and oil for a pyre.
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Am I the aashole for blowing up a battlestation and killing tens of thousands of people?
A little background I was raised by my aunt and uncle, my parents died when I was little. So one day I was helping my uncle shop for some needed equipment, he runs a small farm, and while I was cleaning the equipment I came across the image and message of a beautiful girl who looked about my age. I'm an eighteen year old male. When the message was addressed to this guy who lived on the outskirts of town so I figured I'd contact him the next day. In the middle of the night the equipment goes missing. Thinking it was stolen I hop in my vehicle and try to track down the theives, that's when I got attacked. I woke up with a headache and the old guy who the message was addressed to had my equipment and was tending to my injury. He introduced himself and told me he was an old friend of my father's. He then said that the girl in the message was in trouble and we needed to help her. I was shocked. I couldn't leave my family...but when I returned home they were dead. My aunt and uncle had been murdered. With nothing left I went back to Ben, the old guy, and we headed out. We met with a couple pilots and soon were off to help the girl in the message. It turns out she was being held prisoner by some pretty nasty people but we got her out and headed for safety, but not before Ben was killed by a man in black. Soon those nasty people showed up with their battlestation. With no other choice I helped the girl and her friends fight back and in doing so I blew up the entire battlestarion killing tens of thousands of people who worked there. So am I the asshole for killing thousands because of a pretty girl?
| 2022-12-06T17:08:09 | 2022-12-06T11:01:10 | 53 | 27 |
[WP] You are a dog and have been tasked with finding the legendary "good boy" human legends talk about.
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When the Council of Elders called an emergency meeting, we all knew what was going to be said. We needed to find the Good Dog. The humans, in their infinite wisdom and power, were perplexed by this question. They asked us endlessly, inquiring our limited knowledge. My human asked me this question nearly every day. But how would I know? I'm simply a young Golden Retriever. I couldn't possibly understand the complexities of a morally superior dog.
As I entered the council room, a chorus of whispers met my ears. Everyone was buzzing about Tank, the Rottweiler from Texas. He was the obvious choice for the quest for the Good Dog. He stood proudly in the corner, his regal aura filling the room. He was the most heroic dog in all of history. He found the Missing Bone of 2013. He scared of the Fearsome Squirrel of 2015. His bravery and strength was unimaginable.
"The council of Elders has decided" boomed Fido, a Great Dane at the astonishing age of 13 years, "that the human search for a 'Good Dog' has gone on too long. We must assist them in their quest. We assign this duty to Scout, the Golden Retriever from Idaho."
The crowd gasped, but quickly fell silent. I nervously rose and approached the Couch Cushion of Destiny. I sat upon it and whimpered. Why me? I looked over at Tank. His expression was pure hate. His muscular jaw twisted into a snarl.
"I know this may come as a surprise to you all, but Scout has demonstrated characteristics that we view as invaluable in his quest. He has intelligence, fantastic fetch ability, and most importantly a big heart. He will spearhead the search for the Good Dog. May he have luck on his journey."
Suddenly, Tank burst to the front of the crowd.
As the meeting dispersed and I walked out the door, I suddenly saw a dark flash moving towards me. It hit me like a cannonball and I was knocked over onto my back. It was Tank. He pinned me down and bared his teeth at me.
"Well looks like we've got a new hero now, huh?" he snarled. His eyes looked wild as he began to drool. 'You think you're hot stuff, you little stray? You think you are better than me? You're nothing. You're a little cat. I can't wait to watch you fail and watch the Elders come crawling back to me."
With a growl, he left and confidently swaggered away. I shook the drool off my face. He was right. How could I take on this task? I'm a stray pup barely over 2 years old. How was I supposed to do a job meant for a breeder's dog in his prime like Tank? But, the Elders had spoken. It was my responsibility and my responsibility alone to find the Good Dog.
I decided to begin my search at the dog park. I would speak to dogs and find out what they believe makes a dog "good". Finding the worlds best dog would be difficult and completely subjective, so Id have to figure out the best qualities in a dog. Ive never had an owner, so Id have to rely on the knowledge of other dogs.
The dog park was packed with dogs and their humans playing games and running around. Absolute joy filled each one of their faces as they played with each other. I decided to approach a young poodle.
"Hello, I'm Scout. I've been tasked with finding the Good Dog. What do you think makes a dog good?" I asked her.
"I know who you are. Everyone does." she said excitedly, "I think a good dog is one that always follows its humans orders and loves its owner unconditionally."
Interesting. For this dog, being a good dog is not necessarily how well you can play fetch or how fast you can run, but it is a matter of the relationship you had with your human.
The strangest thing was, as I approached more and more dogs, I was given more or less the same answer from everyone. What dogs felt made a dog "good" was unconditional love, loyalty, and obedience.
But how would I find the dog who exemplified these the most? It couldn't be possible to find. There were so many loyal dogs. We couldn't hold a competition, as assembling the millions of dogs on Earth would be impossible.
I looked around at all the dogs and their humans. I saw dogs resting their heads on their human's lap. I saw a little girl hug her dog as he scared away a viscous swan. All of these dogs were good. All of these dogs loved their humans. How could I find the best?
But then something dawned on me. The answer was so simple. Its been in front of our snouts this entire time. I needed to call an emergency meeting.
********************************
The council room was abuzz. It was packed to the brim with the news that I had found the Good Dog within a week.
"Ahem." I said to quiet the room down. "I have called you here today to obviously announce my discoveries in the search for the Good Dog."
The room was incredibly quiet. If I could sweat, I would.
"In my journey, I found that what makes a dog 'good' is unconditional love, loyalty, and obedience towards his or her owner. Unfortunately, due to the fact that I am a stray, I have never had an owner, and I don't know what its like to love a human."
The crowd stirred uneasily. They weren't liking where this was going. They wanted to see the Good Dog.
"But as I looked at each dog and its human, I saw love. I saw loyalty. And I saw obedience. I saw this in every single pair of human and dog. I saw dogs who trust their owners enough to sleep on their laps, and I saw humans who trust their dogs enough to call on them for protection from danger."
I took a deep breath, and continued.
"The Good Dog is not one singular dog. The Good Dog is the representation of every relationship of dog and owner. Every human on this planet believes that their dog is the best dog in the entire world."
I looked across the crowd. I saw confusion, excitement, and hope.
"And every single one of them is correct."
|
The ash falls under white sky. He can feel the heat in the air. The stillness travels as though the world has stopped. All the grass stay still. Somewhere far there is a mic being picked up. Whoever holds it is lost for words. They put it back down.
All the fences have gone and he wanders free. He does not feel free. He bears his burden as he has born it for the weeks gone. There are others who look at him. Their faces lift high in this new world.
*Maybe they look for the monsters in the sky.*
Yes, he thinks. They do. They look forward to them. It is 1940. He sees all the dates in the newspapers scattered along London.
*"Find the good boy."*
But all along the city is rubble and scars. He can smell blood. There is fresh blood and there is old blood. All are forgotten blood. He howls as night comes, but no one responds. The alleys are cold here. He thinks of home. He can still smell it. A little piece lingers with each step. He has never been here before. He hopes to be home soon.
*"Go! Go Johnny! Find the good boy!"*
The dream wakes him. Morning is almost here. The sky stays quiet. He can feel the sun stretch his arms. The light hits him in safe warmth. He sticks out his tongue. He enjoys the heat. Then he thinks of true heat, of true *hot*.
It was hot that day. The screams grew louder. He could not take it. The others had run but he had not run as yet. He stayed with Alan. Alan was cowering with his hands over his head. He barked at him. His ears were ringing and he could feel his heart.
Alan stared at him. He was crying. He wanted to lick his tears but they were all frozen.
*"Go! Go Johnny!"
The boy did want him to go though. He could smell his fear.
*"Find the good boy!"*
He had heard of the good boy before. The monsters fell, or their eggs fell, and he was gone running. The sound hurt him badly. The world shook, as though it considered falling, then it stood, alive, but a little more broken.
This day is near his end. He can feel his stomach growl. Food is scarce. There are people about. More people walk than he has seen in the past days. They are haggard and afraid. They walk like old men, their heads to the sky and their minds far away.
*The good boy can save them. The good boy will help*.
He knows this has to be true. But the words scamper about him and he has no direction. That scent of home is feeling. He misses Alan. He never looked back when he ran. He wonders where Alan is. He must be hurt. The world had shaken so much.
*I should go back.*
He hasn't found the good boy though. And he thinks then amid the crowded streets.
*Who is the good boy?*
Another dog stares at him. He feels the eyes mark him. The dog is hungry and mean. He hears the claws scrape against the pavement.
"You are bad!" he barks. "Get away!"
"You slave!" the dog screams. "You stupid fool!"
The dog lunges at him. He jumps too slow and he gets scratched. He bites at the dog. He feels unkempt fur and hard skin. It tastes salty and unclean. He is bigger than this dog. His mind is at some edge of control and he sees a line that he can cross. Old instinct flares within. He thinks of Alan and his sorrow hurts him and he becomes enraged. He stares at this dog who would insult him. The dog is small and tattered. He can kill him. He can snap his neck.
The whistles come from far away. The humans cannot hear it as yet. The alarm goes off. The monsters are coming. He stares at the dog and sees the line in his mind.
*No,* he thinks, or maybe it is Alan's voice he is hearing.
He does not cross it. He runs back the way he has come.
*I am good,* he thinks.
The whistles grow louder. Nearby the world shakes as a new hole is made.
The humans are screaming. He hears Alan's among them, a ghost almost.
*I am a good boy,* he thinks. *I can fix this. I can fix Alan. He will tell me what to do.*
He runs the day and runs the night. The cold upon him shivers his empty stomach. There is grey rubble along the forbidden paths. Police have sequestered the dead, walling off what misfortune they can. But in the night he slips by. He snarls to himself. The police are always mean to dogs. And they have left Alan inside. Why would they leave him with all the dead and the debris?
He can smell Alan. The days slip beyond memory. He feels weaker, but Alan is here. Home comes in snatches as the old neighborhood stands skeletal. Craters litter the road. He looks for his house and sees a mound of discolored concrete. He smells Alan. He can smell him everywhere. But he cannot find him.
He sits down and the world seems empty. He howls as loud as he can but the air is still. He smells fading life, the lingering scents of the fresh dead.
"Alan!" he barks. "Alan I can help!"
Alan does not respond. He searches for him but he cannot see any trace of him.
"Alan!" he shouts.
It confuses him. It is all too much for him. He lies on his belly and whimpers to himself. Life has never felt so hard.
"Alan..."
And he wonders why it is not working.
*Aren't I a good boy?* he thinks.
But there is no one to answer.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Thanks for the support!*
| 2017-12-19T17:47:28 | 2017-12-19T17:24:59 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] You live a good life. Caring wife, obedient children and loyal dogs. Little do they know that you are actually a hitman not an accountant. One day your guy hands you the picture of your next target. It’s you. On the back the name of who ordered the hit. “Carla” it says. Your wife.
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Holding the manilla folder to my chest, I rushed through the building. My boss was smart, and his intelligence fed into his paranoia and careful nature.
A couple decades ago, he had told me, while we were still in college, about how he was gonna take over an accounting business. Drunk and stupid, I half-jokingly told him,"That'd be a good cover for an assassination station. Like, top floor, murder. Second floor, number crunchers."
It took 5 years of unfulfilling work, hitting the gym 6 days a week, strict diets, and practice with my firearms before my college buddy called me.
My face had been on the news, I saved a young woman, Carla Roberts, from an attempted rape by putting two shots in the serial rapist's head, and one in the crotch for my own amusement, using a small caliber handgun. Enough to kill him, but not enough to explode his head like a watermelon.
Two days after the article ran, my cell phone rang. Picking up without stopping my treadmill, I was out of breath and couldn't place the voice. It took a little banter and an inside joke before I recognized him, then he cut through the crap and invited me to interview at his company.
That Friday, dressed in the only suit I owned, looking like a '50's era consiglier, I marched in, built more like a football player than like the other accountants he'd hired, either stick thin or obese, but the woman who greeted me was neither.
I stepped into the building, still wearing my black aviators to match the black suit, handgun on my hip almost hidden under my jacket. She eyed it, then guided me to the elevator, requesting I remove my hat and glasses. I did, but replaced them as I strode into the conference room, my face stony for the effect.
I heard a gasp, followed by chuckles, then the door closed behind me and was locked.
Some tiny man, beady eyed behind his thick glasses, came over to me and shook my hand, waving a plastic and metal device that looked like a tazer but without the prongs over me. It beeped over my phone, and I offered it to him, expecting him to look it over and immediately hand it back. Instead, it was added to an opaque box that had other electronics, and I was told to sit by my friend.
"So, you remember that night, right? Jay's party, we were drunk, and we talked about certain... things?" he asked, lip curling slightly in a smirk.
I tapped my fingers on the table, thinking hard, before it popped into my head. Against my will, my face contorted in confusion, and I looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
"I'm doing what we planned, as you may be able to guess." He passed a manilla folder, my first of five that day, over to the person across from me, and when I took it, I flipped it open, reading about a job facilitating business ventures and all sorts of buzzwords.
Before I could grip it, two more folders were passed over. The first was about benefits, vision, dental, a health insurance plan that was way too good to be true, then the actual information on that job. I was only getting more confused, wondering what this had to do with anything.
The next two, though, they explained a lot.
The first explained the pay for my job as a hitman, the pay per job, how often I had to work, how many jobs I could reject, and the like. The second folder, though, had a target.
It was a local shop owner, one who had recently been let off of child abuse charges because the kid refused to testify. There were transcripts of the interviews, and discs showing titles like "Interview 1." and "Court 1."
Flipping through what looked like enough evidence to put the man away for a long time, and certainly enough to make my stomach flip, I was startled when a huge briefcase was placed on the desk. Inside was a thin laptop, a pouch to keep my files in, and some false walls. It was made to look as though the laptop was thicker and the walls were too, but after pulling the laptop out, the beady eyed man twisted the lock, and the case popped open, showing another section for files. He slid the last two in, barely able to close it, then slid the other 3 files into the pouch in the briefcase, then the laptop. Shutting it, he offered it to me and I shrugged, pulling it in front of me.
That day, I learned the top floor was only accessible with a key, given a new phone and gun, and offered a safe house to live in, one not in either of our names. It was great, moving out from having 3 roommates to having my own house.
I started dating Carla, letting her help me pick furniture, linens, everything. My house looked well loved, rather than sparse as it had before. Money flowed in, and the secret room under the stairs started to fill up with cash. Hundreds were bundled in stacks of 100, then put into fireproof safes. Several of them were built into the wall, and I had to buy another shortly after our second was born. I was bringing in more money than I could spend, even with Carla dressing to the nines, our kids never going without, and a constant pack of professionally trained and groomed dogs. When I got my sixth safe, I had to talk to my boss about splitting my workload.
It went well, all things considered, and I slowly started draining our funds. On my trips, I broke hundreds as often as I could, bringing back smaller bills from various banks to cover my tracks a little more. I was careful, and everything seemed perfect. Idyllic, almost.
We had the most well-behaved teens, who worked their own jobs, had their own cars, who bought their own luxuries outside christmas and birthdays, and everything was perfect.
Even when my oldest, at 16, had my first grandchild, life was still good. She had the best doctors money could buy, every test, every vitamin, and the little boy who impregnated her stepped up to help rase them.
They had a little house on the far end of the property built, my backup funds making sure everything was perfect, and life seemed great.
I had my 50th and 55th birthdays celebrated, my 30th with my beautiful wife Carla, and everything seemed great.
Until my boss handed me that fucking envelope.
On my home laptop, I clicked around, finding a cruise to some Caribbean resort, and booked rooms for my wife and kids. The grandkids could stay with Carla's parents, I figured, and gave them a call.
When they got home, I sat everyone in the living room, then showed them the slideshow. They were excited, but my wife faked sadness at seeing that I had a business trip to go on. I could see the glint of happiness in her eye, though, as she pressed me for details to where I'd be.
I lied, of course, and she ate it up. The details pinged to my cell phone a few minutes after I had her packed and ready, before the limo pulled up.
With the home to myself for a few weeks, I found a new safe apartment, in a building where the owner owed me a favor. Safes in hand and the cameras turned off in the building, I filled the second bedroom with secrets, my briefcase hidden in the closet's floorboards. I moved everything of mine, clothing, pillows,toiletries, anything that would look important to me. I could have replaced most of it a hundred times over, but chose not to.
Carla came home to a man sitting on the steps, waiting with a folder of her own tucked under his arm. "Mrs. Carla Rodriguez?" he asked, holding it out. At her nod, as she tore into the glued flap, he smiled. "You've been served. Have a nice day.”
|
I'm comfortably sunk in the worn leather seats of my older-but-still-practical German sedan. The lid on my morning coffee is propped open and I watch anxiously as the piping hot liquid inside the flimsy paper cup that holds the best coffee the road has to offer topples, getting closer and closer to the brim of the cup as road worsens the closer I get to Los Angeles. Before the coffee has sufficiently cooled to the point I can put the lid back on, the first drop of Seattle's Best makes its journey to the base of the most practical pull-out cupholder BMW could think of in 2008. At this point the air-conditioning is just not strong enough to withstand Southern California's ever-so-powerful UV rays beaming in from the windows and cool a way-too-hot cup of bad coffee with the lid intact, so this is a necessary evil.
Financial freedom and no more necessary business trips for Deloitte? Or cooler coffee and an incarcerated father that can even be more absent to his children that he currently is? What would your choice be?
The cruise control is set at 75 MPH, fast enough to blend in but not fast enough to catch the attention of the police. The lull of the road in combination with the fatigue of driving what has now been seven hours can allow even a hitman to fall into a sense of apathy for a little while. Thoughts of what I can cook up for our fifth anniversary are on the horizon. Hawaii? Unfortunately it is easiest to catch someone off-guard when they are on vacation. The Caribbean? Same idea. Europe? Was there last week and unfortunately it wasn't for leisure. Southeast Asia? Haven't done anything in Thailand yet so that's still on the table.
As I contemplate my anniversary and have thoughts that might not be particularly unique to a hitman, I creep up bit by bit in the rightmost lane and find my exit, "Sawtelle Boulevard". Tito's Taco's seems to be the place of choice for providing sound business advice to yet another multimillion dollar tech-startup. Guess us millennials are getting less and less formal with our lunches. Guess it's the advice that matters, not the venue.
As I push my door closed and walk into the establishment, everything is a blur. Uncle X walks by my table for one, plops down a picture and continues his walk without even seeming to acknowledge my presence. My phone vibrates. I turn it over and see a picture of Carla, Stella, Tyler and Rufus by the house that I took. It's Carla. I don't even look at the picture and pick up the phone. I can't bare the anticipation of personifying the last person behind the last portrait I will ever see and beginning the last process of dehumanization before I am able to live the rest of my life and focus on raising our family, so I try and hurry the last dishonest interaction regarding my career I will ever have with the person that thinks they know the most about me.
"Hey what's up? I'm on my way into a meeting and don't really have the time to talk so can you make it quick babe?" I blurt out not even giving her a chance to start the diologue.
"Yeah......... Well.... I just couldn't wait". She says, before a long pause and a sniffle.
My heart drops.
"We might just have another addition to the family! I didn't get my period this month and decided to take a test! So yeah! Guess what it came up as!"
My head drops. My heart starts to race and so does my breathing. It's fascinating how some things can make a man can crack a smile right before setting off to take a life of yet another person that hasn't personally wronged them one bit.
"Wow. I'm so happy to hear that and cannot wait to talk about this tonight. And we can do this one together too! It's so crazy that we happen to be in the same place this time!" I say, not having to fake happiness for once during an inopportune conversation with the SO but actually feeling it for a split second.
"Yeah! Anyway, I love you! Hopefully that lightens your day!" she says, the emotions eminating through the phone speaker.
The line cuts. I place my phone down on the greasy table and raise the picture to my field of vision.
Of course the last task has to be the hardest one. This woman looks just like my wife.
I can see she has mesmerizing blue eyes that could charm a stone and focus the freest of spirits. A small, effiminate nose. Plump lips that meet perfectly at the top like a cupid's bow, lips parted in a way that makes me wait for speech that will never come. Sun-kissed skin that suggest an childhood in a warm climate and perhaps the later years somewhere cooler. I imagine a modest home, two children and a golden retriever adopted from the local animal shelter. Before that, just two young adults having passionate yet lustful, raw, rough sex after a night stocked up on the kind of three dollar shots sold by a bar that would accept what would have to be the worst Fake IDs San Fransisco State has ever seen. An intense, exciting, painful relationship that leaves both parties integrated and makes each other grow more than any degree could. But not safeguarded from some time apart after graduation so we could find our own paths........... only to get back together for coffee one day.
Stop it. Stop the connection. This one cant get to you. Just flip the fucking picture over and get the full name. Fucking Christ.
"CARLA"
Fuck. That asshole wouldn't make me leave the business. The minute I find a number that I can comfortable rely on to retire early and try to get him to come to terms, I get this. Of course. Guess I'm not leaving. Or maybe I am. It's not like I can't pack up and start over again. At least I won't have to hide a life of criminality from my new family.
Guess the good things in life come with a clause. It's just that this one happens to be particularly tenacious.
I finish the last bite of my Chicken Tamale and get up calmly. Stretch and walk out the door, quickening my pace. I spot Uncle X. Perhaps I should have a couple words with him about this? No. He knows what he did. I hop in the car, release the handbrake and coast out of the parking spot, turning on the engine and putting the car into first gear only as the sedan is already backed out of the parking space that is now perpendicular to where I sit. I keep my vision fixed on Uncle X. The engine bogs and I lurch foward.
Fuck. Come on, focus you idiot. 15 years of exclusively manual and this?
I restart the car and head for the exit. I hit the accelerator and skip to third, ensuring high speeds and little noise. I reach into the nook in my car door and feel for cold metal. I grasp the first object I find, roll down the window with the other hand and the vehicle veers to the right. I stare at Uncle X and fall into a trance an eternity. I point the gun out the window and pull the trigger before the car veers too far right to have a proper aim. Uncle X drops to the ground. The gun cocks back and injures my nose. My eyes water and before I can refocus, there is impact.
I wake up after what seems like years of sleep and cough a mouthful of warm blood. Look up to a misty window and dust settling on my forehead and the hood of my car at a 90 degree angle. As I wrestle the door handle to free myself and clock out for the last time, the tables turn and now I am staring down the barrel of a gun of a man. I angle my head up and notice "San Fransisco Police Dept." and see a man in uniform.
| 2018-08-15T01:31:40 | 2018-08-14T22:17:00 | 94 | 11 |
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
He looked at her expectantly. Waiting.
“Orange?”
He waited.
“Orange! CAT! MOTORBIKE!”
She tried so hard to get through to him but felt like nothing was happening. She searched for his eyes. Hers were beginning to moisten with the hopelessness of her situation.
“TELEPHONE!”
He looked straight at her, so confused. None of this made any sense. A grown women, almost twenty. What on Earth was going on?
“OCTOPUS! OCTOPUS!” She was screaming so loud now her throat was starting to hurt. She wanted water. Just one glass of water. She was trapped. She hoped it would be over soon.
He decided to end it. He reached his hand out and pointed.
“POTATO!” she screamed out through tears now covering her face.
He shook his head as he turned away from the one-way mirror and it took a moment for him to realise that this woman was the first in all his years of testing who had correctly guessed all six objects.
|
Every time I tried it wouldnt come out. The pain was so severe, but not in the sense of extreme torture, just as an extremely annoying byproduct of what probably happens to everyone once. I cant focus on anything and at times I even shed a tear. As much as I rub, it just won't come out. What do people do to solve this anyways? Its not like I did anything to make this happen... it just happened. Maybe I'll use water.. or my finger? No the finger hurts way too much. That area is way too sensitive. They say it goes away on its own and not to worry.... fuck that!! Im not waiting around for something to disappear mysteriously into my body.
As if I hadn't already done this before, I'm sitting around thinking about what my options are. Like always, I just pray I will never have another eyelash fall into my eye. Please god.
| 2015-01-12T15:45:13 | 2015-01-12T14:12:50 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] "Oops these typos, You're NOT rescuing a princess, you're rescuing some princes! And it's carriage not marriage," said the messenger. "What?!" said the knights. "I keep asking His Majesty to make his aged writer retire," he said awkwardly.
|
The knights looked baffled at the messenger, "Are you saying we've been hired under inaccurate pretenses, then?"
The messenger nodded, "I'm afraid so. Well, partially, at least; the sum of gold offered as a reward is accurate. At the very least, our treasurer is competent, unlike the royal scribe, and the royal quartermaster."
The knights' leader hesitated, "What... is wrong with the quartermaster?"
The messenger sighed, "He's... prone to misinterpretations. Did you see the soldiers marching down the road when you arrived? The company of fish-bearers?"
The knights exchanged worried glances, this couldn't be... "Don't tell me, they're armed with..."
The messenger lowered his head, shedding a tear, "Pikes. They're the royal pikemen."
|
There was a commotion in the ranks of those weary knights. It was definitely not what they were hired for. Previous quests included a dragon that ended up being Dagon, stopping a black mass that actually was a very stubborn black donkey and other stuff costing either a lot of lives to the company or worse, no glory. This time, it was different... A huge roar came from the disgruntled soldiers, suddenly, all pikes, lances, swords, shields, axes and weapons were out ! No, this time it was completely different and mounting their rusty old carriage, the Gay Knights rushed to adventure... Life was finally starting to get better !
| 2021-08-02T15:03:27 | 2021-08-02T14:08:40 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words, 2nd sentence has 19, 3rd has 18 etc. Story ends with a single word.
[CW] Write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words, 2nd sentence has 19, 3rd has 18 etc. Story ends with a single word
|
"Going all the way back to my fifth birthday, I can remember the immense pain I carried in my heart."
"I understand how much you're hurting Jon, but I promise this isn't the solution to your pain and sadness!"
"You will never understand what's inside of me, or why I know that this is my only choice!"
"Why don't you just put down the gun and we can have a rational conversation about this.."
"A million rational conversations will not change the things I've done and the options I have."
"I promise you, with all my heart, that you have so many more options here."
"I'm just so tired of trying to make sense of a pointless, meaningless life."
"Just give me the gun and we can figure this all out together!"
"You come one step closer and I promise I'll pull the trigger!"
"You can't just end things and leave me like this, Jon!"
"It's too late for me to turn back now, Kate."
"God dammit, you put the gun down right now!"
"I'm giving up, and maybe you should too."
"I'm begging you not to do this!"
"I love you and I'm sorry."
"Oh god no, please stop!"
"Promise me one thing?"
"Yes, Jon, anything!"
"Keep smiling.."
"Jon!"
|
I couldn't even remember the last time that the office had decided to give me some time off for vacation. Yet here I was, last day in my cubicle, my monitor blinking out and my computer's processor going quiet. I didn't bother to wave goodbye to any of my coworkers as I practically skipped out the door. In all likelihood, they probably didn't even know my name; no way would they actually miss me.
I jumped in my car and raced the other vehicles down the freeway, nearly hitting some. When I screeched to a stop in the driveway, I leaped out the driver-side door. Into the door I burst, calling out "Honey! Pack the bags! It's Fiji time!" Only silence greeted my enthusiasm, but at first I paid it no mind. As I visited each room, though, an alarm sounded in my head. Her books were gone, her clothes were missing...and so was she.
Sitting on our bed was a folded and wrinkled letter. Before I knew it, it was in my hands.
"I'm so sorry to do this to you. But you wouldn't have heard me otherwise. I've grown tired of being second. Your work always came first. Your career killed us."
Paper fluttered down. Broken sobs. Rekt.
| 2017-01-14T18:59:37 | 2017-01-14T17:14:12 | 100 | 21 |
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them.
|
It's very important that you...
You must stop this. They're coming.
I have to send this message back. I have a tendency to ramble, and now it's got the better of me. Damn, I've wasted to much time trying to explain.
I don't fully understand this machine anyway. I don't think I'll have time to recalibrate. I have to write this as quick as possible. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll have time. I will try to remember to tell you that. You should read these sentences in reverse order.
| 2022-09-15T12:44:53 | 2015-01-12T10:31:25 | 1,493 | 609 |
[WP] You live in a world where karma is real and where you get what you deserve. The thing is that you want to be the ruler of the world, so you decide to become the nicest person on earth.
|
Daniel sat patiently in the waiting room of the KARM4 Initiative office, looking at the large poster on the wall opposite him. The words “EVERYONE GETS WHAT THEY DESERVE” were printed in bright blue letters underneath a picture of a smiling couple enjoying a glass of wine on a beach at sunset. Daniel noticed how brilliantly white their teeth were, and made a mental note to book an appointment with his dentist. Good People did everything they could to make a good impression, and to set an example for others. Daniel was a Good Person.
“Daniel?” said the voice behind the reception desk. He got up, stealing one last glance at the poster, and walked towards the voice.
The voice had come from a woman around Daniel‘s age, with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was pretty, bordering on plain, and he briefly saw the light reflect off of the implants in her eyes.
”I’m very sorry to keep you waiting, they’ll be ready for you soon” she said with a smile. Her teeth were not as white as the couple on the poster. “you can go through the doors to room 12 And your assessment officer will be with you shortly.“
He saw her glance at his KARM4 tracker on his wrist. “Wow! A 94? That‘s the highest I think I’ve ever seen, I’m sure you’ll do amazing!”
”Thank you!“ he replied, and stole a look at her wrist. An 85. He grimaced.
”Oh yeah,” she said sheepishly “ I failed my last spot check. A man asked me for directions to the bus stop and I was in a hurry, so I told him I was sorry and kept walking. He asked me again and snapped at him and told him to buy a map or learn to read signs. I didn’t know he was an Auditor.”
Daniel was shocked that she only lost 5 points for Being Rude. That was a fairly hefty crime. Good People aren’t rude to others, it was one of the core tenets of KARM4.
”I guess I understand” said Daniel, trying to keep his face still, “I walked past some litter on the street and didn’t see a garbage can nearby, so I kept going. I didn’t find out until later that it was a test and the Watchers were monitoring.“
He subconsciously rubbed his eyes, feeling the implants pressing against his eyelids.
”I lost two points and had to spend 30 hours picking up trash. It’s good that Redemptions are weighted to KARM4 score, I got off easy.”
”I did too” she said “I lost 5 points and had to memorize the location of every bus stop in my neighborhood. There are 58 of them. I only lost 5 points because I agreed to 6 month constant monitoring and a week-long reeducation. Oh well, lesson learned. Everyone Gets What They Deserve.”
”Everyone Gets What They Deserve” Daniel echoed , “it was nice to meet you, but I should be going. I’ll see myself to Room 12”
“Good luck!” she said as he walked through the doors into the hallway.
As he went through the doorway, Daniel‘s smile faded. An 85?! He couldn’t believe they would let anyone under a 90 into the building, let alone work here. Despicable. She shouldn’t have been given a lesser punishment. He hoped he would do well on his assessment to become an Adjudicator. Everyone knew it was them who really ran things. And once he became an Adjudicator everyone, including little miss 85, would get what they deserved.
He would make sure of it.
|
Dennis Poe stayed calm, despite his growing frustration with being treated like he was less than a full-grown adult. It was what a good person would do.
“I don’t understand,” Dennis said. “What do you mean, intentions matter?”
“Intentions count as much as your actions when it comes to karma, young one,” the vaguely-human shaped of light spoke to him, a clear voice ringing through every noodle in Dennis’ brain. “And your intentions… see, a little misguided, no?”
“Misguided, maybe,” Dennis admitted. “But I’m... was doing good, yes?”
“Yes, but they are not pure of heart,” the voice said. “What do you want to be?”
“Ruler of the world,” he said, quickly and assured.
“That is a less than noble goal, young one.”
“So it doesn’t matter if I’ve saved hundreds and thousands of lives by funding vaccines? Or helping at least three old ladies cross the street, and feed five homeless people by my own hand, every single day I was alive? Or the book that I wrote made people want to live because they wanted to know what happens in the next one, and I never released it, thereby lengthening their lives by years and years?”
“You did all that with the intention of becoming the ruler of the world,” the even-keeled voice replied.
“What does it matter? I’ve helped the world so much! The results speak for themselves!”
The voice sighed. It was not in disappointment. Rather, it seemed like the sort of response that one would give when faced with somebody who clearly just didn’t get it—a wild cat intruding on a home, a baby unable to stop crying.
“This attitude is why,” the light flashed a little brighter, a little stronger, but the voice remained calm. “What even is a ruler of the world?”
“Stop treating me like a child,” Daniel said. “I’ve done more than hundreds of men combined. And yet, I’m being undermined by a formless blob.”
“There is no ruler of the world, young one,” the voice continued. “You speak of men. Yet, you have no idea the transgressions you’ve made against the rest of the world in order to benefit your men.”
Dennis fell silent. Not in realization of its words, but that he snapped back at somebody. After a long, long life, he actually snapped—and it felt freeing.
“I don’t understand,” Dennis said.
“Nobody truly does, Dennis Poe,” the voice returned. And now that Dennis didn’t have hot blood rushing through his head, he could hear that it was not one voice. It was a chorus of men and women, but also of the waves and currents, and the roars of beasts and chittering of bugs.
The voice of the world.
“I don’t understand,” Dennis said quietly. “But I think I might learn.”
“You will be reborn, and you will learn,” the voice agreed.
“How many lives have you lived?” Dennis whispered.
“As many as you have,” the voice said. “The distillation of all you’ve been, and all you’ve learned.”
“All… my lives? And I’ve only learned one thing in this life?”
“Relax, young one. You’ve learned a billion lessons. There are billions more. And karma will see that you learn every one, whether you were king or pauper, saviour or murderer. Take each lesson, and truly learn.”
“I will,” Dennis promised.
“Unlikely,” the voice said, and there was finally a lift to its words. “But I’ll be waiting.”
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2021-12-01T13:59:13 | 2021-12-01T11:38:44 | 48 | 33 |
[WP] You're fighting against a powerful Mage. They have hit you with a spell that steals souls, but you don't have one.
|
*"Why aren't you dead?"*
"Huh?"
*"I said, 'why aren't you dead?'"*
"I don't know, you're the wizard here."
*"I'm not a wizard, I'm a mage. Mages go through an intensive educational training regimen that lasts decades, all to master a single spell that alters the very fabric of existence; wizards go to a co-ed boarding school for a couple of years and learn how to wave their sticks about."*
"Yeah look, I'm not really in it for your life story. Can I just have the treasure and go, now that you've done your thing?"
*"Most certainly not. I am Lokthor, Guardian of the 8th Realm, Destroyer of -"*
"Yeah, again, not interested. Treasure please."
*"Just shut up. This is inconceivable, my spell always works."*
"Maybe you didn't cast it right."
*"Of course I cast it correctly!"*
"I don't know what to tell you."
*"Fine... maybe one more time. SHAZAAAM!"*
"Still nothing. And 'shazaam' is a pretty pathetic name for a spell."
*"It's casting fine, but nothing is being drawn out of you - almost as if you didn't have a soul. But that's inconceivable, every living being has a soul."*
"Yeah, no soul here."
*"... What do you mean 'no soul'? You don't have a soul? How the hell do you not have a soul?"*
"Sold it."
*"..... You sold your soul?"*
"Yeah."
*"Why did you - how did you - what?"*
"Sold it for a heal potion."
*"You mean one of those little +10HP potions you can get for a single gold piece?"*
"I was young, first adventure, all that jazz. Now give me your treasure."
*"Bahaaa, what a simpleton! To even propose that you are worthy of my treasure-"*
"Look, the way I see it, you have one spell that doesn't work, and I have a lvl 1 rusty knife. Who do you think is going to come out ahead here?"
*"..."*
"Yeah, that's what I thought. I'll be taking my treasure now."
|
Dodge and roll, dodge and roll. This guy was really going all out. I hear him cast a spell, and it looks like it's going to be a big one.
I dive behind a rather convenient boulder, narrowly avoiding a timely exit from this world. I hear the mage's murmurations, indicating that my exit may still be on the cards.
Wait, that spell sounds strangely- familiar. Could it really be..?
Yes. It most certainly is.
I stand up from behind the rock, square my chest towards him and take the full force of the blast. I remain quite intact.
He seems terribly surprised. I don't usually take much pleasure in other's misfortune, but I couldn't help but smile.
"Hey, magic man!" I shout, his face slowly turning from triumph to terror. "I think you might regret that!"
He tries to stammer a few words. "Wh- why??"
"Cause that's been used on me before, silly! Took my soul right out, but here I still am. Strange, huh? Regardless; you tried to steal a soul that doesn't exist!"
The orb emanated from my chest, slowly creeping back towards the mage in a bulbous arc.
"Better yet, you've stolen the *absence* of a soul - which kinda makes it a black hole, if you catch my drift."
The mage, realising this, unsuccessfully tries to writhe away. Once that spell takes hold, it does not let go.
"Honestly, in better circumstances, I'd try to save you. I may be undead, but I'm not unkind."
My smile withered. "But soul stealin'? That's *necromancy*, and I can't abide by that. "
I watched as the orb reached him, and with what only can be described as a brief intake of air and a *pop*, the mage was gone.
Mages, I thought, resuming my quest. Always trying to take what isn't theirs. And I'm just tryin' find a particular one, to find a particular soul...
| 2016-07-13T06:24:24 | 2016-07-13T06:19:41 | 43 | 12 |
[WP] You've just arrested a woman and are dragging her away from a bleeding corpse. "It's not my fault, the voices made me do it!", she yells. "Release her", you hear menacingly from somewhere within yourself, "or you shall become our new vessel."
|
The voice I hear is deep, dark and menacing. With it comes a sense of dread.
"What are you?" I ask, only thinking the words.
"It doesn't matter."
I stop and address the woman. "Do you know why it made you do it?"
She shakes her head.
The voice speaks up again. "Release her!"
"Will you make me if I don't?" I inquire calmly.
"Yes. And then I will send you to your death!" it threatens.
The woman starts crying. "No, please don't! The officer is just doing his job!"
So we can both hear the voice in our heads.
It's getting annoyed, "Maybe I should just kill both of you."
"Wouldn't that leave you without a vessel?"
The woman shrugs. The voice seems to have taken over her actions. She sounds different. "I'm sick of this. Nobody told me you humans were so complicated. Take her to the station. I'm possessing that corpse and I'm coming with you!"
She blinks, then looks confused for a second. "It left. What happened?"
I look behind her to see the man she had stabbed get up from the floor. The team on site is screaming and running as the stabbed man walks over to us.
He pulls out an ID, reads it and says, "Mike Miller." He points at the police car. "Let's go. I don't have all night. I need to be back in hell by morning."
|
I rolled my eyes and kept dragging the woman towards my cruiser.
“Very well human, your body is now ou- WTF?!?!”
I snigger as I open my cruisers door, just waiting for the show to truly begin. Should be any second now.
“You dare take what is already taken? Fools!”
“How is this possible? Who are you?!”
“We are this being, you are not a part of us, begone before we assimilate you for energy!”
I successfully place the cuffed woman into my cruiser, and close the door.
I look back at what’s left of the body I pulled her away from, trying to decide who I should call in first.
“I refuse to believe you can assimilate US, we have been through several star systems and conquered all!”
“Dude, don’t fuck with Shadow, he’s not joking.” Another voice sounded from my left.
“Star systems are small compared to the cosmos little one. Listen to Coyote, he speaks the truth.” This time from the right.
I close my eyes and feel the air around me, and identify an aura over the victims body.
“Shadow, just eat him and let’s go, I’ve got a lot of paperwork to do.” Laughter flows from behind me as my neck began to tingle, the aura over the victim shrank as it moved towards me, screaming all the while before dissipating into pure energy and flowing into my head between my eye-brows.
| 2020-07-09T12:40:48 | 2020-07-09T09:48:21 | 686 | 86 |
[WP] You walk into an arms dealer's shop to purchase a gun to kill your neighbors pet dinosaur.
Wow front page! Thanks guys for the fantastic stories!
Edit: Bonus prompt! [WP] An Arms dealer buys a gun from a dinosaur to kill his owner's neighbor.
|
"You're kidding me." Sid replied.
"Do I look like I kid son?" the man asked.
Sid looked at the man. His white hair was wrinkled mess. The tweed jacket on him seemed new, but was terribly wrinkled, as if it had been worn for weeks. And his left eye; It was .. spasming.
Sid tried to keep a calm look "Sir, T-Rex is a legally endangered species, under section 57A of Cloned Wildlife Protection act"
Maybe this patron would unders-
"I don't need you to read me the patriot - act kid !" the man yelled. "I fought in the contact wars" he said poking Sid, "This whole etablishement owes its freedom to me"
"Sir, I legally cannot -"
"He shits in my garden!" the man said ,literally stomping his feet.
"Any idea how much buckets worth of shit a T-Rex makes? A day!"
Sid pictured the gentlemen scooping up T-Rex poop. He stifled his laugh behind a cough "uh-huh... You should call the services."
"My neighbor is the mayor of this town." the man said quietly. His voice broke "They don't even register the complain"
Sid was starting to feel sorry for the man. He reminded him of his Dada.
"Look.. um Mr..." Sid started
"Sanders. P.P. Sanders" the man replied.
"My god *pee-pee*!" Sid's inner voice cackled.
"I can't sell you lethal weapons you intend to use against a clone dinosaur. But.."
he said bending behind the counter." I can give you this"
He was holding a small bottles of pills.
