prompt
stringlengths 20
5.8k
| chosen_story
stringlengths 226
10k
| rejected_story
stringlengths 227
9.43k
| chosen_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
2022-12-31 14:34:19
| rejected_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
2022-12-31 12:20:41
| chosen_upvotes
int64 14
23.1k
| rejected_upvotes
int64 10
4.26k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
Looking in the mirror, I puffed my chest out arrogantly.
I flexed, and admired the aesthetics of my physique.
Vascular arms, the chiseled abs, and V taper.
And then my eyes stopped short, shocked.
I trembled as the realization dawned.
I've made a huge mistake.
How did this happen?
I skipped it.
Leg Day.
Again.
|
Jessie's job was working for the city, cleaning up roadkill.
I can't help but see irony in his death.
He probably looked like a deer in headlights.
Which is what he was cleaning up.
That SUV didn't even see him.
Flattened him out real good.
It was road kill.
Leaving him, well.
You know.
Roadkill.
| 2015-01-05T22:38:49 | 2015-01-05T21:54:55 | 1,258 | 122 |
[WP]The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don't stay dead easily.
|
All species strive to survive above all else. We adapt, evolve, become immune to diseases, and are willing to travel great distances to find habitats suited to sustaining life.
I’m sure that those who experienced the horrors of the zombie plague outbreak centuries ago couldn’t even begin to process how the rise of violent, undead creatures could possibly have been an evolution or adaptation for human survival.
But now? As I stand face to face with one of the thousands of the technologically superior alien invaders pointing some form of death ray at me, I understood the advantage of humans still carrying the zombie virus quite clearly.
“KLAR’NARK!” the monstrous alien practically spit at me, surely taunting my imminent demise. He aimed his weapon as what passed for a smile crossing his fanged, twisted face, and pulled the trigger without further hesitation.
I felt an immense pain as a large chunk of my torso was blasted off my body. Falling to the ground, the alien stood over me, both he and I waiting for me for my inevitable death. And indeed, I felt my life slipping away from me. My body went cold, and the world went black, as my eyes closed for the last time.
For the last time as a human being at least. Mere moments later my eyes snapped back open. I felt different, undoubtedly a changed being. My thoughts simplified, my body altered and awkward to move. But stand and live I did, as a risen zombie.
The alien looked on in shock and horror as I rose and simple thoughts crossed my mind, “Kill. Consume. Survive.”
Instinctively, I lunged at the creature standing before me. With one swift bite it’s neck was sliced open, disgusting black blood spraying from the gaping wound I had just created. It snarled and howled in immense pain and distress, but it was too stunned to put up much resistance. With two more ferocious bites it was dead, and now it relived the moment I had just experienced, slumping to the floor, it's life rapidly fading as it died.
Unfortunately for it, its species had not evolved to have any form of life beyond death. Within minutes, I had fully consumed its body for sustenance, and was ready to move on, my immediate task complete.
As strange as it sounds, in this moment, zombification truly was a gift. A second chance at life, another opportunity to fight back against the invaders overrunning our planet. I shambled off into the world with one goal in mind, to continue to survive by any means necessary.
___
Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more of my stories (some featuring zombies of one kind or another)
Written on my phone, sorry for any formatting issues or awful typos.
|
Even centuries later the human race had not recovered. Seven billion people culled down to just a few million takes a long recovery.
The biggest loss was that of the scientific community. With so few people many modern commodities disappeared. And as humanity grew back, they grew back without such needs. Digital technology had never recovered. Humanity was somewhere in the middle of the Iron Age really, but those who knew history were hesitant to fall back into industrialization easily.
This is what may have prompted the alien species to attack. To them the earth looked ripe. The ruling species was a primitive ape like humanoid that hadn’t even developed space travel.
Humanities first contact with intelligent life outside of its planet would not be kind. They came down quick and hard from the sky, obliterating the most populated areas. Still fairly sparse when compared to humanities peak.
Confident in their strike the alien species went to check on the areas they had blasted. Human remains were everywhere. Bodies torn apart, burned, crushed, smoldering. A stunning success to the outer space species. That was until...until the bodies started moving. They weren’t fast, at first. They slowly gathered themselves up and inches closer to the aliens. Both excited and hurt that their first encounter should be so brutal.