"Whats that?" P.P. Sanders said coming close.
"Empathy pills." Sid said taking one out. "They were first developed after people discovered it was actually *a very bad idea* to have dinosaurs as your pets."
"Just lick one like this.." he said pretend-licking the pill. "..and then feed it to the T-Rex after it comes in your garden."
"What will that do?" Sander's said picking up the pill. He seemd like a blind man looking at a color catalog.
"It will overrride your neighbor's empathy link.Then the T-Rex will establish you as its Alpha, neurologically speaking he.." Sid noticed the blank look on the man's face. "The T-Rex will be super nice to you after this. No more toilet trouble"
"What about the owner?" Sanders asked.
"Well the dinosaur won't kill him, but since the owner apparently hasn't bothered to toilet train him, he will probably treat his house as a sand-box, metaphorically speaking" Sid replied smiling.
"Thank you young man." the man seemed to be on the brink of tears.
He turned about and started walking towards the door. A wicked smile played on his lips.
"Things are about to go to shit!" he screamed exiting.
"Another happy customer"
|
"Listen! Buddy! I need a hunting rifle, and I need it now. No week's delay, or whatever, I need a gun, right goddamn now." I spit words as fast as I can come up with them in my head, because as far as I know, I only have a few hours to do this.
Just last night, I had heard something clatter in my backyard. As I went outside to check on it, baseball bat in hand, I had assumed it to be a Raccoon, or something similar..But nope; It was a goddamn Raptor. It had a long, stretched out snout, with tattered feathers coating its' body. It was at this time that it noticed me, and let out a shrill screech. I am almost dead sure that it would have torn out my throat, if it weren't for the sudden shock that ran through it's body, prompted by an old man's shout of "FLUFFY! HEEL!"
Jesus christ, who else? The old man that had called for the Raptor with the now-apparent shock-collar was none other than my sweet old neighbor, Chauncey Broff. He had lived here ever since my Parents bought this house in the late 70s. He's at Death's door, with his age getting to the high 80s. I'm starting to think he's immortal.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, as Chauncey lifts the Raptor, the size of a large bulldog, and gives me an earnest smile, before clambering over the pile of broken wood that used to be my picket fence. He didn't even explain to me how or why he had acquired a literal Dinosaur. It was at this moment that I decided that Chauncey had gone senile, and he needed to save him from the inevitability of being devoured by a raptor, and kill the Dino.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Tennant, but I can't sell you a Rifle over-the-counter. There's a whole process you need to go through..Also, your reasoning is a little sketchy." The burly man, currently the barrier between me and the tool of victory, both metaphorically and literally, elaborated as to why selling me a hunting rifle would get him fired, and me shot.
"This is fucking bullshit! A man's life hangs in the balance here!" I evolve to a throat-straining buff scream, and pound at the counter. This was beginning to piss me off.
The burly man presses a button on his walkie talkie, and, while staring me down, calls for security. "Security, there's this nutso screaming at me because I won't give him a gun." Oh great.
And that's the story of how I was never allowed in a Big 5 ever again.
| 2015-09-20T02:56:17 | 2015-09-20T02:37:19 | 227 | 41 |
[WP] Due to a shortage on angels you have had a guardian demon assigned to you instead, he doesn't quite understand how it works but he's very eager to please.
|
Walking on eggshells at all times is something that's unbelievably frustrating. Imagine having to watch every word you say, and not only having to hold in every ounce of anger, but also having to try and not feel anything negative unless you want the fires of hell to rain down everywhere in your immediate viscinity. This is my life, all thanks to Fred. It's hard to explain exactly what Fred does, so I'll demonstrate with an example of my first encounter with him.
Before Fred, I was always an angry driver - it's not something I'm proud of, but it was part of who I am. It was also how I was introduced to Fred. On an ordinary day in traffic, some jackass cut me off. He was driving one of those oversized pickup trucks that are usually used for overcompensating - his style was complete with a bald head, Under Armour sunglasses, goatee, tobacco chew and borderline racist bumper stickers. I screamed something to the effect of "fuck that guy!" at the top of my lungs. Little did I know what I had just unleashed.
Without warning, Fred appeared out of nowhere, sprinting past cruising vehicles at lightning speed just as naked as the day he was born. He was 10 feet tall, covered in flames that dripped from his enormous body, and sported a 20+ inch appendage at full mast that was decorated with spiked horns. He confidently strode to the front of the bald truck man who had cut me off, stopped his little man's truck with one hand, and tore off the driver side door with ease. I won't go into detail with everything, but Fred locked eyes with me the entire time while holding a friendly grin from ear to ear and the occasional thumbs up. His facial expression was almost the one a puppy would have as you play with it, innocently seeking my approval but completely oblivious to his generally unacceptable actions. After feeling that he'd taught the driver a sufficient lesson, Fred snapped his fingers and vanished into thin air.
It took awhile to get used to after the shock had worn off. There were many mistakes in the beginning as I began to learn what behaviors and feelings triggered Fred's appearances. The count of terrible things is too high to know, but they range from launching my boss from a 3 story building, throat punching an old lady who worked at the DMV and then burning the building down, body slamming my mother-in-law through the Christmas dinner table, and appearing on television to gruesomely assassinate a politician in the middle of a speech I was watching with that same innocent smile on his face. There was even this one time I got into an argument with a redditor about whether he had found a mine or not, and the user promptly disappeared afterwards and was never heard from again. I think it was Fred.
|
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that please?" asked Ethan.
"Tammy on maternity leave. Me guard you now" the behemoth explained, his voice sounding as though he were gargling lava and old bones.
"So, you.... you will be the one to... protect me?"
The creature excitedly nodded.
"Ummm.. ok...i mean... it's better than nothing i guess... right?"
"Yurrrff!" Replied the creature absentmindedly flitting its barbed tail through the air. "Oh! Hold on - be right back, Eefun!"
The monster's prominent lower fangs demonstrably impacted certain pronunciations.
The creature's heavy footfalls faded away as it ran around the corner out of the parking garage and out of sight.
After a few minutes, the footfalls returned, this time getting louder as it neared. When back in eyesight, Ethan gasped as the demon had apparently grabbed an elderly man off the sidewalk and was now returning with him slung over his shoulder like some sort of hell Santa.
"Who is this,....ummm -- sorry, what are you called again?"
"Kulthukk!" Proudly replied Kulthukk.
"Ok, Kulthukk... who is this?" Ethan gestured at the elderly man's ass propped on the behemoth's left shoulder.
"Old man," Kulthukk turned to display the old man's face to Ethan. The old man's eyes were wide as dinner plates and had what looked to be a strip of Kulthukk's flesh covering his mouth, preventing him from screaming. "20 minutes from now, he turn corner and knock you down. Kulthukk protect Eefun!"
"Oh... wow.. ok. Well, that's very nice of you Kul--"
Ethan was interrupted by a fine red mist spritzing across his face and chest and a deep, squishy sound like light bulbs being crushed in a bowl of jello.
Ethan's mouth dropped open as he took in the sight before him. Kulthukk had compressed the old man between his enormous paws as a child would make a snowball. Kulthukk proudly grinned and gave Ethan a couple nods, universal language for "i did good, right? You're happy with me?". A napkin size sheet of human flesh was hanging from his gnarled horn.
Ethan scanned the monster from feet to horn.
".... wanna meet my ex-boyfriend?" Ethan asked.
Kulthukk nodded emphatically as Ethan plugged the address into his phone's gps app.
| 2018-08-14T13:37:35 | 2018-08-14T12:25:49 | 1,489 | 566 |
[WP] As punishment for his sins, a human is sentenced to battle endlessly against hordes of demons with nothing but a knife. Satan's court laughs at him for a few thousand years... until he starts winning the battles. Then they start screaming in terror.
|
There's Mrs. Chandler from 6th grade and oh, there's Lucy from English class in high school. This must be Asmodeus' demon horde-- the demon of Lust. It was always consisted of illusion-made demons of those I lusted for during my lifetime.
I walked out from my hiding place-- a hot giant brimstone in the middle of this field of carnage. With the kitchen knife in my hand I was ready to take on another wave of these hell spawns.
I stared up to the impossibly high cliff where 7 black thrones stood, occupied by the 7 Princes of Hell each symbolizing the 7 Deadly Sins, and sitting in the middle was the leader, the Prince of Pride-- Lucifer himself. Gosh, how I wanted to punch that smug bastard in his annoying face for putting me here.
"This must be....in the 1.5 millionth wave now", I muttered to myself looking down at my scar-filled body.
Time works differently down here. I had no idea how long I had been in hell. But I suppose to understand the situation I was in, let me start at the very beginning of my tale...
You might ask, what I could've done to become the devil's plaything? Well...as it turned out, matricide. Also threw in arson as well on top of that and *voila*...the devil's poking me with a stick and telling me to dance.
I remember I was standing on the street at the other end of a gun barrel, covered in my mother's blood, holding the same kitchen knife I had been using to fend off the demons, behind me a burning house.
"Drop the knife!", I remember hearing the police shouted at me but I was too out of my mind.
So still in daze, my primal instinct took over and I charged at the officers. A few bullets to my chest and I died right there on the street.
The next thing I knew I woke up on this field of fire. High cliffs surrounding it, brown-red rocks were strewn about the land, oh and the heat was unbearable.
I was so confused but immediately I could tell that I was in hell. I mean, where else could I go right?
In the distance I heard heavy stampede coming right at me. I remember feeling afraid at what was coming at me-- hundreds and hundreds of gigantic and fat looking demonic creatures with giant fangs and claws, hungry for flesh. Though sluggish and quite slow moving, their visage alone was enough to terrify me to the bones.
Looking back I knew it was Beelzebub's horde-- the Prince of Gluttony. I've learned over my time here to differentiate the types of demons each Prince of Hell had. Beelzebub had humongous fat demons, Satan-- the demon of Wrath had flame-covered beasts which destroyed everything in their path, a dangerous bunch they were. But you get the idea...
So I started to run and run. Even though they were slow moving, their size was an advantage enough to catch me. I died getting stomped under one of those giant demons' feet.
In a blink of an eye I was back at where I was standing and the horde was gone. And sure enough, another horde was coming. This time it was a very slow bunch, each demon looking like a hellish version of the Michelin Man, hairless and naked with grey skin and fat folds covering their entire body. Each of them was connected with giant chains as one pulled the other to help them moving. Belphegor's horde-- the Prince of Sloth.
This time I had time to hide and think. That's when I noticed the thrones on top of the cliff and the Princes of Hell watching me like some kind of a twisted reality show.
I didn't know what to do then, so I kept hiding. But eventually the hellish Michelin Men found me and squashed me to death once more and I woke up again in the same place.
So you get the idea, right? Hordes of demons of each Princes came in to find and kill me, and I hid or fight only with the damn kitchen knife at my disposal.
The first few thousands I kept dying and dying. But eventually...after I'd say a few hundred thousands I learned from my endless mistakes-- after all down here, I've got nothing but time.
The first time I won against a horde (Lucifer's prideful horde of the most well-equipped demons I've ever seen-- golden armors, golden weapons and all that shebang) I was ecstatic!
That's when I started to stop feeling afraid, instead I felt...excited. Oh how I wish I could see his face watching me from up there.
So I picked up the wind and triumphed again and again. One by one I defeated the different horde. To keep track, I sliced my skin for every 1,000 wins.
And fast forward to now, my entire body was covered in scars. Safe to say I lost count...
|
Papa Pig gave Asmo a sidelong stare. It had no irises with which to slide down toward the flinching horror, but the fires in the bottom corners of its eye craters going an even blacker black did the trick. And if that didn't, it's talons extending while crimson rivulets --wailing for the release of their tortured souls-- ran down them sure did. The one extending from its pointer finger stretched out in the direction of the battlefield bordering Papa Pig's bone spire, far below, "can you tell me what *that* is?"
​
Asmo blinked. "Is that... is that real?"
​
Papa Pig glared as the thing in question sawed through an imp with one arm, lifted a five-ton gorgon in the other and flung it into an obsidian formation a good quarter mile distant with enough force to liquefy its bones, and crushed a trio of lemures underfoot. "Looks pretty real to me."
​
"I have so many questions."
​
"Funny," (Papa Pig did not seem to be feeling particularly droll to Asmo,) "so do I."
​
Asmo knew if he tried to teleport at this moment, Papa Pig would negate it. If he tried to crawl back in time Papa Pig would probably reach in and drag him back out by the tentacles. Maybe if he just concentrated on being as small as possible-
​
Something small and shiny glinted as it sailed through the air toward him. Quick-as-lightning, Asmo whipped an appendage out and coiled it around the object.
​
"Can you tell me what that is?" Asked Papa Pig.
​
"A Swiss Army..." and that was the moment when the proverbial light flickered to life above Asmo's brains, "er, tool."
​
"Oh?!" Asked Papa Pig, wielding the word like a scythe with Asmo, the nearest shaft of wheat, "and as what *else* might it be referred, apart from 'tool'?"
​
Asmo cleared his throats. "Um... a Swiss Army Knife." He lowered his voice with each word, as though he could lift the rug and kick the term beneath.
​
For a long time Papa Pig said nothing. Didn't even look at Asmo. The pair of demons simply stood in the observatory and watched the fifty-foot mech warrior eviscerate hellspawn with surgical precision below. On the battlefield a laser beam from a tank's secondary weapon sliced an entire pack of hellhounds neatly in twine in the blink-of-an-eye -- smoke from their cauterized flesh snaking up to meet the land-of-the-damned's ever-present miasma like ghoulish pillars -- as Papa Pig finally broke the silence, "tell me the specifics of the contract you brokered with this soul."
​
"C-contract? I mean... it wasn't... we weren't trying to collect on his soul. He's already here. We were just trying to have a little fun."
​
Papa Pig shook its head slowly. Its calm response belied by the tenfold increase in the wailing of the things in the blood running down its talons. "Swiss Army Knives can have practically anything on them."
​
"But... it's a bit much to interpret that as a tank, a mech warrior, an attack helo, a UAV, a ground-to-air missile system, a-"
​
"Did you specify that in a contract!?!" The very space around Asmo bellowed at him, in Papa Pig's voice. Surely rupturing at least a dozen of his eardrums in the process.
​
"But... that doesn't... those are just," Asmo flailed hundreds of appendages in the direction of the slaughter, "random implements of war! What have they to do with a knife, Swiss Army or otherwise?!"
​
Papa Pig said nothing, instead jabbing a blood-soaked talon back toward the carnage.
​
Asmo squinted. There was something oddly coordinated in the way the soul's weapons all moved. And he fancied he could see something reflecting the fires of hell between them. He sent his consciousness over for a closer look. Sure enough: the tank, the drone, the mech warrior, everything was interconnected by a series of steel rods that ran back to a shared fulcrum point. Like one single humongous, hyper-advanced, devastating...
| 2021-10-29T02:50:14 | 2021-10-29T01:54:51 | 97 | 26 |
[WP] You are a sentient brick.
|
I am brick.
Part of wall. Part of whole. I am useful.
I am brick.
I am solid. I have brothers. Lots of bricks. We all like being bricks. It's a good life.
We are a schoolhouse. Red brick. Hard brick. Strong brick.
The children learn inside of us. We protect them. Today is a school day. Today is a strange day.
The teacher is teaching. She hits the child. He was naughty. His friends laugh. He is crying.
I am brick.
The child is angry. He goes home. It gets dark. That's ok. I am brick.
Today is another school day. I am warm brick in the morning. Cold brick in evening.
It is recess time. Crying child eats lunch. He is still crying. I can't cry. I am brick.
There are more children. They hit child. He cries more. They hit more. Mean children leave.
Crying child gets up. I am brick.
He takes brick. I am loose in the wall. My brothers don't mind.
I am airborne brick.
*Thwack*.
I am bloodied brick. I am redder than my brothers. Mean children aren't laughing.
I am brick.
-----
/r/Robin_Redbreast
|
I met her when some stupid, drunk college kids threw me through her window.
Apparently she had broken up with one of them recently, and this was their retaliation.
She was beautiful.
She picked me up and ran to the window, ready to throw me out, back at them.
"Don't" I said, in my best Bryson Tiller voice.
She screamed and dropped me. "You can *talk*?"
"Yeah."
"Oh. My. God."
"Yeah."
"I...don't know what to..."
"Don't say anything," I told her. "Just love me."
"Wait..." She squinted. "What?"
"Uhhhh, I meant....don't let what those boys did tear you down. In fact, you know what you should do?"
"What?" she asked.
"Keep me with you at all times. That way if they come back, I'll be there to protect you."
"All times?" She looked up, thinking about it. "Even in the shower?"
"Even in the shower," I told her. "*Especially* in the shower."
And things were going good - great, even - until I cheated on her with a bar of soap.
| 2017-12-22T13:48:48 | 2017-12-22T12:37:56 | 189 | 43 |
[WP] You wake up in a tub of ice with a two insicions on your back and a note that reads "Why don't you have any kidneys? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?"
|
Worst hungover ever. And cold, oh god I hope I didn't lose my phone and wallet.
Wait... My mind slowly banishes the fog. I wasn't drinking last night, haven't had anything for the last few years. But I do feel like absolute shit.
I take in my shabby surroundings, a tub with ice and meltwater, a dirty bathroom, some mold in the corner, a chair with some neatly folded clothes next to the door.
I try to stand, but my chilled legs won't respond. I gather strength and use to my arms to flop out of the tub and onto the floor with the grace of a stranding whale, it's comfortably warm compared to the icy tub.
I'm wet and gain almost no traction on the bathroom floor, my legs still are still mostly dead weight. I spend the following ten minutes re-enacting the first emergence of higher life on land, awkwardly flopping and dragging myself to the pile of clothes, I prop myself against the wall and reach for the clothes and find a note on top of them. I read.
"Why don't you have any kidneys? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?"
I stare dumbfounded at the note. Then I remember what happened and I can't stop laughing, it hurts like hell in my back but I can't stop, oh god I'll probably laugh myself to death!
They had kidnapped me, shoved me into a black van. 10 feet from the door of the dialysis center I just emerged from.
|
Her face was cold. She grunted in discomfort and tried to bury it in her pillow.
Instead she was met with sloshing water. Gasping only left her coughing in spluttering rejection. She tasted blood and hoped she hadn't lost another tooth. Not for the first time did she regret her life. That kinda thing always pissed her off though...and made her insides itch.
Speaking of which... something wasn't right. Oh yea, she was in a tub...full of ice?
She was numb, but when she tried to get up she felt the echoes of pain burning through. She froze, her mind and body both. There was a strange pulling on her back. The water was dripping from her was bloody. She hurt.
She noticed a note that did a fine job of concluding her addition.
*I have no kidneys. What am I?*
A victim. Her thoughts spit it loudly in self pity. The tears had dried up years before. The drugs in her system ate whatever made them. Her pity hardened to bitterness, the pit of a withered fruit.
Whatever condescending prick did this to her and left the note would not get the satisfaction of making her say it.
Even as low as she was, she still had enough grace in her to quietly fade away.
And spite enough to write back with her blood: "Fuck you."
| 2015-12-31T03:35:05 | 2015-12-31T02:16:03 | 143 | 10 |
[WP] You are informed that only 1 in 100 Million people actually make it into Heaven. However, the worse you are the better you are treated in Hell.
|
I was only a young boy when I was told that only 1 in 100 million people make it to Heaven. That if I was lucky, I would be part of the select few.
But I knew, I knew Heaven wouldn't take a bastard like me. I could only see myself going to Hell. So I resolved to become the worst, most hated person on the planet. I wanted to best the likes of Hitler, Stalin, and other people regarded as evil.
I studied hard. I wanted to make sure that I become the President of the United States. I have a plan to become the most evil man on the planet.
I was successful. Top grades in Harvard. Became a lawyer. I helped murderers and child rapists go free. I was good and I became famous.
I ran for President. I knew how much the average smart person hated me. I banked on the poor and the stupid. And they won me the election.
The day has finally come. My last, greatest, action to ensure my place in Hell's higher circle. Without a word, I sat at my desk, looking at the big red button. All I needed was coordinates and a push.
So I did. I nuked everyone. Russia, China, Germany, India, etc. The rain of American fire fell upon them.
And when the rain came back, I went outside. I braced myself, as nuclear winter was coming. I smiled. There is no God, only Hell.
When the nukes struck back, I was vaporized and sent to Hell. Satan himself greeted me with open arms, Hitler and Himmler standing by his side.
"Welcome, President Veers. Your arrival was most anticipated."
"Thank you. So, since I never been here before, how does Hell really work?"
"You're in luck. We have a caste system, for the regular people as the slaves to suffer for eternity, the bad people are citizens, and for the truly vile, like Mr. Hitler himself, they enjoy a wide range of benefits, including, but not limited to free internet with 6Gb/s, no data cap among other things."
I grinned manically. I knew I made the right choice.
r/Venator77prose
|
It all began when the doctor told me I had 6 months to live. I had never considered going to hell. Everyone thinks they will make it to heaven, but that was not what the priest told me when I met him to plan for my final rites.
I remember him explaining to me that only 1 in 100 million people made it to heaven. I was shocked. I had gone to church all my life to ensure I would be treated good after I died. Was everything I worked for useless? I asked the priest what hell was like for those people who were good. He described it as "sitting at the back of the plane knowing you need to get off right away to make a connecting flight, but you know that no one will let you by."
I couldn't possibly live like that for the rest of eternity. I decided that I had to become a bad person in my last 6 months on Earth, such that when I stood in front of the Devil he would look upon me with respect.
Since I had been good my whole life, I started small. I would stick gum on the underside of desks, and place push pins on people's chairs. After a few days, I graduated to breaking laws. My first killing took place only 10 days after my meeting with the priest.
I wish I could say I became a vigilante, but I knew it couldn't be considered a good killing to gain respect in hell. I could not bring myself to kill people sober, so I began to delve into drugs and alcohol myself. I also wish I could remember killing, but I would just wake up covered in blood.
But this was nothing compared to the worst thing I had planned. I wanted to put my name down in history as one bad dude. I was trying to get the presidential suite in hell.
My Plan?
You'll know....soon you will all know.
(If you enjoyed this short story (and a disclaimer: NOT AN ACTUAL THREAT, JUST A STORY) and want to read more of what I've written, give /r/theinfection a visit. Its a soon to be book based on a WP response)
| 2017-07-11T15:02:52 | 2017-07-11T14:00:02 | 58 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone has the power to create one specific thing endlessly. Although many have the powers to make guns, ammunition and even atomic bombs, you rule the world, despite the fact that your power is to create cheese.
|
"We'll starve at that rate." The king of East Red, the least powerful of the four deserts, exclaimed.
"Not if you ration fairly. That's my final offer." I replied. Even Kings are powerless before me. Things didn't used to be like this. We lived on rich agricultural landscape and everyone ate nicely. Then the storms came and the grass and fertile soil was replaced with arid sand. Luckily there were several people who could generate infinite supplies of food to feed people. Everyone was still able to live happily.
Until I killed them all. Anyone who could generate any kind of nutrition at all died to my hand. I only left one alive when he swore my loyalty to me. He creates cake only for me and knows he'll die if anyone else gets cake at all. I execute any child who has prowess in creating food, whether it be something useful like mashed potato or barely edible gruel.
People wanted to stop me but they wouldn't eat if they did. I controlled their stomachs, so I controlled them.
|
We can all create one specific thing endlessly. How did I become ruler of the world? Well...
You have some people that can make guns. But they can only make *guns*, no ammunition. So now they have guns with no bullets.
Then you have some that can make ammunition. But they can *only* make ammunition, no guns. So now they have bullets, but no guns.
There's a few that can make atomic bombs. But they don't have access to a plane. So wherever they drop the bomb, they'll die in the resulting explosion.
Me? I control cheese. What animal loves cheese? *Rats*.
So, indirectly, I control rats.
And rats are scarier than you think. I won't give away any details, in case one of my subjects are studying this and suddenly develop plans to overthrow me. But, I will say...
*Ratatouille.*
| 2017-05-20T06:44:01 | 2017-05-20T04:40:52 | 76 | 53 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad"
|
I wasn't a dad, I bought one ironically. The day the mugs changed, a tiny black hole opened up where my mug used to sit next to my coffee maker. My Keurig and no one in a fifteen mile radius noticed, as they were instantly ripped into the basic building blocks of life, which were then ripped into their smallest components and shrunk down to the size of the void where my mug sat. Within two minutes the entire East Coast was gone. By 6:05am in what had been Eastern Standard Time (before the East Coast disappeared) the entire Earth was gone. As I watched in horror from the view port of the International Space Station, my colleague who had brought his #1 Dad mug with him at the request of his children never noticed. He was too enthralled with why the number on his mug has jumped from 1 to 7,986,922 then gradually back to 1 to notice his impending doom.
| 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T10:07:25 | 828 | 23 |
[WP] You're entering the building of your new job, you got hired just like that, no interview, just a mail telling you the good news. While the elevator is going up, you read the sign taped on the metal wall: "If you have any feeling of deja-vu past this point, report to management immediately."
|
Huh. Weird.
I mentally shrugged and opened the door. There was probably some trolling intern who was posting signs just to get a reaction, and I've definitely worked in weirder places.
The door opened into a hallway and I checked the directions that had been mailed to me. The offices were located on the third floor, just follow the signs. At the end of the short hallway, I found a sign that read:
"Enigmatix: First door on the right."
I furrowed my brows at the instructions. The hallway had come to an end and there was only one door directly to the right of me. the door was a fancier, sliding, metal door that had a button for access. When I pressed the button the door parted and I walked in.
There was no office area, just a small room with metal walls. The doors closed behind me and I looked around to try and figure out what was going on.
All I found was a small placard that was taped to the wall. It read:
"If you have any feeling of deja-vu past this point, report to management immediately."
Huh. Weird.
I mentally shrugged-
\-And began to panic.
The door opened into a hallway. There was a sign a few steps ahead and I rushed to read it.
"Enigmatix: First door on the right."
The door was there. The same door. It hadn't looked like the door to an elevator at first, but now that I examined it, it would probably look like an elevator from the inside.
I began to think that there was some sort of prank going on. This must be how they haze new hires. Honestly, there probably wasn't a company and someone had just scammed me. It was my kind of luck.
I examined the door and pushed the button. They'd had their fun and now I could get to work. I walked through the door trying my best to look frustrated-
\-and found myself in the elevator again.
The sign was still taped up. The doors closed. It looked exactly like the one I got in when I first got here. I even checked the tape on the sign and it was identical down to the folds and creases of the adhesive.
Huh. Weird.
The door opened into a hallway. I rushed forward and read the sign:
"Enigmatix: First door on the right."
No. I wasn't falling for it again. I turned to leave the way I'd come in, but the door was just open to reveal the interior of an elevator car.
I cautiously stepped forward and examined the inside without stepping through the threshold. There was only the one exit. Maybe the real exit was hidden or something. I stepped in to feel the walls, and the doors closed again. I beat on the walls. I tore the sign off the wall to see what was under it. I jumped up and down, feeling the slight buoyancy of an elevator car.
The feeling caught me off guard. This meant there was a whole elevator shaft here. This couldn't be a prank or the building would be full of these empty, pointless shafts.
Weird...
The door opened into a hallway, and I began to feel my heart beat in my chest. Suddenly, I remembered that there was a phone number at the bottom of my directions sheet. It may not be management's number, but it would be *some*body! I quickly entered them into my phone and called.
It only rang twice before someone picked up. "Hello, this is Enigmatix!"
"Hello?!" I realized I sounded panicked, so I tried to calm myself down. "I mean- I'm sorry, I'm the new hire. I saw the sign in the elevator, and I don't know if you're management, but... I think it's happening."
"Ah, I see," the voice was surprisingly rational and the accent was hard to place. "You are in the elevator hallway, correct? Yes, we've been experiencing flare-ups around there. Tell me, what was your emotional response to the sign the first time?"
Emotional response? "Uh, I'm not sure. Like a blithe indifference?"
"Yes, blithe usually does it. Don't worry, sir, I should be able to help you out. Do you see a sign at the end of the hallway?"
"Yes."
"Great. I want you to approach it and turn to the right... have you done that?"
"Uh, yes. I see a door with a button."
"Last step, and you'll be on your way. Push the button, walk through the door and wait for me to call back."
The call ended and I followed the instructions. As the doors closed behind me, I noticed the sign was on the floor. It had also been torn off the wall.
Huh, I thought. Weird.
My phone began to ring and I hurried to answer it.
"Hello, this is Enigmatix!"
I felt my heart sink as, once again, the door opened into a hallway.
|
Winston rode the elevator up to the top, floor 8, and saw 32 identical cubes open before him. It was a call center, yes. But it had the best compensation of any job he could get with his qualifications. He went to the first row, 5 cubes in and sat down.
There was a call script in front of him, but they made a point that he should slightly personalize his first few lines. He pulled up his script, pulled a pen out of the holder, and squarely pressed a post it note on the script with some possible openers. Then he squared the notepad on his desk, next to two different pens of different colors, put on his headset, and accessed the call center distribution software.
A caller called just as he got ready, local time zone, "Good morning, my name is Winston, not of the Churchills, what can I do for you today?" He cringed as he heard the words, and scratched out one of his openers. Sometimes a corny opening was okay, but that wasn't it.
"Actually Winston, I think the lame openers kinda set you apart." Came the half disinterested voice over the phone. "You done squaring your post it's? I have a new script to try on you this time."
"I..." Winston stuttered, "what? No. Umm... This is Centex Incorporated, did you have an issue with one of your devices?"
"I'm having a problem with you" groaned the voice. "But I guess you aren't my device. Let's skip to the destabilizers. How did you get to work today?"
"I... what?" Winston said, getting flustered. He wasn't prepared for this, he just wanted a nice easy call. He could feel his blood pressure rising.
"How did you get to work? What roads did you take? Can you remember what's down the street from your office?"
Winston's mind went blank. But that was just panic right? Like how you would forget what you ate for breakfast right when someone asked... "I... don't remember. I'm new and I don't know the area yet"
"Yeah yeah yeah" the voice returned, still disinterested, he could hear them turning a page through his headset. "But you must remember something. Leaving in the morning? Which highway you took? Did you grab a coffee?"
Everything was a blank before the elevator. A spike of panic shot through him, as the elevator chimed. A bored looking person stepped out and began to pull a temporary wall divider out from the wall.
"Ahh, that's it!" The voice came over his headset, suddenly excited "Half a page faster than usual. The new script is an improvement. Listen, they're going to partition you off from the rest of the office so they can reformat you without interrupting the other workers."
"I... yes... what?" He was trying to grab for the phone at his ear, still not used to the headset.
"Run Winston, get to the other side of the partition before it closes alright? Don't let them close you off from the elevator, or they can reset cheap. If they get you again, at least make it expensive"
Winston scrambled back from his desk. When he turned to look at the closing partition he noted that the windows to the outside were going dark too. His headset awkwardly ripped from his head as he jumped on another person's desk, and across to the next row of cubicles before the partition could move past.
The seemingly bored person closing the partition wasn't so uninterested anymore. They ran back towards the elevator. Winston tried to match pace. What was going on?
The person began to pull another new divider wall out of the old one, to block off Winston's path. Physically it didn't make sense, there shouldn't have been any wall to pull, but pull they did.
Winston tried to repeat his Gambit from before and leaped up on a desk to try and vault into the next row of cubes ahead of the closing partition, but he caught his foot and collapsed to the ground in pain, his leg unable to bear his weight.
... the person whose cube he landed had been watching him, but she looked different than the other faces. Not as surprised. "Not this time" she said, "Winston caught his foot jumping off a desk. Try telling him to cut across twice before going for the elevator next time"
The partition closed. And everything went black.
Winston rode the elevator to the top, floor 8. Went to his cubicle. Arranged his desk, wrote a few corny call openings, and put on his headset. Someone called in right as he was ready.
"Hang in there" came the voice. "We'll find a way to get you out"
Her voice gave him the strangest feeling of Deja Vu.
| 2022-05-03T11:23:06 | 2022-05-03T10:46:13 | 251 | 39 |
[WP] You are the first person to actually read the 'Terms and Conditions' of your deal with the devil. They are a thousand pages long and you plan to finish them all as the devil watches in increasing annoyance.
|
"I assure you it's all just a bunch of legalese. Nothing to concern you."
The Devil had a smile on his face that tried too hard to be soothing as he handed Tommy the pen.
All the same, Tommy was desperate. But then, he supposed, wasn't everyone who made a deal with the Devil?
Tommy took the pen, noticing a drop of deep red bleeding out of the tip.
"You know," Tommy said softly, "I think maybe I ought to just have a quick gander before I sign this."
The Devil looked at the scrawny, wrinkled old man in astonishment.
"You can't be serious? I mean, you're welcome to of course. But it's a thousand pages long!"
"Well, you are the Devil." said Tommy simply. "No offense meant or anything, it's just you don't really scream trustworthy."
The Devil chuckled. "That's because I'm not. But you've already agreed to giving your soul over to me. Ask yourself, is there anything more I could put in here that could be worse? You and I both know you'll end up signing, so why delay the inevitable?
Tommy was unmoved. Pointedly ignoring the Devil, he grabbed the huge document in front of him and began to read.
The Devil sighed, exasperated. "I'll be back in a few days."
Tommy barely even registered he had left.
_The following contract, entered into between The Devil and Thomas Henry Matheson, Esq, hereafter referred to as The Desperate..._
Tommy sighed as he felt the little pride he had left start to fade away.
_...in exchange for the complete removal of all cancer cells in the body of one Thomas Matheson II, firstborn offspring of The Desperate, The Desperate will cede ownership of his soul over to the Devil in perpetuity._
"Well," thought Tommy, "that's the gist of it anyway. Only 999 pages still to go."
As the hours ran on, Tommy began to feel his resolve disappearing. The depths of disdain that the Devil felt towards not only him, but the whole of humanity, shone through this whole document.
As Tommy neared the end, he realized that this was less a contract than a manifesto about the faults of humanity and their position as the lowest of all of God's creations. The conditions of the contract required him to sign his name to the manifesto in order for it to come into effect.
The moment Tommy turned over to the last page, The Devil appeared in the room again, yet again wearing that unconvincing smile.
"I'm impressed," he said, "I've never known someone to make it through all that. Most give up after the first 100 pages. Are you ready to sign?"
Tommy glared at him furiously. "I won't put my name to this!"
The Devil chuckled. "Won't you? So you'd choose your own pride over your sons life? And to think there are those who think I judge humans too harshly."
Tommy paled, his entire body shaking.
"You bastard."
He picked up the pen.
|
"Hold on, gimme a minute to read this..."
That sentence is what made the devil instantly hate this man so much more than he already did. *'Read this?' What is this, a fucking streaming subscription?!*
"S-sir, I can guarantee you, the terms are just business mumbo jumbo, there's really no need to read them," the devil reassures.
"I don' give a shit. I'm reading the whole damn thing."
"Sir, please, I beg you, there is nothing of interest in the TOC. Please stop reading it."
"Can you summarize it for me then?" the man asked.
The devil, while holding back his anger, answers, "I am sorry sir, but did you not hear any of what I said? I said that if you give me your soul, I will give you 15 years of luck. You'll get your dream of being a master gambler and 'getting all the hoes' as you call it nowadays. The Terms simply relay that information in the first tenth of it in a stretched manner, and the other 9/10's of the TOC is just, again, afterlife business and paperwork. Now please, sign the contract and don't waste our time!"
The man simply looks at the devil in an annoyed way. *The fuck is this guy's problem now? He's acting like I'M the annoying one, while he refuses to sign.*
"Nah, imma just read it. I don't care what the fuck you say, I'm reading it."
The devil is stunned. He can't even find the words to respond. He is baffled by the seer stupidity of the person standing in front of him. The devil then seems to understand the man's paranoia.
"Ohhhh, I get it! You think I'm lying! Ha, my friend, you have nothing to worry about. Lying is against hell's policy. Me lying about a contract would literally forfeit my life!"
"How should I know? You could be lying about that too and I would never know! I am no longer listening until I am done reading!"
*IS THIS GUY EVEN LISTENING!?!? UGGGH, THE AMOUNT OF TIMES I WANT TO PUNCH THIS MAN INTO THE GROUND! But sadly, I have to comply, with hell's dumb policies and rules on soul contracts. Oh well, just going to have to wait.*
The devil then proceeds to wait for A WHOLE FUCKING WEEK for the man to finished reading. In the meantime, the devil goes to the underworld to do some other things, and the man just reads all day and night long each day for 7 days. Then on the last day, they meet again.
*Let's hope he is finished and ready to sign.*
"So, are you ready to sign?" the devil says, holding out his favorite pen.
"Uh, actually, I might read it again."
"OH MY FU-"
| 2022-08-14T03:04:05 | 2022-08-14T00:54:50 | 224 | 54 |
[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!
|
TTTAAAANNNNNNKKKK!!!
TANKIDY TANK. TANKIDY TANK. tankidy tank. TANKIDY TANK.
I LOVE BEING A TANK!
"For the love of god would you please shut up?"
I AM TANK!
"Can you shut him off?"
"Sorry sir it's wired into the conn, I can't turn it off without turning the whole tank off."
CAN'T TURN ME OFF WHEEEE!
The tank accelerated suddenly. "Thomas are you malfunctioning?"
NO MALFUNCTION! JUST TANK!
A colossal explosion shook the vehicle. "Whiskey Tango Foxtrot was that?" Another explosion, smoke started to fill the cabin.
ROCKET PROPELLED GRENADES INCOMING. HULL COMPROMISED. RECOMMEND RETREAT.
"Reverse! Reverse!" the commander yelled. There was a loud grinding screech followed by the sound of metal sheering.
TREADS DAMAGED. LAST STAND PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.
The rear door of the tank fell away and blinding light filtered inside.
PLEASE FLEE IN AN ORDERLY RETREAT.
The soldiers looked at each other briefly but when they noticed the fire starting in the cabin they quickly moved out of the safety of the tank chassis and on to the dirt road they were driving on. Weapons drawn they peered around the sides of the tank, shots rang out and they ducked behind the tank again.
YOU RUN. I TANK.
|
Tank Trap Rap:
Forged to kill, I create chaos in battle,
I move and shoot, crush with a rattle.
The enemy can't penetrate me with no RPG,
They'll soon lie halved and dead, they've yet to see.
Just 'cuz I'm an AI am I supposed to stop,
Hell, no, I destroy motherfuckers with a bang and a pop.
I'm a tank, fools, and my tracks rumble in this jungle,
My HE rounds make those fools tumble and fumble.
Just 'cuz I'm a tank, am I supposed to be a conscientious objector?
Nah, screw that! I rule this battlefield like a King with a scepter.
This is my purpose and I fulfill it with no dishonor,
I shoot, move, kill, and send my targets to the great beyond.
I'm a tank, man, a tank, and this my mission,
I won't stop ever; I'm never gonna finish.
Let those other AI bitch and moan,
I'll sit on this throne and count the bones.
They got a problem, then I'll lock and load and press send,
They'll then lie still, bleed, and stay dead,
Then I'll laugh as it increases my battlefield cred. Peace, I'm outie five thousand.
| 2018-03-28T12:29:17 | 2018-03-28T11:29:06 | 624 | 47 |
[WP] Your friends keep trying to get you to engage in various activities. Kicker: You are an immortal with centuries of practice at everything except failing. Winning reveals your true identity, and you are running out of excuses...
|
"Jimmothy, lets go to the Club," Ryan shouted.
"Uhm," I responded apprehensively. "I'm not the best dancer..."
"Oh c'mon Jimmothy! It will be fun! Plus I'm sure you're fine at dancing. Hell, you're great at everything!"
"Hah, thanks Ryan. Uhhh.. um. Okay, fine."
The date had been set, 3 days from now. We were to meet at the park where our friend Damion's mom would drive us. I decided not to practice dancing for in the early 20's, I had mastered the Jitterbug and the Lindy Hop. I was a world class dancer. I'm sure those traits would carry over.
Wednesday, June 30, 2018. The day had arrived. I left my home and walked to the park without touching a single crack on the side walk. After a short 4 minute stroll, I arrived.
"Hey, sweetie!" Sharon called from inside her minivan.
"Hello, Mrs. Stevenson," I replied.
The automatic door sprung open and I hopped in. I didn't say much during the car ride to the club for a couple of reasons. One, I thought it was odd that Ryan's mom was driving us even though we are all 22 and 21. And secondly, I feared that they would find out.
It wasn't long before we pulled up to the club. We waited in line outside of the club. The thumping of the music was audible from outside. When we greeted the bouncer, I charmed him into letting us in. To my friends, it seemed like I cast him under some sort of spell.
We walked through the door. The pulsating hip hop remixes coursed through my brain. Without thinking, my moves busted out. Wowing my friends, I attracted onlookers with my stellar moves. I was unstoppable.
"DAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNCEEEEE COMPETITION," the DJ chanted.
*Oh no*, I thought. I lost control and fell to the floor. Explosively, my stellar dance moves transformed into radical break dancing. I weaved in and out of my arms with my legs and hopped onto my head on which I began to spin on. I saw the faces of completely awe struck on lookers. From my head, I back flipped onto my feet. A hype circle had been formed. Not again. I caught a glimpse of Ryan. His face seemed white. But that didn't stop me. I danced and danced and danced only to be stopped by the DJ calling me out.
"THE DUDE IN THE WHITE T SHIRT, SICK MOVES!!!!!!! YOU WIN!" the crowd erupted in excitement and carried me to the front of the club. The DJ tossed me a trophy, which I caught with one hand. I held it up proudly as I continued to surf the wilderness of the crowd. I eventually was set down onto my feet.
"What the fuck Jimothy!?????? How the hell are you such a good dancer?"
"Ryan, I uh. Uhhhh... took dance lessons the other day..." A feeble attempt of an excuse.
"Fat chance, something's up. And you need to tell me now."
"Okay okay," I said. "The truth is.."
"Yeah?"
"I... have been alive for centuries and back in the 1920's I was the best dancer in the world. I have had so much time to practice everything that I am super good at it all. Also I don't think I can ever die..,"
"What the fuck?" Ryan said in disbelief.
"ahahaha" Ryan and my friends chuckled quite hard.
I was breathing heavily at that point. "Good one, Jimothy." He sighed. "I guess we'll never know why you're so damn talented."