The lowly torn down humans looked at the intelligent life that had hurt them. Tall beings of slender build, most features hidden behind their own versions of a space suit. You could tell they were shocked though by when a formerly dead body would shake awake and move back to be with its fellow man.
The men didn’t start this war, they didn’t ask for it. They had not yet recovered from their own losses years gone by. But they would finish it, just as their own had started. A man laying on the ground crawled over toward the space beings who watched the groveling man.
As the man got close he wrapped himself around the feet of these interstellar beings. They pointed some sort of exotic weapon at him, their version of a pistol he was sure. Without further hesitation staring up at these beings from the stars he bit into the closest ones leg. He didn’t know if the disease would spread through the alien species like it had his own, but he had hope. And with that the alien shot him in the head, unknowing that it would be a headshot needed to kill the man.
The remaining people saw the bite and turned away, knowing the doom the man had wrought for the space species. They would find out soon enough if the zombie disease spread amongst the aliens by if they came back or not. The humans doubted they would be back. And with that they went back to their lives.
| 2019-08-28T11:04:09 | 2019-08-28T10:30:44 | 1,598 | 671 |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit.
|
“Yeah I wouldn’t want to fight me either,” the bandit said, but not full of the usual bravado I came to expect from bandits.
I looked at him puzzled, “and why wouldn’t you want to fight yourself?” I asked condescendingly.
“Because nobody wants anything to do with me!” He spat with a fervor that caught me off guard, “I turned 5 and my parent decided I wasn’t their problem, let me fend for myself and told me they were helping me grow strong. After 2 years of struggling in my families home they threw me to the wolves, not even a metaphor literal wolves!”
“The difficulties peasants face sometimes turns them cold and cruel, but,” I started to only have him cut me off.
“They were nobles! I just wasn’t what THEY wanted. Hell even the wolves didn’t want me. They just snarled sniffed me and left. I had to learn to hunt, steal, and survive overnight, and goddamn it I did it. All while everyone stared through me like I never existed. Hell I tried to join a bandit clan and they told me they didn’t need another deadbeat kid to support and laughed. So here I am at 12, trying to mug a man that is gonna kill me because no one cares I exist.
“You could walk away, and pretend this never happened,” I spoke before I thought.
“Surprise, surprise! Even my killer doesn’t want me,” he paused then through tears muttered, “you really wanna know why I wouldn’t want to fight me? I’m worthless. Just some nobody you ignore on the street. I don’t even register as a side character in this game of life.” He looked down crying, and I could hear his stomach rumble nearly 20 feet away.
“Shall we continue over rabbit stew?” I pulled a fresh caught hare from my pack, “I was going to rest for the night here, and I don’t mind company.”
He glared, “you don’t mean that.”
I threw his sword aside with a spell as I walked closer, watching the rusty metal shatter as it hit the ground. Next went his quiver, and I realized there were a couple crudely carved arrows that would make a goblin think twice. I was going to toss his bow but noticed he had none.
“The bandits took it all when I tried to join,” he muttered as if he knew what I was going to ask, “I was surviving,” he stopped and began crying in earnest, “I just didn’t want to be alone anymore.” With that he collapsed either from hunger or the emotions, and passed out.
For the first time since I was cast aside, nearly 20 years ago, I let my guard down. “Everyone is someone,” I whispered as I picked him up and carried him to the spot I chose to camp earlier. “Someone always matters. And in time I hope I can show you that is true for you as well.” I placed him in my bedroll, fished out my supplies, and started cooking. After a few minutes a branch snapped, and a large bandit stepped out with a few guys behind him.
“You don’t wanna fight me,” he grunted as he drew his sword. Yet, I didn’t care about the blade in his hand, I was more interested in the bow and blade strapped to his side like a trophy.
“Depends,” I snarled, “where did you get those trophies?”
“Oh these? Some dumb punk claiming to be a rejected noble. It was fun watching him cry when we made him leave wearing nothing,” he laughed with his men. Until he noticed me turn a new shade of red.
“You know what,” I said while lifting a log near the fire, “I think I do want to fight you!”
|
I sighed at the bandit. He wore simple leather armour, sporting a well used sword. His long brown hair was a wild mop on his head, clearly untended to. His sharp face was set in a determined expression, though I could see a seed of doubt in his mind.