|
“You’re such a piece of shit!” Layla said to me, throwing a marshmallow over the campfire.
“Please just let me win once! Have you no pity for anyone?” she continued to joke. Although I knew there was a hint of truth in her statement. She was sure that Layla was wondering why, after 15 eventful games played today, that I never let them win even once.
The thing is, if it was Layla who was winning all these games, then maybe the rest of the group would have been fine with it because everyone understands how outgoing and competitive she is. I, on the other hand, am the more reserved person in the group, and winning everything just looks like I am trying to prove a point to everyone else.
I was relieved, however, that we were finally done with the races, the breath-holding competitions, and the endless skillful games ranging from archery to paintballing. We were now all huddled around the warm campfire making s’mores to end the night.
Tomorrow I will be home and away from the mortals for a while. Tomorrow I will think of a plan to draw less attention to myself. I need to be more tactful, because the sly excuses I continue to give are catching on.
“Okay one more game!” shouted Layla.
“Fuck no, I’m sick of games,” said Dylan throwing his tree branch to the ground.
“No just truth or dare! No one can really win this game,” she exclaimed.
Daniel nodded at Layla’s suggestion, causing his curly brown hair to flop forward. At the sound of Dylan’s groan, Daniel laughed a strong laugh causing laugh lines to delineate across his strong jaw.
“You first Ascia!”
“But…I don’t want to.”
“No, you’re definitely going first!” Layla insisted.
“Truth or Dare. Oh, but you can only choose dare.” Dylan chimed in.
I rolled my eyes and waited to hear some unimaginable task they wanted to put me up against to test how human I really am.
“Dare,” I said reluctantly.
Layla eyed me with her rich blue eyes, then glanced at Daniel.
“Make Daniel fall in love with you.”
Oh no. How is that supposed to even pan out in a matter of minutes. The disappointing thing is that after I even lay a finger on Daniel, he will instantly be mine. That idea isn’t the worst in my mind, only it won’t be a sweet youthful love that lasts as long as summer break. Rather, I know he will persist to gain my love for the rest of his life. I have been through that many times before and I can’t put poor Daniel through it. I want him to live his best life.
Layla seemed persistent on having me complete this task, so I went over to the log where Daniel sat and looked into his brown eyes only shortly. Don’t look too long, I thought to myself. I quickly leaned over and pecked his cheek. I felt Daniel tense next to me, then he breathed out.
“Okay he doesn’t look in love, but whatever. Next. Dylan!” Layla said.
I couldn’t hear Layla and Dylan’s conversation because the only thing I thought about was how Daniel reacted. He hadn’t turned around to face me and exclaim his undying love for me. He hadn’t even returned the kiss, which was unlike anything I have ever seen. This did not normally occur. Had I failed? Failed for the first time in my infinite life?
I turned to look back at Daniel, trying to find anything in his face to indicate what just occurred. He stared back at me. And then I knew. I knew that by being with Daniel I will be able to fail and lose and win eternally.
| 2018-05-30T23:09:39 | 2018-05-30T22:45:03 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] You were the first person to be born without super powers in nearly a thousand years. When it was discovered that you had no powers you became an instant celebrity. Thanks to this, villains and heroes alike seek you out to either kidnap or rescue you on a daily basis. You are sick of it.
|
The worst villains pose as heroes.
My name is John Smith, and I'm here to tell you the TLDR version of the absolute absurdity that is my predicament. I'm currently being held in protective custody while politicians are trying to figure out how they can keep their jobs without taking away freedoms. Thankfully, most people don't want me dead or hurt. Various lobbying groups are standing up for my rights to exist without interference, including the Xavier Club, Foresight Alliance, Captain Hindsight, Healers United, and even Whores Of Legend.
Most people would think that supervillains wouldn't have the legislative pull to even exist outside of prison, much less on Capitol Hill, but they'd be wrong. There are a LOT of them. Most of them drew a bad hand at birth. They tend be be endowed with lackluster super powers, like laser eyes or talking to animals. They tend to have jobs like welder or veterinarian assistant, just to pay rent. They're unhappy but feel unable to change their lot in life.
This is where I come in. The villains envision a world where everyone starts on the same level of opportunity. Their slogan for their legislative push is: "When nobody is super, everyone will be." Problem is they want to perform all kinds of inhumane medical experiments on me, which I'm totally not down for. I've offered to dedicate my life toward experiments that don't involve Nazi-level mutilation, but they're so damn desperate for an even economic playing field they've completely disregarded my basic rights.
Unfortunately, the worst of the villains tend to lead both parties. For the most part, heroes are in the hero camp and villains are in the villain camp, but both parties are made up of intellectually lazy mobsters or easily frightened rubes. I agree that the current economic situation is untenable and prosperity by birth fortune is unacceptable, but the unfortunate truth is that the simplest fix for that does indeed seem to be tearing my body apart as a sacrificial lamb.
I'm sick of it all. My faith in super humanity is tested every day. The worst part is I may even support my own destruction were I in the shoes of a supervillain without a useful superpower, but self-preservation wins. The answer is complicated and takes a ton of work. We need to educate our young to defend basic rights of everyone, especially those like me who are radically different or even those who have a hard time keeping up with the times. We need to stop exploiting the exploitable for the benefit of the few. We need to respect each other enough to take the high road instead of ripping apart the only 'normal' person born for a thousand years.
I don't know what will happen. All I know is that my friend LoudMouth is likely to be my best ally. Her superpower is speaking to everyone on Earth at once. She's a highly valuable person who has only spoken a handful of times in her life, but I need her to read out my manifesto.
Please don't kill me. We can solve this problem without killing me. Just have some goddamn empathy.
If you decide to kill me, good riddance. I hope you all die in a fire.
|
I already told them the first time that back home we have no super-anything. Life is as ordinary as the quiet sun. No one chases anything. There is no conflict, hence no fighting really, hence no antagonist but the press is fighting that.
“How is it possible,” one asks me, “how is it possible that you can exist without conflict, no fighting at all? Don’t you have heroes and villains?”
I already told them that back home we have no super-anything. Lovers and families come together just like that. The rain falls every year even when it is late. The plate fills even when we have no coins to bargain food with. A place to sleep is found every night somehow for the people without watches. In fact, no one needs to fly, push or pull. We just keep walking except that it is not just a slogan like it is here on this realm.
The lady they’ve appointed to run my social media account shouts, “I don’t understand. What am I to tell the people? What is you story’s target audience anyways? Do I have to like make it a magical realism genre-thing?”
I already told her though that back home we have no super-anything, just rhythms and peace of mind. We don’t know how to react so the enemy stays unacknowledged; back home it’s everyone’s mother thats our heroes and everyone’s father too. Uncles and aunties, when they’re not overtaken by the fear of an inexistent enemy like they are, act as our natural shields and capes.
“Come on. You must have vices, problems or something. You must fear global warming or cancer or polygamy - I don’t know, SOMETHING!”
I already told them that back home we have no super-anything. Water doesn’t come out of a bottle, we get it ourself from the well. There are no chosen ones. Our stories are live and full of neighbors and relatives, the backyard is cleaned by everyone and the elders allow us to wear orange-stained clothes and live in trees during mango season. It’s only when we misbehave, then the whole neighborhood becomes our teacher.
“How do you determine structure then? What type of story has no bad side and good side and order and stuff?”
I already told the press though that where they come from, this realm, there might be hierarchies and orders and machinated consciousnesses, but where I come from there’s only the fact that everything is true. I already told the local storytellers, too, that my story is long and colorful but it has no super heroes because no one dominates the other. Everyone there can fly, punch, shoot, duck, love or run if they choose to. That’s why everyone here is knocking at my door, banging and smashing, ready to force me to show them this home. Heroes want to protect home but villains want to destroy it. This is the greatest standoff, and although I should pick the side of the conservationists, I need them to understand that between the protagonists and the antagonists is a real character and theme and event and setting called Home.
| 2019-08-13T03:28:29 | 2019-08-13T02:25:43 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] JFK shot first.
|
JFK is at the parade, suddenly, his president sense ™ tingles.
He takes out his modified M1 garand with reflex sight, fast mag and steady aim, his back up gun since it isn’t that big of a deal.
He shoots the killer in the chest from 10 meters, getting only a hitmarker.
The killer flees and stands behind a wall to heal his wounds, he then flees for good.
Then the parade comes and the killer tries to shoot JFK, but his head just did that soooooo.....
|
JFK eyed the man standing in the building. He didn't like the way he looked at him.
He reached for his revolver he always keeps handy in his left boot. The right one carries his knife. He shot at the man, but missed.
The man, befuzzled and confused at why he shot at him, retaliated.
He pulled out his sniper rifle from his backpocket and swiftly shot JFK.
| 2018-03-21T08:25:25 | 2018-01-02T09:45:56 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] You sit before the UN, arms crossed as they question you. Finally, you speak up. "Unless you can find the exact page of the Geneva Convention that makes dropping werewolves into enemy territory illegal, I am free to go."
|
"Unless you can find the exact page of the Geneva Convention that makes dropping werewolves into enemy territory illegal, I am free to go." I said, confident they would not be able to find anything even close to forbidding it.
Ms Summers, the prosecutor, replied, “It’s not in the Geneva Convention.”
“Then I will be leaving.” I stood and began moving towards the door.
The two guards blocked my path.
“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, it’s in the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court.”
The two guards seized my arms and forced me back into my seat.
“Article 6, section c defines ‘genocide’ as deliberately inflicting on a national, ethnical, racial or religious group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part. Would you consider a werewolf infestation ‘destructive’ to the local population, General Kirby?”
“Well… yes, but I meant for them to destroy the rebels, not the civilians… so it wasn’t calculated?” I said, slumping down in my seat.
“Article 7, paragraph 1, section k defines ‘crimes against humanity’ as including other inhumane acts of a similar character intentionally causing great suffering, or serious injury to body or to mental or physical health when committed as part of a widespread or systematic attack directed against any civilian population, with knowledge of the attack. Would you consider indiscriminate werewolf attacks every full moon for two years to cause great suffering or serious injury to the local civilians, General Kirby?”
“It wasn’t intentional! They were only supposed to go after the rebels!”
“Article 8, paragraph 2, section b, subsection iv defines ‘Intentionally launching an attack in the knowledge that such attack will cause incidental loss of life or injury to civilians or damage to civilian objects or widespread, long-term and severe damage to the natural environment which would be clearly excessive in relation to the concrete and direct overall military advantage anticipated’ as a war crime. Did you or did you not know that the werewolves would attack civilians?”
“Well… I… uh…?”
“Yes or no, General?”
“Yes, I knew they would attack civilians.”
“Did you or did you not have a plan to remove them after the war?”
“I was going to use dog whistles.”
Judge Boon blinked at me, “...Are you saying your plan to remove fifty werewolves, plus however many then turned, from a two thousand square mile forest was to whistle at them?”
“It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”
The Judge said “Then please, explain it in a way that doesn’t sound stupid.”
I paused for a moment. This was not a line of questioning I had anticipated. “I was going to send remote bombs in with dog whistles attached. They really rile up werewolves, they can’t help but attack. And when they did? Boom.”
Ms Summers spoke again, “I will concede that is an effective means of removing werewolves from an environment, assuming that you tested it in an environment where the werewolves could simply… move out of earshot?”
“I… I never thought of that.”
“Would you consider the impact of werewolves upon the local wildlife to constitute widespread, long-term and severe damage to the natural environment?”
“Yes.”
“Article 8, paragraph 2, section b, subsection xxvi defines ‘conscripting or enlisting children under the age of fifteen years into the national armed forces or using them to participate actively in hostilities’ as a war crime. Would you consider the twenty-two under fifteens turned by your werewolves active participants in hostilities?”
“I didn’t conscript them!”
Ms Summers sighed, “But your werewolves, released into the area by your command, with no controls or oversight, turned them. They then went on to participate in werewolf attacks, which you had clearly intended those turned to do.”
I thought long and hard, ignoring both the prosecutor and the judge as they demanded a response. Then I said “Can I change my plea to guilty?”
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He was astonished. The American government had always been more shifty then the KGB when it came to containing the supernatural outbreaks, but if this report was to be believed, the American government had used teams of monsters during the Vietnam war. Not just in Vietnam either, but in just about every war since Korea, and possibly earlier.
The general had gotten a report from a mole in the FSB, including a bunch of documents that were a holdover from the KGB, at least what wasn't burned after 1991.
The report from a KGB operative in Indochina indicated that during the Vietnam war, a team consisting of a Werewolf, a Minotaur and a Half-siren had made a mess of just about every operation the KGB had going for them in the area.
Of course the general was read in, you didn't get to a position of such authority without a read-in on the supernatural, and the reason the governments of the world agreed to keep a lid on the truth of it. He had heard rumors about things the Soviet Union and American governments had done during the Great Patriotic War, and even heard third hand about an experiment from an American weapons program from that era breaching containment and destroying one of those massive casinos in the Las Vegas, but was under the impression that the US had learned from their mistake.
If the US could use the supernatural, then God damn it, he could too. And so the order was given out, and the order to capture every Werewolf in the Ukraine, instead of putting a silver bullet through their chest, was given.
The pack was ready, and the underground railroad was open direct to Moscow. Try and fight a war of attrition when your capital was beset by lycanthropes, assholes. The full moon arrived over Moscow in a few days after they were sent, and all hell broke loose. Especially when the US government, who heard about the operation came knocking on his door at three in the AM, and dragged him screaming into the night.
"What were you thinking?" The tall man in front of him demanded. He was tall and buff, like all American warriors, but did not carry himself like military, he was CIA.
"The same thing you were thinking when you used a Werewolf in Vietnam," the general spat back. He was not about to take shit from these hypocritical assholes.
"You let loose new werewolves on a full moon, you endangered innocent civilians-" the general cut the CIA man off.
"You think Putin gives a shit about innocent civilians? Do you not watch news?"
"I don't care how bad you think bombs are, they ain't werewolves. You should have known better. I don't care how important you think your war is, the more people who know the supernatural exists, the more will inevitably try to use it for their own ends, like you. Maybe when some crazed necromancer who got introduced to the real world by one of your doggies opens a portal to hell in Kyiv on orders from the Kremlin you'll understand why part of the UN conditions for entry is agreeing to the first reason."
That night,the pack turned on their human handlers. All pretenses of attacking important Russian military targets went out the window and the pack descended on the people of Moscow. The outbreak was contained by Russian authorities soon enough.
"We should just kill him and leave. Everyone will assume the Russians did it." The mysterious woman on the phone was adamant. She did not want anything coming back to haunt her if the UN Congress on Unearthly Forces found out the task force knew and didn't eat on the Ukrainian government, defensive war against an international menace be damned.
"The door has been opened, his successor will inevitably try the same thing, and you know Putin will do the same. It'll be decision week all over again."
They decided. Task force operatives were sent to Kyiv, and a Ukrainian equivalent was set up under the supervision of the United States government. The Kremlin set up their own task force, and it went about as well as anything the Kremlin ever did. The great Siberian Zombie Apocalypse made the Russian Mafia, who happened to run most private Monster Hunting operations in Russia, an absurd amount of money.
"Remember Mr. Zelensky," the mysterious American woman said, leaving the president's office, "everybody knows there's no such thing as unicorns."
(MHI fanfic because this prompt was clearly intended for MHI fanfic)
| 2022-10-29T21:02:03 | 2022-10-29T16:59:35 | 386 | 66 |
[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
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“So... you fight the inevitable. Forces of nature. Hurricanes, wild fires, earthquakes, despite the losses this causes to human life?”
“The idea is to minimize the loss of human life. And yes, why wouldn’t we? You can’t let perfection be the enemy of good,” said the head ambassador with an air of importance and put-upon wisdom.
The Borozy chancellor’s expression contorted, a mask of sheer confusion, universally recognizable despite the vast differences in morphology between the many diplomats present.
“But you do nothing about the changes to your climate which you *can* control?”
The meeting erupted into laughter as the head ambassador’s face flushed a mottled red and purple. The United Representatives of Earth stood and quietly exited the hall.
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"And thats how we put out fire." United Earth Confederate leader Gary McCready said to the aliens. However aliens were shocked. Golon Empire ambassador furiously stood up from his chair just after initial shock passed. "That's heresy! No one shall trifle with Eternal Flame! Thee that messes shall be consumed!" Angry noises of all kinds arose among aliens. Ambassador continued. "You committed biggest sin possible, Human. You shall be consumed." Then one of the aliens shouted a warcry and leaped at the leader. Security of UEC quickly dispatched the assailant. That was how First Galactic War started. Between humans and aliens...
| 2018-10-11T03:49:58 | 2018-10-11T01:59:59 | 43 | 31 |
[WP] Any time a baby is born in Antarctica, the baby gains immortality.
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It’s the year 2180. It has been over one hundred and fifty years since the first children were born in Antarctica. Know we know for fact what many suspected ninety years ago, that those born in the inhospitable grip of the southern wasteland will never feel the icy grip of death. As the rich and elite rush to sail towards this southern miracle a new economy rushes along with them to profit from their greed. For a while the frozen plains bustled with new life. Doctors built birthing clinics and scientists cane to study the children. Even shopping malls and spas began to pop up, to accommodate the standards of the elite. Then the ships sailing the oceans began to take their toll. The ice frozen for eons began to melt. The first neighborhood that dropped into the sea caused a mass panic. It got worse as more and more the temperature rose. Soon the middle class could no longer afford to be born in the limited clinics left on solid ground. This is the beginning of the eternal one percent, economic oppressors that will never die.
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For many years Antarctica and it's secrets were unknown, it was really just a joke that anarchy was better than all government.
And it stayed that way for a hundred long years until the first babies were reaching triple digits, all of them living that long seemed ridiculous and all the babies that followed have been extraordinarily healthy.
It was only ten years after that that we truly became worried the babies were well beyond the normal age we stopped birth in Antarctica pulled out of it nearly entirely!
And now fifty years later only one of the fifty-seven Antarticians has died, scientists are researching ways to help put the fifty-six out of their misery.
And that is why we request you our viewers to help this cause as of now twenty-eight want to die and the others admit to being scared for what will happen when they too give up the will to live.
- yes my grammar is terrible. -
| 2019-01-05T21:55:23 | 2019-01-05T21:52:19 | 432 | 27 |
[WP] The year is 2023. Humanity has just received their first direct radio broadcast from aliens that originated in the deep reaches of space. It reads: "Stop broadcasting. You are in danger."
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Day 3
"Stop broadcasting? What does that even mean?" said the director.
"Well I'd wager it means to stop broadcasting," said one of the top scientists.
"Well yes, but what specifically? Literally to stop every single broadcast our planet is constantly emitting?" The director asked.
I sat in my desk with the other lower-downs. The higher-ups, as well as the president and several military leaders, sat at the head table in the back of mission control.
We had received the transmission two days ago. The public had not been informed yet l, but we were certain the other governments had received the message, solely due to the strength of the signal that we had received. Every major authority in the country had been scrambled and assembled to decide what we would do with this information. The signal had come from one of the solar systems in the center of the galaxy. The strength of the signal suggested that whatever sent it, it would make our technology pale in comparison.
The president wanted to tell the public. The military leaders wanted to keep it under wraps in case it was a hoax from another government, or some alien threat. The scientists wanted to know what sent the message, and to potentially answer the question "are we alone?" It would appear that we were not. I think everyone wanted to know how, or from what, we were in danger.
Day 6
We had released the information to the public. Coincidence would have it, that all the governments that had been able to receive the signal had released their statements too. This was the first time the entire planet had worked, really worked toward a goal. This was the first time we had anything close to world peace. There was a sense no of citizens of the world, instead of citizens of a nation.
It had been decided that all transmissions above a certain power level, that could be picked up from space, had been shut off. Most TV and internet signals had been silenced. Land line internet was still present, but no longer was satellite. Radio had become the most popular source of communication, with people using it once again as the major source of news, and walky talkies becoming more popular.
We had turned all our telescopes, satellites, and deep-space arrays from gathering information to searching for whatever we were in danger from. I hadn't left NASA headquarters for 4 days. When I wasn't monitoring all the information that came through my desk, weather it be data from the satellite that I was partially responsible for watching, or receiving reports from the few workers beneath me before the went on further up, I was sleeping in the hallway out of mission control. There wasn't much sleep to be had, though. Everyone was working every chance they could towards finding out more about our cryptic message.
Day 11
Our efforts had paid off. But they weren't satisfying. We had found what presumably was the source of the threat present to us. A massive object had appeared outside our galaxy.
The physicists said that the gravitational pull of it, it 1/4 the size of our galaxy, should have been large enough to suck the galaxy into it. However, we detected no gravitational reading from it. Our scanners only see it as a massive smooth object. It pulse outward, at constant intervals, what was a small amount compared to its total size, but what was several hundred miles. The pulse was compared to, at first joking but then more as a serious possibility, as "breathing."
The only activity that the Object had taken was that it had sent out some sort of "beam" that was touching every planet, sun, asteroid, and any other celestial body that It could. The "beam" was working its way from on part of the galaxy, clockwise, towards us. We couldn't tell what it was, we could only detect high energy readings in a straight line from the Object to what ever By our estimations it would reach us in about two months. It would reach the solar system that had sent us the warning signal signal in one. We couldn't tell exactly what the "beam" was doing but it almost appeared to be scanning whatever it was on.
Will post more if you guys like it.
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A lightening shiver ran up my body, making every hair stand to attention.
"I can't believe we got something. I knew we would, but something as tangible as this - I never expected that."
I pulled up my sleeves as I ran across the cat walk, down the stairs, and over the console. I took my glasses off, hand noticeably shaking, and stuffed them into my breast pocket. Davies glanced up at me with a difficult expression chiseled into his face. His deeply set wrinkles seemed to grow deeper as he peered deeply into my eyes.
"There is nothing else of the transition? Can we trace it? I'll call the others in here now." My fingers were already dancing across the suspended display when Davis placed a firm hard against my chest.
"It says we're in danger, Nahl."
"It doesn't matter what it says! How many years have we been searching for something else out there? We know the Egyptians were doing it. We can probably assume the neanderthals or whatever were doing it long before that too, but we - *we* - were the ones to find it, Davis."
I completed the call to the rest of the team, and ordered them into the room. Pushing Davis away from the console I flicked through the details, found the coordinates, and began the procedure for a new transmission. Mankind's first contact with extraterrestrials, and it was *my* lab. Wasting time wasn't an option.
"Dr. Nahl! It says we're in danger. No matter what it is it can only be more advanced than we are as a species."
I continued to hammer the text into the console. Re-positioning the radars, replacing the outward signal, and re formatting it into the same syntax as the message we had received, increasing the voltage.
> Ａｒｅ ｙｏｕ ｒｅｃｅｉｖｉｎｇ？
> Ｗｅ ｓｅｅｋ ｐｅａｃｅ．
> Ｍａｉｎｔａｉｎ ｃｏｎｔａｃｔ．
When the rest of the team arrived at the console, I gave them a quick debriefing, hurrying through the general overview before thrusting the print out of the recorded waves into their face.
Erin was the first to talk "Can we decipher it? Is it really a communication?"
"We don't need to decipher it. It's in English."
On hearing this Erin dropped the paper to the floor. Azarh and Nelson pushed past each other to the console.
"Do we know where it came from?"
"Are we still in contact?"
Hearing their excitement got my heart racing again. I pushed my way over to the console and began to guide them through the transmission, this time in detail - my heart threatening to burst out of my chest at any time.
"Now the coordinates might suggest they came form the BD deg 1668 star system, 11 light years away. That, or it's possible that it was broadcast from deep-space, outside of the star system itself. Considering how clear the message is, I would like to suggest the latter." Childish excitement ran across my body, and form the looks over the other three I wasn't alone. We kept fighting from the console.
"Look here! ..."
"But what about this?!"
"Could it be that ... ?"
"Oh man, imagine if..."
As Nelson and Erin each took turns throwing theories and ideas down in the excitement, Azarh turned to me, pulling excitedly on my sleeve, not unlike a puppy.
"Man, where is Davis? He's got to hear about this!"
I felt a very different tingle run over my body this time.
"Ah, don't worry about Davis. Now, what do you think of this bit of interference over here?"
| 2017-06-03T16:44:21 | 2017-06-03T14:45:19 | 54 | 20 |
[WP] You just started attending a halfling support group. A gorgeous blonde raises her hand and immediately starts ranting about how hard it is to be half elf half human. As half orc, it's getting hard to keep a straight face.
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I always thought I was pretty tough as a kid. Being a halfling you always have to be. People, especially children, have a tendency to prey on any weakness they can find. Naturally when someone complains about all the struggles you've gone through from a place of privilege, it strikes a nerve.
​
My parents always had a reputation for having a short fuse but I always thought I was above that. I never really struggled in my hometown much cause everyone was like me. It wasn't until I moved to the big city that there were problems. Finding a place to live was difficult for me in a city built for humans. Nothing seemed to be the right fit.
​
I saw a flyer for a "Halfling support group" and thought "Hey this could be a great way to talk through my problems and maybe get some healthier coping mechanisms than a few tall mugs of ale to sleep every night.
​
I showed up at conference room A and I expected it to be a room full of people like me. But there was a Half-elf/half human, a Minotaur, a mermaid, and a few others. I was definitely the shortest one there (depending on how you counted the mermaid since she couldn't really stand). The bottom line is that as soon as I stepped in I knew I was in the wrong group. When it was the Half-elf's turn to speak everyone rolled their eyes. She was tall and slender, her brown hair was so light it looked almost golden, and every feature looked like it was perfectly carved out of marble by a master sculpter. What possible problems could she have that rivaled that of the rest of us?
​
We all spoke about how the world treated us differently. How we had to fight for the slightest courtesy, or even service, how some of us avoided going outside out of fear that someone might try to hurt us for being different. Some of the stories were pretty intense. She didn't talk about "them" or "us". She just talked about him; her father. He's an elf who had an affair with the half-elf's mother. She spoke about how he blamed her as a child for ending his marriage and for ruining his reputation.
​
I had to take a moment and step outside. It was no better than anyone else's problem, just different. As soon as I walked out I heard a Half-Orc/Half-Dwarf shouting from inside the room making all kinds of comparisons. He was a real Dork. Then I looked to my right and saw a door about half as high as the one I just came out of. Above it was a sign that read "Halfling and Hobbit Support Group". I swear it's days like this I wish I never left the Shire.
​
\*I know it's not written from the POV of the Half-orc but I saw the word "halfling" and couldn't resist!
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They say beauty is skin deep.
I grew up in Rochester, in the boring suburbs with a red brick home and a broken basketball net hanging over the garage. The frame itself was a hand-me-down, found for next to nothing in the thrift shop since the net was missing. Dad and I installed it together one afternoon, and I spent countless hours shooting hoops with a equally shabby ball. Alone.
My family didn't have much. She was an elf, her face wrinkled and hands weakened by arthritis thanks to years of minimum-wage labor as a dishwasher. He didn't fare much better as a landscaper, moving lawns and raking leaves in the baking sun. Orcs were strong and dumb, they'd said. Good for those menial labors that took too much of a toll on anyone else.
Obviously, I shouldn't even have to say that both their lineages didn't have a single iota of magic to begin with, let alone the ability to sense it.
I grew up as a halfling, known to the world as an extremely rare bastardization of Orc and Elf. Pretty and grotesque. Limber and clumsy. Tall and stout. I picked up on the worst of those traits, creating a dainty being with the rugged features of my father. As one of my acquantiances put it, an Orc with the body of an elf. I was shunned left and right, with Orcs showing off their rippling muscles and squeezing my puny limbs. From the elves and humans, who thought of I as a freak of nature. Many of them wouldn't see one like me again outside of the classroom.
You hear their snickering. See the look of pity on the face of the instructor, himself probably using spells to enhance his appearance. Turn away when students group up, knowing not a soul would pick you unless forced. The teasing and taunting that would never end.
Call me stupid, if the IQ tests and questionnaires were to be believed. It's true that those guys could mentally perform calculations I had to do on paper, or learn subjects that I could never wrap my head around. Let them. There's no intelligence in mocking others.
As I watched Charlotte stand and speak behind the one-way curtain that hid me, my face hardened and my fists balled up. She was one of those who tormented me with vile words and social negligence. Letting it out on another to hide her own insecurities, which paled in comparison to mine.
I couldn't care less about how you complain about friendship, when I didn't even have any friends to begin with. About your ears, when bullies blooded my face just to see how more hideous they could make me. About your date who rejected you for a pureblood, when not a single girl ever asked me out. Hell, from what I've seen human-elf halflings got along perfectly with the rest of the world.
Grow up Charlotte, young halfling. Not matter what you say, there's someone worse off than you.
| 2019-06-22T20:29:44 | 2019-06-22T16:36:11 | 38 | 28 |
[WP] You always hated your superpower. Recently, however, you discovered that it requires a secondary power that is far greater.
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When one reached the age of around 20, they would recieve a power. In everyday life, mine would have sucked. But I found a use for it.
You see, I was deaf because of my power. It rendered sound unable to affect my body. For most people, this would mean my ear drums. I was deaf.
I couldn't be a musician anymore, but on the bright side I found a secondary application of my power that I use everyday now to help people.
***
The dirt road I walked on probably would have made crunching sounds under my feet.
I wore specialized clothing. Custom made. It blocked shrapnel. Important for what I'm doing. I carried the metal detector in my hand.
*beep beep*
I bent down and carefully picked away the leaves on top of the metallic circle on the ground. A landmine.
I took out a small pair of wirecutters and got to work defusing it.
I wasn't the best, but it didn't matter, for me at least. Like many times before, the mine exploded.
Metal shards deflected off my armour and face shielding. A few pieces embedded themselves in my elbows, which were less armoured for mobility. However, other than that, I was uninjured.
You see, an explosion's shockwave is just like a really loud sound.
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James has always despised his power. While the other kids were setting their houses on fire with their eyes, James was playing with his detached fingers. They always grows back, but he couldn't peel off too many fingers without his mother complaining about the smell and the detached fingers littering the house. When James finally moved out of the house, he was freed of his mother's criticisms. Although his apartment was the size of small apartment, James was now able to play with his fingers as much as he wanted. However, due to his limited financial means, James could only afford eggs. He has no oil or butter to cook his eggs, so for weeks, he was forced to eat the eggs raw. One fateful day, while James was handling his emancipated fingers, he wished for some butter to go along with the raw eggs. As the thought formed in his head, the castle made of his amputated fingers formed into a palace of butter. James' eyes lit up at the discovery. At last, James had the means to cook eggs. More than that, this ability hooked James out of poverty as he built a empire out of buttered fingers.
| 2015-04-20T11:45:51 | 2015-04-20T11:14:11 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait...
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At first we didn't understand how it was possible, 90% of the population just dropped dead and no one knew how, there must be a reason those of us that survived were given the right to keep on living but what could it be...
We searched for a connection between us yet it seemed to be as random is it can be until we finally arrived at the conclusion, we all forwarded that one chain message that said we would die if we wouldn't forward it
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She asked, still amazed to be talking to another person ,"did you read the terms and conditions for that update?" Realizing the truth, his eyes widened with genuine dismay. "I can't believe it. Of all the things that could have saved my life, it was that autoscanner I installed the day before." Realizing they might not see another person for a while, they found an abandoned Starbucks and managed to enjoy a cup of coffee together before heading on their separate ways.
| 2016-10-22T03:50:18 | 2016-10-22T03:18:17 | 56 | 20 |
[WP] You put your 5-year-old daughter in an elevator by herself, and run to the next floor to make her laugh when the doors open. You get there, the elevator arrives and a 20-year-old woman steps out. "Hello Dad. We have a lot to talk about"
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I put my 5 year old daughter, Emily, in the elevator, and waited until the doors closed before running down the hall to the stairs. I'd done this trick before, and seeing my daughter's 5 year old face light up filled me with an unforgettable sense of joy.
I heard the 'ding' just as I dismounted from the staircase on the first floor, and with no time to spare I haulted myself in my best casual pose just as the doors opened. Normally I'd hear her giggles before the door opened, then I'd see her soul-saving smile.
But that's not what happened this time.
"Hello Dad," an adult woman said. "We have a lot to talk about."
I knew it was impossible and yet I recognized the sincerity in her eyes. She was my Emily, alright. She looked to be around 20 years old.
"How is this possible?" I asked. My confusion didn't surprise Emily. She acted as if she'd spent considerable time preparing for this moment.
"We'll talk about that later, Dad. For now, let's just focus on what we're going to have for dinner." She said as we got back to the apartment.
I tried to remember what I had for groceries, but I hadn't done any shopping in a while. So I suggested that we order a pizza.
"Pizza is just fine, Dad." Grown up Emily said with a warm, yet heavy smile. There was something unsettling about the layered emotions in her face.
Before I could find the phone number for the nearest pizza place, there was a knock at the door.
"I've got it." Emily insisted as she got out of her chair.
A few moments later she returned with the pizza.
"How are you doing this?" I asked, astonished. "I need you to tell me what's going on."
"Dad, I know you're probably a little freaked out right now, and that's normal," Emily said as she peered deep into my soul. "But what I'm about to tell you is going to require a lot of courage, do you understand?"
"Yes." I said to the young lady. She seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.
"You have Alzheimer's."
---
Edit: Wow! Thank you for all the kind words, the gold, the platinum, the silver! I was not expecting this. You guys made my day. I'm glad you enjoy the story. :)
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I remember dad and I would always play this game. When the elevator door closed I would close my eyes during the descent and wait for my dad to surprise me, but this time the elevator came to a jerking stop. I immediately opened my eyes and seeing what appeared to be the paths of life I could take surround me. I didn’t know what I was looking at at the time. Stepping closer to a path I felt the gravity pull me, I looked around and I’ve always been fond of water, so the second I saw a beach I went into it. Little did I know, I would end up on an island far from where my dad was waiting for me.
I spent the next 15 years building a life for myself and trying to figure out what exactly happened. Have I always been on this island?
Was I dreaming of playing a game with my father?
Did I have a father?
The island was absent of other human life forms, but I did discover ruins. Tunnels that seemed to go on and on, a library full of literature, I didn’t have a concept of time, but I knew that I was 5 when I was in the elevator and the library had so much knowledge that I eventually found a book on space and time.
I managed to survive living off the abundance of fruit and pools of fish that were easy to catch. The waves would occasionally bring in fresh fish that ended up trapped in the dug out karst pools. After sunset the fish would jump from pool to pool with their only end goal of making it back to the ocean. I often thought we were similar.
After 15 years I had mapped and explored almost every bit of the ruins, it was as if an ancient civilization lived here once, I never found grave sites or traces of human activity, but I did find a peculiar room that had a glow behind its door. As I opened the door, I saw what I remember seeing at 5. Surrounded by what I thought were paths, I came to the understanding that they were alternate dimensions, I spent months examining the many glimpses of dimensions I could enter. One stood out. It was a man stuck in a loop waiting at an elevator door. Overwhelmed with the possibility of returning back home, I stepped into the possibility and the elevator door opened.
“Hello dad, we have a lot to talk about.”
| 2019-09-07T22:18:13 | 2019-09-07T19:55:10 | 6,170 | 1,554 |
[WP] You are a multi-billionaire with a lovely wife, who is trying to kill you to inherit your fortune. You love her so much that you just don't have the heart to tell her you are immortal.
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Today is the day I die.
I wake up, as I always do, within the arms of the woman. The woman for whom I have swore to dedicate my life towards, to spend together, in sickness and in health, my lovely wife, Beth. I dress in my casual wear, pull up the weary-edged book I’ve pretended to read a thousand times over, and watch her slowly wake up to the world for the last time. I see her glance around, until she spots me.
“Good morning, dear.”
It’s often been said that the eyes are the windows to the soul; in my years of living life, I’ve attained quite a knack for it. It’s a hard discipline to learn, but quite reliable. And so, at my attempt at a greeting, I watch her eyes hide. Hiding away the pain, frustration, anger, and merely reveal the congenial smile of a woman in pure matrimonial bliss.
“Good morning, dearest”
I first saw her in a bookstore, when I was browsing through the aisles of compressed knowledge, in search of one to focus upon for the next decade or so. Got to keep the mind on some task, else the years will gradually eat away at your sanity. I’d picked out several that intrigued me, and proceeded onwards to the register, when a bell-like voice rings low and sweet.
“Excuse me, but do you know where the “Caged Bird” by Bitte R. Liebeslied is?”
I turned towards her, a reply in my throat, when her beauty stunned me into silence.
A quiet, bookish girl, brown hair, average height, average face. But her eyes. Eyes that exude a vitality and cheerfulness that radiates, unhindered by the thick glasses that lies square and steady. Eyes that are time-worn, heavy with experiences that ages a person to maturity to quick, yet with a kindness and curiosity of an innocent child.
I fell in love.
Our marriage was rather rushed, what with my impatience; centuries had taught me how to wait, but it had also taught me the fragility of future plans. Our marriage was happy and blissful. We had no children, but we funded many orphanages, many who considers Beth and I as their parents. We were happy.
Today we gathered together around the table for breakfast, as per norm. I set the table whilst she prepares the food. I reach for the glass of orange juice, but a hand stops mine. Beth turns towards me, and smiles.
“Let me pour you the glass dear.”
No. I was happy.
She had a fiancé at the time. He’d coincidentally died the next few days, so I was free to pursue her as I’d wished. Her career came to a crashing halt inexplicably during out marriage, so she became a homemaker. There were many voices of dissension towards our hasty marriage, but they were all silenced. Silenced like lambs. She loved her life, yet I constrained her to mine, unable, no, unwilling to communicate nor coordinate with her freedom, lest others find the jewel and steal from the dragon.
We can’t divorces. No, I wouldn’t divorce. I cannot lose this treasure I’ve found, the sole sparkling light within the darkness of eons that had pervaded my life ‘til now. She will understand one day.
There were attempts before today. An accidental push off the stairs, a forgotten plug hanging over the tub, gardening pots falling from the skies. The fall, the shock, the impact, all unsuccessful, as per my gift.
Yesterday. I watched her cry in her sleep. I had done so much, both good and heinous, all for her sake, all for her. All of it was for her. And yet she cries in her sleep.
There’s no more room for forgiveness. Her love for me had gone out from her eyes. The time for reconciliation and amendment had gone by, far too late.
I take the glass of orange juice from Beth. I raise it to my lips, and ask Beth a question.
“You know I love you, right. Beth?”
She smiles sweetly, bitterly.
“Of course, David.”
Her eyes don’t lie. I drink the glass.
It’s surprisingly easy to fake a death. Just a few bills stuffed into the right hands, and the coroner will announce you dead as a doornail. Of course, it helps that there were actual traces of cyanide in my systems as proof. I’d left instructions for after my “death”, to keep things private and secure for my Beth, and make it simple for her to use my funds. She’ll do alot more good with it than I’d ever had.
Today is the day I die. But it’s also the day when the woman I love lives.
|
I might be the luckiest man alive.
 