I shifted my balance, ready for him to make his inevitable swing. My comfortable clothes were well worn, going far to hide my identity. As nice as fame was, I enjoyed the quiet life, and so chose to keep much of it on the down low. So the fact this bandit chose me wasn't a huge surprise.
"Now, hand over your goods, and maybe I will let you live."
His tone was probably enough to scare most people I to complying. But having spent time with the Voices, it was just another way of speaking to me. Even in that, I could hear the subtle notes of hope that I would just hand over my bits.
I could guess his type. He was hust trying to prove himself. He probably chose this life in an effort to drown out his self doubt.
"Please, put your sword away. You really don't want to go down this path."
His eyes showed the inner turmoil. He wanted me to just comply. He hated the idea of me making him hurt me. But he had to appear strong. He had to. He had no real choice from what he could see.
I watched his body, seeing muscles tense. As he lunged forwards, I reacted. My body had been trained by purging the vampiric undercity, reflexes beyond that of normal humans. His swing was horribly slow to me, allowing me to catch his arm. I moved into it, rolling him over my shoulders.
He slammed into the ground, his face a mask of confusion. I stepped on his sword, leaning down.
"I told you, I don't want to fight you."
His bravado broke, tears springing to his eyes.
"I-im sorry!"
I looked down on him. He was broken from just one throw. He was too weak to take lives out of cruelty. It would be well within my rights to take him in, or deal with him permanently. But I had killed only for the greater good. This would be nothing like that.
"Hey, stop crying."
He continued, and I smiled. I remembered being like this, back when I was but a young child. The face of my teacher swam into view, a kind, gentle face. I gave a sigh, picking up the sword. It was basic, no enchantment to speak of. With a shrug I stuck it into the dirt, before reaching down to pull up the bandit.
"Listen, this life isn't for you. Trust me, I have seen many bandits in my time. You wouldn't hack it. But you could do more. You seem relatively competent with a sword."
He blinked through his tears. I could see him processing, and I put my arm on his shoulder.
"I don't really want to fight you. If I did, you would be dead. I've had enough of death for a long time. So I'm going to give you a choice. You can turn around, and try to continue this banditry. That will end only in your premature death. Or you can come with me, and I will make you into someone to be proud of."
I released him, taking a couple of steps back. He stood there, looking incredibly lost. To one side was his sword, the life he had lead. To the other, I promised him something more. It was his choice to make. I just hoped he would make the right one.
| 2022-08-11T16:32:00 | 2022-08-11T14:53:24 | 467 | 198 |
[WP] As it turns out, humans are not the generic, good guy, center of the galaxy type species. Humans are a specialist species, and the rest of the galaxy only cares about one thing when it comes to humanity. Our explosives.
|
There were over 100 Alien species in the grand council of zerekas, the largest weaponry and technology showcase in the known universe, the Imperium of Pretoria had just received a standing ovation from the members, after showing that their newest creation of indestructible living sculptures had successfully eliminated the test subjects in the main arena.
But it was the newcomers to the Grand council, the Humans who held the interest of the Species, from the peace loving Chisari to the war hungry Krograsi. They were nothing Special, Militarily, biologically or scientifically, but the humans were shocked when they realised a weapon they had been using for centuries, even when they were locked on their home world hadn’t been developed by a single other Species.
The Humans said they had the very best man for the job.
“And finally this evening, the Human delegation, and their innovation: explosives” the voice over the PA announced.
And a single, solitary human appeared in the centre of the arena he took one look at the multitude of species that were showing interest in what he had to show
And then he screamed to the audience...
“DO YOU KNOW 98% OF THINGS IN THE GALAXY ARENT EXPLODING RIGHT NOW?!?!?, THAT IS HORSESH*T!”
|
“These humans,” said Aedyn. “They have an expression. ‘Easy as taking candy from a baby.’ How ironic.” Aedyn’s purple skin wrinkled around his mouth from trying to hide a smirk.
“How did these undeserving humans acquire such an abundance of radioactive isotopes?” Uh’ylh asked. “How much more do they have?”
“They have more than enough for us to fuel our entire fleet for a year. The problem is these humans see their nuclear resource as a weapon, and whoever has the biggest weapon has the most power, so our trades need to be discreet.”