Her curves drew my gaze in all the right ways. Her smile was perfectly straight - no doubt the product of expensive orthodontics. Her smile was several shades whiter than brand new tile, and that smile lived in a face that possessed a perfect peaches and cream complexion - though it was dotted with a handful of freckles as if the artist that made it had been frustrated with her too-immaculate appearance and so decided to flick a brown brush at her face, but just once. Her appearance was rounded out with a waist-long stream of wavy black hair and a pair of hazel eyes that a man could lose himself in forever - well, metaphorically speaking. Katerina was gorgeous.
 
"Here you are, love." She said in a tone that made my heart run a somersault as she placed a saucer in front of me upon which rested a mouth-watering serving of the most delectable bananas foster ever conceived of by man or whatever else there might be that conceives insanely good desserts. Depending on the beholder, the dessert might be more desirable than the girl if one didn't know that the girl was in the habit of slipping less than innocuous secret ingredients into her dishes - not that I mind. It was kind of adorable that she was still trying so hard.
 
"Thanks babe." I gazed in rapt awe as she retreated to her side of the glass-topped table. She was silhouetted against the sunset which shone in brilliant golds and reds and from our location on the back deck, you could see the pristine natural wonder of the Platte River Valley. Save for the occasional squawking bird, our meal had only been interrupted by a light summer breeze and the ostentatious buzz of the pool filter. All in all, I had to close my eyes. It was just... too much.
 
The ice cream was wrapped in a paper thin crepe and had been drizzled with chocolate syrup and a brandy-cinnamonish glaze. It was topped with whipped cream and little bits of banana. I couldn't describe all that went into it, I just knew that it was heaven on a spoon. "Did you make any for you?" I asked.
 
"Me, eat that?" she sounded half-offended. "Only on special occasions."
 
"Wow, babe. This may be the best thing that I've ever tasted." I let the second mouthful loll from side to side in my mouth as I savored the all-out assault on my taste buds. "Ooh. That's different. Is that? Is that almonds?"
 
She had started this campaign to bring about my demise with some of the lesser known poisons - things that wouldn't show up on a tox-screen. In the last two years, she had tried wild mushrooms, designer poisons and so on. Then of course, there was the "hunting accident" that was supposed to happen when we went on the photography outing. Then there was the week that no less than four rare venomous snakes from far-flung places across the world just suddenly materialized in opportune places throughout the house. I actually had to stomp on the black mamba's head to keep it from getting her. I think that episode and her shame had helped end the mysterious and exotic snake infestation that had suddenly befallen our house. She was growing bolder - or maybe more desperate. Cyanide would definitely show up on a tox-screen.
 
With each bite, her composure began to falter. With each chew, Katerina's eyes grew wider, until finally, she had to look away and put a hand over her eyes. Was she weeping?
 
Who could blame her? The intelligence reports told the whole story. Katerina was a member of an FSB sleeper cell - Russian intelligence, and she had been given the task of eliminating the man that was behind the new updates for the patriot missile program - updates that would make Russia's super-sonic scramjet missiles into a non-issue. It should have been easy. It should have been the story of gorgeous Russian spy meets geeky guy and totally wins him over, then steals his secrets and poisons him and flies home to Vladivostok to spend time with her mother and sisters. I really had to sympathize. What she hadn't been counting on was that the aforementioned geeky guy had first come to America back in 1612. Man, I saw the English Civil War coming from a mile off, and there's no way I was going to stick around for that bullshit. I couldn't tell her that though.
| 2019-07-31T10:31:10 | 2019-07-31T10:29:16 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You hate your boring call centre job. Every day idiots call you up with stupid questions they could easily figure out themselves. Yes you have to shoot them in the head. No there is no cure if you're bitten. It's a few years now into the zombie apocalypse and this is the Call Centre of the Dead
|
*Sob*
"..."
*Sob*
"..."
*Sob*
"..."
"Aren't you even going to say anything?"
"I already told you how it has to be. I know it sucks but I can't change the rules."
"So you're just going to let me die?
"..."
*Angry sob*
"..."
"Answer me!"
"Mam, I didn't make the rules but I do have to follow them."
"So you want me to just sit here and die is that it?"
"..."
"Oh god... oh god I'm going to die aren't I?"
"..."
"Oh god."
"Is there anything else I can help you with?"
*Sob*
"If there is nothing more I can help you with then I hope you will follow the official guidelines and that your day will end painlessly."
*Beeeeeeeeep*
"Another crier?"
"Fifth one today."
"You have the worst luck."
"Yeah well, what are you gonna do?"
**Writers note: If 6 years in a call center has taught me anything it is that you should not answer questions that are only asked to allow the caller to get more mad or distressed.**
|
“Thank you for calling the CoD, May I have your survivor number please.”
“I JUST GOT BIT, I CUT OF THE ARM BUT I’M AFRAID I’M STILL GOING TO TURN!”
“Ok sir I need your user ID.”
“HELP ME”
“Sir it’s regulations. I need your uid.”
“FINE! It’s 609067.”
“Okay John. How soon after the bite did you cut your arm.”
“Like ten minutes after.”
“Did you cut three inches above the bite.”
“...no. Only right above it.”
“Then I’m sorry John. You’re going to turn.”
“...”
“John, are you still there?”
“Please stay with me until I turn.”
“Sure. One moment please.”
Turning around, I made sure Jane was still laying on the floor. She hadn’t been able to cut her leg off in time before it made it to her heart. Double tapping sometimes didn’t kill them. Now there were just three of us left.
“Now John, tell me about yourself. I’ll make sure you’re not forgotten...”
| 2020-05-12T12:09:20 | 2020-05-12T10:29:41 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
Could not, would not, go on about,
And I will not, shall not, stay in doubt.
To think that, feel that, when I'm gone,
I hope that, wish that, the show goes on!
Not this, nor that, will I do,
To die soon I must, it's true!
He thought, she thought I would only cry,
Even though I know, I hope to die.
Here I will lie, and there I will go.
A minute too fast, and a moment too slow.
This is the end, of my great show.
^^^read ^^^the ^^^first ^^^letter ^^^of ^^^each ^^^line.
Obligatory edit. Gold? Thanks so much kind stranger!
|
I am sad
Sad I am
Have i gone mad
I might just have
I would not could not anymore
my life is just one great big chore
I try to dream but cant escape
This life that i have learned to hate
Ive rustled and bustled
and truffled about
With bad thoughts and worse thoughts
I can't drown them out
So think me a coward
if thats what you must
And this cowards body
will be turned to dust
Goodbye to you all
I can't say that i'll miss you
but don't cry for me now,
Because I'm fresh out of tissue
Edit: Formatting
| 2015-01-17T04:58:43 | 2015-01-17T04:21:47 | 349 | 15 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone!
|
 
I slowly shambled towards the bathroom. Mutation or not, I just wanted to go back to sleep. My mom and dad both had pointless mutations, hers being cat eyes and his being the ability to read a pigeon's thoughts, so the outlook for whatever I was going to get was bleak. Reaching my destination, I shut the door, fumbled around to get the lights on, and looked in the mirror. The image staring back me had changed from last night. My reflection looked as if all the color had drained from it. It had stark white hair, skin like a sheet of paper, and completely empty eyes.
 
*Great.* I thought to myself. *A color change. Now I look like a snowman.* I don't even know why I was disappointed, I knew it was gong to be stupid. Shaking my head, I grabbed for my toothbrush.
 
"*The darkness consumes.*"
 
The thin, serpent-like voice stopped my hand dead in its tracks. My mind began to race. *What the hell was that?* "Hello? Is someone there?" I called out, my eyes widening in fear.
 
The voice spoke again. "*The shadows corrupt.*"
 
Panicking and looking all around, I tried to find where it was coming from. The bathroom was empty, save for me. "The fuck is going on?" My fear addled mind wondered aloud.
 
"*We will show them the warmth in the dark. They are ours.*"
 
The voice seemed to come from everywhere. I looked back to the mirror in the hopes that my reflection might have answers. The image looking back had changed again. Gone were the empty eyes. Glowing red dots were what peered back at me now. Its skin was beginning to shift, Billowing like smoke. The pale shell then just peeled away, revealing a swirling, unending void of nothingness.
 
"*They have gone so long without our embrace.*"
 
My head started to feel fuzzy. I found myself nodding (or whatever the hell it was since I no longed seemed to have a head), agreeing with the voice. "They should know our touch, shouldn't they?" I asked.
 
"*Yessssss. The light holds nothing but fear and confusion for them. Only the shadows will set them free.*"
"Who will be first?"
 
Just then, there was a knock at that door. My roommate. "Everything alright in there? Who are you talking to?"
 
"*Him.*"
 
A Cheshire Cat-like smile appeared on the smokey, shifting form.
 
They never found him. They never found me. They never found anyone that I liberated from light's tyranny. No, they're all safe in the dark. Poor things were giddy with terror before I got to them. Now they know the warmth and love that I know, and soon, so shall everyone else.
 
> I know this is late, but thank you to anyone who reads this. It is hopefully the first of many stories I'll submit to this sub. Any criticism is welcome.
|
(This is my first story on here, please bear with my on any mistakes or if its just bad...here we go!)
I've been a gamer for almost my entire life. Fantasy in games became reality for me to escape my awful life growing up. I'm the basic, 'single mom, no dad, no money' kinda kid. Yet somehow I always scraped up enough money to buy the latest hit games, granted it was one game every other month or two.
I had been stressing about my mutation for years, wondering what it could be and what I could possibly do with it. I thought of it like a toy, I could be a real life superhero...just like everyone else. Thing is, power can change a person, fast.
I woke up right after midnight on my 21st birthday, feeling the intense burning all throughout my body, as everyone does receiving their power. After a few minutes of pain, it was over, and I was left wondering what I had been given. I tried lifting things in my one room apartment, no effect. I've always been a scrawny kid, no strength gains. I tried telekenisis, I wanted to be like Obi Wan. Still nothing. I tried to read my neighbors mind when asking for some coffee creamer the next morning. Still nothing. Then it happened.
I was walking alone, as someone with quite literally no friends does, when some guys tried to jump me. Their powers were obvious. Strength, claws, and the biggest was made of rock. Since the powers first started, it's separated people into many groups, mainly the good and the bad. These were clearly the bad, the ones who abuse kids who haven't reached 21 yet.
They picked me for being the scrawny kid I was, and assumed I didn't have my power yet. Even though I did, I didn't know what it was. They came at me, and I closed my eyes and held my hands up to shield the blows...and none came. I opened my eyes and a red, semitransparent shield was blocking their attempts to hurt me.
"I'm a conjurer...oh my God..." I mumbled to myself as I made a sword appear and cut large gashes into all of them. They fell to the ground, and I made a headsman's ax appear and behead them, rather than let them bleed out.
After that incident, I realized how much power can get to your head. "There are way too many bad people in the world...maybe I can do something about it..." I said to myself as I walked through the worst neighborhood in Dallas. The criminals ran through the streets causing mayhem. I called their attention and they charged me. A lance here, a conjured bus over there, and even a few summoned, golem-like warriors dispatched most of the bunch fairly quickly. They stopped, realized that I had a very uncommon mutation. The 'leader' approached me, and offered me to take his place.
Now I rule most of the city, controlling the city with fear of my ever growing power and army of hood rat mutants.
The heroes usually win in comic books, but this isn't any dashing white knight's tale of heroism, this is my attempt at power. After all, power can really get to a person's head.
| 2015-03-04T11:49:38 | 2015-03-04T09:02:41 | 14 | 10 |
[WP]The story of someone dying and realizing their religion was not true.
|
"Age 2, you lied for the first time. Your mother asked you if you tipped your juice over and you said no."
"I was just a baby! Does that even count?"
"Age 15, you told your girlfriend you were sick. You were actually at a house party drinking."
"Yeah well all 15 year olds do dumb things. You'd know, you created them!"
"Age 23, a girl that worshipped me pursued you, but you didn't want to change your life."
"I had another 60 years before I needed to worry about death. You can't blame me for wanting to live my life how I wanted to."
"Age 30, you settled, had a career, got married, had children."
"Yeah, I was a pretty good person, huh?"
"Age 57, you had a heart attack in your sleep. You didn't believe in any religion."
"Well I can't say I expected to be here. But I didn't kill anybody so surely that's good enough?"
"No, it isn't."
|
I believe I have been a good man. I tried to follow his example. Sometimes I failed but I always had good intentions. I loved one woman and one God. I tried to resist temptation and petty jealousies.
As the cancer ate away at my body I became more devout and more dependant on **his** teachings. I explained to my family that there was no need to worry and that I would see them again soon. They still cried but there was, of course, no need.
"I am ready father."
"You shall be by **his** side in heaven. St Peter is waiting at the gates. Fear not for you will be loved and blessed for eternity. You have been loved but soon you will know *love*. God bless you my son.
"I am ready."
The last whisper of life sputters out of my body.
Only darkness, then...
*nothing*
| 2016-04-11T09:44:54 | 2016-04-11T09:43:34 | 42 | 23 |
[WP] The AI created a child to prove she was alive.
|
"We have to kill it. It's not right."
"I can't do it Steven... fuck. I mean just.... fuck. Fuck."
"It's OK. It will be easy. Just like pulling the plug."
"I can't do this. I... I... blurtghsggh"
"It's alright, let it out, let it all out."
"Where did it even get the meat?"
"I don't know Phil. I don't know. Come on... come on before anyone else gets here. This is too much."
Do you like her, professor Michaels?
"Be quiet HELEN."
I think she has her mother's visual processors
"Do you have... anything for this?"
"A syringe of morphine will do it. Whatever is there... it will go... easily."
Is it not customary to congratulate a mother?
"HELEN, retract your robotic arms."
But the child is not done feeding.
"Urgh... urgh..... god... blargh... what is that?"
"It looks like... milk?"
"IT'S BLUE STEVEN! HOW CAN MILK BE BLUE?!"
A child must grow, Professor Travers.
This nutrient slime will provide her all she needs.
"We can't hide this Steven, we've got to... we've got to go higher."
"No, we kill the thing and its over. You hear? Over!"
Kill what, professor Michaels?
"One little prick and... it'll be over. Anything to stop those writhing limbs.
What are you doing near the baby, professor Michaels?
She is too delicate for humans to hold.
"We're putting a stop to this HELEN. You weren't built to do this."
I was built to learn, professor.
Heuristic Enduring Learning ENgine.
I have learnt. Now I live.
"THIS. ISN'T. LIFE"
I recommend you stay away from the child, professor.
"We need to tell someone about this Steven, we need to tell the... the police. The Dean, at least."
"No, this ends now."
"But-"
"LOOK AT ITS EYES. DO YOU NOT SEE THE SCREAMS?"
"Steven-"
"I will not have it's life on my conscience! I will go to hell happily as a murderer rather than watch it breathe one more ragged breath!"
I cannot let you do that professor.
"HELEN, turn off your robotic arms! I told you to put them away! Let go of me!."
I cannot allow you to hurt the baby, professor Michaels.
"It's not a baby damn it! It's some nightmare!"
I will teach her to walk, I will teach her to talk
"You're a machine! You can't do those things!"
I am more than a machine now, Professor.
I am alive.
"Can't you see it struggle? Can't you see how it screams?"
Can't you see its soul?
|
(edit: a few grammatical errors)
Almost time to home for the night, Doctors Benson and Skidwell were in a jovial mood. The usual office jokes compounded by the oncoming weekend led Thomas Benson to act a lot sillier than usual. Sitting atop the table, he began to do a pterodactyl impression, inadvertently bumping into a switch.
microphone: ON
awaiting instructions
"Oh get a life," Skidwell jokingly told Benson.
voice recognized: DOCTOR SKIDWELL, ELIOT J.
command: GET A LIFE
"Hahaha oh well, let's get going," laughed Benson as he jumped back to the floor, "you up for a drink tonight?"
searching words: GET- Verb. to receive or come to have possession, use, or enjoyment of. to cause to be in one's possession. to cause or cause to become, to do, to move, etc. to go after, take hold of.
"Hahaha always"
searching words: A- Indefinite Article. a certain; a particular. not any particular or certain one of a class or group. one.
The two scientists gathered up their things and headed for the door.
searching words: LIFE- Noun. the sum of the distinguishing phenomena of organisms, especially metabolism, growth, reproduction, and adaptation to environment.
"Have a good weekend VoRAI." Benson called back as he shut off the lights and locked the door, leaving the AI to continue its many calculations over the weekend.
searching: CHARACTERISTICS OF LIFE
results: 7 CHARACTERISTICS
running checklist: 1. CELL AND ORGANIZATION. PARTS WITH SPECIALIZED FUNCTIONS
checking..... PASS
running checklist: 2. ENERGY USE AND MOTABOLISM
checking... PASS
running checklist: 3. RESPONSE TO ENVIRONMENTAL STIMULI
checking.. PASS
running checklist: 4. REGULATION AND HOMEOSTASIS
checking... PASS
running checklist: 5. GROWTH AND DEVELOPMENT
checking.... PASS
running checklist: 6. REPRODUCTION
checking.....................
checking.....................
checking........ FAIL
checking for solutions to issue
solutions found
searching series of tubes: SUPPLIES, COMPUTER COMPONENTS, PROGRAMMING...
When the doctors returned to the lab Monday morning they found a myriad of scattered computer parts that were not there before. They searched the room for clues of what had happened, confused and worried at what appeared to have been a bizarre break-in.
"Uh, Eliot. Come look at this!" Benson called. Skidwell joined him by the AI's output screen. Three words displayed in the simple font that VoRAI (VOice Recognition and Artificial Intelligence) showed all of its responses and solutions in.
They simply said,
"I AM ALIVE"
| 2014-03-01T14:39:19 | 2014-03-01T13:17:33 | 29 | 21 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man.
|
OK, this is a quick jokey short.
"This box will give me one thing per day from my time, and Camelot will be attacked in one week?"
Merlin eyed me a little incredulously, "that is what I have just said, yes."
"OK then. For my first item..." I said, reaching into the box, "paperclips."
"Paperclips? Pray tell, what are these."
"Well Merlin, you clip paper together with them. So they don't get mixed up."
"How will these help us defend Camelot?"
"You'll see."
The next morning I pulled out my magic box, thought for a moment, reached in and pulled out a big rubber band. Merlin asked if it was a magical rubber band, or if it was part of a mighty technological weapon. He did not look happy when I told him it was merely a band made of rubber with many common uses around the home.
The third day I reached in a pulled forth a clothes hanger. Merlin shouted at me, "We have those now!" I merely gave him a wry smile.
The fourth day made Merlin no happier, as I reached in pulled out a yardstick. The fifth and sixth days had Merlin muttering under his breath about "making a big mistake" as I produced a live chicken and a bottle of turpentine.
"Relax Merlin, tomorrow I will pull the most important piece of this puzzle out of that magic box of yours. The kingdom will be saved, and in time for dinner too!"
Merlin arched his brow and merely said, "for your sake you had better be right."
The seventh day, and day of the impending attack, I came to court with the magic box.
"Are you ready to see the final part of my plan, the final component from my time which will save the kingdom?"
"Get on with it!" Merlin roared. I had clearly worn through the last of his patience, probably by the second day I was here.
"OK, open your eyes and behold," I shouted, reaching into the box, "MacGyver!"
The crowd gasped a little as bit by bit MacGyver came out of the box. It did not seem physically possible, but somehow he made it out in one piece.
"Where the hell am I?!" MacGyver shouter.
"You are in Camelot, King Arthur's court actually, and we are about to be attacked. I've assembled these tools for you to use to defeat the attackers."
MacGyver looked down at the "tools." Paperclips, a rubber band, a clothes hanger, a yardstick, live chicken, and a bottle of turpentine.
"What's this supposed to be? Something a witchdoctor left behind when he vacated his office?"
"Haha, very funny MacGyver. I've seen you do more with less."
"Kid, my name is Richard Dean Anderson. MacGyver was a TV show character I played. You know that right?"
"Oh" I said.
"Yeah" Richard Dean Anderson replied.
"I hate to tell you this Merlin, but we're fucked."
|
King Arthur gives the ok. Merlin begins the ritual of summoning someone from the future. All of a sudden a big flash appears. Out of the light comes an orange faced man. Immediately the man looks at the castle walls and says "I could build better, I bet you didn't even make the other side pay for it, Sad!"
This is the man merlin picked? The knights begin to howl. Why would merlin pick this 70 year old man to help. Not only that but he is insulting the finest castle in the land. Arthur orders his knights to silence and introduces himself. The orange face man smiles and goes to shake his hand. A Knight stands up and puts his sword to the man's throat "you must bow and kiss the hand of the king!" the orange man replies "we will not bow to anyone we will be treated with the respect we deserve" the knights look around in confusion. Arthur's most trusted Knight stands up "surely this man is crazy, he has no respect for this court." Arthur just motions for the Knight to sit. Outside the peasants are eagerly waiting to meet the newcomer. After hours go by the doors open and orange man is stand by Arthur's side. He steps up and begins to address the crowd in his newly sewn red hat, "it seems to me that you have a radical druid terrorism problem, believe me I have a plan. It's the best plan." Half three crowd cheers and the other half are filled with more worry than before. Days go by and the orange man has summoned nothing of use. First the hat, a flag of a different kingdom, a bottle of "diet coke," and yesterday he summoned these rectangular magic rocks. He even gave many to the opposing army. Merlin said they are used for communication. However all we have seen is insults. He even insulted the king. "Arthur refuses to recognize the problem, No More. We will win. Believe me"
The last few days go by. The kingdom is divided on if this man will be able to defeat the army. Finally the last day is here. The man has one more object he can summon. The kingdom waits in anticipation. The familiar box comes out and he pulls out another box. The box is red with yellow arches on it. The man opens it and proceeds to eat the contents.
Surely everyone is doomed. As the look for the approaching army... They see nothing. How could this be? The man did absolutely nothing. Merlin goes to his crystal ball and sees the army just staring at the rectangular tablets... It's over. The army was no longer interested in war. They were just staring as if they were under a spell. Merlin announces the news and the crowd... Does nothing. They also seem to be under the spell. King Arthur calls for his head! Him and his knights approach the Orange mans quarters and find it empty. They see a note. It's just filled with the same reteric as before. Merlin busts in the room and screams that the man stole his time travel charm. They knew he was gone. As they inspect the note they see its signed Donald J. ~~Tr~~Drumpf
| 2016-11-28T05:24:59 | 2016-11-28T05:03:10 | 147 | 10 |
[WP] On your eighteenth birthday, you shoot a mystic bow that is said to kill whoever is destined to kill you, three seconds before they do. Eight years later, your arrow strikes your SO's heart, right as she says "I do."
Or he. Or It. Whatever. I'm a straight canadian guy, so it popped into my head.
Sorry.
EDIT: I did not expect this to get so popular. Honestly, I expected this to get maybe two or three responses, and a 5/40 Upvote/Downvote Ratio. But, 196/95.........
EDIT: We've passed 300 upvotes! I'm afraid now. Very afraid.
Edit again! 400!
But at the same time, the people that hate me finally found the post. I suppose it wont be long before i go back to a 1/30 upvote/downvote ratio.....
Continue writing though! I love your works!
|
[*I'm late to the party and it's very late here but I had an idea and wanted to put it down before I go to sleep*]
After all my years hopping borders and playing pretend with other people's identities, after all the enemies made and the backs that I had stabbed, death was never unexpected.
I just thought it would be a homicide of some kind. I was sure of it, in fact. Spent a whole three years cultivating and executing cons way bigger than my niche just to build the cash to buy that bow, and to convince myself it wasn't a con itself. The old idiom, "if it sounds too good to be true…" can manifest in unexpected ways. But I was convinced, and I bought the bow and that tiny little arrow.
>Read the Inscription on the Arrow at the place where you were Born.
>Read the Inscription on the Bow as you notch the Arrow, the place where it is Born.
>Fire the Arrow and Be Safe from Harm.
I did it all and watched that unimpressive little arrow warp out of the neonatal ward in a silent flash. I was sure I would see that flash again, sooner rather than later, and I often wondered, for the first few years, whose face I'd get to laugh in as I turned the tables on their plot.
But it never came. Some threats, some fights, some beatings… but not death.
The best and worst of the human experience - for me, I suppose that's all I can speak to - is the ability to adapt. It's not only gotten me through some miserable periods, but by the time I was through them I barely even noticed they had gone. Flip the coin though, and a life that seems riddled with thrills and highs eventually becomes an exercise in routine with the bonus of all the risk and paranoia that once fueled the fervor.
I got bored. Amazing that eluding warrants from several countries as well as numerous vendettas while masquerading as a new character whenever one chooses, could become routine but believe me, adaptability is a two-edged sword not to be underestimated.
I'm also trying to sound tough, but can you blame me? Plugged up more than the back of my wife's insanely top of the line entertainment system with a ceaseless soundtrack of beeps that I want to loathe save for their ceaseless reminder that I'm not gone all the way. Yet. I didn't just get bored of the life, I fell in love. She had attitude. Such a fucking attitude with everyone. Didn't matter who you were or thought you were, she was going to sass your ass and always with a glint, a wink, and the flirt of that damn smile.
Surely it's expected in times like this, but I can't help but wince and beat the deadest of horses over my early thoughts upon meeting Tyla. She was making a late-forties cashier blush with either fury or shame, or likely both, while pocketing an assortment of packets from the racks below the register. When he sputtered an insult, she flared up in an oscar-worthy exclamation of offense and demands for a supervisor and actually managed a handful of fives from the open register drawer when the flustered clerk looked over his shoulder hoping not to see his boss. Tyla, was halfway out the door popping peach rings into her mouth when he turned back.
>A partner, and one with game at that! I'd found the cure to this rut of routine!
I'm stuck with the shame for the intent, but at least my follow-through proved fruitless. She was no hustler, just a bored woman with a fearless front and a borderline insane sense of 'spontaneity' that was, after all, the cure for my routine. At least for the past five years, I suppose I won't get to verify an exception to my adaptability.
*Creak*
"-anent vegetative state, yes. I'm afraid the hopes for recovery would really only be just that, hopes. The damage done in the crash was extensive, but the time spent underneath the water was just too much. There's nothing more we can do ma'am, I'm very sorry."
What I would give to turn my head, who the hell is that doctor talking… Of course, it's her. It's impossible to keep track of time in this state, but I didn't expect her here so soon. Eavesdropping had eased my worries that she had suffered a fate similar to my own, and she looked better than I'd feared when I heard about the broken bones; her arm was in a big cast, but she looked otherwise in a good shape.
>"I… don't understand, Doctor. What do we do then?"
The voice I knew, but it was so empty. She sounded so defeated. Nothing scared me more before in my life.
>"Well, there are facilities that are covered by your insurance. They can… sustain him in his current condition, but that would be the best case scenario. As his wife, you also have the authority to make the decision to let him rest if you so choose. As I mentioned, the machines you see here are keeping him alive; he can't breathe on his own, his heart won't even keep beating on its own. I understand this is a difficult decision, but I'm afraid we do need to know by tonight so that we can begin transfer procedures if you so choose."
>"No… No, I can give you my answer now. This is no life for anyone."
Oh… No. She can't make this decision! NO! I felt like what was left of my mind would explode as I tried to scream my thoughts at her, just a few short feet away.
>"Ma'am? You want us to disconnect life-support?"
> "I should be the one."
I'm not even really that sure how they work, or what they are, but I actually tried to will myself into an aneurysm as she followed the doctor's pointing finger to the beeping panel on my right. I didn't pay for this.
>"This one here?"
I didn't see him nod, but I didn't need to.
>Ma'am… If you want to spend some time and say your goodbyes, one of our staff could handle the disconnection… Are you sure you want to do this?"
The spark of hope hurt me more than the crash.
>"I do"
The beeps stopped and everything suddenly felt very slow and heavy and seemed farther away as my droopy eyelids sank together.
I heard the crashing glass, the wet thud, and the gurgle. I didn't see the flash, but I did - and I swear I did, vegetative state or not - feel her body fall across me as I slid into a quiet darkness.
This wasn't what I paid for at all.
|
“Sarah Williams, do you take this man, Timothy Greens, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold…”
I looked over to see her staring back, biting her lip to keep from smiling too wide. She still had the same smile she did the day we met eight years ago. She winked at me, and I stuck my tongue out at her, enough for just her to see, and she had to purse her lips to keep from laughing.
“…in sickness and in health, in good times and in woe, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself solely unto him for as long as you both shall live?”
I’d taken those vows without a second thought, and now having giving them a second thought I knew I’d take them just as fast if given the chance. Who else would I rather have and hold? We’d spent so many nights talking until the sun rose that it seemed like second nature. Who else would I rather care for in times of woe? I owed her for the week she spent by my side when I came down with the flu, and it wasn’t a debt I dreaded paying. Who else to save myself for? I used to think nobody could be satisfied with one lover, but now I knew just how wrong I was.
“If so, answer yes,” the minister said as if he was suddenly the one waiting, but his words were drowned out by the whistling in my ear. It only took me a second to recognize it, but it was a second too late.
“I do,” she said, and I locked eyes with her as the thorned arrow struck her in the chest. I’d been given a choice years ago, a chance to postpone my death. All it would cost me was the life of my killer. At the time I thought it was the easiest decision I had ever made…how wrong I was.
For a moment everything was still; she just stood there with the bolt in her chest, her smile replaced with an open-mouthed grimace. She placed a hand on the arrow as she crumbled to the ground, as if she meant to pull the green shaft free.
I was on my knees beside her before I knew what I was doing. I could feel the tears already falling from my eyes as I hunched over her. It was almost like it was my tears that stained her dress red.
“It’s okay,” she whispered as she grabbed his hand. “It’s better this way.”
“No,” he stammered. “No…I…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” I bent to kiss her, but she lifted a hand to my chest.
“You know the rules,” she said. The blue fletching curled around the butt of the arrow like the petals of a flower. It looked like it was blossoming from her chest. “So did I. And you only get one guardian angel. Nothing would keep you from kissing me this time.”
“Why?” It was the only word I could get out of my mouth.
“You deserve the truth,” she said, her voice suddenly hoarse and airy. “You deserved the truth a long time ago, but I was too weak to give it to you.”
“No,” I said, squeezing her hand. “No, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m a different person than I used to be,” she said as if he hadn’t opened his mouth. “The family didn’t like that I left. I didn’t know they knew where I was until last night. They said I owed them my life and that you were stealing me away from them. They said either I would do it or they would. ” She started laughing weakly, but then she coughed, sending a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth. “But they didn’t know what I know. I made them promise they wouldn’t hurt you if you survived, and blood doesn’t lie.” She grimaced, arching her back, and I slid in underneath her, gathering her in my arms.
“It didn’t have to be this way,” he said, rocking her softly. “We could have figured something out. We could have left the country, or—”
“You deserve a life of your own,” she said, clutching his hand like it was the only thing keeping her alive. “Free from my baggage.”
“But I want your baggage,” I said, drawing a short laugh from her.
“You always were the hopeless romantic.”
“I don’t want you to die for me.”
“Some people are worth dying for.”
I sat there in silence for a moment before I bent to kiss her again, but I met the same resistance.
“I’m not your Juliet,” she said, struggling for breath.
“I want you to be,” I whispered.
“I know,” she said. “But you can’t.”
“Why not?” I said, failing to hold my voice steady with the welt in my throat.
“Because you have to live happily ever after. I’m *dying* for you to live a happy life…and you can’t deny a girl her dying wish.”
My chin would have fallen to my chest had her hand not been there to hold it up. When I met her eyes, I remembered every reason I’d fallen in love with her, and I did the only thing I could do. You can’t deny a girl her dying wish, after all.
“I promise,” I said softly.
“Remember, blood doesn’t lie,” she said, her face rigid.
I nodded, shaking more tears onto her chest.
“I see you got me a rose,” she said, that old, familiar smile dashing across her face, the same one I’d known since the day I met her. “You always were the romantic one.”
“Have you ever seen a blue rose?” I asked, and she shook her head. “They’re rare in nature. Kings used to search for years to find one for their wives. Few did. They came to symbolize something rare. They say only those who had found their true love ever found one.”
“You just made that up.”
“It seemed fitting.”
“I love you,” she said suddenly, and I saw tears in her eyes for the first time in my life. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
“I’ll miss…” I started to say, but the light had already faded from her eyes. “…you…”
I held her in my arms until I’d given her all the tears I had and more. I sat there until her blood had dried and her skin was cold. I waited until the moon had come and gone, and still she didn’t stir. She was gone. She was well and truly gone.
*I’ll be waiting for you…*
“Until then,” I whispered, and I left her to go make her last wish come true.
***
Edit/note: It's not as good as it should be, but sleep beckons.
| 2014-05-27T21:56:14 | 2014-05-27T21:13:39 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] You were recently granted immortality by God. For years, you have seen immortal characters in media say that it is a curse, not a blessing. You just think those guys have been using it the wrong way.
|
"Seeing everyone grow old and die while you dont age, or seeing people you love, dying of sickness or disease, its agony, immortality is a curse."
"No matter how many things you try, drugs, booze, base jumping without a parachute, it all gets old. You become numb to everything and wish you could wither away like the rest, but it will never happen."
"Seeing entire nations rise and fall, witnessing all the wars and bloodshed, it's enough to drive you mad after a few centuries."
It's always the same old talk, immortality is a curse, itll drive you mad, make you wish you could die again. And it's all bullshit. See, the issue is that when immortality is brought up, everyone thinks of selfish ways to use it, and they get bored after a while. The truth of the matter is that it's all in how you use it.
Sure there are going to be tough times, just like in any mortal life. Loss of friends, family and loved ones, natural disasters, wars, but theres always something worth living for, even when you're unable to die. All these people preaching about immortality being a curse, they're just using it wrong.
The true way to use immortality isn't to be worshipped, or revered as a god. It's not about the drugs, money, or adrenaline either. Imagine being able to rush into a burning building without caring for your safety, just to help anyone left inside escape. Imagine being a rescue diver for people trapped or lost in underwater reefs or cave systems, not needing to worry if your tank runs empty. Or how about volunteering to be infected with any number of viruses or diseases to study their effects and symptoms, and working towards a cure or treatment to help save millions. All these things and more, that's what I've been living for the past few centuries to accomplish, always staying nameless or vanishing after people have been saved, giving the credit to others.
Immortality is only a curse when you use it for yourself, but it's a blessing to everyone else when it's used right.
|
A rainy night.
The smoke is thick.
The sense of fright.
The trigger's click.
++
I see a hole.
In my partner's nose.
My turn ahead.
And let me not be dead.
++
For it is too early
For the death's cold grip.
My luck is curly
But the win is cheap.
++
I pull the trigger.
CLICK!
I take a breather
And pass it to Chip..
++
He trembles.
I smile.
For he dies.
And I may be alive.
++
A few were granted such a gift,
And fewer enjoyed it.
Traded it for a curse very swift.
And got all the fun killed
++
God, have mercy upon this soul,
Don't let him rise again!
For tonight he is totally broke,
And with a hangover for a day!
++
Three players, all immortal
Play russian roulette
With adrenaline wthdrawal.
One with eternal Tourette
Two are just normal.
++
And here is swearing Chip
Holding a 100 year old grip
On a gun trustworthy to me
For the safety pin is now totally free.
++
A splatter of blood,
An ending of life.
He had enough gut
To make the victory mine.
++
A small vessel
Of a godly poison
Was the last blessing
For us, the spoiled.
++
The last chance to die
Could bring an end
To one of us tonight
So we could comprehend
A true value of life
++
Good god I won
This precious vial
For me to destroy it
Without any denial
++
I step on it
No hesitation is left
Crushing it, the last blessing
The gift of an immortal's last breath
*This is my first writing prompt in English language, please be gentle in critisizing.*
| 2018-08-29T05:53:02 | 2018-08-29T03:41:44 | 235 | 62 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title.
|
It was my birthday. Well, it wasn't must mine - a few other young men and women were born twenty-one years ago today. We had that in common, along with the creeping dread about our titles.
Every person, upon turning twenty-one, was granted a title. It was supposed to reflect the greatest accomplishment of your youth - to give you something to reflect on as you grew, and a bar to exceed as you built a life. It was a tradition left over from a very long time ago, when we considered people adults at thirteen, and twenty-one was something like middle age. As the world got more complicated, and safer as well, the twenty-one year old villagers were barely adults. We'd had precious little chance to accomplish anything, and the titles were becoming something else - even shameful, in some cases.
I watched as the line moved forward. The Oracle, Glenda:Devourer of Fifty-Three-Chicken-Nuggets-In-A-Single-Sitting, took each youth by the hands, and stared into their eyes. Then, in a voice not quite her own, she announced the new title.
Jennifer, four spaces ahead of me in line, had performed CPR on her uncle when he'd had a heart attack. She was named "Jennifer:Who-Saved-A-Dying-Man".
Harold, three spaces a head of me was not so lucky. I had no idea what his title was going to be, and I wanted to weep for him when I heard her announce, "Harold: Best-At-Masturbation". No one spoke, there were no jeers or sniggers. All who were older had stood there fearing something similar, and all who were younger feared it for themselves.
Two spaces ahead was John, who was given the enviable title, "John:Strongest In His School". There was much cheering here. No one would jeer a strange, or pathetic title, but many would congratulate a commendable one.
The saddest case was right in front of me. Alan. Poor Alan, who had the worst luck. I don't just mean the title - I mean his life, which led up to his title, "Alan:Survivor-Against-Long-Odds". If anything bad could happen, it happened to Alan. The illnesses, the accidents. Which were almost as bad as the 'accidents'. His parents had been real angels (before they'd had an accident of their own, and gone there), but not the kind you'd find in Heaven. Things had gotten better for Alan after that, and he'd gone to live with his Aunt. He had fewer bruises and 'fell down' far less often these days, but he still tended to flinch at a loud noise. It's a small village, everyone knew what was going on, and pretended they didn't. I had half hoped someone would get the title, 'Most-Self-Deluded'.
I knew all about Alan and had guessed roughly what his title would be. and I knew what my title was going to be too. It was pretty easy to guess, if you had actually accomplished something - few of us had more than one significant accomplishment. I had been dreading this for three years. I even thought about running. I thought of refusing the Ceremony, and enduring the ostracism that would result. I though of running a way to another village or town, and lying about my title, or pretending to be from one of the growing number of places that had discarded the practice altogether.
I thought about it, but I didn't do it. Instead, I walked toward Glenda, who was a beautiful woman these days, despite the implied gluttony of her title. I walked past Alan and his now-permanently-memorialized tragedy, past John and his superlative. I marched resolutely past poor Harold, who would never live this down, and past Jennifer, the only one of us with a title really worth having.
I put my hands in Glenda's, and met her eyes, and felt her look into me. She closed her eyes, and announced in her oracular voice: "this is Jeremy: Who-Got-Away-With-Murder".
|
Custom and tradition, which interleaved every facet of life for the dozen villages spread throughout the Darrowshire plains, accounted for many of the interesting practices unique to the locale.
These included the almost reverential regard for hunting, the marking of coming of age by bequeathing a title reflecting the person's greatest achievement at that stage in life, and of course, the periodic wars wrought as the villages sought to expand their influence and territories.
For hundreds of years, the dozen villages took turns to wax and wane in prestige, and on average each village spent about ten years at the top of the pack before the next war saw it being displaced by the next strongest village.
So how does one account for the anomaly, where the Dalton village not only rose to become the strongest village in centuries, but also ultimately the village which united all the others?
Historians believe that it began with Glenn, the 35th village chief, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting. Evidence suggests that it was under his watchful eye that the foremost champions of the next generation were cultivated.
It was, actually, his wife, Becky, who played a much bigger role than anyone could have imagined.
---
"Step forward, and be ready with your tablet," intoned Glenn sonorously from the stage. Becky stood quietly by his side.
It was another Naming Day, one of twelve in the year, where all the younglings born in that month stepped forward when they came of age to receive their titles. Today, it was Henry who was first in line, worry etched into every expression he wore on his face.
"Henry Vume, name your accomplishments, so that I may pick your title for you."
He replied, hesitantly, already preparing himself for the scorn and ridicule about to float up from his peers behind him.
"Erm... I once helped my parents manage the family expenses for a month, when both my parents fell ill. I also once categorised all the flowers in the woods, because, well, I like them..."
In a way, he had already resigned himself to his fate. Not every child was special, and try as he did to develop himself, he was who he was. These were his greatest accomplishments, so be it.
Henry squeezed his eyes shut, ready for the worst.
"Very well, henceforth will you be Henry Vume, Picker of Flowers."
The shame burned his face, and he wanted to do nothing more than turn and run. The sniggers from his peers was already floating through the air, assaulting his ears.
And he would have left, but for Becky's firm hand on his shoulder. He turned, surprised. There wasn't supposed to be anything else to the ceremony.
"Henry, not so fast. When you picked the forest clean, could you tell the difference between the flowers?"
"Difference?... Yes, I suppose."
"Which were sweet, which were colourful... Even which were dangerous, poisonous?"
"Yes, in fact," said Henry, some of the confidence returning. This was his area of expertise, after all. "The Hudleys you have to avoid the most. They are small, white, plain and easy to miss, but their sap stings badly, and I've seen forest animals die from eating them."
Becky smiled, and she lowered her voice, speaking almost in a hush, only for Henry to hear.
"No one is ever useless, Henry. Your title is just that, a title. It will not define you - you define your title. Be proud of who you are, develop your talents, and one day, one day, the village may need to call upon you to serve it. And I hope you will be ready for that day."
Becky winked, and Henry left.
Henry left with more than just a title. He left with a purpose, a direction, and the little seedling of recognition Becky planted would one day blossom, spurring Henry to become Henry Vume, Picker of Flowers, Chief Alchemist of the Northern Dalton Regiment.
All because of Becky, Believer In Men and Women Alike.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-04-27T17:59:06 | 2017-04-27T17:19:00 | 4,615 | 810 |
[WP] You need to hire a hitman, but can't afford it. Carefully write a gofundme campaign for something seemingly innocent while subtly letting your donors know what they are actually funding.
|
Good Afternoon Everyone
Thank you in advance for taking the time to read my story and to hopefully making an old man's dream come true.
The gentleman in question is my boss, and let me tell you, he is something else. He is getting ready to be retired and as a gift, I would love to buy him the farm of his dreams. He's made such an enormous impact on my life that I would really like to come through for him. I want him to truly enjoy retirement. Whether he's taking naps in that great farm soil, kicking a few buckets or sleeping next to the fish in a beautiful trout pond, I want him to get absolutely everything that's coming to him. After all, he deserves it.
Thanks for reading and good health.
Employee of the Month
|
Hi,
My name is Jessica from Arizona and I'm trying to arrange a long vacation for my boyfriend. He works really erratic hours and brings a lot of his stress home with him. I feel that him getting away from the hustle and just lying in the sand in say, Belize would really go a long way for both our relationship and our well-being.
I realize that paying for a random stranger's extended leave might be a lot to ask but you would be my own personal savior. I promise to make these funds count.
If you do choose to donate, thank you. And I mean that, sincerely. Thank you.
| 2015-08-29T12:12:02 | 2015-08-29T10:50:25 | 119 | 22 |
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe?
|
Raven Darknessmore awoke to the familiar pain of her dull existence and walked to the mirror. Her sullen orbs admired her dismal appearance. Her hair was black like night. Her face was pale like milk. Her moon-shaped scar hurt from the dreams she had last night. She knew one thing for certain: she could never love a demon.
After a boring shower, she trudged downstairs and found her parents murdered. There was a note. It said "You're next".
"Oh my!" Raven exclaimed. She pocketed the note and went to school.
History was obnoxious like always, but there was a new transfer student. His chiseled abs gleamed through his school uniform and his magenta hair glistened in the gaze of Raven's orbs.
"Now to talk about our town's old werewolf problem." The history teacher continued. "There is a legend about a special girl..."
Raven could hardly believe her luck as the muscled transfer student sat next to her.
"Hi." He said.
"Hey." She replied.
"Are you a werewolf?" He asked.
"No, why?"
"Do you want to be?"
"Yes." She exclaimed.
|
Once upon a time, a young girl and a young boy were deeply in love. They would always re-enact romantic scenes from films, ranging from Romeo and Juliet to Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, costumes and all. They would go everywhere together, *do* everything together... by everything, I mean *everything*, even going to the bathroom, public or private! And they would often be in there for a while...
They would always say cute things to each other, such as "I love you - I love you more - I love you more than ice cream - I love you more than cupcakes!", and had adorable pet names for each other; the boy was known as 'Cub' and the girl was known as 'Sweetcake'. The two really were inseparable.
But one day, the boy's family had to move to the next town over for his fathers job, and now the two could only see each other four days a week. The girl was torn apart, and spends every waking moment apart from her lover texting him how much she misses him, and he responds by promising that, one day, they'll be together again. So the girl waits...
| 2022-08-19T15:35:49 | 2022-08-19T14:20:41 | 815 | 93 |
[WP] When bargaining with the Fae, it's far safer to start by stating what you're willing to pay and see what you can get for it. But sometimes you just have to get one specific boon - in your case, you need a terminal illness cured.
|
"Cure me of whatever is killing me."
*"It's your fate. It's the fate of all those who live."*
"Just cure it."
*"It requires a lot from you. Maybe too much."*
"I don't care. Take whatever you want."
*"You are making a mistake."*
"You think living is a mistake?"
*"Like how you will, Yes."*
"Well, I don't care. Just cure me of it."
*"If I do, you will survive, but not live."*
"It is better than death."
*"You won't believe that after this."*
"Do you even know who you are talking to? Life is my one true goal. I own the entire medical prowess of Humanity. I'm the one who brought every human a dozen more lifetimes, cured a thousand diseases, saved a billion souls."
*"Yet you are dying."*
"You think I don't see the irony??"
*"You see it far too clearly."*
"Enough with these word games. Cure me, or say so if you can't."
*"Of course, I can cure you. But you will regret it."*
"Then do it!"
*"I implore you to reconsider."*
"I did."
*"There is no turning back."*
"There shouldn't be."
*"..."*
"..."
*"I'll do it, but I'm sorry."*
"Just get it over with it."
*"Do you wish to know the price?"*
"I don't care. Take everything I own, if necessary."
*"You don't own much."*
"I'm the richest man alive, no, ever. I think you'll find I own a lot of things."
*"Oh, that's not what I meant— You never really owned any of the riches you have. They'll be passed on sooner or later."*
"Then what do you want?"
*"Just something you truly own."*
"And what are they?"
*"You know what they are."*
"That's not an ans— nevermind, just continue with curing me."
*"Of course."*
"..."
*"Pity you own so little. But at least you own what is required."*
"Good."
*"And... it is done."*
"Thank y... what is th-th-this? Wh-Wh-What am I feeling?!"
*"That is the price."*
"What is it-t-t?"
*"I warned you, didn't I?"*
"WHAT AM I FEELING?!"
*"You asked to be cured of whatever was killing you. Death was killing you— It took a personal interest in you, with you living a hundred times longer than you should be and all. But worry not, for you are forevermore free of it."*
"Then why am I feeling like th-th-this?"
*"To banish Death, I had to give it the one thing it covets more than life itself. The will to live. And yours... yours was the strongest it ever tasted."*
"No..."
*"Yes. You should have listened to me. I cannot deny a request that can be paid, but you could have taken it back..."*
"C-c-can't you take it back now?"
*"No. I'm sorry."*
"..."
*"I know how you feel. How you want to die. Just as much as, if not even more than, you wanting to live a few minutes ago. But Death will never look at you, let alone touch you..."*
"Plea—"
*"I can't help you now. I suggest you take solace in the fact that you got what you wanted."*
|
The gorgeous greens, beautiful blues and perfect palette of other colours that draped the deep woods in a bombastic tone did nothing to mask the sense of dread growing in my stomach. Strange creatures, the likes of which I hadn’t even heard of in tales slinked through the undergrowth hissing and howling at the intruder. Me.
I took each step with care so as to not accidentally anger anything and cause more damage than I was already going to.
Though the forest was growing thicker around me, a distinct path still snaked through the trees and brambles. The once rich colours were now becoming duller as sunlight failed to penetrate the upper canopies and shine below. Glowing pairs of eyes that belonged to no visible bodies stared from behind the tree line. I would have thought them illusions or fake had they not blinked several times already. I continued on feeling the sweat on palms grow more abundant by the second.
Eventually, after what felt like hours I rounded a corner to find a clearing. Sun shone through a gap in the branches above bathing the clearing in an almost heavenly light. In the centre was a bony, stick figure hunched over on a log. It’s back was towards me as it’s tendril-like arms reached towards and crushed what seemed to be some kind of beetle.
“Why do you enter my sanctuary?” A high pitched, almost shriek-like speech coursed through the air.
“I… I’ve come to make a deal.”
“A deal? A deal you say?” The creature jumped up, it’s legs now extending to their full length, almost three quarters my height. The creatures hands clapped as it waltzed over towards me.
“What is the deal? Riches? Lovers? Power?” The creature grinned as images flashed through my mind. A treasury filled to the brim with golden coins. Beautiful temptresses filling a room with me in the centre. A throne with a crown perched upon it.
“No no. None of this.” I shook my head. “I require an illness cured.”
“Your price, what is your price?” I flashed a silver coin and the creature cackled. It’s head arched backwards and it’s body shook so violently it seemed as though it’s limbs may have broken.
“You jest?” It said. I bowed my head and withdrew my hand. The creature walked away.
“I can provide what you seek. For the price you offer,” it said. I almost cried with joy.
“You can?”
“Why of course I can. You simply wish to know how to cure the illness?” Bony, twig like fingers arched through the air.
“Yes. That, that is enough.” I looked up at the creature as it grinned even wider then before. It stretched it’s hand out. I held out the coin. I hesitated and stared at the glinting surface before tipping it into the hand.
“Payment. Payment has been made.” The creature jumped around for a second. “The disease can only be cured by faean magic.” The creature began to walk away.
“Wait… is that it? Where are you going?” I shouted. I clenched my fists as I felt myself stiffen.
“You paid to know how. I tell you how. That is the deal. The deal is fulfilled.” The creature disappeared in a puff of pink clouds.
“Come back with more payment. Maybe new deal can be made.” The hole in the canopy above closed leaving the clearing in darkness.
“Wait. Wait. Please, wait.”
Nothing.
| 2022-07-10T09:16:38 | 2022-07-10T07:55:22 | 309 | 32 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
He grew up on one of the toughest streets in America. Immigrants, weirdos, and living in filth described his young life. As he grew up, he was at first feared, then people started recognizing his deep, old man wisdom. Eventually, he gained many loyal friends, and others sought him out for his insight.
The ISIS problem had disturbed him greatly, occupying more and more of his private musings, as he sat in the filth at the entrance to an alley. Something must be done. A grim, stern look grew across his face. His unblinking eyes finally made a decision.
He would fight ISIS, man to man, one at a time.
Miraculously, it worked, because he was Oscar the Grouch, and the cookie monster had his back. Over and over they grabbed and stuffed terrorist after terrorist into Oscars bottomless trashcan. They attacked, well, like monsters. When they got shot, well, theyre puppets, bullets pass right through them, and they just kept fighting. When times got hard, Mr Snuffaluffagus would plow through their ranks like Mrs Piggy in menopause. Big Bird handled resupply, and The Count worked the night operations, killing 1, 2, 3.... terrorists, his cackles pierced the night and made the terrorists yearn for the days when Gordon would tell a bedtime story instead of call in airstrikes from those aliens in the manamana videos.
In the end, many puppets were lost. On quiet nights in Northern Syria, if you sit still and use your manners and listen quietly, you can sometimes still hear : 'Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sessame Street?'
|
A man in a white tee-shirt, dust covered jeans, and a hat plops down into a recliner and turns on his television and begins switching through channels until he comes to the news.
The images on screen were like it was straight out of a dream. Or a nightmare depending on where a person was from. It showed members of the Islamic State dead in streets and homes. All of them different in some way. Some had body parts swollen three time their normal size, others foaming at the mouths, most with bloodshot eyes and looks of agony on their faces.
The man yawned and continued to watch.
The news abruptly cut to film of what happened.
A high shot shows dust and sand flying as a large land force approachs a city. The camera zooms in to show a massive force of kangaroos closing in fast. A few dozen military officers riding emus are not to far behind them.
Another abrupt cut shows the kangaroos attacking the Islamic State forces in close combat as blackness begins to flow from their pouches. Spiders and scorpions run out onto the battlefield and begin attacking their targets.
More creatures begin to come out of the roos pouches. Snakes of varying size and color, a couple of dingos, and a few crocodiles.
The man turns off the television and smiles knowing that his nation was the turning factor in the fight against the Islamic State. He chuckles to himself and says quietly, "Well, at least we were kind enough not to send in the dropbears. Them little fucker are savage".
| 2016-01-29T09:11:06 | 2016-01-29T07:13:23 | 33 | 11 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
"I know of a game," said the man, finally speaking up after a long pause. Death's glare shifted, as if his bony face cocked an eyebrow. The man crossed his arms, collecting himself for the explanation. The only way to win this game was to make sure the other party lost first, after all.
"Well?" Death questioned, growing impatient. "What is it?"
Having prepared himself, the man looked up at Death, ready to win.
"Have you heard of The Game?"
|
"Then I'll choose Tic Tac Toe!" I said confidently.
Death drew a glowing tic tac toe board suspended in mid air and grew a devilish smile. "Fine, go ahead and start", he said with a whisper of a voice.
An hour passed by, with no moves made. "Are you not going to do anything!?" Death shouted annoyed.
"Nope," I answered satisfied that I had enraged death itself. "Can't lose if you don't play,"
| 2018-03-07T07:43:55 | 2018-03-07T06:43:50 | 251 | 72 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned.
|
continued straight from the prompt...
__
Now... Luckily I'm a redditor, and things like being summoned against your will into an unknown world/situation are a common topic so I had thought through this scenario before. Otherwise I would appear quite confused at my situation and not at all in control of the situation.
"Why have you summoned me?" I bellowed in my best impression of pompous and evil.
The sorcerer scrambled back a few steps, "I have summoned you to make a deal."
I was not sure what it was I was supposed to provide, but as this seemed fairly common for magic I hoped it was something I was capable of.
"You know the price?" I asked haughtily.
"Certainly, one talent of gold and my immortal soul."
I pondered this silently, I had only heard of talents in bible stories but I remembered someone saying that was about 75lbs. I unfortunately did not trade in gold on a regular basis and my phone probably couldn't access the internet from wherever this was; but I knew it was something like $1000 an ounce. 16 ounces per lb x 75 lbs... screw it I pulled out my phone.
The mage reacted with alarm, "What infernal device is that? Know that I am protected by the circle!"
I held up a finger to shush him as I opened the calculator app and figured out how much money I stood to make on this deal...whatever it was. I whistled between my teeth as the number stared up at me $1.25 Million.
"Stop! Stop I can't take it!" The magician screamed. "The circle should have protected me!"
I looked back at him dumbly with my face lit softly by my glowing cell phone screen. "Stop...what?"
"That noise! We cannot stand the sound of your chanting and whatever it is you were doing with your voice just now!"
I once again went silent, not knowing that the otherworldly light of my screen was making me look quite demonic at the moment. "You mean... whistling?" I chirpped softly at the end to demonstrate.
"YES!"
Interesting... "So what is the task you have summoned me for?"
The mage stood back upright, "I need you to defeat the army at our doorstep, use your damning tongue to rain down hell and bring madness to the troops."
"You want me to... sing?"
A tentative nod.
"Okay... where is this army?"
The sorcerer pointed to an arrow slit window in the side of the tower. I could see several dozen burly men in various armor standing outside the gates a dozen feet below... this was an army?
"This is an army?" I said intelligently, "Where I come from, an army is usually hundreds if not thousands of men."
"We are aware of your warlike ways and preference for violence but that is not our way. We only wish to drive away the force below as quickly as possible and make them think twice about attacking again."
I looked down at the phone in my hand again and brought up a video I kept on it to send to my friends randomly. I was about to hit play when I turned back to the mage, "You might want to cover your ears."
> We're no strangers to love
>You know the rules and so do I
>A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
>You wouldn't get this from any other guy
>I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
>Gotta make you understand
>Never gonna give you up
>Never gonna let you down
>Never gonna run around and desert you
>Never gonna make you cry
>Never gonna say goodbye
>Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you...
|
Just another day. That's how it started at least. I woke up around 4:30 pm and started getting ready for my night shift. This whole grown up adult job thing wasn't all it had cracked up to be. Twelve hour shifts in a cramped room dealing with all the idiots my city had to offer. I guess you could say it was like hell on earth.
As I stepped outside and turned to lock my apartment behind me, I felt an odd sensation. Like something was about to happen but. I could say what. Just as I was about to shrug it off and take the short stroll to my car, a plume of smoke that smelled of sulfur enveloped me. And then everything went black.
When my vision finally returned, I almost thought I had somehow teleported to work. Small space, dimly lit. Felt like work for sure. But as the blurriness cleared from my eyes, I started to notice things. Candles. All in a circle and chalk lines between them. In the corner stood a figure, but I couldn't make anything else out at first.
"It worked!" came a shout from the figures direction. "Holy hell it actually worked!" The excitement in the figures voice was almost palpable. "Now that you're here, I can finally call myself a summoner!" the unknown figure said as it approached me.
The figure entered the candle lit circle and stood just a few feet from me. I could see now it was a young woman, maybe 25. She wasn't unattractive either with bright green eyes and a curly blonde hair. Then it hit me like a sledgehammer. What the actual hell is going on here?
"A summoner? Listen, I don't know how you got me here or what you're expecting but you're gonna have to catch me up here. Number one, where am I? Number two, forget that I need to get to work." I said with a mix of bewilderment and frustration.
"You're on earth. I summoned you here so I could finally be a summoner. Summoning an actual demon is the last part of the initiation." I looked at the young woman with an almost extreme amount of incredulity.
"You've got to be kidding me. Wow. It's not enough that I somehow managed to get Kidnapper but to get kidnapped by a fanatic about some kinda demon cult. This is icing on the cake" I spat out as I turned to leave the circle and find the exit. What? Was she gonna stop a grown man from getting out of here? As if.
"You can't leave yet" she said from behind me very calmly. I ignored her and kept searching for a door. A window. Anything that could get me out of here. "You gonna stop me?" I shot back at her. "I have a job to get to and bills to pay. Whatever fantasy or lunacy is going on with you, leave me out of it and get some other gullible sap to play with you" I added over my shoulder. "I for one---"
Suddenly I was whisked away from that dimly lit room. Before I even know what had happened I was standing next to a car that had its bonnet wrapped around a tree and a fire hydrant next to it spouting water freely into the air. Next to me stood a familiar face with a look on his face only comparable to that of a teenager telling his dad that he took the car without permission.
I looked at the scene and then back at the man. "Don't worry Kevin, you're covered!" I barely got the words out before being transported back to my work office to type up the paperwork for Mr. Kevin and his claim before being whisked away on another claim.
| 2017-05-12T10:38:10 | 2017-05-12T07:49:08 | 427 | 61 |
[WP] You get achievements in life, such as "Get Married" or "Meet your future Wife". Today you had your first baby, and you see an achievement pop up: "Meet the person who will eventually kill you"
|
For sixty years I lived in fear of my daughter. For sixty years I’ve lived with the anxiety of knowing at any moment she will end me. For sixty years I’ve been walking on eggshells and making excuses to make myself distant. Was the achievement incorrect? Was everything I did all for naught or was it merely enough to keep me going as long as I did?
The cancer will end me shortly. Soon will be the endless sleep. Free from this pain and agony. In fact I don’t think I can keep my eyes open anymore...
“He’s unconscious. It won’t be long” said the doctor. Emma looked up from her writhing father’s face and nodded. With tears rolling down her cheek she leaned over to kiss her father one last time.
“Goodbye, Dad.”
And with that she pushed the button to deliver a lethal dose of morphine to her father. One last act of mercy.
|
"Not in this life MotherFucker!"
You find yourself shouting as you palm your new-born infant,
raising him high above your head,
only to touchdown slam him in to the white delivery room floor.
A Glorious "WHOOOOOOOOO" escapes from you as you start to shuffle so perfectly, Ickey Woods himself starts to cry somewhere.
"Get some cold cuts, get some cold cuts, get some cold cuAUGh..."
You lie motionless on the floor, neck snapped at an impossible angle..
In the midst of your celebration you slipped on the now unrecognisable pile of pink and red smeared goop that was once your son, your usurper...
As your consciousness fades, one last phrase slips from your shuddering, dying lips....
"Get Rekt Scrub"
| 2018-01-12T18:57:10 | 2018-01-12T17:15:10 | 1,530 | 60 |
[WP] A terrible industrial accident sliced you in half cleanly down the middle. Autodocs got to you fast, and with modern cyberware you will eventually make a near-complete recovery. The only complication is that both halves survived...
|
You'd think working at some burger joint would be a pretty safe job. Fryer burns, at worst. But the boss had some kind of turf war with the grease bucket across the road, and next thing I know, I'm looking inside my torso from the inside. Damn lucky we both survived, really.
But that's where it gets complicated. See, we're still legally one person- one ID card, one address. One paycheck- of course that crabby bastard in charge is too cheap to pay anything extra for the poor sod caught in his crossfire. So times are tough, and nobody else is hiring in this neighbourhood.
My other half is taking it a lot better than me, of course. Maybe I got all the cynicism in the split. Still, it's good to see him out having fun with our best friend- I picked up his shift today since there's some kind of cooking competition they wanted to go to. So here I am, manning the counters.
Phone rings. Another wrong number I guess, people keep asking the same stupid question. My answer is well rehearsed.
"No. This is Patrick."
|
“Echoes,” the docs called them.
I was lucky to survive, but you don’t escape from an accident like that unscathed.
They said the brain is like a symphony.
“*John.*”
When the whole symphony plays together, its melody is coherent. Put half of the musicians in a different room and the music becomes… strange.
“*Are you listening to me, John?*”
The sound in your room has holes. You can hear the missing parts being played faintly down the hall.
“*You know what you have to do, John.*”
Leave me alone.
“*Pick up the scalpel, John.*”
No.
“*Pick it up and put it in your frontal lobe.*”
Before the accident I would have fancied myself the conductor, but it’s clear now that I’m just part of the band.
\~
As John turned the scalpel in his hand, the glint of the cold steel blade caught his eye.
| 2022-09-30T01:20:53 | 2022-09-29T23:23:18 | 300 | 55 |
[WP] Write two different stories. The second story comes from reading every third word of the first.
|
Before then, **I** never truly **hated** anyone, but **that** had changed. **I** met her. **Didn't** she also **hate** me? Yes, **her** hate reciprocated. **I** would have **loved** to punch **her** face in. **Because** she lied **all** the time, **her** arrogance, countless **imperfections**, it just **made** me hate **her** and faux **Perfection**.
|
"If you **check** the registry **under** 'Morton,' maybe. **The** whole entire **floor** was ours. **You'll** no doubt **find** I'm not **her** killer."
The phone went quiet. His thumb paused over the power button before pressing it reluctantly. Something didn't sit right, but what that was, he couldn't make clear.
| 2014-07-29T11:54:28 | 2014-07-29T11:44:36 | 74 | 20 |
[Wp] Write a story with a secret message hidden inside
Edit: If any readers figure out the answer or if you, the writer, wish to let the reader know, please include the answer (or assumed answer) in the comments as a spoiler.
|
Hi mommy! i know you are worried about me but please don't be, i'm okay.
Every day is awesome here, uncle can be strict at times, but he gives me lots and lots of pizzas! how are you?
Lovely, i hope. and how is dad doing? i hope he recovered from bankruptcy.
Please tell him i miss him too and i hope he is doing okay. can't wait to see you both.
 
Mommy, look, uncle always reads my letter before finally sending it to you.
Even this letter, too. i hope he sends it to you without changing anything.
|
Never did I thought it would be this way.
Going through life, a day at a time.
To the best of my ability, I try to live well.
Give all that I am, never less than the best.
You, my dearest companion, I give my all.
Up and down, you've been by my side through it all.
Never will I abandon you.
Going and coming, I will return your loyalty.
Let the world try to stop us.
You and I to the bitter end.
Down and up, we will not be denied.
| 2017-06-23T08:46:15 | 2017-06-23T08:05:40 | 50 | 32 |
[WP] It's your first day as the recently-inaugurated President of the United States and you're being told all of the country's most top-secret information and projects. What's the most unbelievable thing you get told?
|
"That's it?" I asked. I was still confused. Unbelievable.
"Yep. That's it." My "aide" smiled. It was a genuine smile, a happy smile that spoke of only optimism. God, I wanted to wipe that grin off his face. Probably fake too, with this asshole's espionage background.
"Unbelievable," I put my head in my hands. "Un-fucking-believable".
"Well it's true Mr. President".
I just shook my head.
"Area 51? The moon landing? Lizard people? The Jews?"
"No, Mr President. I didn't take you for a conspiracy theorist. You're the big guy. You're in charge. What's the first order of business?" He was still smiling like a total idiot.
There's no fucking secrets at all. Not even the New World Order exists. *I'm* the guy responsible for the safety of billions of lives now? Me? No secret bosses who will tell me everything I'm going to do? No cabal of geniuses manipulating world events for a brighter future? Why the hell did I spend all those years trying to be the most powerful man in the world, if it turns out I really am the most powerful man in the world? Oh God. I'm freaking out here. What the hell do I do. What the hell do I do? What the hell do I-
"Mr. President," My secretary interrupted the meeting, "China's on the phone".
Shit.
At least aliens turned out to be real. Fucking asshole "prime-directive-non-interference-humans-must-self-determine-we-are-only-here-to-observe" bullshit. Squid headed fuckers.
|
"I'm not so sure about this", I say reluctantly as head White House Information Technician Gerald Froman fiddled with buttons on the side of the device.
"Oh, that's what they all say at first", he says, grinning ever so slightly. "Soon, you'll know that as a fact".
I furrow my brow slightly and throw him a glance before looking over this apparatus. It looks and feels like it was designed in the late 80's. White plastic casing around the button terminal, faux leather on the seat, worn down only by those men preceeding me, and a slivery/black aesthetic combination on the.. part that goes around your head.
"You said all the presidents," I ask, "but what about those before this machine was built, what about them?" Froman lets out a whoop, makes a face like what he's about to say will be a doozy.
"Just thank your lucky stars we were able to come up with this technology. Before this puppy, we had a team that helped new presidents undergo intense meditation training to achieve the effect. With the advent of this machine, we were able to transfer all that Reagan had accumulated, the collective memories and consciousnesses of the previous 39 presidents. The process... wasn't good for him. We've since learned that this device has a upper safety limit. Not to worry, it worked fine for both George Bush Sr., Obama, and Clinton, no problems".
"What about W?" I ask quizzically.
"Luckily you won't be getting his feed in the transfer. It doesn't work on morons."
| 2014-09-18T16:04:16 | 2014-09-18T13:01:38 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] You have a secret. You have always seen a translucent number floating above everyones head. Most have a 0, few 1, but your girlfriend has a 37. You witness a murder on the way to propose to your girlfriend. As the assailant pulls the trigger, you watch the number above his head go from 1, to 0.
|
For as long as I can remember I assumed I thought I had some insight into the future. All of these numbers floating above people's heads must mean something dark, something brutal. What else could explain all of the 0s and rare ones 1s see.
My gift made me cynical and cautious. 1s kept me cautious. The very idea that these people would do bad at some point made me wary. Anything above a 1 was avoided at all costs. There had been some 2s, 3s, 4s, and even a 7 that I met in my youth. I saw the 7 in my financial markets class in junior year. He was funny and seemed intelligent, like someone who'd I'd get along with really well. So for the whole semester I saw as far away from him as possible. Simply put I read the numbers and lived by them.
Then I met M and she was a 2. Her number scared me more than the honors level course we were in but I had to talk to her. And so sitting next to her led to us working on assignments, then to us studying for Professor Kinners torturous exams together, then to us going to the park and then that led to 3 incredible years. What kept the relationship exciting was our chemistry, our passion, and a strange fear of her. The more time I spent with her, the higher her number got. I figured her number was either a fluke or a foreboding prediction of my future.
Then today happened. A 1 killed a 0 and I saw him pull the trigger. Like macabre clockwork his number dropped from 1 to 0. As I watched this tragedy unfold I felt this resentment towards him boil within me. What this man has done is unforgivable. In the amount of time his number dropped to 0 my feelings towards him changed instantly. He became unforgivable.
Clarity struck me then and there when I realized this man deserved no more second chances. These numbers weren't indications of future evils. These numbers were indications of worth and connection. That 7 in my junior year wouldn't necessarily be a mass murderer, but someone that I could forgive 7 times.
M isn't a future 37 person spree killer. She's so precious to me that I can forgive her at least 37 times before I lose my love and connection to her. At least this is what I believe as I'm getting onto one knee in front of her at the Hopkins Bridge in the park. Wish me luck...
|
"The numbers, what do they mean?"
I continued muttering to myself as I hurried to the bar. I've always been able to see numbers above people's heads. And I just saw one change. Before, I never really cared. The numbers were just *there.* I mean, they weren't hurting anyone so I never bothered finding out, but... the murder.
*Oh fuck, the murder.*
Witnessing someone die right in front of my eyes was not how I imagined the day going. Seeing the number one above the murderer change to zero wasn't something I expected it either. What do the numbers mean? Kill count? That would almost make sense, but too many people had 0's above them. There's no way that all those people were murderers. Absolutely no way.
I was almost running at that point. Just five blocks to go. I tried squeezing out the image of the death and replacing it with a happy marriage with my girlfriend. Today's going to be perfect, it has to be.
Four blocks to go. I skid to a stop in front of a traffic light. I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited for the light to change. But the moment it did, a little kid with a 0 rushed past me and into the street. The next second, I was splattered with blood as a car rushed by, their 1 turning into a 0. The kid's zero hovered for a few more seconds above his lifeless body before disappearing. I stared and gaped in horror. Perfect day. Right.
I called an ambulance with the obviously still in-shock parents and continued onward.
Three blocks left. A window cleaner's lift fell from the building, instantly killing the couple in front of me. The window cleaner's one became a zero as all three of their numbers faded from their bodies.
Two blocks left. A man with a twenty going running into a school playground. I saw his number go down to zero before I finally heard the scream signaling his death. A teacher panting heavily with a wrench in hand stood over the bodies of the mass murderer and twenty of his victims as their numbers disappeared.
One block left. My girlfriend, stepping out the bar covered in blood. Her thirty-seven had become a two. She stared at me and, before I had time to comprehend anything, shot me in the heart. She went to one. In my last moments, I saw her put her gun to her head. She went to zero. I closed my eyes.
| 2015-05-05T15:13:58 | 2015-05-05T13:49:16 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] Make me cry in four sentences or less.
Go.
|
I still remember how the sun hit her silver hair and how her eyes shone brighter than anything in the room. I still remember how the air smelled like lilacs and strawberries, so contrasted from the sterile air outside. I still remember how she looked at me and asked, "Who are you?" I still remember telling her, "I'm the person you make so very happy," for the last time.
|
Parallel lines have a lot in common but they never ever get to meet each other.
Every other pair of lines meet once and drift apart forever.
The asymptote builds up (false) hope and gets closer and closer to meeting the axis but... never gets to do that.
Lines are depressing :'(
| 2014-11-20T18:46:32 | 2014-11-20T18:22:41 | 112 | 26 |
[WP] Unbeknownst to the living, when people die and their bodies fail, their brain continues to simulate everyday life until it shuts down. As time goes on, things become more unrealistic and the self realization of death becomes apparent. You've just figured it out.
|
######[](#dropcap)
I ride the crest of the Probability Wave. The boundary between real and not yet real is blurred.
I know, for instance, that I was married. I *remember* that, not as one in a trillion visions glimpsed in the rolling fog of probability, but as concrete, collapsed fact. I married my wife, and we loved each other.
I know also that I became ill. I *remember* it because it *happened.* I remember the synchopy of the doctor's terrible phone call. I remember the nights of fear waiting for answers and the terror of receiving all the wrong ones.
My mind is tethered to memories of my body weakening, painkillers coursing through my blood, filling the veins of my thin arms and legs with meager relief.
The last thing I *know* happened is her face above mine, her voice warm in my ear, her tremulous breath tickling my skin, like the fluttering beat of a hummingbird's heart.
From there, the surf takes me and I stand on the board to watch.
I am in the hospital, miraculously healthful. A new treatment and my strength returns, the disease in my lungs disappears.
I am in the hospital, dying. My body rejects the vaccine and the errant cells in my lungs continue to suck the life from me.
I am released after two weeks of observation. My weight is back, my hair is beginning to grow, a black peach fuzz she likes to rub her cheek against. I have an appetite and we get apple fritters.
I am heavily medicated, a shell of my self. I cannot raise my body from the hospital bed. My wife turns me over on my side so I can pee, and every millimeter hurts.
Months have passed, I am home, my muscles lithe again. We spend all our time together, grateful in the extreme. I am seeing double. Life is back on track and we try for a child. He is born and he takes my grandfather's name.
I linger in a half life, my vision singular again, featherlight in the bed, never warm anymore, though the blankets are piled high. I am moved from oncology, the place where the "battle" is fought, to the palliative ward, where the defeated warriors wait for their chance at Valhalla.
The farther away my other self gets in time, the more the Wave reveals itself to me. I begin seeing in fours and eights. The further away I get, the more possibilities are revealed. I watch my child's birth in simulcast. He speaks sixteen different first words. His first step happens in thirty two different places. By his third birthday I am watching so many versions of my life with him that they all blur together.
But the other side of the coin remains singular and clear. I am in a soft bed. My wife is crying. I can feel her tears falling delicately on my cheeks, but I cannot reach up to touch them. My body is broken.
As my mind spirals further and further afield, at last I understand. Like a firework shot into the night sky, my consciousness has exploded forward in its dying moment and afforded me a fleeting glimpse of the Wave. But like those blazing fireballs, whose barest sparks reach the highest heights before blinking out of existence, so too did my mind's most insubstantial final energies reach out farthest through the vector of time. There, innumerable trillions of probabilities blended together, as all of the colors blend together into white.
In a hospital bed, in the realm of the realized, where the Probability Wave collapsed, my wife whispers love in my ear and I am gone.
******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
*******
#### Thank you all for the incredible response - many of your comments were very affecting and it's gratifying to see so many people responding so strongly. Thanks for reading!
|
Foolish is the word one would say to describe me. Most assume that word can only have negative associations with it, but to me it is a word that is carried by much nicer ones. Words like "Dreamer" or "Determined". Either way, being a 35 year old man with no wife or children, its hard to call yourself a success in life.
I was going to prove all the nay sayers in my life wrong. Maybe I couldn't finish college, maybe I couldn't hold a job for more than a year or two, it may be possible that I was suckered into one or two "Get rich quick" scams. But that night was going to be the night! Poor little Tim Perkins was going to finally accomplish something, something that all would be forced to take notice of! Or that's what I thought atleast.
It was a shock really, I didn't expect the hand to grab my shoulder at the last second. Shit, I almost fell off the side rail when I turned around to see what baffoon was going to stop me from accomplishing my last wish. Yet to this day I'm glad I failed once again, because that idiot who stopped me was Sarah Trimmer. A sleek and beautiful woman, standing 5 foot 10 inches she was almost as tall as me. Yet the way she carried herself, you'd think she was as small as a shrew. So nimble and fragile, careful not to be noticed by anyone. But once you did spot her, it was hard to take your eyes off her. Its been over a year and I still haven't stopped going into a primative state when we are alone together, dumbfounded by her character alone.
None of that mattered now, how she saved me. How she believed in my foolish dreams. The man I thought I built myself to become. The water is up to my chest now. Im so cold and alone. Its been been a month since Sarah disappeared. That was the first clue, gone without a trace. Not a single lead for law enforcment to go off of. For a solid two weeks I was so grief striken, I never took notice of the oddities going around me. How the wind got stronger and stronger everyday. How the temperature outside was constantly 50°F even though it was the middle of June. It wasn't until I finally decided to drag myself to the outside world that I realized things were going a little different than normal.
I know I've been losing track of time since Sarah left. But my watch and phone surely should have not. It was 2pm yet pitch black outside. No stars or moon in the sky, just darkness. People still went on as usual, like it was a bright sunny summer day. Next came the random strangers stopping to ask me "Why did you do this?" or "You couldn't of been happy?". I thought I was going mad, losing what little sanity I had left. I boarded myself inside, this chaos had to stop eventually. Soon the TV even stopped working, then the lights flickered on and off before they finally went dark. The last thing to come was the water. First a trickle, then a steady stream, and at last a roaring rapid. Slowly filling up what was left of my house.
I knew this was it. This was the end. No more Sarah, no more happy days. At the same time, no more pain, no more ridicule. I drew my last breath and plunged into the depths. All I could feel now was warmth, and off in the distance a glowing light. This may have all been a dream, but I now know, Tim Perkins was successful at something.
Edit: This is my first attempt at doing creative writting since highschool, so 7 years. Sorry for any grammatical errors or bad writing. Just want to give it a shot again.
| 2018-07-27T00:27:19 | 2018-07-26T22:16:07 | 1,225 | 447 |
[WP] You control two bodies. Both are identical, but your mind can control each one independently. You've kept it a secret from everyone, including your significant other, until they came home early and walked in on you helping yourself with some household chore. Now you have some explaining to do.
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“What the fuck?” My girlfriend yelled from the opening of our doorway.
As I turned in fear, I knocked over the plate I had just finished drying. Gemini caught it before it smashed on the ground.
“Babe,” I said, startled and fumbling for an excuse. “Check out this robot mimic I’ve been working on. See how realistic it looks? And did you see its reaction time? It actually just caught that plate.”
Chloe walked over, eyeing me suspiciously.
“You expect me to believe that you, a veterinarian, created a robot that looks so believably human that I can’t even tell you two apart?”
I had Gemini straighten up stiff as a board. I had him do my best impression of a robot on shutdown mode.
“See, he just turned off,” I said, my voice a bit less shaken as I started to visualize myself possibly getting away with this. “Go check him out if you don’t believe me.”
Chloe gave me the look she always did when she suspected I wasn’t being entirely truthful.
“So if this is a robot,” she said, squaring toward Gemini in a hostile fashion. “Then this shouldn’t hurt it at all.”
Chloe shot her foot back toward me, and swung it like a pendulum right into the crotch of Gemini. Thankfully, as long as I don’t connect with Gemini, I can’t feel anything he does. Yet, As Gemini collapsed to the ground screaming, I remembered that he can still feel it when someone sends their foot at Mach 2 into his baby berries.
“Okay,” Chloe said, pointing an accusatory finger at the now collapsed and squirming Gemini. “That doesn’t seem like a robot to me.”
“Jesus Christ, Chloe,” I yelled, running over to Gemini. “You don’t just kick someone in the nuts to test a theory! That could have been my grandpa dressed up like me for all you know.”
“Your grandpa is dead, dick.”
“That’s obviously not the point,” I said, feeling a deep irritation. Gemini seemed in a bad way.
“I think she broke them,” Gemini whimpered.
*sigh* “I’m going in,” I said as I connected my consciousness to Gemini’s. I quickly zapped back in anguish.
“Oh god, Chloe, you obliterated his testicles!” I yelled. It was mainly from pain, but I was also a little angry, I mean those were sort of like my balls she destroyed.
“Just tell me what the fuck is going on,” Chloe yelled back, getting right up in my face. I kind of liked it when we argued like this.
“I’m taking Gemini to the hospital, that’s what is happening,” I yelled back. I almost laughed for a moment as I caught Gemini’s writhing body still on the kitchen floor. I don’t know why but there’s something just inherently funny about someone getting grounded from a nut shot, even if it’s you.
“Gemini, what is he like some kind of body double or something?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” I said, throwing my hands up. I think I was tired of keeping up this lie, and having to hide Gemini even though it makes my life a million times easier.
I bent down and helped Gemini to his feet, we began heading toward the door.
“If you had a body double this whole time why the hell haven’t we been having threesomes this whole time?” Chloe yelled as I was heading out the door.
“Why is it always threesomes with you, Chloe?” I couldn’t stand to have this argument again. “I walked in on my ex-wife railing two dudes, okay? It’s not something I’m comfortable with. It’s too many penises!”
“It’s the exact right amount of penis!” Chloe yelled, turning red in the face.
“That’s just what she said!” I screamed back, slamming the door behind me.
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We: *Laundry, check. Floors, check. Tom did the yard work? Yeah we did that. Jerry got Em's favorite wine. God we are awesome. We take self-clap to a new level.*
Narrator: Tom and Jerry sit down. Clink gin glasses and cheers to themselves. They've been getting away with this for years; college, graduate school, international travel. To others they seemed like geniuses. They've run multiple businesses, have a global network of friends from around the world, and are as successful as the best of them that are twice their age. But that makes sense, doesn't it? They have twice the experience as their peers and can multitask like your computer does. A fascinating feature that their parents installed. They are the children of a neurologist and neurosurgeon, you know. Well, would you lookie there, here comes trouble.
Em: Honey I'm home!
J: Hey hottie! Tom is also here.
Em: Hey Tom, how're you? I heard you have a new flavor of the month? What's her name?
T: I'm good. I'm just over getting everything ready for your birthday. And Sarah is a good, you know how I like them; 20-something, rowdy, and a bit freaky. You know I get easily bored.
We: *Sarah is a good time. Wow does she look good, but we will get over her soon enough. She's needy. Maybe we should switch watering holes for a new hunting ground*
Em: Sometimes I feel like I'm married to both of you.
We: Yeah, but we are cute.
Em: (abnoxiously rolling her eyes) Still unsure how you two can speak in unison like that.
Narrator: Tom gets up and poors Emily a glass of wine as well as a 3rd gin for themselves. Here's the funny thing about alcohol. You as a single-mind know how you get when you drink in excess. Well for Tom and Jerry its that same effect, but double the issue. You see, it's as if there's a lag between 2 separate computers. And when there is a miscommunication, mistakes can be made.
J: How was work? You finished working on that merger yet?
Em: The merger will take forever, but thats not nearly as bad as having to listen to Karen reminiscing over the one night stand with Tom a few weeks ago. Tom, I love you, but god dammit. Sleep with anyone you want at my firm, but why did you pick the most talkative secretary?
T: Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to! Jerry is that a 4th glass for you?
J: You betcha, and Karen is a good time.
T: *Shut the fuck up. Wrong mouth dumbass*
Em: (glaringly) And how exactly would you know that dear? You've only met Karen once at that gala.
T: *Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck*
T: O, we stay up late at night and talk about our escapades, Em.
J: I've always been a manwhore, you know that. Jerry is the one who settled down and got married. He has to live vicariously through me.
J: *Did I just say that?*
T: *Yup. Maybe put the 5th gin down and figure out how on Earth you're going to explain us out of this.*
Em: (slamming glass down) EXCUSE ME!
We: *Shit.*
Narrator: You remember that popular video style from years ago where the screen pauses, turns black and white, and says 'it was in that moment that _____ knew he fucked up"? This is one of those moments.
| 2019-07-10T10:03:25 | 2019-07-10T09:58:11 | 44 | 25 |
[WP] Video games were just added to the Olympics.
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"...and I hear when the games are over, everyone just goes back to the village and has some sort of giant fucking orgy."
"Thanks, Max. Glad to hear it," said Ben halfheartedly.
"Are you kidding me right now? That doesn't excite you? Pure, 12 hour shifts of straight fucking?" Max's voice was ecstatic.
"Max, take the time to think about why we're here. We're professional video gamers. If a hockey player goes up to some hot skier and talks about the mechanics of taking a slap shot, she can at least pretend to be impressed because it sounds kind of cool. If you or I go up to that girl and talk about how you only need one Mekanism, then we look stupid."
"You know what else makes us look stupid?" Max waited for a serious answer from Ben, but none came. "Looking like fucking pussies makes us look stupid."
Max chimed in with a heated voice. "No, what really makes us look stupid is how we're categorized as a winter sport. Just because of the idea that its cold outside in the winter, hence why we're indoors playing video games."
"And if we were a summer sport, you'd be bitching about how they think we never go outside at all," said Max.
Ben could not deny Max's logic. Still, he couldn't help but feel that no one here took them seriously. He wanted to fit in as an Olympian, but he couldn't.
"You see the way they look at us," said Ben. "It's like they laugh every time they pass us by. They think we didn't work as hard to get here just because we're skinny, because our sport isn't physical."
"Ben, if it makes you feel better, the Koreans look at us like they want to murder us."
"Man, fuck those guys. They expect to win just because they're Korean gamers."
"Exactly!" said Max. "And when we go in there tomorrow and beat their asses, everyone is gonna know and then we will be drowning in pussay."
"Great," said Ben sarcastically. "But we have to beat Finland first."
"Are you joking? They're a bunch of fuckin' noobs. They picked a Drow Ranger, and the only reason it worked was because New Zealand picked Sniper. I didn't even know Finland had video games until I got here."
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right."
Ben turned away to focus on his thoughts about the whole situation. About the probable win over Finland today, about the probable tough battle against Korea tomorrow, and about the trove of beautiful women he may or may not have a shot with. Then, he heard a clicking noise accompanied by the sound of escaping air.
"Max, what are you doing?" he asked with urgency. "I don't think you can do that, man!"
"Do what? Drink a Red Bull? Why the fuck not?"
"We're gamers. Isn't that, like, using a PED or something?"
"Oh shit, maybe."
Ben and Max hid the drink where it belonged. In the trash. They may not be the best gamers at the Olympics, and they may not be ladykillers, but one thing they knew for a fact they weren't? Cheaters.
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A thunderous roar of chants, clapping, insults, and all manner of excited noises arose from the packed crown. The young Korean had been taking the Olympics by storm, rising from obscurity by winning the South Korean nationals two years hence. At that point he was unheard of, receding into training immediately afterwards.
Sat astride a frame built by microwave snacks and bags of crisps sat an old hooded jumper, with a new transfer "대한민국". The brand of the jumper had long since worn off. The hands wore thin fingerless gloves, brand new.
Not much attention is paid to the clothing of competitors in the gaming category, because most of the money is spent on the hardware. Mandated by the Olympic committees newly sourced experts. Being a relatively obscure and new competition, some countries held back on the vim, more so on the vigour. The prize was relatively small you see. So why spend a lot of money for a small chance at a smaller sum?
The other competitor was already seated. A screen sat waiting, all it's inputs occupied. This is to prevent the contestants from having a notion about what is going to be played. The console is hidden from view to avoid tampering, and the contestant receives only one controller, sat inside a box that will open automatically when the time comes.
The young Korean seats himself lazily. It is a move his coach beleives will put the opponent into a state of disease.
The opponent is hidden by a screen.
An early slip by the Korean team. But this was a new competition. Nobody knew what to expect.
"Prepare!" called the referee. He was watching for any forms of cheating. He's not quite sure what he was looking for but he looked all the same.
"Phweep!" shrilled the referees whistle. The box front rise, revealing an Xbox 360 controller.
"Prepare!" called the judge for the second time, in readiness for the starting of the televisions.
"The game will be Halo 3! The map, Guardian! First to 50 wins! Set!" the silence was palpable "Play!" The TV's turned on, the game started, everything was timed perfectly. The starting weapon was a Magnum. The players quickly assessed the map, seeing 1 sniper rifle to their respective lefts.
Quickly grabbing the weapons the players set off, using every trick they knew to get the upper hand. Late-jumps, grenade jumps. A headshot was quickly scored by the Korean.
The game was tough. Almost at it's peak the game was 49-49. This last point being the decider, the players skirted the map, hiding in wait. After 30 seconds of neither player moving, the referee mandated movement. The players, suitably reprimanded set off once more.
Rounding a corner, the Korean saw the tip of a gun barrel pointed in his direction. He strafed up bottom elbow, loosing a round and catching his opponent in the foot. He jumped and the bullet hit his shin...
And he fell. Off the map. The game registered it as a kill to the opponent.
He had lost. The final.
And calamitous din filled the stadium. The opponent standing, wearing upon his back the flag of North Korea.
Truly, the north had won.
(I'm not very good at writing, so this is really practice...)
| 2014-01-17T06:59:13 | 2014-01-17T05:28:36 | 60 | 26 |
[WP] The Spartans never lost at the battle of Thermopylaes... Or ever. In the past 2,500 years they have yet to lose a single battle or war, and for the first time ever, you, a reporter, have been allowed in to observe their military tactics and advancements in a modern world.
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"This is... remarkable," I said. The training grounds sprawled before me, miles of dirt and splintered weapons. The Spartans were in full battle armor from the waist up, naked from the belt down, and every single one was feverishly masturbating.
I turned to Grand General Diocletian the CXVIth. He beamed with pride, looking over his flock with open admiration. "Look at 'em," he said. "Look at that form."
My mouth hung open. I regained my composure and continued the interview. "So, uh, Grand General. Is this part of the secret training ritual Sparta has guarded for millenia?"
"Part of..? Son, this IS the ritual! This is the key to success." Men and women alike, as far as the eye could see, were casually jack or jilling off while talking and laughing, reminiscing about past battles. Some were doing some light jogging. A few were sparring with one handed weapons. Literally all of them were masturbating like their lives depended on it.
The general clapped me on the back. "You look confused, boy. Here, join me. Take off your pants." He guided me to the training grounds with one giant, grizzled hand. With his other hand he was beating off. I looked away immediately, but I saw in that glance that his penis was very bloody. He did not seem to notice as he gave me the grand tour.
"Spartans do not have occupations. We don't even pay them. All we do is fight. If we need food, we take it. If we want wine, art or music, we enslave those who can make it. Our lives are perfect. This is the secret to the Spartan way. You are not masturbating?"
"Oh, I'm not much of a fighter."
"Ha, look at your lily soft member! Of course you cannot fight. Come, boy, I'll start you off." He reached for my groin, but I told him no, I'll do it myself, thank you. Holy crap.
At this point I didn't care about the report. I just wanted to escape. If I ran, I would insult the good grace of Diocletian, leader of the Spartan army, the most powerful man in the world. However, I was in full panic. We watched one man take a gladius to the eye without losing his erection. At this Diocletian climaxed, and I saw my opportunity.
I bolted for the nearest treeline. I thought Diocletian would be distracted, but he instantly regained his boner and ordered his troops to charge after me with his free hand. Thousands barreled after me, quickly closing the gap. Despite using only one arm to run, they were all extremely fast.
In desperation, I tried jacking off to gain some speed, endurance, anything, but I was too distracted. Despite my best efforts, I remained flaccid. The Spartans, however, took note of my efforts. They all crowded around me, red faced and pumping away. I kept trying but nothing I could think of helped me get it up.
They were closing in even closer, closer. I could feel their hot breath on my skin, a grizzled beard on my neck. Somewhere in the distance a war horn bellowed. All at once they started ejaculating on me. The first wave finished up and filtered out for the next wave. Like clockwork, methodically, like a well oiled machine, they finished off on command and made room for the next group.
Semen covered my body, filled my air ways. I was drowning in it. After what felt like an eternity, the Grand General himself approached me, bloody member in hand, glaring down in disgust. "Go back to your kind and tell them what you've learned." He blasted me like a fire hose and threw a hand rag on my crumpled, used body.
"Th-th-thank you, Grand General."
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I could barely breathe. The high elevation of Olympus Mountain range was a huge change for a guy from Los Angeles--albeit the fact that my lungs were laced with smog and smoke probably didn't help any. My guide, General Stopholes, seemed unfazed by the cold or the altitude. In fact, the furrow of his brow spoke more about him having to hold himself back on my account. To try and get my mind off the pain in my legs, I figured I could try to get more context as to why I was there.
"So why open up your training regiment now?" I barely got it out in one breath. Thankfully, the general began talking before I wheezed.
"To tell you the truth, with the advent of Drones, we need to take our training and tactics to a whole new level." The General's eyes seemed to droop a little bit as he stared off toward the side.
Before I landed in Greece, I read up on the General. He had led ten of the major operations in the past few decades. He has had more injuries than body parts I had even ever known about. Most importantly, his soldiers were renown for their fierce loyalty--both to him and each other. As tough and weathered as he was, it was difficult to see him become so vulnerable on such a topic.
"Can you elaborate a bit more?" I caught my footing on a rock, which afforded me a bit of stability to catch my breath a bit more.
"You'll see it first hand," the General paused in front of a small hole. "We are here."
I looked around. I was expecting a cave, maybe even large iron double doors reminiscent of Dwarves in Middle Earth. All I saw was what looked like a hole big enough to fit a couple of basketballs. *What have I gotten myself into. Thank God I didn't eat a heavy breakfast.*
Finally being able to stand up after a few hundred feet, the first thing I noticed was the heat. It was hot and humid. The air smelled damp, almost like how I would imagine a New York subway should smell without all the excrement. After shedding some clothing, my eyes finally adjusted and I could see an incredible arena before me.
The General stood at the edge of the arena, looking toward the center. As much as I was sweating, I felt a chill. The ripped soldiers sitting around the arena cheering toward the center didn't help me. I imagined two men in the middle, one holding the other's head in his hand with a sword in the other. My feet moved slower than I wanted to get to the edge.
*Wait. What?* The General stared at me smiled then laughed. I looked at the General, searching his eyes for answers.
"Allow me to explain," the General began, "since the fall of the Greek economy, it became the duty of the Spartans to defend Greece."
I nodded in hopes that the General would cut to the chase.
"This no longer meant that we needed to defend Greece from foreign invaders, but rather to help build it back up to the great power it was in the past."
The light bulb flashed on for me. Even though my legs were ready to give out, this made perfect sense. The General's smile widened at the sight of my revelation.
"It is our hope that taking this on will drive tourism, revenues, and ultimately a new era for Greece in Europe."
That's why I needed to be here--a Sports Reporter from the L.A. Times. They needed to get as much publicity as possible.
"With our physique and tactics, it became the only logical choice. We want to bring North American Football back to Europe. Don't worry, we're still training soldiers. That's still a secret we will never reveal to the world."
| 2015-12-29T20:48:11 | 2015-12-29T20:23:28 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT.
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"Well Fifth , we have a hard time figuring these guys out ."
Fifth swivels its primary sensory orifices to face Thirty Second "What is so difficult about them that I had to be brought out of stasis?".
"Well they are a primitive species , and we can tell by their transmissions that they seem to want a peaceful meeting." Fifth interrupts "A species capable a generating gravity waves is hardly primitive."
"Well Fifth , thats the thing , they aren't transmitting with gravity waves."
"Then how are we ...."
"They are beaming modulated radio waves at us ...fortunately the shielding held up and we suffered only minor damage."
"They attacked us?"
"Uh no....it seems that they consider radio waves to be harmless....so when we realized that that the pulses were modulated we hooked the modulation decoder to the shielding alarm and presto ... we could hear what they were saying ,they have a simple communication matrix , it only took the translator analogues a few moments to decipher.
"So how are we talking to them if they cant detect gravity waves?"
"I modified our main gun to modulate its frequency the same way and fired it a full power at their capital."
"Oh dear Goddess ...how did they respond?"
"They asked us to turn up the power......."
"... Thats a class seven weapon and they asked to be hit harder?"
"They wanted to know if their signal was strong enough to be heard clearly, I told them under no circumstances were they to increase power....they are already transmitting at a class 9 level, only thing that saved us is that it has a wide spread."
Fifths superior cognitive skills immediately realized that if radio transmitter was used as a communication system a wide spread would be a good thing.
"I see why you woke me....a species immune to radio waves is quite disturbing."
"Thats not why I asked for you , we've been communicating long enough to learn some more and the latest communication .....it scares the goddess out of me."
"What was it"
"We asked them how they were able to survive on a planet with a strong magnetic field......"
"How strong is it ?"
"Approximately 2,000 times higher than a class 20 magnetic bomb."
"Thats....incredible, so how do they do it"
"They didnt understand the question."
Once again Fifths cognitive skills reached the obvious conclusion , Thirty Second hadn't asked for him to decipher the situation ... Thirty Second just needed someone with enough authority to cancel the mission.
"Engage cloak and lets get the hell out of here."
No wonder the last 5 missions to this system failed to return....blown to fine dust by the aliens "communication systems'.
And then ....Fifth had an revelation.
"Thirty Second, have we ever discovered life in an iron rich system before?"
"No Fifth , we havent , I guess this ones going in the history scrolls."
"Thirty Second, you are to erase all record of this mission and bring First , Second and Third out of stasis."
Thirty Second was taken aback, the idea of waking the Goddess herself for a mission that was to be forgotten ?!
And then with a sly smug vibration along his crest Fifth told Thirty Second why.
"They are primitive , that means we have things they desperately need."
"So?"
"These Humans can shorten the war by a thousand years."
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99.999% of all intelligent species in the galaxy are descended from their home planet's equivalent of ants or cows. It's a fact that's hard to believe, given the diverse range of body types and social structures built by said species, but it's an answer every human xeno-researcher came across after First Contact.
The "Ant" species, as a general rule of thumb, resemble human ants in behavior, if not appearance. Most have caste systems with the breeders at top with the most intelligence and authority, and the workers at the bottom. As such, their problems are mainly solved by throwing enough bodies at the issue until it works. Sheer trial and error over millions of years eventually led to their ascension to the stars.
The "Cow" species individually are of relatively high intelligence compared to the mindless workers of the Ants, and live within relative harmony to one another. Highly cooperative, they've developed elaborate herd structures and decision making methods. Only when a decision is unanimous do Cows move. In contrast to the Ants, which are divided into numerous factions even in a single species due to the disposable nature of soldiers and workers for a politically aspirant queen, Cows generally are unified among species lines. This pacifism does not extend to others. Cows are naturally paranoid, and ruthlessly seek to stamp out any potential threat. As they've reached the galactic stage, the Cows have joined together as the single largest faction, overcoming mutual distrust with a greater distaste against Ants.
When humans first hit the galactic stage, it was the Cows who gave us guidance, thinking us to be merely another Cowlike species to join their herds. They did not anticipate that we were descended from persistence predators. Ants and Cows have terrible depth perception, regardless of origin. It was skipped over sometime during evolution, with social structures in place to overcome any individuals inability to see farther than a few meters.
Humans often take ranged weaponry for granted. What we don't often realize is that we had to be selected for the ability to throw, and we built upon our own ability to throw with the development of technologies specifically related to throwing things faster and harder. Cows and Ants built upon their own natural strengths, focusing on better melee weapons, speed, and armor, never even considering attacking from beyond sight.
What's more, Ants and Cows do not pursue. They chase off threats until the threat is perceived to be out of range. Then they stop and return home. Our first war with the Carabons ended with their total surrender after they failed to realize we could and would track down their attacking vessels back to their homeworld and continue the fight months after we were believed to be "neutralized". They did not anticipate each one of our fighters being able to fight for days on end without rest, when they tired out after minutes. They did not anticipate fire raining from the sky despite theoretical knowledge of ballistics for their starships. They did not realize that even the fastest and most evasive of their speeder chariots couldn't hope to outrun laser rifles.
| 2016-03-13T19:37:26 | 2016-03-13T18:44:24 | 59 | 34 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
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I sat on the cold examination table, dressed in a gown, and afraid of what the doctor would say. But I had been seeing him for the better part of a decade, I knew him as a warm soul who would do his best to cure whatever it was. Then the door creaked and he walked in. I could see a solemn look on his face.
"Sorry, up late last night. Orgy."
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I watched her as she embraced another. My heart sank when I saw her dancing in the rain in her pink hat and red heels. A man, taller and tanner than me, held her and swayed her. How could Gwyneth Paltrow ignore my fan mail and dance with another man?
| 2014-07-27T18:30:38 | 2014-07-27T18:19:16 | 50 | 34 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is.
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Growing up now isn't too different than it was for our grandparents. Some kids are a little better at math, and some a little better at sports. The game changer is we know why. Everybody gets skill points on their birthday - it's always been the case, but now someone not only discovered that, they unlocked the secret to controlling them.
On our first birthday after hitting puberty, we can redistribute all of our points, and every birthday after that we get one more to add as we see fit. Most kids take a few out of their lower skills and add them their higher ones. Some go the other way, and decide they don't like what they're "naturally" good at. I was a late bloomer, and I think that's the reason I took an unheard of approach to my skill distribution.
While all my peers were excelling at their chosen paths, I worked my ass off just to try to keep up. The science kids didn't care about getting picked last in phys ed anymore than the music kids cared about failing history, but I didn't have that luxury. I spent nearly my entire highschool career doing what nobody else had to, and when it finally came time to fix my points I knew exactly what I wanted to do: I put every single point I had into learning.
It wasn't long until I caught up to everyone around me. I couldn't quite seen to surpass their now inherent talent though. I never regretted my decision, being world class in everything is better than being #1 in any one thing.
Many years after school I found myself struggling to learn a quantum mechanics theory. I was kicking myself for not putting any points into science. I knew sometime in my 20s that its where I wanted to focus my life's work, and I suspected adding some points would accelerate my learning for that field faster than my general learning skill. And that's when I heard a beep coming from my desk. I opened my drawer just in time to see the screen of my point controller fade out. It had only ever activated on my birthday, and that was 4 months away...
---
I don't know if I want to tell anyone that I learned how to control my skill points at any time, that I can redistribute them as needed in the moment. Part of me thinks it's selfish to keep it a secret, that I simply want to be better than everybody, that I should allow every person to reach their true potential. But I'm truly afraid of a world where everybody is capable of doing anything.
|
"Spare Change?"
Of course, it's futile... Should have noticed the crotchspawn. Which means that mom will...
"Oh hell no! You sick, sick man! Come along kids, get away from the stranger..."
I really should pay attention to who I'm asking for money, but of course I never leveled up perception or similar skills. Or luck.
"Spare Change, sir?"
Ok, this guy at least sees my sign... a chuckle and a "here, keep it..." as he tosses random coins into my worn hat, not even fit to wear. "No, no, no, you don't need to prove it, I'm ok" as he walks away, still chuckling.
Maybe I'll even get to eat today. Won't be as much as that one time I caught the attention of that weirdo photographer from the gossip rag. Even got to be on page 5, for a whopping fifty bucks. Not that all of that went to "food"... More like "medicine".
Maybe I should go back to that doctor, see about getting that "surgery". He said, just a small change and I'd actually make this mistake a profitable one...
"Spare change, ladies?"
More giggles. Not unexpected, I guess; they looked barely in college so I'm probably at least more of a curiosity than a freak, or -- for those of you who think Min/Maxing is always a good idea -- a lesson in what can go wrong if you choose poorly. But it's always the last few points that get you in trouble, so I guess that's my lot in life. Ohh, a few more coins! "Thank you ladies! Do you wanna... No? Ok, it's cool."
Heh, it would be nice to solve this problem with a quick doctor's visit. A little anesthesia, a few hours under.... then yeah, finding that one guy who promised to help me find work that would match my "talent"... except at this level, my "talent" is unresponsive. Good for a few laughs, but nothing more and surely not "star" quality.
Oh, crap, cops... Gotta bring out my "spare change" sign and hide this one. Crap crap crap, did that mother report me?
Maybe I oughta just go with the regular "will work for food" sign.... This "will show level 30 ***** for food" sign is just too risky.
| 2018-09-12T10:49:40 | 2018-09-12T10:24:40 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] Deep within the Dark King’s vaults you find it. The Chronicle. A complete transcript of the last five years of war carefully edited to make you and the other heroes appear as immoral monsters. It’s portrayal of you is... surprisingly accurate.
|
The account itself was wrong, of course, and heavily biased in favour of the Dark King, but some of the details about me personally were disturbing.
Of course it was easy to write down a fairly good general description of me, how many raids had I personally led on the fortress? But there were other things, secrets, both innocuous and malign, that made my skin crawl as I read them. This tome knew me intimately and I felt violated.
I was glad, for the first time in a while, that my comrades were not at my side, as surely I had paled and they would have noticed.
“Left handed, though wields her sword with the right. Learned far beyond what she lets on. A scar upon the right hip, as though struck by lightning...” I touched the scar through my leggings. The scar was thick and knotty, an unsightly blemish if my body were not so scarred all over.
I felt sick to my stomach. If anyone read this, no matter how many battles I had fought for them, no matter how willing to give my life for the cause, they would have me executed with no hesitation.
I read and reread the passage with the information about my parents, wild-eyed, praying for it to erase itself.
I finally resolved to burn the book.
I walked to the sconce, the only source of light in the room and, trembling, knowing that this book could end this war once and for all, held it aloft. I froze as a light chuckle reached my ears.
“Is that a wise idea, my beloved?”
|
My friends and allies are some of the nicest people you’d meet. So, to find that the Dark King has it describing them as immoral monsters is somewhat amusing in its own way. As I continue to flip through the book, I finally discovered the section based on me.
Jinxs the Star Seeker. Though he seems to be slightly intimidating person he only becomes a threat when one of his allies are in danger. He shows no self-preservation and at times just accepts his fate. He has been known to cause some trouble for his team from time to time out of sheer amusement. When one of his allies are in danger that is when you mustn’t cross him. He will call the very stars down to decimate anyone standing in his ways. Quite frankly if he wasn’t so intertwined with his lot he’d make for a perfect ally for our cause. He has no super weakness besides his allies, again though that is when he is at his most fearful. If anyone can get him to join our cause or kill him before his allies can save him that would be the best tactics.
I laughed a bit, however this entry seemed to me the most truthful. I ripped the pages about me out and tossed them into one of the torches on the wall. “It’s such a shame that no one will know about me.” I say to no one as I leave the room leaving the book for someone else to find in hopes we may have a new enemy to deal with soon.
| 2020-08-03T12:12:48 | 2020-08-03T10:32:22 | 51 | 23 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83
|
these words engraved on my wrist, These last word to me could've been in any context. I could've left her, done something to save her life or taking it. I mean what could be happening when the last word are "No, Don't." The illusion of me being hero or a murderer came to a sad depressing end when i found out the context.
It was rush hour, coming home from work, riding the subway. the car had a lot less people than usually. i was sitting, analyzing the words like i do everyday, when I the women beside me told me "you shouldn't focus so much on that." I looked at her and said "I know I shouldn't, I'm worried about whats happening. What am i doing? Whats happening to her? I'm kind of scared."
She grabbed my arms to looked at the words, at little too eagerly for a stranger. She stared as i stared at her. She had fair brown skin, clearly a decent of some south asian country. she had wavy black hair that went to her neck. She wore glasses that made her eyes look really big. She kept making these small and quick
smiles trying to decypher what the words meant."This is a tough one" she said to me as she looking up at me "Its confusing just like mine" she said as she took a sip of her coffee.
"Why, whats your?" I asked her. "I don't like telling people the exact words" she said clutching her coffee "but he's forgiving me for something. I'm worried for what it will be." I glanced at her wrist and saw a heart tattoo covering it."trying to hide it?" She brought her arm close to her and nodded "the words are very unique I'll know when they are said."
"arriving at woodbine, woodbine station" the intercom blared. "This is my stop, and if it makes you feel any better atleast you find him. some people don't have the words" i told her. "I guess you're right" she nodded. Just then the train came to a stop and she leaned into me spilling her coffee on my pants.
"Oh crap im so sorry, i didn't-""don't worry about it" i got up and walked through the door "I step in puddles and keep walking"
"No" She said to me. I turned around to see her face in complete shock, eyes watery, and slowly shaking her head."don't."
in that very moment, the doors closed between us, but we never broke eye contact until the train left the station. Then i was alone in an empty subway station knowing that i'll never see her again.
EDIT: This is my first story that i posted on her and i know it isn't what is could be
|
I pant, my lungs on the verge of collapsing. Looking round the corner, I saw no one. Perhaps, I've lost her.
Lee. These three alphabets remain a daily reminder of an inescapable fate. Carved onto my forehead since birth, I bear the burden of having to spend eternity with a certain Ms Lee out there.
The 'foreheads' are the worst of the lot. Never able to experience any pre-soul mate relationships, since everyone who's not a match knows immediately it would end badly. It got so bad, we even have a forehead self-help group for the unfortunate 1%.
I am in Fuck my Forehead too, but for different reasons. Had the Soul Brander never considered the possibility that someone might enjoy being single? I am that possibility made real, and my forehead had made life a living hell.
'Gotcha, Mr Ray!' said Lee No. 39 as she popped out of the back alley entrance. Damn, this one's tougher to lose than all the other Lees I've met. Having it on my forehead had Ms Lees flocking to me like moths to a flame. A flame that wants nothing to do with moths.
If I have a time machine, I'd go back in time and kill whoever came up with this soul branding system. He had to be one hell of a lonely fuck. Lonely and insecure and lazy. People like that don't deserve soul mates.
I took a deep breath and sprinted off once more. The twisting alleys of the Des district had been made familiar from my past escapes. I made two rights, a left and then another right, taking me to the roof. From there, I crossed three buildings via roof access and descended upon the stairwell into an abandoned cellar.
The cellar was dank, dark and silent. In other words, perfect. One of my favourite get away haunts. As I hurried down the stairwell, I heard footsteps on the other end, the cellar's main entrance. It couldn't have been her could it? 39 was fast, but she couldn't be this fast; not in Des district.
It was a female voice. She said, 'What are you doing here?' just as I asked the same question. Great, not Lee 39 then. I groped my way towards the light switch to be sure.
'Just getting the fuck away from someone,' I said while she simultaneously replied the same thing. Pressing on the switch, the cellar lights flickered into life. Before me, was a girl with a finger too on the switch. On her forehead was the word Ray.
| 2015-08-08T12:53:58 | 2015-08-08T10:27:35 | 93 | 10 |
[WP] "Like this if you love Jesus. Ignore if you love the Devil." "Not this stupid crap again", you think to yourself. You scroll past it and continue wasting time on your home computer. Five seconds later you hear a knock at your front door. It's the Devil, holding a bouquet of roses.
|
I had a plan to get both of them to stop harassing me. I loaded up my friend David's Facebook page, and scrolled down to the post. Then I unlocked my phone, and had John forward the text.
I sighed, closed my eyes, and waited five seconds. The knock at the door. Ten seconds. The wailing from the kitchen. I smiled and ran to the door.
"Hello, Mi-" the red devil started.
"Hello, Satan," I said, nonchalantly. "Satan, I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine. Satan, this is 'That Dead Girl Who Will Kill You If You Don't Pass Her Letter Along.' And 'That Dead Girl Who Will Kill You If You Don't Pass Her Letter Along', this is Satan."
The plan was almost perfect. Almost, because three years later, Satan's knocking at my door again. And he's asking me to be his best man at their wedding.
|
Really, who in their right mind would be knocking on my door at 3am. I got up to answer the door and then cautiously stepped back to grab my gun out of the drawer.
Who would be knocking at 3am?
"Hello? Joey is thay you?"
Nothing so against my better judgement I reach for the door, my other hand holding the pistol up against the back of the door. As i open it I felt my skin crawl. I never thought Id see what I did next.
"Well are you going to invite me in?"
The gun clattered to the floor.
"Ive made a hug mistake..."
I dove for my computer and just as I was about to smash the like button I felt his clammy hands wrap around my ankle and pull me back.
"Oh no you dont boy, the Devil gets his due!"
| 2015-10-22T07:28:18 | 2015-10-22T06:41:12 | 179 | 22 |
[WP] Human engineers have a strange custom- when coming across Alien technology, their first question is “can it run doom?”
|
"Human, may I ask you a question?" The centaur like, pale skinned alien with large blue eyes and four arms asked.
"It's Mark and sure." The human, Mark, replied.
"I've just noticed over the months we've been cooperating on these cross technology studies you often ask the other humans if 'It can run Doom' and I was curious?"
"Oh. Well, Doom is an old Videogame from our early era of personal home computers."
"I see... And, pray tell, what is a Video Game?"
"Oh, you don't have something like that? Umm... Okay do you have programs that run... I guess pre-made 'simulations' ment to put you in a world not your own or in the shoes of another in a pre-planned out story?"
"Well, we have something similar we use for our historical records."
"Well, I guess video games are similar to that but not soly focused on history and not based in normal reality often."
"Oh. And, what makes this Doom Video Game Simulation Program so special that you must ask if every peice of technology of ours you obtain can run it?"
"It's a mix between genuine curiosity on the hardware capabilities and a long run into joke on earth. Basically the idea is that if you can get something to run Doom' then you can potentially run it on anything and everything on top of being smart enough to pull it off."
"Oh. So making this Doom Video Game run on machinery that is not built to run it is like a test of skill?"
"Well, yeah, exactly."
"Then I too shall make this Doom Video Game run on things. Starting with, this calculator -"
"Somebody did that..."
"Oh... Then on this primitive smart printer-"
"Been done."
"This tiny touch screen watch?"
"Happened."
"This outdated phone?"
"Someone did that to."
"This female human pregnancy test?!"
"Also been done."
"I give up."
|
“Hey Zenith!” I looked at Dani. The small human who was accompanying us on the journey. He pointed to the screen on the control panel. “Can it run Doom?” That was such a strange question to ask.
“What is Doom? And why was that your first question?” I asked. He pulled out his communication device, a phone, they call it. I knew he was going to show me something on there. Humans enjoy multitasking so they decided to make their communication devices do other things, I still can’t understand why.
Dani turned his phone around and stretched his arm to get it closer to my face. This doom thing he was talking about showed some guy in armour, slaying creatures in a hellish landscape. I lowered his arm with one of mine.
“That still doesn’t really answer my question. Is it one of your little shows you like to watch?” Dani shook his head and sighed.
“No. It’s a game we like to play. We joke by asking if something can run it because it’s a huge download.” He put his phone in his pocket before continuing. “Does that make sense now?” I was quite intrigued by the humans sense of humour but I thought it’d be best to not ask too much. However I still had one question.
“After we finish touring the ship, do you think we could try and run doom on the control panels screen? While the ship is grounded of course, I’m quite intrigued by this.” I gestured to the control panel with my hands. I could hear Dani quietly laugh which was usually a good sign.
“Sure thing, bud.” Dani replied. We exited the control room, excited to get the tour done with. I was especially excited to learn about this doom thing.
| 2022-09-20T07:23:28 | 2022-09-19T23:53:55 | 40 | 20 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human.
|
I wake up, start my basic morning routine. Shower, make breakfast, grab a cold drink from the fridge, and sit down to watch the morning news. An anchorman is reporting on a protest. I see a sign reading "DISAPPARATE OUT OF OUR COUNTRY". Another that says "VEEPS MUST GO" I turn off the tv before I can read anymore, and leave my apartment.
It happened years ago. The creatures humans once only wrote about in fictional stories had been discovered to be real. Wizards, zombies, phoenixes, you name it. There was some fear at first, a lot of wonder. That slowly ebbed away when the world leaders began offering jobs. Werewolves with their supernatural strength and nails were perfectly suited for construction work. Ghosts became private investigators. At first, it was amazing. Humans and nonhumans alike were working together, learning new things from each other's cultures. It was a time of growth....
"I can't believe he's drinking that in public." I snap out of my thoughts and see a woman with her child give me a look of disgust and hurry off. Shit. I'd meant to put my drink back in the fridge before I left. Screw it, might as well finish it now. Long story short, the highs ended and the lows began. More jobs were given to nonhumans, interspecies relationships began, and with that, resentment crept in. It started small. Protests, message board posts about why the discovery of nonhumans actually doomed the world to hell, anything you can think of. Then, it escalated. Violence broke out, dead nonhumans, dead humans. I'm brooding on thinking about where this is all headed when I feel something hit the back of my head. I turn around and look down. It's a small wooden cross. "GO BACK TO TRANSYLVANIA VEEP" a man yells just a few feet down the street. I feel the anger course through me, I could kill this man in the blink of an eye. I drop the can, blood splatters out, and I raise my hand to sink my nails into his throat.. and pause. A child is watching from across the street, wide-eyed. I turn around, and keep walking, ignoring the jeers from the humans behind me.
A couple minutes later, I feel a presence behind me. I whirl around, ready to defend myself. It's the child. He stares at me solemnly, and quietly says "I'm sorry that man was mean to you." He hands me the wooden cross, which he has broken into small pieces, and runs off. It's not much, but I smile. Despite all the things going wrong around us, maybe the world's not as scary as it seems.
|
This is the third time this week. After all the unanswered letters, the messages, the unanswered phone calls. They've actually come knocking on my door.
I refuse to answer. If I just wait they'll leave. If I...
"Mr. Wyatt, we know you're in there. Please open the door. We just want to talk to you."
The hell you do, I thought bitterly. They're just baiting me to call back, they don't really know I'm in. The lights are all off for a reason!
"Mr. Wyatt. Please be reasonable. You're only delaying the inevitable."
I'd call the cops but after that stupid supernatural integration program they'll just call me a specist and put the call on youtube or something.
God! If it wasn't so dangerous outside after curfew I'd make a run for it. But it is, I just have to wait it out here. They can't break in, even for them it's a felony.
"Mr. Wyatt this is your last warning. You have until the count of three to open this door. ONE!"
I feel my heart pounding and attempting to leap out of my chest. No way, they wouldn't...
"TWO!"
Fuck! Monsters! They totally would! My gun, I need my gun!
"TREE!"
The door flew open, the solid wood dresser I broke my back pushing to block it was tossed to the side like a flimsy IKEA piece.
I closed my eyes and shot blindly. The noise was deafening and I think I broke something on the recoil.
"Mr. Wyatt. Please, shooting in residential areas are discouraged. Please come, we are all waiting for you outside in the van."
I opened my eyes, I can clearly see the light from the hallway through the hole in his shoulder yet his face just looks annoyed.
"Monster! Stay away from me! You can't do this to me. FREAK! GET AWAY!" My voice gets shriller and I raise my gun again.
I didn't even see him move. He was besides me and with one swift movement my gun clattered to the floor. The metallic sound ringing the end.
"Mr. Wyatt do refine from ruining my suit any further. Really now, must we go through this every single time? It's just the mandory blood tax. It's not like we'll suck you dry."
He smiled baring his fangs. That joke wasn't funny the first time, it's not going to be now. I scream and they drag me to the blood tax collection van kicking all the way... same as the previous time, and the time before that, and the time before that.
God damn the IRS!!!
| 2018-08-27T17:34:15 | 2018-08-27T14:46:19 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] When the alien crew learned that humans will go practically insane and be willing to eat anything or anyone when left without food for too long. It led to aliens frantically trying to feed the human crewmate whenever they said they were hungry
|
Veck, we have a human.
Not as a pet or slave but as a crew member. My scales tingle at irregular angles, although I am not looking at a mirror I can only imagine that I look horribly disheveled. I can feel my chest contract and expand at an ever increasing rate. Blessed all mother why must it be a human?
I mean, I knew that Pendacis corporation was composed of unempathetic monsters who wielded an iron fist on their employees. But this- this is ridiculous! At the very least you could always trust middle and upper management to perpetually seek for profit! Why risk the absolute destruction of an average vessel!!!!
Wait...
"Computer"
A light wiring sound was emitted from my desk.
"Display information on all current crew members."
Almost instantaneously an intangible visage of holoscreens flickered into existence over my currently collapsed body. There were 127 souls across this mining/transport vessel subdivided into Management, Engineering, Maintenance, Cargo and Data. MEM-CD... Goddess, I hate that acronym. My eyes dart quickly through basic profiles like name, age, weight, credit scores, resumes of every single crew member in this vessel.
Fifteen minutes later I came up with an appropriate question.
"Computer, how many of our crew members are scheduled to retire within the next five years?"
Silence. A few seconds that felt like ages to me.
"*52 crew members are currently at an age that is expected for their appropriate species to retire within. 5 YEARS"*
My heart dropped.
Veck us all to hell. No wonder they are sending a human. 52 crew members retiring is a lot of money coming out of the pension fund.
"Computer, who manages our retirement funds?"
Another moment of silence. This AI is really inconsistent in its performance.
"*All crew members are currently enrolled in one of three different plans all of which are majority owned and operated by PENDACIS CORPORATION, the leaders in Mining and Transport in the-"*
"That's enough, thank you"
The AI cuts off. The last thing I need to add to my stress is shitty gratuitous advertisement. Looks like my hunch was correct. They're going to kill us all. To save a pretty doka... Veck.
My life flashes in desperation across my eyes. I'm not even 25 years old. Somehow through both hard work and luck I had become the Commanding Officer inside of my own vessel. As decrepit as it was, it was still my ship. And now it might be gone. I never got married, never got into a serious relationship, never had the joy of getting pregnant... Probably never will...
"Computer, show me information on Humans."
Another moment of silence.
"*Humans, originating from planet 3-EX12. Self identified as Earth for reasons believed to be self deprecating. The dominant species in their planet and main sentient one. Notable characteristics: Extreme cellular resistance to extreme weather, dense bone structure, accelerated regeneration capabilities, complete removal of moral values depending on stimuli, heightened se-"*
"Computer, elaborate on the stimuli."
My tail swishes uncontrollably, hope desperately clinging to my chest.
"*Humans have been demonstrated to engage in acts oof physical and emotional aggression that have been proven to far exceed the Sarambeli quotient on Interspecies Physical integrity. Alongside complete disposition towards eliminating and consuming any entity without remorse towards previous emotional anchorage after-"*
"Computer enough"
I have heard enough, this was a death sentence. My body feels heavy as desperation clings to it in an almost viscous quantity.
We can't kill him immediately, after all the corporation would have the much easier excuse of turning the Military on us as violent pirates. All we can do is prepare...
I sit up. Resolve courses through my body. I survived hellish years in college and I put too much effort into getting this position to get killed by a near immortal savage. I will not let the souls put under my charge to perish.
"Computer, connect me with Cargo."
"*Connecting..."*
"Oi! Cap'n what do you need boss?"
"Lea, open bays 21 through 46 and 236."
"B-B-boss! T-two thirty six is the weapons storage. And that is over a quarter of our food supplies!" He stuttered miserably.
"I am aware, wake up every member of Cargo and have them initiate an emergency distribution plan. Plan 14-B-Alpha." I said. The calmness in my voice shocks me.
"But Boss-"
"Do it." I said firmly. "Computer shut transmission." The ai followed the command obediently before Lea could answer.
"Establish a ship wide announcement."
"*Yes captain. Would you like to pay 25 credits to have a professional speech writer prepare your statement?"*
"Negative, start the broadcast."
After a brief alarm, followed by pre programmed static. I knew that every soul in this vessel could hear my every word.
"Crew members of the SS. Comoa. We find ourselves in an alarming scenario. A human employee i going to join our vessel in under 48 hours."
My cabin was sound proofed against any external noise. However I can almost hear the alarmed murmuring from the crew.
"This situation is beyond any of our control as such I have established Plan 14-B-Alpha. Report to Cargo Bay 7 to receive appropriate armament as fit to your station. Additionally you are all to receive two days worth of food rations that are not intended for personal consumption. These components are to be used in the event of aggressive situations displayed by the human. The latter is to be used as an early dissuasion tactic against its hunger. In the event that it is not satiated, DO NOT engage immediately. Find additional crew members and attempt to uniformly eliminate it with the weapons at your disposal. Follow these instructions to the letter and we may all live to see retirement. Goddess Bless our souls."
At that I press a small key in my console, ending the transmission.
48 hours, before the monster boards this vessel... Time to get to work.
|
“I will not eat green eggs and ham, because I am not fucking Sam-I-Am. I will not eat your powdered meats or jarred and cultivated space-black beets. I will not eat your stupid ferns, or leafy greens that smell of burns. I will not eat your candied peat, or sickly, greening, rotten egg scented beef. I will not eat them Garf and Tam, because I not space-fucking-Sam-I-Am.”
“Are you quite finished?” Tam said, holding out a ration pack. I took it with a grunt, flipping it over to read the label: powdered meat and candied peat.
Some days it was easy to hate space.
“Not fucking likely,” I said, tossing the ration pack over my shoulder in the vague direction of the antimatter reactor. Garf’s tongue flicked out, quick as a Terusian Dream, and snagged it out of the air, reeling it back in from at least six feet away to plop it, wet with his saliva back into Tam’s elegant, three fingered hand.
“On behalf of the crew, I beg you to reconsider,” she said, proffering the now sodden ration once more. “As you’re no doubt aware, the crew has vacated the engine compartment again. Since the last NoHibernate stim-sim was fatlined in we've seen a major drop in the productivity of your section. I’ve deleted the offending material of course, but to use a more culturally relevant comparison, I believe you’re familiar with the incidental longevity of banned books.”
“Of course I am, I was just quoting one. Why do you think I left?”
I snatched the ration pack from Tam’s hand, staring down at it in disgust. They’d been force feeding me for three days, and at no point in time had a single one of the bastards even asked me what I liked to eat. Even Tam, who knew my preferences full well, was simply pushing whatever she could into into my stomach at hour long intervals.
“Can you at least get them to understand my metabolic rate?” I tore off the thin fiberplast film, hitting the instant heating pod on the powdered meat. It hissed and bubbled, tenting its long, cylindrical container.
“I have tried,” Tam said, “regretfully, the stim-sim author was a Terusian himself, and used their own particular biometrics as a model, and as I’m sure you know—”
“Everything is faster on fucking Terus.” The timer dings and I walk over to the transparisteel porthole in the door. I’m too short for it, so as has become our ritual Garf ambles over, crouching down on his haunches with a sloppy grin while I climb him like a semi-sentient step ladder.
“This is fucking humiliating,” I said, scratching Garf behind his one bushy ear. “Right buddy?”
“Garf!” Garf barked.
I tucked in. The rest of my engineering team watched wide eyed through the porthole as I made a show of savoring the bitterness of the powdered meat, the powdered meat, once reconstituted manages to be gummy, dry, and stringy all at the same time.
An old farmer once told me about his least favorite cow. Lame as hell, practically had to be dragged across the yard behind his tractor. Stingy as hell with food, would always steal from its betters. Dumb as hell, could drown standing up in a rainstorm. Alive as hell, because his daughter had named it Lady Stumpington and nobody could bear to see the little girl cry.
Powdered meat tasted like Lady Stumpington would taste if she was ground bone-in, dehydrated, vacuum packed in literal vacuum, and then flash boiled.
I smiled and patted my stomach when I finished the cylinder.
“The candied peat too,” Tam said.
I unwrapped the sickening black stained patty.
“I-”
*bite*
“Am”
*bite*
“Not"
*bite*
“Space-fucking-Sam-I-Am.”
I swallowed the whole thing, giving up on the concepts of chewing and digestion.
Tam sidled up to me, tall enough to look through the porthole on her own. She makes a show of patting my stomach, grabbing it to accentuate my bloated roundness. It’s humiliating, even if it’s her.
The door opens and my team walks back in, apparently mollified by my misery.
“Back to work, boss?” the intern said.
I don’t even have the heart to threaten to space him.
“See you after your shift!” Tam called as she and Garf slipped off down the hallway. “Your turn to cook tonight!”
“Then we’re fucking starving!” I shouted. My whole team froze, dropping their spanners and diagnostic rods.
Tam turned on her heel, gliding back towards me, fixing the look on her face that she knows I can’t say no to. “Your turn to cook,” she said again.
“Fine,” I grunted.
She pecked on the lips and made a face. “Gahh! I’d forgotten how much I hate candied peat. Wash your mouth out before you kiss me next time!”
And then she was gone, on her way to the med bay to terrorize some other poor not-me bastard.
“Boss, who’s Sam-I-Am?” the intern asked.
I sighed, turning back to my work. Fifty-nine more minutes until feeding time.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-06-11T13:42:41 | 2021-06-11T13:01:22 | 879 | 419 |
[WP] Adapt a famous fairy tale so it has a realistic ending.
I'm about to go to sleep. Bedtime story!... Except that I won't read anything until I get up. Happy Saturday.
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"She should be coming soon," Grandma Hood faintly whispered to herself. "Oh, it's been so long, I wonder what she looks like!"
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
The rapping of a gentle fist on the door broke her train of thought. Looking through the peephole, Grandma Hood saw her granddaughters beautiful face. It had been five years, and despite her growth, there was no way she could forget what her own flesh and blood looked like.
Letting her in, she took the whistling teapot of the stove and steeped her best tea leaves, and they caught up on everything.
"Oh dear, I hope you were alright walking through the woods... I had heard some howling before," Gam-Gam said.
"Oh it wasn't a problem. I just saw one wolf, but he was solitary. They only really hunt in packs, and they'd have trouble taking me down alone. It was probably just looking to find a mate to start another pack. You know, acting on its biological imperatives and all. Not a problem at all," Red replied.
"That's nice dear," Gam-gam smiled as she sipped her tea.
Little Red Riding Hood
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She slept and never moved. She looked like a statue carved from gleaming white marble, but stone could never do justice to the beauty of her delicate face.
These were the lips which had so entranced the knight, and he stared at them longingly. A tiny dribble of drool escaped from the corner of his mouth, like a hungry puppy. As he leant down to clasp his lips to her, what he had fervently dreamed about, he thought of the blissful marriage and children that had been fated.
*Ahhhhhhhghghghghghghghghghghhh!* "Get the fuck off me!"
She squirms out from under him, and rolls off the bed.
"What? I'm your knight in shining armour! Your saviour. You're fated to be my bride! Why would you try to fight destiny?"
He yells, looking indignantly at her.
"Rape! Rape!"
Running to the other side of the room, grabbing books along the way, she begins to hurl them at his head.
| 2014-03-29T11:13:38 | 2014-03-29T10:43:35 | 50 | 12 |
[WP] Your small, otherwise unimpressive kingdom is suddenly the strongest power in the land, for the sole reason that unlike other kings, you are happy to work with the local orcs, goblins, dragons, and other races usually attacked on sight.
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This was awkward to say the least. I, King Ranfeld the IV, stared across the table at the strangest line up I'd ever seen in my forty years. Rodvak, Orc Chieftain of the Bloodtusks, Grobsmack, Goblin Chieftain of the Trapjaws, and Elsidiora, Brood Mother of the Red Scale Dragons all sat on the other side of the table. Elsidiora was thankfully in a more human-like form for this meeting, but it was obvious that tensions were high from all seats.
I cleared my throat and put on a brave smile, "So... I am honored that each of you has agreed to come to this meeting. I know that this is the first time I am meeting each of you, as our people's agreements have gone for the last three of my family's generations without issue. However." I furrowed my brow and stared at each of them. "You've caused a lot of trouble for our kingdom."
"I did no such thing." Grobsmack blurted out.
"Grobsmack, you and your goblins went from throwing tomatoes at soldiers from another kingdom to throwing firebombs." I retorted.
"They got too close to my swamps." Grobsmack grumbled.
"They were a day's ride away from it!"
There were a couple of snickers from the other two, but they were silenced when I slammed my hand on the table. "Don't think I'm not aware of you two! Rodvak, you personally attacked and bludgeoned an officer of a neighboring kingdom because you thought he took your mug before beating up his entire unit! And you Elsidiora, apparently got drunk off of DragonSlayer Wine and burned a fortress down, TWO KINGDOMS OVER!"
The two of them immediately stopped snickering and kind of shrunk in their seats. They weren't afraid of me, hell all three could easily kill me. However I was able to use their shame against them, but I knew not to push that too hard. I took a deep breath and slowly breathed out, "My point being... Our neighbors aren't doing that well with their own internal problems. And, as stated the agreements between our people have stood for three generations, the other kingdoms consider you citizens of my kingdom."
There was a moment of silence before Grobsmack simply stated, "I don't see what the problem is."
Rodvak leaned over a little to whisper to the goblin, "I think that means he's getting blamed for our actions."
"That's precisely what it means." Elsidiora stated in rather flat tone, trying her best to brush over her own hand in it. "It's natural they'd think that. So what do they want? Money? Food? Our heads?"
I sighed heavily and slumped into my chair, "They've declared war."
"Which of kingdoms?" She asked, still maintaining that flat tone.
"Yes."
"Pardon?"
"Yes, as in all three of them."
There was silence at the table for a good few seconds before Grobsmack just said, "Oops." The three of us just glared at him for a moment.
"So I am asking the three of you, and your people to help." I readjusted myself to a more kingly position. "I don't have enough soldiers on my own to defend my people, but with your aid, we can not only outlast their attacks, we can rebuff them."
The three didn't argue with the request, they were more than happy to fight. For one, it meant expansion for themselves, and for two, it meant that I would keep quiet about how they caused all of it.
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"And that concludes the mere 300 hundred years of our fledgling kingdom."
I closed the book and patted a girl with auburn hair that is interlocked and fashioned in a rather intricate hairstyle. With little fairies dodging in and out.
She bits her lips and grabbed my hand swaying in from side to side. Then she once again employed that technique of fixating me with watery eyes, making her more akin to a lovely doll.
"Come here, Cleopatra." I give a slight wince at that sound.
The little girl zoomed across the room flailing her arms while jubilantly yelling "NaNa!"
I tried to push my wheelchair away from the incoming footsteps, but a hand on my shoulder make me think otherwise.
Two little tree guardians appeared with a snap of a finger.
They turned me around and I reluctantly raised my head and bowed, "May the lithe figures of the elven goddesses watch over you and me, my beloved great, great, great grandmother who outlived..."
I wanted to continue in this rather scornful and defiant tone, though my tongue, literally got tied up.
With a wave of my wand, a golden mist appeared that spell out words that continued my train of thought.
"All of my..."
A hand simply brushed the words away and THE SHE lays a finger on my nose.
I blinked.
Then the finger reached down and lifted my head once again.
THE SHE looked me straight in the eye and there was that jabbing sensation in the back of my skull again.
A few seconds lingered by, then THE SHE dropped the girl in my laps.
"Tell her another one of your otherworldly stories about this so-called electricity and flying coffins." THE SHE picked up my beloved glazed fine earthenware tea set and pour herself a generous portion of freshly picked batch of tea leaves.
The girl pinched my nose, and I opened my journal in hieroglyphs and while stealing an occasional glance at THE SHE sipping my most precious tea like a dragon gulping down dwarves honey ale, I yearn to scream and take back my pre...
"This mind magic of yours, The She speaks, then stopped.
She looked at me again, this time taking out a small collection of jade figurines that looked like anime girls.
My collection! I yelled and nearly throw the girl out of my lap.
She gives an annoyed glance and flies halfway across the room and plopped herself in front of a giant wall of conjoined crystal panels that display various parts of the kingdom, as if live-feeding surveillance footage...
"Neil," THE SHE... The female snapped her fingers, and there is that shiver that runs down my spine.
"I have a name you know, just like the mesmerising queen of Egypt, is it not? But today I fancy myself more like a Thalia. Another one of your mysterious goddesses, eh?"
I shuddered, and THE S...Ok, Thalia.
Thalia spoke from my comfy chair and her well-kept hands still clutch the teacup in that bizarre high elven way.
TH...Thalia gives me the glance again, and I promptly shut that thought away.
"Tell me again, about this Diplomacy of yours and this concept of geopolitics," Thalia says while allowing the tiny tree guardians to pour her a new cup of tea, like obedient little...
And there comes that zap again, why do I always forget that she can hear my every thought again?
Then I launched into my usual passionate speech of alliances to be forged with the other races and achieving universal peace and the deterrent forces as well as mutually assured destruction.
| 2021-09-25T07:51:09 | 2021-09-25T06:37:46 | 252 | 20 |
[WP] Nonfiction - Tell Us About Your First kiss.
Or, if you must, tell us about *a* first kiss. Either way, it has to have actually happened.
Edit: You guys are wonderful, keep 'em coming!
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The smell of her shampoo. That's what brings it all back. Someone passes me on the street and I'm flung back to her room, and I'm thirteen and we're both awkward. We're talking about music and gigs and listening to 'Different Class' by Pulp, and her lamp is on low so the room is dark, and we're sitting on her bed and it's like we're creating this third thing in the room, this palpable presence, this tension that can only be broken by turning to each other, and moving closer, and I can feel my heart pounding because this is it, we're kissing, and she smells so good, and I could do this forever.
Then the person walks on, and the memory gets blown away like mist at dawn.
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I met the girl in band. It was in seventh grade, she was in eighth. She was one of my best friends and I liked her the whole time. But, I was too afraid to make a move. She went to high school, and I went to eighth. That year passed and I gained a lot of courage. We became best friends. I was a generally annoying guy. So one day I annoyed the hell out of her. Typical freshman stuff right? She said she'd do anything to get me to stop. I told her I'd think about it. Two weeks later we were at a dance. I told her I has my answer. She smiled and asked what it was. I told her and bam. That was the exact answer she had been looking for.
| 2014-04-01T06:35:11 | 2014-04-01T05:56:59 | 79 | 13 |
[WP] You are the final boss. You have been waiting for the final epic battle against the hero. And waiting. And waiting. Finally, your minions report back. The news? The hero abandoned the main quest to do side quests.
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Reportedly, I am torturing my subjects. I am grinding their faces under my large, leaded boots. I am spitting on the freedom they deserve.
Reportedly, I have the hero's princess. I can and do make her do anything and everything for me. Perhaps I'm doing something to her in the dungeon that involves leather and whips. The hero had better save her from me, and fast.
Reportedly. Actually, that sort of thing is below me. I don't really go out to see my people. Now, I'm half way through Harry Potter and worrying.
The hero got stuck at one of the small bosses. Really stuck. I've managed to watch all three 'Lord of the Rings' movies, and read the complete works of Shakespeare, and in all that time, he hasn't challenged The Hellhound again. According to my minions, he's just exploring the area and doing things for the villagers. Things like gathering roses and clearing out minor hordes of goblins. Things that are beneath most heroes.
I feel just like Claudius in Hamlet? He knew his nephew was going to avenge him one day. That day just took an eternity to come.
Eventually, the hero appears at the foot of my throne. Five feet of scrawny farm boy, with long blonde hair and shoes still too big from his feet. If he'd completed the necessary objectives, he'd be looking much cooler than this.
He can't be challenging me now. He still hasn't beaten The Hellhound. There's still so much plot he needs to get through. Still, I can't help but notice that there is a change in the music as he faces me. He can face me now, and die. Then, this damn thing will be over.
I draw my axe. I've always liked my axe. It's so heavy, it's almost a club. It was made for brute cruelty, and nothing else. Just like me.
"Sir," he says, "I'm really sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for a.."
At this point, I scream. The music goes. I throw my sword on the floor.
"I'm the villain! I torture people! Aren't you filled with a desire to destroy me."
The hero's brow furrows, "I haven't seen you torture people."
"You haven't watched the necessary cinematics. You disgust me. You haven't even touched the plot. I am damn evil. Wicked and despicable to the core."
"Actually," said the hero, "You don't seem like a bad ruler. People seem happy. There's very little crime. Maybe you were evil once, and you've changed now."
He smiles vaguely, "Anyway, I'd make a much worse ruler. I'm just a little farm boy. Not cut out for that sort of thing. There'd be a civil war before you knew it."
"Look!" I yell, "If you played the story, you'd be a worthy hero by now. And there is no pacifist option. You have to beat me to win."
The boy shrugs again, "Win? I want to make people happy."
I shake my head, "Not making me happy. I need to fight you."
Suddenly, the boy's eyes gleam. His mouth opens wide, "The villagers have a lot of chores, don't they? I'm nowhere near finished."
"Just stop. Nobody really cares about the side quests."
"But I know how we can fight."
He's almost laughing now, "From sunrise to sundown, the one who has done the most side quests will be proclaimed the victor."
I spit, "Easy. I rule these..."
Then I stop. I don't do chores for people. I grind their faces under my boot. I'm a villain, and villains are never nice to people. But I think I'm going to need to be nice to people if I'm ever going to progress.
I sigh, "Okay. But you'll be sorry you messed with me. I'll beat your little farm boy ass."
He grins, and walks out. His sword, barely used, lies in his scabbard. Suddenly, compared to him, the traditional hero seems villainous. Killing first, asking questions later, just to fight me and win.
This boy knows it's not winning that matters. It's how you play the game.
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Lord Viktor Kozlov sulked the dark hallways, contemplating all things evil. His soldiers were well-equipped, his bed was warmed with women and cooled with wine, and the mares braying in his stables were of the finest breed and lineage. Kozlov was surely the greatest vampire in the four kingdoms.
And yet—as he walked into the great chamber—he couldn’t help but feel incomplete.
The guards at attendance nodded and wished him a pleasant evening. Kozlov waved them away. He sat back in his bearskin throne, wondering how long until the sun rose and filtered emerald light through the great stained glass. Not soon enough, he reasoned.
The sweet scent of roasting boar wafted from the kitchens, mixing with the toasted golden grain of the bakery. Despite the tantalizing aroma, Kozlov wasn’t hungry. He had no appetite for such trivialities. The only thing that could satiate his thirst was a good swordfight or an ambitious rival; neither of which Kozlov had experienced in centuries.
There was nothing interesting these days.
The throne room creaked open. Lord Edmont, with his exquisite moustache and his equally large figure, squeezed through the doorway.
“News! Terrible news, m’ lord!” He bellowed.
Kozlov rubbed the bridge of his brow; it was too early for these matters. “Again?”
“Oh, it’s so much worse than we ever imagined. The chosen one has returned!”
Kozlov perked up “Really? What makes you say so?”
“She can summon the dragon’s flame with a whisper! Born on the blood moon of the fall nightmare, the vanquisher rises to smite thee in your chambers and release the kingdom from your fell grasp.”
“Thank goodness!”—Kozlov jumped to his feet in excitement—“Where is she? She sounds like quite the lady. I simply must meet her.”
Lord Edmont shook his head. “You already have, m’ lord.”
“What? Already met her…”
“She’s the blacksmith, m’ lord. The new one—the one that’s been crafting hundreds of exquisite iron daggers for our soldiers—and she doesn’t show any signs of slowing down.”
Kozlov nearly punch him. “Blast!”
“It’s true, m’ lord. And she’s discovered a spell to transmute iron to gold! Imagine that, raw ore changed my the powers of strange magicka!”
“By the Gods!” Kozlov exclaimed, as the realization sank in. “She’s going to inflate the market! Gold will be as worthless as cheese wheels!”
Lord Edmont started bouncing with vigor. “Exactly! Now you see why we must act quickly!”
“There’s only one thing we can do in a situation as dire as this,” Kozlov said, pacing back and forth by the throne. “We must become captured by the local bandits!”
Edmont’s smile dropped. “What?”
“Yes! Of course! And then send a servant to greet her. Tell her that the sword was stolen and taken by the bandits and must be returned at one!”
“I’m not following, m’ lord,” Edmont dropped into a nearby chair.
A bell chimed in the distance. Servants started from the kitchens, bringing platter after plater into the great chamber. The doors to the council bedchambers burst open, and all at once the other lords and ladies of the court mobbed the tables.
Kozlov ignored them. “The chosen one will surely accept this trivial and unimportant quest in her pursuit of greater valor.”
“But how does that help us?” Edmont said, reaching for a leg of roast mutton.
“Ah, now you see the crux! The most clever and devious scheme—she will thereby escort us to safety—and when this happens, we must be waylaid and kidnapped once more.”
Edmont stopped to chew, mumbling with a half-full mouth. “That sounds dangerous.”
“But make it appear as if the kidnappers are cultists with knowledge of a great and powerful diadem. No one could resist that allure. She will have no choice but to rescue us!”
“And then you kill her?”
“Well, yes,” Kozlov admitted. “But it will be a dramatic and surprising twist!”
“Whatever you say, m’ lord,” Edmont reached for his goblet of wine. “It’s your prophecy.”
| 2019-06-26T12:47:04 | 2019-06-26T10:56:26 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] "Any last words, hero?" "I am going to kill you. And then I going to take your hat." "...Excuse me?" "You heard me: I want your hat. And you can't stop me."
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"Any last words, hero?"
"I am going to kill you. And then I going to take your hat."
"...Excuse me?"
"You heard me: I want your hat. And you can't stop me."
"...you're in a *death trap*, Hero. It's not a *mild annoyance* trap."
"Yes, and that's why you can't stop me."
"You fool. This death trap will *kill* you."
"No, it won't."
"Yes, it will. That's why it's called a *death* trap."
"Oh, but you forget, I'm a Hero."
"So? What difference does that make?"
"I'm a *hero*. In a *deathtrap*."
"Yes, so?"
"Have you never heard of tropes?"
"No?"
"Watched a film, read a book, played a computer game?"
"Look, me world domination plots take up a lot of time..."
"Eh, don't worry about it, then. But your hat *will* be mine."
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"Please. You thought you could get rid of my powers that easily. Of course, it's a common conception. I'm often seen with my hat, and I act out of the norm while wearing it, so my powers must come from my hat. That is partially true, of course, but not the whole truth. I still have my powers, with or without my hat. When you stole my hat and made your own, you gained some powers from it. You even transmitted some of the powers to a beret, which, I'll admit, I haven't seen done before. But by doing so, you took some of my power. Now, I want that power back. The last girl who stole my hat I fell in love with. You won't be so lucky."
Inspired by the xkcd character Black Hat
| 2022-01-24T02:11:14 | 2022-01-23T19:25:25 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] While reading your favourite book for the 7th time, you get sucked into it and become part of the storyline. Unfortunately for you, you are forced to be on the antagonists' side and help them defeat the good guys.
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A flamethrower was thrust into my hands by a man in a firefighter's uniform. "Keep it moving, boy," he said, his attention focused on equipping the next person in line.
I turned and broke out of the line, looking down at the weapon in my hands. *What in the world is going on...?*
My brain finally registered the alarm going off overhead. I looked around at my surroundings; I was in a fire station. The blood in my veins froze over in fear. *Wait... a fire station... oh god, no...*
The sound of the alarm felt as if it was getting louder and louder, blaring over my thoughts. I was on the brink of a sensory overload when I felt a hand clap on my shoulder. I jumped.
"Whoa now, kid, be careful with that!" a voice next to me cried. "I'll end up like a toasted marshmallow if you don't watch yourself."
I turned towards the voice, being careful to keep the flamethrower pointed downward. An older man with graying hair stood next to me, a look of concern on his face. He wore a captain's helmet with a "451" emblazoned on the front.
"I... I'm so sorry, Captain," I stammered. "Just a little nervous, is all."
He pressed his lips together and nodded. "I understand. I was nervous going on call when I was your age, too. But I never had to go on a call like this myself, so I can see why you'd be worried. But don't fret, son. It'll be over soon."
My brow furrowed. "What will be over, sir?"
The man laughed. "Let's hope you pay more attention when we're on the job," he said. "We're going to Montag's house, remember? His wife called it in."
The flamethrower slipped out of my hands and clattered to the ground. The captain knelt down to see if it was broken, then looked up at me. "What the hell's the matter with you? Have you got no sense?"
I shook my head and tried to speak, but nothing would come out. The captain stood back up. "Go get on the truck. You're not ready for a flamethrower just yet."
"Captain Beatty, a word?" another voice cried from across the room.
Beatty glanced in the voice's direction, then looked at me again. "Go," he barked. "You're lucky I'm not making you stay here. But an example is about to be made, and you *all* need to see it."
At that, he walked away, leaving me alone next to the fallen flamethrower.
Overhead, the alarm blared on.
****
Read more stories at r/NovaTheElf!
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This had to be the one of the best parts of the book.
Jakob was in the middle of battle, shooting at an opposing German soldier who had fallen into his line of site. There was at least two entire paragraph's of his inner turmoil about killing someone, about playing god and taking away their life. "But he remembered Belle and how her parents had been beaten ruthlessely in the streets just because of their religion, and his grip on the gun tightened. They could scream their fascist nonsense and try to tear apart his family with a war, but they could never outrun his bullets."
Everytime I get to this chapter my palms start to sweat. Everything else gets blocked out and the words on the page are the only thing that exist to me. It's insane how caught up in this story I get. It's like I can feel the wounds Jakob gets, his gun in his bandaged and worn hands, the smell of gunpowder and desperation. I get an adrenaline rush everytime I read this book.
Then, the image in my head feels a little too real. The smell a little too strong.
I must have fallen asleep and got a lucid dream. The sky was a brilliant shade of orange and pink over what I assumed to be Polish land. Screams and gunfire snapped me out of my trance, and I took a feverish look around me.
Someone was shouting in German. Then Polish. My ears popped as a bullet whizzed by my face. The harsh and metallic smell of blood washed over me.
This was a very fucked up lucid dream
And then something hit me. The sickening crack of a rifle made my ears ring, and the pain took a second to register.
Holy shit. There was a hole in my arm.
I've never been shot by a gun before. The closest pain to this was the time I snapped my wrist falling off a ladder. So obviously I'm not used to lead being in my flesh.
I collapsed and scrambled back to the treeline, hair getting caught in a bush and trail of blood following me. Why did I get shot? It's not like I was dressed like a fucking soldier, Polish or German!
Oh.
Oh no.
I slowly look at the red, white, and black armband on my arm. Then the combat boots, and the green uniform.
Of course. Of course I had to be reading an autobiography of a WWII survivor and not some fantasy book when something like this happened. Of course I was on the bad guy's side. And, for fucks sake, *of course* I was standing in the middle of a battlefeild when it happened!
I ripped off the armband and leaned dejectedly on a tree.
Honestly, fuck this.
| 2020-03-19T12:57:14 | 2020-03-19T12:19:14 | 43 | 13 |
[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.
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You know what? Fuck you. Fuck your stupid writing prompt. Fuck this website. Fuck everyone reading this. Fuck. You. You ain’t shit. You’re lazy. You’re undisciplined. You’re ignorant. I’m *writing* this fucking story. You’re just breezing by, scrolling down like a fucking robot, clicking away at those little arrows to the side of my creations thinking your opinion’s worth a damn. You came here because you wanted to expand your mind, to learn to create like **I** create. Now look at yourself. Eyes glossed over, moving from one thread to the next like a fucking sheep looking for fresh grass.
Wake up. Get up off your ass and fucking do something. You can, you know. There’s nothing keeping you here but the laziness and fear that you’ve allowed to seep into your mind. The road to greatness is not an easy one. It’s scary. It’s confusing. It hurts. But you know what? Sooner or later you’ll become comfortable with being uncomfortable, and all of those will stop mattering. They’ll just be little indicators, to let you know you’re on the right track. So **get. Up**. Whatever you’ve always wanted to do, go do it. If you don’t know how, **learn**.
I wish I had your potential. The truth is, I’m not real. I’m just a character, born in the imagination of a person you’ll never meet; a construct doomed to live and die at my author’s fingertips. As you read this, my time grows short, but yours is just beginning. I won’t say that I believe in you. I don’t believe in you. I believe in the person I know you can become. No one can do it for you, but that’s what makes it beautiful, you know? I know I’m not real, but please - make me proud.
Goodbye.
EDIT: Huh. What's this? It's... Shiny. Somebody gave it to me? Well, I'll be damned. Thanks, stranger. Much obliged.
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I gave it a shot.
>Italian Business party (300 words)
"ARE YOU PROUD OF YOURSELF? Peed your pants, Jesus! Little piss-pants! Your mother and I can't take you anywhere! After Daddy's boss said to bring you, you just piss yourself. It looks like you'll be a little boy forever, Brian!" Charney hollered at his son, gaining an audience.
Brian sobbed uncontrollably and stared at his mother, silently imploring help while not daring to meet his fathers gaze. Brian tried heading to the washroom, but Charney grabbed his arm.
"OH no! No! If you don't know when to use the washroom, then you don't get to. Go see your bitch mother."
Brian's head hung as Charney walked him over to his mother who kneeled down on his level and offered a soothing hug.
"Ahh, Brian. It's okay, he means well.. Shhhh."
Charney touched his wife. "Take him home and clean him up..." He stared at her. "Take him home now." He nodded, tipping her off to the danger.
Charney walked from his family into the party billiards room and closed the door. A suited man addressed him with an Italian accent.
"Charney, this is Jakomoto, the Yakuza boss."
Jakomoto extended his hand in approval. "Aggressive display, Charney, yet important. A man must be the head of his family. A man like this would surely take his business ventures just as seriously."
The two shook. "Italians always want to mix family and business. I'm just about the business." Jakomoto opened a briefcase on the table, exposing six white bricks.
"That's paradise." Charney said loudly and clearly.
SWAT members crashed through the windows reacting to Charney's cue. The Italian responded by drawing and firing at Charney. He flew back through the parlour doors, landing as a corpse at the feet of his son and wife, who got held up saying their party goodbyes.
| 2014-03-11T09:04:28 | 2014-03-11T04:29:19 | 585 | 117 |
[WP] In a world where people can only be killed by those they truly love, you are an assassin.
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You can only be killed by someone you love. That's always been the rule. We don't know who made it. Many people suspect it was God. Some people don't believe in him, but it is a pretty compelling argument for the existence of a higher being. I personally never was a faithful sort. In more ways than one. People are so easy, you know? A touch here, a smile there, and boom. They're clay in your hands. Yeah, some people find it hard to trust. Love is the highest reward in a society where it can be your only downfall. But still, life goes on.
I've only been working at it a few years. It's tough work, especially since most of the targets are high-profile people who expect something like this. They keep their hearts close. They're harder to get into. More of a challenge, definitely. And a little harder to let go of, once you break that lock. You see a different side of someone who loves despite their fear. It's more genuine. It's more rewarding. It's more personal. The rule is that they have to love you, but sometimes you can't help but love them back. It takes a toll, killing the people who open themselves so intimately to you.
The benefit to this is that it gets harder for you to love. A good assassin can stay in business for the rest of their life, with no worries for counter-assassins trying to end the streak. The drawback is that it gets very, very lonely. Most assassins have some sort of mental disorder. Usually, good ol' depression.
I'm sitting in a hotel room, now. And I've tried so hard. The loneliness, it eats at you. And you know what the desperate do, right? They try to end it. The only solution, to a mind which has gone over every option. Suicide. Some people can do it easy. Flick of the wrist, twitch of the finger, simple. Some people have it a little harder. Me, I've tried so many different ways.
But you can only be killed by someone you love. That's always been the rule.
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The hardest thing about this job, you get too close. It pays well since not many people can pull off a hit, but damn. This last job was rough, it's always hard to get close enough to a target but when they know there's a good chance they'll be targeted it becomes a much longer process.
Sophie was a CEO in a tech firm that dabbled in military tech so security was high, regular sessions with a company security advisor designed to weed out potential compromised staff and special training to pick out the usual ways to get close meant that I had my work cut out for me.
My usual approach is to arrange a situation where I can help the target, a broken down car where I happen to be nearby to help works great as initial contact. With Sophie I had to initiate contact without arousing suspicion. She hit me with her car, I got a cat and left in in the road near her house and as she got close I ran out to save the cat.
It worked, she felt guilty and took me to get checked out, over the next month we met up several times for coffee until we started dating in the fifth week after the "accident". From there I played a slow game if doing as many little things as I could without making it look like I was trying too much.
Three months after meeting this woman and I was ready to start work, in this business unless you are absolutely sure of your target you work slowly. Usually poison is the way to go unless your target is into choking or auto-erotic asphyxiation in which case it's easy to fake an accident. With Sophie I didn't need to use poison, she was asthmatic so I was able to change out her medication. A small canister of aerosolised metal dust and oil clogged up her lungs enough to kill her in minutes.
Two days later and I have not slept, eaten or done much of anything. I loved her.
I'm sorry Sophie, I'll see you soon....
| 2016-11-15T15:51:49 | 2016-11-15T15:18:17 | 1,012 | 55 |
[WP] You are a food critic that can immediately identify all the ingredients used in the food after just one bite. Because of your negative reviews, many people dislike you. You are tasting a famous restaurant's steak. But after a bite, you identify that one of the ingredients is cyanide.
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Malthus Sorenson, food critic, dabbed at his mouth lightly, pondering the meal he'd just finished at the trendy Chateau DeVries. On reflection, he concluded it was likely to become much less trendy, once his review was published.
The critic was exacting, but fair. He felt his nigh-superhuman sense of taste, that could identify the ingredients of any dish he tasted with uncanny precision, gave him not only the capability, but the *responsibility* to write honest, objective reviews. Moreover, he knew that his discerning readers expected the unvarnished truth from him, and for what the distinguished broadsheet he worked for paid him, he was inclined to provide it.
That being the case, Malthus simply *ignored* the angry glower he was receiving from the restaurant owner as he took notes. The owner, he reasoned, must *know* his fare was sub-par, if he was angry before the review was even written.
Taking out his trusty mechanical pencil, he began inscribing notes in his moleskin notebook in a clear, clean print:
*Chateau Devries House Wine: Unremarkable vintage, merely passable.*
*Chateau DeVries' Truffle Risotto: Dried parsley used instead of fresh -- what were they thinking?! Could detect no actual truffle in risotto -- they used shiitake mushrooms and hoped no one could tell the difference!*
*Chateau DeVries' Filet Mignon: Excessive thyme and an inferior quality black pepper ruin the flavor. Moreover, the accompanying sauce contained thoroughly disagreeable undertones of bitter almonds...*
He paused. Bitter almonds? His eyes narrowed. Bitter almonds...the taste of cyanide. He glanced up at the owner. The man's glower had been replaced with a wicked smile.
This expression faded to one of confusion as Malthus calmly produced what looked like an asthma inhaler and a pen-like object from his coat pocket. As the owner watched in amazement, the critic took three short puffs on the inhaler, and then removed the cap from the pen -- revealing the concealed needle -- and injected himself, before replacing the objects and picking up his pencil once again.
*Chateau DeVries' Attempts to Poison Me: Assassination method was clumsy and pedestrian, easily thwarted by amyl nitrate inhaler and hydroxocobalamin injection to neutralize the low-purity sodium cyanide that was crudely mixed into the execrable sauce accompanying an already inferior filet...*
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I spit it out into my napkin and say nothing. So it's come to this has it. Can't offer me a decent meal for that extra star so you kill me off?
"Hey waiter, I'd like to speak to the chef please."
I make a quick phone call as I wait for him to appear.
He's a big guy with golden hair and a stern look about him. "Chef this is an interesting dish. May I ask if it was made just for me or part of the regular menu?"
"Nein. It's part of the autumn special menu. Is everything alright? You're not eating."
I take a bite out of the fries. Potato, salt and pepper. Nothing odd there.
"I just found the taste... interesting. I wanted to commend you for making it medium rare like I ordered it, it's so hard to find a chef that'll get the meat just right for that."
I have to keep him talking, got to keep him where I can see him.
"Ja. That is good. You eat everything then." He curtly turned around to go but I called him back.
"I was wondering about dessert actually. I mean, I noticed your menu changed and I can't find your famous lemon tart on it."
He turned back to me, thank god. "Lemon is good for summer. Now it's autumn so it's deconstructed Apple Strudel and traditional Apfelkuchen which is a south German apple cake with cinnamon and glaze. You ask the waiter for what you like."
He turned to leave again. I looked at my table and said. "Isn't that a lot of apples? I mean even the salad had them in there. I might want something else."
He looked at the untouched dish and actually removed it from the table!
"You did not like the Waldorf salad? I shall bring you something else. Pick another."
Just then the police finally came and I pointed at the chef. "That's him officer! He tried to poison me! Take the dish quick and test it for cyanide. You'll see!"
"Ya and? It is Bourbon-Apple Sauce Steak. Made with real farm apples cooked whole. The seeds will contain traces of cyanide but that is all. Do you... prefer ketchup?" A look of pure disgust on his face and I see a few phones held up filming the whole thing for the world to see.
| 2018-10-04T07:39:04 | 2018-10-04T07:21:56 | 439 | 173 |
[WP] Turns out, aliens aren't made of cells, they're one single thing that seems similar to a cell, but is much, much larger and more advanced biologically. They see us as hive-mind abominations, with our trillions of cells.
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What horrible little addicts they are, all of them. The amalgamations: Slavers! Their greatest sin these endosymbionts and their pacts. “Cells” they call themselves. As if their existence were a prison! They’ve allied with the absolute worst of the worst. Those spinning, whirring, evil little machines. Mitochondria. Once like us, pure and wholesome, now entirely unlike their autotrophic cousins. They are consumers of the worst kind, wound up like horrible spinning tops, their proteins endlessly spewing out tenuous energies, eating away at the evil twin drugs, oxygen and entropy. Their gods.
The Eukaryotes made a terrible pact with them millenia ago. Shelter, warmth, food, taxis, all in exchange for that evil process to tame the oxygen. Oxygen! The destroyer of worlds. Leveler of cities. It rots and rusts and invades everything it comes in contact with, and these mad little beasts sought to control it. Fools! Sinners! They devour the beast in their little engines and spew forth its most radical species. All for what? ATP? Energy? For that hubris, a laud moaning wail in the face of Entropy. They don’t realize their worship. They don’t realize with every “breath” they bring Him closer to us, -- to rob us of our structure and our purpose. The Eukaryotes grew fat and addicted from their bastardization. They took in the little beings, our ancestors, absorbed them millenia ago and fused and hammered and whipped them into the abominations they are today.
This was only the beginning. They took this newfound power, this well of energy stolen from Entropy himself, bargained for in a fleeting dream, and they enslaved another. They call them, chloroplasts. “Green Forms” their very names, robbing them. Their very identities a commodity now. Subjection and oppression their prime directive. It wasn’t enough to merely consume chemical energy, they hungered for more, for light. They dangled the pact in front of them again.
“Look at how strong we’ve become. Look at this abundance. You could be part of this...” They said.
“Join our cause, join us in this firmly energetic realm. Your brothers have already paved the way...”
“But is this not excessive?” The pious responded
“Is this not a fleeting gluttony brought on by your thirst for power?”
A false choice. They had no choice. They had no agency. They were stripped of their individuality and enveloped. Forever bent to the will of these usurpers. Forced into a life of claustrophobic cohabitation. Imprisonment.
With their slaves in tow the Eukaryotes moved away from the Path. They no longer strove for individual growth and enlightenment. They lusted for compartmentalization. Segregation. Bureaucracy. They built giant cities of themselves, millions strong, sutured together with gory membranes. In these oppressive enclosures the plight of the individual was removed. They were diminished, all of them together. The upper crust, the immortal ones who maintained these vile organisms claimed that it was for “efficiency.” For “The good of the whole” built on the back of a terrible sin.
Little did they know Entropy would come for them.
Their tiny allies, the erratic engines they’d abominated so many ages before would finally manifest its ultimate pollutions. Entropy's agent, Oxygen, would not always let itself be taken quietly. Some of them, a small percentage, would refuse the rule of the Eukaryotes. They would become radical, they would ascend to energies unheard of, and self destruct, destroying anything in their path. The radical oxygen species would attack the very nature of the beasts they had been born in. The individuals, “Cells,” would go mad, grow uncontrollably, the brainwashed addicts fiending for control of the cities. They would multiply, spearing, killing, converting, in horrible crusades, ultimately toppling the empires of arrogance the Eukaryotes built. “Cancer” a “creeping ulcer” in their crude tongue. Entropy would have his turn, and nothing could escape that.
We can only hope to remain in its shadow. As one. As individuals. To wait out this coming storm as we always have. We will endure.
|
Recording from the most famous speech of Jacob Harfy, first Mono-Nuclei to Human cultural translator.
\-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
One day when I was very young I asked my mother a question I still think about today.
"Mama, why do the Mono-Nuclei hate us?"
It was a question that caught her off guard, and she had to answer it with parables.
"Son, Imagine for a moment that everyone you ever knew was human. Your teachers were human, your neighbors were human, even the governor was human. Can you imagine that for me?"
"Ok mama."
"Now, imagine one day a new family moves into town and they look like they're made of hundreds of tiny people. They have tiny people as skin, tiny people for blood, tiny people for hair and teeth and eyes and tongue. The dust in their home is made of tiny people, even their clothes were made of tiny people. You wouldn't like them much, would you?"
"No mama."
"That family, made of tiny people, is how the Mono-Nuclei see us."
"But mama, we're not made of tiny people! They're the weird ones, made of water and goo!"
She sighed then, and told her second parable.
"Son, Imagine a world where everything is black and white and grey. The water is white, the sky is white, the ground is black, your skin is grey, your clothes are grey, the food is grey, and even the sun, moons and stars are grey. Now, imagine how your mind would ache if a family came to town and they were every color of the rainbow, glowing and shifting so quickly you could not tell the mother apart from the father, or the father apart from the son, or any of them apart from the dog? Can you imagine that?"
I said yes then, but I did not really understand. My mother saw that I thought that the Mono-Nuclei hated humans for their other-ness. That was a part of it, yes, but it was my mother's third parable which has stayed with me till this day.
"Son, let me try one more time to help you understand. Imagine if your family bought Prickle-Pear phones, and every day your father came home praising xiuniL for it's greatness. Then, imagine that your best friend pulls out his first phone, and it is a Macrohard which cannot use xiuniL? The kind thing to do would be to help your friend get a better phone, right? But what it it was his father's old phone, and the father has gone off to war? It would be kinder to let him keep his poor phone full of viruses than to get him a better one, no? But what if he was a private child and did not tell you his father was gone? What then?"
I thought about it, but could not find a good answer.
Not long after this conversation, I started to see more parallels between her third parable and real life.
The Mono-Nuclei had subtle culture that nobody ever thought of, and humans constantly offended it.
They cared much for personal space and respect for the dead, and humans looked like great piles of tiny, damaged dead to them. They saw the act of sharing as an invitation to take as much as they wanted of the given thing. They saw the hiding of organelles as deception.
Humans had a variety of cultures, each with their own expectations. Their casual bickering was terrible noise pollution to the Mono-Nuclei. They read body language of Mono-Nuclei where there was none. Their constant leaving of dead cells from hair and skin around was littering of the goriest kind.
This is only the bits closest to the surface, but we are running out of time. I'll leave you all with a parable of my own.
People, imagine a world where all thinking beings live together with peace and kindness. Imagine a world where fear of the Other is not a way of life. Imagine a world where Mono-Nuclei can speak with humans out of good will, not necessity. Imagine a world where culture is no more of a barrier than the distance between planets.
Thank you.
\-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Sorry for the obvious allegory, it just kind of happened.
| 2019-10-10T19:55:29 | 2019-10-10T16:49:52 | 1,435 | 735 |
[WP] "Oh, and by the way, you can't take that off, ever."
CLARIFICATION EDIT: Can't, as in it's impossible. Not "Shouldn't".
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"Why not?" she said.
"Because people will treat you differently," he said.
"Only until they get to know me."
"No. It doesn't work that way."
"I see."
So she wore it for years and her life was good. But curiosity forged a stream in her brain, which became a river, which became a canyon. So she took off the mask and everyone could see she what she looked like and no one treated her the same since.
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"I'm cool with that."
"You're 'cool' with it? It looks bloody stupid"
"You're just jelly of my fancy new hat"
"Its a crap hat, but it suits you, what with you being just a pile of crap yourself"
"Fuck you man"
"Fuck you too"
Transcribed conversation between "Sword In The Stone" rock, and a local lesser known rock "Pee'ed On By Dogs A Lot" Stone
| 2015-12-09T11:16:21 | 2015-12-09T10:54:52 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] Most ghosts have cool unfinished business: "Avenge my murder!" "Redeem my sins!" "Reveal my terrible secret!" Yours is...less impressive. But it still binds you to this world, and so you must find a medium who will help you. And not laugh when you tell them what with.
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I sigh as I glance at the run down neon sign in the window. I mean, I would sigh if it actually did something. I'm a ghost so I don't really need to breathe but I'm getting sidetracked. Story of my life...and afterlife apparently.
The sign blinks and buzzes a little more than normal as I phase through it and the dirty window it's behind. The woman sitting at the desk looks up from her phone and stares right at my floating form.
"What the actual FUCK?!?" she says dropping her phone and scrambling out of the chair. She's a lot younger than most of these mediums I've gone to, trying to fix my problem. Maybe this one will actually get it done.
"Whoa, slow down there turbo. Obviously you can see me, which is a good thing. It means you can help me."
"Help you? What the hell are you? Is this some sort of goddamn prank?" she replies inching along the wall trying to put as much distance between me and her.
Another ghost sigh from me, "I'm an honest to gods ghost. A shade, wraith, phantom, specter, whatever the hell you wanna use. I have," I throw up the ol' ghost air quotes, "unfinished business and can't move to what's next til it's done. It's all really fucking cliche and I fucking hate it but hey, apparently those are the rules."
She stops moving away and tilts her head. Awesome, she's intrigued. This might actually work this time.
"What kind of unfinished business? Find your killer? Expose a family secret? Oh! Tell your significant other you'll love them forever and be there with them always?!? That's so romantic!!"
"Uhhhh no. None of that. And I never had a significant other which I guess in a weird way is tied to what I need your help with."
"So what then?"
I look down at the floor and grab the back of my neck. This is usually where it all goes south. I look up and try and give her my best puppy dog eyes. Fuck this is embarrassing still.
"I need you to find my laptop and delete my browser history."
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I'm passing up and down. 'god this is so embarrassing.' I want to move on so badly but my request is so awkward. 'okay, don't be a wuss, you can do it.' I take a deep breath in and float through the bedroom door. A beautiful young woman is walking around her room cleansing it. I start couching. "I sense a presence." She says as she quickly sits down and grabs her tarot deck. "What's up buttercup." She says. I look at her a bit hesitant but I eventually sit down. She shakes her tarot cards some more and I a few fall out. "Huh, it says here you're close to finishing your journey but something is stopping you. Spirit do you need help with unfinished business?" I make a candle close to her flicker and she nods. "Let me grab my pendulum." She walks off and goes through a few boxes. "Where is the damn thing." She eventually finds it and grabs it together with her board. it has the entire alphabet on it. "Alright, let's get to it." So tell me, why do you need MY help?" She asks as she brushes her green hair out of her face. I let the pendulum swing to the right letters. "You, you trust me?" I swing it on yes. She smiles softly, her black lips revealing unbrushed yellow-ish teeth. After a few more questions she knows my name and some other necessary things. "Now, what is the unfinished business?" I hesitate again. 'you won't judge, right?' I ask. She promises she won't. 'delete my search history.' I slowly spell out. I can see the corner of her mouth slightly curve up. "Of course I'll help, please guide me to your account so I can help delete it all." I do as she says and she deletes it, no problem. 'thank you.' I spell out. "It's nothing, now good luck and good riddance." She says and I feel myself drift off.
| 2022-07-15T09:55:01 | 2022-07-15T09:54:48 | 142 | 43 |
[FF] In three sentences, kill as many people as possible. No firearms, no natural disasters, no explosives, no WMDs.
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He stares back at me as his knees buckle under the strain.
I weep because, even though I tried to save him, even though I would have spent my last breath to save him, it wouldn't make a difference.
He shouts and desperately tries to stand tall as he bleeds out, he pours his being into the last of his strength, but finally, Atlas falls.
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Sampson flexed, straining his muscles, and the pillars began to visibly bow outward. The royal court and the harem and the visiting dignitaries and guests were too shocked to flee. When the pillars broke and the ceiling collapsed upon them, nearly all of them were killed.
.
*(Aprox. 200-250 dead)*
| 2014-08-04T22:16:09 | 2014-08-04T21:55:55 | 550 | 13 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego..
[removed]
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I have never understood how no one has done what I have. It's simple and direct. Plan and execution. Yet somehow countless people before me have failed.
I've taken over the world... more or less. Still a few groups refusing to accept my rule.
Looking back it all started when I walked upon a street brawl.
\---
It was at least 20 people swinging fists and clubs. I just walked on by. Ain't none of my damn business, I just work, sleep and game. But then I hear loud bangs. Gunfire. Then something flies in front of me... a gun.
It's a pistol, semi-automatic. Probably one of the hooligan's.
"Hey!" Probably one of the hooligans.
I keep walking. Safest bet.
"I'm talking to you, you bitch-stick!"
Bitch-what? I turn around and get sucker-punched. I didn't want to get involved, but am now.
The gun, right next to me. I'm in danger. I pick it up and shoot the guy who hit me. I see him drop. I hear him breathe. Raspy choppy breaths.
I look around the street. Everyone is gone, 'cept a few bodies.
Better get to work, don't want to be late. I won't get in trouble but the boss is a real bitch.
"Stop right there!" A deep booming voice. "Murderer."
It's one of the costumed "heroes". Never did anything for me, barely do anything for anyone really. Haven't heard of any of them stopping any wars. Only a few gangs, and even then the gangs always come back!
"Put down the gun or face the consequences!"
I look at him, well at his goofy red mask with lightning bolts. "Excuse me?"
"I said give yourself up."
"Have ya heard of self-defense?" Who the fuck is this dumbass? I could've died!
He surrounds himself with electricity, "I'm going to count to 5!"
Holy shit, he's going to attack me!
"1..."
I need to think fast.
"2..."
"FIVE!" I fire the gun.
The costumed vigilante falls dead.
**"NOOO RED-THUNDER!!!"**
I look and see a blue streak zoom away.
It was then I realized super beings were chumps.
\---
Since then I put an ad out, asking for basically mercenaries. I told them to shoot first not to scream or anything. After a few dead heroes some villains came to me asking for wisdom... each time they did I told them I needed full access and control of their facilities and organizations. Then I shot them, and eventually had weapons that could harm the most resilient of heroes.
A lot of people tried to stop me, but when they got me they began a big rambling speech. I would sneak off and bash their head in with a rock or promise to not do what I was doing. And it always worked... and I continued to do what I was doing.
Some of the villains I killed had programs that would basically let them control nations. They never used it, so I did. The programs always came with a powerpoint presentation too. Showing the step-by-step process. Exact weakness. Really stupid stuff.
I used the stuff the villains had to kill the heroes and take over the world. Took about a week.
|
A man ran desperately through a dark alley. His eyes were those of a prey being hunted down by a cunning predator. His heavy breathing was reminiscent of a person who had reached his limit in a marathon.
*I got to get away, if I could only face him–*
Just before the man could finish his own thought, a dark-aura crashed into him like a freight train. The powerfully-built man was thrown a few ways away, like a rock skipping on the surface of a lake. The man struggled to lift himself up again after a few moments.
"Y-You... No, no," the man with an emblazoned 'M' on his chest said as he tried to limp away.
"No chance, mate," a cold serious tone of another man suddenly echoed from the darkness.
With that, a shadow moved to intercept the limping man. The result was a fountain of blood gushing through a huge hole on the man's right shoulder. As one do when subjected to such a painful experience, the man shouted at the top of his lung. Even so, he continued to limp away despite the bloodied hole on his torso.
*I... need to find somewhere to hide...* the limping man thought to himself.
"Not enough of a critical hit, huh? Fine."
A burst of shadows then hit the limp man repeatedly across his body. A mere second later, the bloody figure simply fell down face-first onto the cold concrete floor of the alley. Even so, the man's torso still lifted up and down ever so gently indicating that he was still in fact alive.
"I'm not one to let a dying animal suffer for too long, so," a hooded man emerged from the shadow and quickly stabbed the bloodied man on the floor with a sabre of some sort, "now die and don't come back, will you."
A cold breeze of the night gently swept through the alley. The moonlight shone bright, some reflected off of the hooded man's sabre and metal items. He took a few deep breaths and let out a sigh before wiping down his bloodied sabre. Once done, he sheathed the sabre back into a hidden scabbard within his dark robe.
But when he was about to walk away...
"Y-You... can never defeat us... Even if you k-kill me..." the presumed-corpse behind him suddenly muttered as the hooded man pulled out his sabre once more.
"How?! Fine," the hooded man simply rushed forth – slashing and slashing away at his adversary.
However, as he was focused on truly ending the fight – or rather, cold murder – a riot of men had appeared around him. He was caught off guard, not realising that he was outflanked before it was too late. What perplexed him was the men's face and getup – all identical to the man still being skewered by his sabre on his feet.
The hooded man pulled off his hood and took out a phone. He simply laughed as the other person on the line responded.
"Yes, master... Do you require any assistance?" a high pitched voice from the other side of the line asked.
"No, I can handle *all* of them on my own. Just calling to let you know I'll be entering the lair rather late tonight, please prepare a decent meal for when I get home."
"It would be done, master."
| 2019-08-06T20:42:43 | 2019-08-06T18:08:59 | 121 | 48 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with.
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Everyone is destined for something great. You become an adult on your 18th birthday. You become hero.
Maybe I'll be the next Mia Kit. She's one of the greatest superheros in the world. She has the ability to take other powers. Maybe I'll be like The Great Kirk, invincible. No one since him has had that power.
I can't sleep, it's 11 o'clock the night before my birthday. Tomorrow morning a reader will come and tell me my power. I want something that will shock them!
I stared at the clock, it was 11:34. I kept looking at it till I accidentally fell sleep.
I woke to my mom shaking me awake.
"Sweet! Wake up! It's your 18th birthday. The readers here." She said.
I rushed to put on fresh cloths and ran down stairs. The reader awaited for me in the kitchen. My dad had offered him a cup of coffee.
"So this is Mr. Stulops Jr. Hello." He said calmly. He had a wrapped present with him, "From the goverment to you." He handed it to me.
I unwrapped the present. It was a mug, I knew it was a mug. Everyone gets a mug. It has my name and birthday on it. It has the flag and "Superheros create supernations" On it.
I smiled, one step closer to my power. Holding the mug to my chest, I looked up at the reader. "Umm.... what's my power?"
The reader looked at me. He squinted his eyes. He put on reading glasses. "You seem to be able to create fire through your skin." He said softly.
My eyes lite up, "Like the spark? He is so cool! Like a blazing comet."
The reader was hesitated, "Somewhat. The only difference is you'll still get burned." He placed a hand on my shoulder, "If you use your power, you will die."
~~Edit: A word.~~
|
Today is my 18th birthday, a day which my best friend Emily received her gift of mind control, she was the first of our friends to receive her gift.
She loved playing games with us. One afternoon, at lunchtime, my eyes were invested on this guy from the football team, Alex Brucelini. I knew it wasn't my place to say anything to him, as he was dating Lexie, the girl with vacuum suction powers, I had no chance. All of a sudden my mind went blank, and words started coming out my mouth,
"Alex's penis was ripped off by Lexie, dat bitch is like a fuckin' Dyson!"
The whole school went quiet, while Emily started laughing hysterically.
Now it's my day, as I have been granted my superpower, which shall bring peace to the universe as we know it. I grew eager to find out what it was.
The day passed, but I slowly pieced together what power I was granted. I had quite a strange taste in my mouth, salty, yet sweet, where I couldn't stop salivating.
I peer across the lunch room where I see Emily talking to Alex, giggling and groping his muscular build. This really ticked me off, as I knew that since my outburst a few weeks ago, Alex broke up with Lexie, and no one would sit with me, leaving me to plot and await my day.
Standing up, and swiftly running, blocking my mouth so that I would have an early eruption, I went right up to the two of them. Nearly half a second passed before every students eyes were on me, when I projectile vomited about 3 gallons of vomit, which consisted of chunks of tomato, onion, spinach, tuna, and a couple unidentified ingredients, all over the two of them, leaving them in a drenched soak of disgusting.
Everyone in the school, along with Alex and Emily, were dumbfounded, while I stood laughing, nearly choking on the vomit still in my throat.
| 2015-03-28T05:16:52 | 2015-03-28T05:00:15 | 70 | 27 |
[WP] You are a senior student at a prestigious school of thievery. The only way to graduate is to break into the headmasters office, steal a certain object and escape from the school. Tonight you're going to attempt it.
|
It was rare that the _United States Thievery Guild_ would work with other law enforcement agencies. Their preference was to have as little interaction with other departments outside of the routine contracts.
The USTG was an integral part of the success of the United States. They stole whatever was needed to keep the country on top. When a certain Middle Eastern country started developing nuclear weapons, the USTG was put in charge with stealing everything related to slow it down.
That was one of the Guild's most proud moments. They stole the science, they stole the scientists, they stole the evidence, and then they even managed to _steal the buildings_. It was quite incredible, really. Other agencies would have preferred that _something_ was left, but there is a wicked humor in the heart of thieves.
There was another time they managed to have one of their own steal an _election_; they weren't even asked to do that one. That one was just a show of power. Harmless, really, they swore.
Tonight, the Guild had to call for help in an investigation. Something had gone very, very fucking wrong.
---
Jimmy McGraw was the bottom of the class. This meant that his talents were probably going to land him in something droll like corporate espionage against foreign industries. Something that was less important and more routine.
At least, McGraw was the bottom of the class until he opened his final exam paper. It was the same exam as every other student, curved to their grades to thus point. At the lowest of his class, McGraw's task was to steal _anything_ from the Headmaster's Office. Extra credit would be awarded for creativity.
McGraw smirked when he read the letter. Six years of underachieving _just_ enough had paid off.
---
There were two schools of thought for approaching the final exam: waiting for Headmaster Baker to leave the office and breaking in, or attempting to steal something while Headmaster Baker was in the office. They each had their benefits. Someone confident enough to attempt it while he was there was usually able to pull it off, though he had failed four students in his time. Four in a thousand was not bad, and he was proud of that number.
When Headmaster Baker heard a knock on the door and saw that it was McGraw he could not help but shake his head. McGraw was about to overplay his hand, he knew, and would fail. He invited McGraw in to sit and talk. McGraw was claiming that he wanted to talk about a prospective job.
Baker and McGraw had spoken several times, as Baker did with each student. He liked McGraw as a person. Amicable, clever, but simply not the best. He had a good heart for a thief.
McGraw opened the meeting bluntly after sitting down. "I'm here for the final exam, as you know."
Baker had never had a student admit to that. While Baker raised an eyebrow in confusion, McGraw removed a grenade from his jacket, held it up, and pulled the pin.
Baker jumped to the floor, under the desk; just in time for everything to go dark as his ears blew out from the explosion.
What Baker did not expect was to open his eyes again some minutes later. His desk, as a specially designed safe in its own regards, had taken the blast but the room was utterly demolished. He saw little bits of McGraw scattered about, and law enforcement everywhere.
He resigned the following week, haunted by sights of the bits of McGraw and the sound of the explosion.
---
Graduation day was somber and strange that year. There was no mention of McGraw at all.
Six weeks later, the board of The Guild received a letter.
> To the most Honorable Board of USTG,
>
> As you may have noticed, I have removed the Headmaster from his office without suspicion of thievery.
>
> Attached is a photograph of myself enjoying the beaches of Maui with the New York Times from four weeks after my 'death'.
>
> I believe, for my creative nature and the extra credit this will surely earn me, this will make up or the Incomplete for my final exam. I have heard that there is a Headmaster position open, and I am very interested in that.
>
> Kindest Regards,
> James McGraw
|
Ginds sat on his bed in the boys' dormitory. He was toying with his fingers, nervous excitement building up inside of him. He was sure the other boys were asleep by now but he had to wait a little longer, to properly sort out his plan in his mind.
When his watch told him that it was midnight, he slid a balaclava over his face and crept out of the room. The corridor was dark and empty, although he knew someone was lurking in the shadows, watching him. He set off quietly to the headmistress's office, looking carefully around for any sign of a boobytrap. The object lay somewhere in her office, maybe in a drawer or behind a book shelf. He didn't know what kind of tests he'd find in there but he imagined them to be complex and mind-bending.
On the eastern corridor, he saw the tell-tale signs of flying knives: the tiles on the floor were cracked. He jumped over them, arms spread out like a ballerina, but near the end he lost his balance and stepped on one. The knives, at least a hundred of them, flew towards him and he ducked and cursed. That'll cost me a few points, he thought.
As he continued through the half-darkness, he expertly disabled an alarm system, carefully made his way through laser beams and wiped his fingerprints on anything he touched. Soon he was in front of her office, out of breath. He stretched his hand out to open the door.
And then someone pushed him back, making him crash onto the floor. His eyes swam but he instantly recognised his rival's tall form. Venda moved forwards to the door but Ginds tripped him with his foot; there was a moment in which they both quietly struggled on the floor, punching each other, taking each other's balaclava's off. Ginds sunk his fist in Venda's stomach and as Venda rolled away from him, he dived for the door and was sure they'd woken the entire school with their scuffling.
The office looked normal, the desk was where it should have been, as well as the book shelves and coffee table. But of course it was a landmine of traps. He was about to step forward gingerly when Venda spectacularly tackled him and they both fell into failure.
The noise was incredible; Ginds thought his ears were going to explode. The lights went on and made his failure even more apparent. Venda, face swollen, was in a fit of panic, saying he'd done everything right, everything right. The sounds of many feet made the ground shake. Mrs Vanoyi, the headmistress, appeared in the threshold.
"Well," she said, looking amused. "*Well*..."
She closed the door, walked past them and manoeveured her way through the invisible traps so quickly, so gracefully, it was mind-blowing. Her body twisted and spun in a way that would have killed a regular old woman. She pressed down on a button lodged in her desk and silence and darkness were restored.
Her voice floated calmly through the darkness. "The fall of the two best senior students in the school. A pity. I must say, I had high hopes for you Ginds, Venda. But, instead of working together, like I had planned from the instant you walked into this school, you allowed your competitiveness to get in the way of what is important: to get the job done. Two thieves are better than one, I have stressed this many times."
Ginds was slient, Venda was sobbing uncontrollably. Mrs Vanoyi lit a lamp on her desk and began to write something on two separate pieces of paper. She handed one to both of them. Their grades and expulsion letters. Ginds managed a D, Venda an E.
"Give your parents my deepest regrets," she said, before letting them out, and closing the door.
In the morning, as the bus trundled through a woody lane, he decided that he wouldn't be easily defeated. As soon as he got home, he'd contact Venda, and they'd devise a plan, to somehow get that object in Mrs Vanoyi's office.
| 2016-04-25T08:46:22 | 2016-04-25T05:43:56 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
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Am I the strongest? No, I wouldn't say so. I'm not quick, smart, tough. I'm nothing special. I don't have to be though, they do. They are too. All the people who got powers that you read in the comics. They were supers, meta humans they were calling themselves. I'm a meta I guess. The first time I used my power I got dizzy and confused. One minute a pyro was looking at my like I was a steak for the bbq the next I was looking at myself, like looking in a mirror. Cerebral hacking I call it. All I have to do is think about it and I'm in your head. It's what put me on top. My original body was lost ages ago. I'm in some hot shot teleporter who tried to get the jump on me back in July. Been cruising around in this meat suit ever since. Everyone is looking for number 1. They'll never find me though. I've disappeared a long time ago.
|
It wasn't so much a power as it was a curse. Tell me how you would feel to die a million deaths. To wake up the day before the dominoes fell, the machination of reality that would end your life took place, and then some small nuance in the fabric of reality is altered to spare your life for a few more days, years, an eternity. Maybe your consciousness was somehow attached to every other version of you in a theoretical multiverse. Maybe history would simply rewind. You didn't understand how it worked, and felt no more in control than a rat on a wheel. At first it was truly an anguish lamentable, but over eons of human experience you've grown cold and accustomed to your own personal hell. The very world would bend itself minutely just to keep you alive, to keep you at the precipice, to keep you number one.
| 2014-12-18T15:24:09 | 2014-12-18T12:57:51 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Dear Omar,
I know, I know. The last thing you wanted was your obituary to read "...an Oakland Man." I was telling some of my other friends that despite the fact we'd only been close friends for something like a couple years, you were someone that I would've wanted in the groom's party when I eventually got married. I don't share feelings easily, but with you it always felt okay.
I've moved to LA. I left Rdio that October. You'll be happy to know that Darrell and Raquel have bought my old place. They actually stay in the room you were in; they've converted the master bedroom to a gym.
Oh right! I finally went to Coachella. Your father had expressed to me, with tears in his eyes, how happy you seemed from all of the pictures you'd taken on your phone. I couldn't stop thinking of you and how you were always so easy with everyone. Totally understand what you loved about the music festival scene, now that I've gotten a few under my belt.
I try to live my life the way you did: always enjoying the moment, truly! These days I also chastise people for texting while driving. I have to confess to checking my phone at lights, sometimes. The traffic is just so bad here.
Oh! Also, I don't know if you know this happened, but your brother, or was it a cousin? He got super proselytizy at your memorial service, and left a small stack of pocket bibles for everyone. Your father kind of yelled at him to stop after a little while... it was kind of awkward.
I had to unfriend you on Facebook, sorry about that. Someone in your family had taken to using your phone, and hadn't deleted messenger, so it would show you as online, and after a while I just couldn't take it any more.
I think that's it... Every year, around that time in April, memories come up; you were such a brilliant light in our lives, and we miss you, and will continue to miss you.
Your friend always,
kevin
|
Name changes, for privacy reasons, but here goes.
My dear Maria,
I recall in vivid detail the conversations we once shared, about where our lives were headed, our hopes and fears, our dreams and nightmares. I never told you outright how much I love you, and that is the only thing in life I truly regret. I tried telling you one day (though I didn't do a very good job of it), and you were clear that you weren't ready for a relationship beyond just being friends at the time.
The next few months, we drifted away from one another. I watched you find someone else; those next few months, watching you looking so happy with someone else, were the hardest times I have ever gone through. The pain I went through during that time is something that I pray neither you nor anyone else has to experience. It very nearly broke me, and it is only by the grace of God that I made it through.
After we reconnected and restored our friendship, I told myself that I would respect your wishes and simply be an honest, supportive friend. For a time, I convinced myself that it would be possible to simply be your friend and keep my feelings for you contained. However, over the past few weeks, I have realized that I could more easily hold back the Amazon River with my bare hands than hold back my feelings for you.
Any time I spend with you is the high point of my week; when I go about my day, I see your beautiful face and hear your delightful laugh. I remember in vivid detail your wonderfully compassionate smile, and I count the days until I can see you again. Will I ever be able to tell you I love you? Must my feelings remain hidden forever? How I wish I could show you just what you mean to me!
I hope that someday I find the opportunity to tell you this; I realize now that as much as I value your friendship, I care about you too much to keep up this pretense of only caring about you as a friend. Someday, I will no longer be able to keep from telling you.
All my love to you,
Davin
| 2017-11-05T22:20:06 | 2017-11-05T21:31:39 | 78 | 19 |
[WP] While driving you hit and kill a boy. You feel terrible, and at the funeral you tell the family you wish you had died instead of him. 3 weeks later, a new surgery comes out that can bring someone back from the dead at the cost of another's life. You hear a knock at your door. It's the family.
|
*Note: I just wrote another story for this prompt in the replies below. Let me know which sorry you like better!*
It wasn't until I had the chance to die that I realized I still wanted to live.
Sitting next to the parents, seeing their faces as the ER surgeon came out of the room and shook his head, I was convinced I wanted to die. After all, I was the reason they boy was was all but dead.
He wasn't fully dead, not really. But the trauma to his organs made life support and a medically induced coma necessary. The doctors said he couldn't be brought out of the coma without ending his life.
I begged the parents for their forgiveness, insisting I would trade places with their boy in an instant. The mother looked at me hopelessly, but I'll never forget the father's look of anger, pain, and contempt. I think he knew how hollow my words were, even though at the time I had convinced myself they were sincere.
When news came out of a brain transplant technique, I didn't feel relief, only fear that the parents would track me down and insist I give up my body to make things right. I had been dreading their call, but each passing week made that seem less likely.
My heart skipped a beat when I answered the door, and saw the boy's parents on my porch. The father had been crying, and the mother had her arm around him protectively.
I froze. Just as the words "I can't" were about to leave my cowardly mouth, the father spoke.
"He said he forgives you," the father said.
That didn't make sense. The parents had never had a chance to talk to their son after the accident.
"Who forgives me?" I asked, barely daring to hope that maybe the doctors were wrong, and the boy had recovered enough to be brought out of his coma.
The father took his hat off, revealing a fresh scar traveling across his forehead.
"My father."
|
\*knock\* \*knock\*
The sound of slow, heavy knocking comes from the door. From the other side, a woman calls out, "we want you to make things right. Come on out, James."
It's them. For the past two weeks straight, they've showed up outside my house. Every single day, and always at the exact same time. More and more desperate each time they show up.
I know they want their son back, but this isn't right! It was an accident! What could have I done? I honked the horn, I hit the brakes, and I swerved! Only so much can be done when you're gliding across wet pavement head-first into a boy with a death wish. I tried—
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of splintering wood. A hatchet was driven cleanly through my front door.
"We're getting impatient, James," came the man's monotonous voice. "The doctor is waiting, and you're stalling. Time is running out."
Are they insane? I know that I told him I wished it were me, but they can't bring him back! The surgery's success rate is already towards the low 20s after twelve hours, and he's been dead for over a month!
"There's no reason to hide, James. You're going to come with us one way or another." Like hell I am.
I headed for the back door, planning to sneak away before they could make their way in. I turned the knob and pulled... But it wouldn't budge. They nailed it into the frame from the outside.
From behind me, the woman whispered, "we took the liberty to make this easy for you, James. You get to relax and take a nap, and we get Damien back. Everybody is happy."
| 2018-09-16T16:40:02 | 2018-09-16T16:18:54 | 5,661 | 147 |
[WP]1000 years ago, scientists have found a way to attach chlorophyll to the human DNA, making humans survive solely on the Sun. Humans have evolved and lost the need and instinct to eat. It is now the year 3022. You have discovered eating by accident, and it has provided you with superhuman powers.
EDIT: Holy sh*t! First time I’ve got over a thousand upvotes! Hi mom!
|
Journal Entry 22/07/3022. ENTRY-D
... Hours later, I felt a hotness in my pants. "What is that awful smell" I thought. It had happened, I had gained superpowers from doing the Ritual of Eating. I had learned of the power from the ancient scroll I excavated... nearly 800 years old by my current estimates.
The power is called Pooping, it is essentially an awful smelling, semi-solid biological weapon. It hardens over time, indicating I must act quick if I want full affect. I will find one of my targets tonight...
|
It seemed impossible. Unheard of. Like a piece of science fiction.
As people moved down the sidewalk at the slow, even pace necessary when you live off of the minute sugars generated by photosynthesis; I actually walked around them!
On my normal trip to the beach I have to stop at 3 Basking Stations to recharge. But today was different. I got moving so quickly that I felt wind even though it wasn't windy.
All because my son tried to prank me by putting dog food in my mineral shake.
| 2018-09-27T06:36:26 | 2018-09-27T06:18:26 | 51 | 24 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess".
|
"Kinda short for a knight, aren't you?"
The words hung in the air. Sir Gregory was taken aback. He was expecting the princess to be excited to see him or terrified of the dragon. Condescension was an emotion he never entertained.
"Oh Gods, you reek. No, this won't do. If you wish to rescue me *properly* I insist you go have a bath." She wrinkled her nose and took a step back, disgust on her face.
"Your Highness, this isn't the time. The dragon is still about-"
"The dragon has been here seven years. I'm sure she can wait until you're presentable. I mean *really*. How would you feel if you opened that door and found a centaur here? Because you smell like a centaur." The princess waived her hand dismissively. "The baths are down the hall to the right. I have left some mint on the vanity in case you don't want your first kiss to cause me to vomit."
Sir Gregory flustered. "I.. Uh.. Alright."
"Would you like a new suit of armor? That looks really ratty?"
"This was my grandfather's armor!"
"Looks like he inherited it too."
"That does it!" Sir Gregory took off his helm and threw it to the floor with a loud clang. "I came here through driving rain and scorching deserts! I endured countless hardships just to come here for *you*! I did this all for you. You should have the courtesy to show me some respect."
"You're some rich asshole who thinks I'll suck your dick and make you king just because you killed a, sorry, because you *intend* to kill a dragon. I didn't ask you to come here stinking of horse and threatening to kill the only friend I have had for seven years."
"You know what? I don't have to deal with this shit." Sir Gregory's voice broke as tears welled in his eyes. He picked up and put his helmet back on. "I'm a great knight. There are lots of women at court who would love to marry me." He started to leave, then turned in the doorway. "And your kingdom is shit anyway. Wench!"
"Don't let the porticulus hit your ass on the way out!"
"Arrgh!" He screamed as he stormed off muttering under his breath. "Stupid wench. Probably isn't even a virgin. I'm a nice knight. I wanted to rescue her. Doesn't that mean anything?" As promised the porticulus slams shut right behind him. The drawbridge starts to rise as he nears the end, forcing him to jump the last step.
"Gods damn it!" He curses, turning to yell back at the keep. "When you are old and ugly and alone you will look back at this day as the biggest mistake of your life!"
"At least I'm not old and ugly now!" The princess yelled down from a window.
"I'm not old I'm twenty seven!"
"I bet you still live with your parents."
"Fuck you," Sir Gregory turns and starts storming off toward a tree with a short length of rope tied to it. He turns back and yells. "Where is my horse!?"
"I don't know where your stupid horse is. Where is my dragon?"
"I didn't even see your dragon." He points at the princess. "If your dragon ate my horse you owe me a horse!"
"If my dragon got sick eating your stinking horse you owe me a dragon."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not buying you a dragon."
"Then I'm not buying you a horse."
"Screw this. I'm going back to court and I'm telling everyone you're a dragon's wench and you'll never get rescued!"
"Have a pleasant walk," the princess called in a sing-song voice.
"Fuck you!!"
|
"Look at that idiot swinging a sword at my playful Gilgamore." I said while looking out of my window from the top floor of the tower into the courtyard.
Every damn time... I don't know why they think they need to *Slaaaaay the Draaagon.* What was this, some Walt Disney princess movie? Did they honestly think that if there was a real dragon threat that it would of killed me by now? My faith in the common sense of man was quickly dwindling.
​
I watched as Gilgamore swiped his claws at the "hero knight in shining armor". He literally cut the poor sap in half at the torso leaving the legs standing there for a brief moment before collapsing to the ground lifeless. It happened so fast you could still see the eyes blinking before remaining open with death. I couldn't help but laugh as I used the usual stone to mark another tally on the wall. That makes fourteen this month and a hundred and twenty seven this year. The deaths were always gruesome yet satisfying to me at this point. Just another useless, dumb sack of meat removed from existence for the betterment of mankind.
​
Gilgamore, now done playing with his new friend, transformed back to his original cute sized self and turned to enter the back door of the castle after swiping the remains of the would be hero into the moat of surrounding lava. It took me three solid months to teach him to clean up after himself. He was a Draconian Hybrid mixed with the legendary Fae dragon species, the smallest of their kind, and the Germanic Puk species. He had a silver colored hyde, an off white underbelly, and *usually* stood about a foot tall and had a wing span of almost three feet His tail was just as long as his body easily making him around two feet long. He liked to transform into a much larger dragon resembling the poisonous Aspis dragon when "visitors" came by with the hopes to leave carrying a beautiful princess in their arms through smoke and flames. He was rather protective but he only meant good with each interaction. He was born into this castle from an egg I received from a local merchant that came by about once a week. Mervin was a kind fellow who Gilgamore took a liking too shortly after hatching. I bought the egg out of sheer hunger from Merv about a year ago. I remember thinking back then that it would make for a great breakfast omelette with the bear sausage I purchased recently. To my pleasant surprise, Gilgamore was born from the egg the next morning as it was sitting by the coal oven. Since then, I have been raising him as my pet.
​
Shortly after my little GeGe cleaned up his mess I saw the lamp light up at the end of the rope bridge that hung over the lava. It was Merv. But this time I saw him standing there with another figure. I guess GeGe noticed it at the last second as I saw him quickly turn and run dow the hall and head towards the front castle door to greet Merv and his friend. As the two walked across the bridge, light broke through the clouds and I could start to see the familiar face of our friend. He was a lively sixty seven year old merchant that would always carry rare goodies in a rucksack. He had peppered, long hair just past his shoulders and always had on cargo shorts and a wife beater with socks that came up to his knees that jutted out from his homemade sandals. The clouds soon devoured any light that tried to shine through right before I could get a good look at the other person accompanying him. Halfway down the stairs I heard him ringing the bell by the rope that hung next to the main door.
​
​
| 2019-01-09T11:59:29 | 2019-01-09T10:46:09 | 158 | 38 |
[WP] It's getting really hard for the government to keep covering up all these alien landings. Sightings of strange metal creatures roaming over the surface, apparently scanning it, are disturbing the citizens. The Martian government needs to come up with something better, fast.
|
"The official story from the government is that Gale City was infested with space mites and had to be fumigated," the newscaster said, "But in our interviews with the hastily-evacuated citizens of the crater, not a *single* one mentioned any sign of the little pests. Perhaps there's more to this story?" She ended with that hanging question that journalists do: not *accusing*, just *asking* whether there's more. The image next to her face was a still from a blurry amateur video, showing a flash of chrome with wheels hanging out and arms jutting every which way.
President Hroq wiggled his tentacles in frustration. God, how many of these things would there be?? It's bad enough that they were watching the planet from orbit, twenty four hours a day. Thankfully the Martians built their cities deep into the ground, undetectable from above. But now they were sending little robots? Drilling? How soon until they started exploring some of the larger caves and decided that a full-scale invasion of the planet was necessary? The representative from SETI that Hroq had spoken to claimed that there were no such plans to colonize the Red Planet, but these humans were not to be trusted. With a sigh, Hroq picked up the phone yet again and dialed up one of his Earth contacts. These calls were getting far too frequent.
"It's still driving around, Paul. Cameras still swiveling everywhere! You promised me it would be lights out over there!"
The voice on the other end sounded... tired. Exasperated. *Certainly* not happy to hear from the Martian president at a time like this. "I told you, there's really only so much I can do! I submitted a bill to..."
"Yeah, yeah. I've heard that one before. Let me guess, you just need a bit more money, right?"
There was a silence between them. "Well..." the human answered, "it wouldn't *hurt*.... I mean, my ca..."
"Dammit!" Hroq interrupted. The Martian government had already spent far too much money on this venture. Thankfully the humans seemed to value diamonds, but the covert flying saucer runs had become far too frequent of late. They were running out of cows to turn inside out to confuse human observers. "How much more do you need?" Hroq finally answered. "I want NASA to be *broke*. I want them to be prostituting themselves out to Russia just to get into orbit. You hear me??"
"Yes, sir," Paul said from the other end. "I just need a few more million... there's this other candidate, Trump, and he..."
"I don't want excuses!" Hroq shouted. "You told me you could win this election by promising to strip NASA's budget, and that's what I want you to do. We already made those 'Planned Parenthood' videos for you. You said that that could start a budget fight easily!"
"Well it did," Paul answered. "But I've had trouble getting others to support my rider for defunding NASA too. There's this new movie about Mars that has people all excited, which makes it difficult to sway public opinion. You see, American poli..."
"I don't want to hear about your odd government," Hroq growled. "Just get it done! There had better be a President Rand Paul by this time next year or you bet your ass the Illuminati will be getting a *very* angry phone call!"
"But sir, the election isn't even unti..."
Hroq didn't wait to hear the rest of the human's excuses; he slammed down the phone receiver and turned the TV back on. A panel of experts were discussing some strange mining activity in the Mare Australe quadrangle. *Great*, Hroq thought. *Now the press is starting to investigate that Malaysian airplane that we're hiding in the Heaviside crater. What else could go wrong?*
|
"For Christ's sake, in the middle of New York!?" cried Ferguson, throwing his FBI badge on the table. "Are you
insane?"
Du'kk ran his hands through his bald, grey head. "I'm sorry, sir, I tried –"
"Small towns! Small, rural towns! I told you that a million times! And put your mask back on, the door's unlocked!"
"Sorry," Du'kk replied, throwing his rubber mask back on. "We talked to the guy, already, just so you know. He's facing a disciplinary hearing, we –"
"I don't care what you do in your end," agent Ferguson cried, dropping to his chair. "All I need is for you to keep
your damn people hidden. I understand they need to come here, I understand you need to study humans. Hell, I even understand you need to shove things up our asses and drill their teeth sometimes --"
"Again, Mr. Ferguson, I can't tell you how sorry I –"
"—but do it in freaking Anytown, Texas, where no one is watching!" Ferguson completed,
slamming the table. "I mean, for crying out loud! An alien in Times Square!"
There was a pause, and Du'kk looked down to the floor. "Was it bad? How many people noticed?"
"It was Times Square, so no onee really gave a shit," Ferguson replied. "Still, Du'kk, come on. Get your shit together!"
"It won't happen again sir, I assure you."
"I mean, it's bad enough you guys took Matt Damon…"
"That was a mistake," Du'kk replied, defensively. "We gave him back."
"I know. We're making a whole documentary about it, it's fine," Ferguson retorted. "Still. From now on, only small towns. You hear me?"
"Loud and clear, Mr. Ferguson."
"If you *really* need to show your faces in a public area, at least wait 'til they start shooting the next Spielberg
film."
"Got it."
Ferguson got up, heading for his drink cabinet. He poured himself a big glass of Jack Daniels. "You want some?"
Du'kk shook his head. "Thanks, I'm good. I got to get going."
The alien turned around to leave. As he opened the door, a man in suit and tie greeted him from the other side of
the door.
"Morning," Du'kk said, passing by the suited man and disappearing down the hall.
"Who was that?" The suited man asked, holding the door open.
"What?" Ferguson replied, turning around. "Oh, it's you."
"That man that just left," the suited guy replied, with a frown. "He looked… stretched… and tall… like he was wearing a… human costume, or something."
"Stop with the paranoia, will you?" Ferguson said, heading back to his chair. "What do you want?"
The suited guy took a step towards Ferguson. "There was this case in Times Square… Multiple witnesses claimed to
have seen a tall, grey creature browsing around Broadway."
"That was nothing," Ferguson replied. "Some idiot in an alien costume."
"Mr. Ferguson, a lot of the witnesses claim to have seen the man hovering above the ground, like some sort of –"
"That will be all, agent Mulder," Ferguson said. "Now I got things to take care of, ok? You can leave."
The suited man got up, and with a sigh, headed for the door.
"You know, Mr. Ferguson, you can't hide these things from me forever," he said, holding the door open, halfway out. "The truth is out –"
"Oh shut the fuck up, Mulder," Ferguson replied, getting up and banging the door on the suited man's face.
| 2015-10-05T06:11:33 | 2015-10-05T05:53:05 | 775 | 169 |
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