“Ha!” boomed Uh’ylh’s voice, filling up the entire spaceship cabin. “They’re so busy fighting among themselves they don’t even realize how much they could accomplish if they worked together. Even better for us!”
Aedyn couldn’t agree more. “We will continue trade with the humans. We just have to make sure not to let them think we want their ‘explosives’ while we use it for fuel. In the meantime, make sure our nuclear reactors are set to have gold as a byproduct. I honestly don’t see why humans think it’s so valuable.”
| 2018-07-16T04:52:58 | 2018-07-15T22:57:34 | 161 | 64 |
[WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species.
|
The monument was smaller than T'rakkar had expected. It was less than ten meters in height, a simple laser-etched plaque in granite. In the first few years it had been built, when the remains of the First World had been discovered, there had been a rush of tourists to the site. The wonders of economics had, within a month, caused a hundred thousand orbiting viewing platforms to spring into existence around the dying white dwarf the First World still orbited, and tickets had been ten times the annual worker's salary. The downside, he mused, to a truly galactic economy; the richest one percent were quadrillions in number.
What had it been like, back then? A species confined to one world, gazing at the stars, mere billions strong? A stray meteor, an accidental misalignment of a neutron star all it would take to wipe out all trace of your genetic lineage. The thought made him shudder; he, at least, had left eggs on a score of worlds. With any luck, his legacy would continue on for billions of years to come.
T'rakkar had never considered himself a spiritual person. His colony was a practical minded one, his crechemates likewise focused on material matters. Indeed, their colony produced some of the finest engineers among the T'karan, so he couldn't fault the philosophy.
But here, in front of a simple plaque on a blasted rock around a dying star, he felt a sense of wonder that hadn't stirred since he was a larva.
"Hello," he read, "We are the human race. By the time you receive this message, we will be dead. There are many challenges a species must face. By the time you can understand this message, you will have overcome many of them. We hope you had an easier time than we did."
It was a famous passage, from the middle of the Codex. The ancient message passed along through every intelligent species. A fitting inscription for this place, he decided. Every larva had read it a hundred times; but he continued anyway. Sometimes the place the message was received was as important as the message itself.
"The first challenge you faced was survival. You were born on a world teeming with life, with predators that hunted you, with parasites that weakened you, with diseases that struck you down. We congratulate your ancestors on overcoming a challenge that so few species do, of birthing a race that was strong and smart enough to dominate your world.
"The second challenge you faced was yourselves. Only the strong survive, and the strong survive by taking from the weak. We congratulate your species on overcoming the tragedy of strength to build a civilization where all members worked together for the good of all."
T'rakkar smiled, his antennae curling. Even among a hive species, "the good of all" had never been achievable. He wondered what kind of psychology and evolutionary pressures humans must have had to achieve that level of cohesion.
"The third challenge you face is the world. By the time you can read this message, you will have achieved an understanding of the world strong enough to master it. So too did we. We pass our knowledge to you, for knowledge hoarded is knowledge wasted. We ask that you broadcast this message in its entirety, to ease others suffering as this will ease yours.
"The fourth challenge you face will be despair. For once you have mastered the world, what else is left? You will be divorced from the cycles your ancestors evolved in. You will face challenges they were never designed to handle. You will be lost, alone, and confused. And you will suffer.
"You will face many more challenges besides, but we are ashamed to admit we do not know what they are, for we never overcame this one. We achieved a form of paradise on our planet. No human has felt hunger in millennia; no labor has been performed that was not volunteered. And yet our species will die, sooner or later, because we are alone. Because without challenge, there is no meaning to life.
"We, the authors of this message, call ourselves Arecibo, and we foretell our demise. We send this message as a warning and as a message of hope. Rejoice, because you are not alone. Look up at the stars, and know: we were here. Our existence was preposterously unlikely; our survival even more so. We hope that this message makes any future existence merely unlikely. Look up at the stars, and fear. Look up at the stars, and wonder."
He wondered if humanity knew just how much good their message had done. His own species had been in the middle of a cold war that would likely have lead to their annihilation when they received the Codex. Historians and politicians had argued about exactly what it had done for decades. Had the advanced technology provided simply reduced the resource pressures and averted war? It certainly had reduced tensions, but hives had declared war over lesser things. Had the humans' message of hope truly touched the hearts of their ancestors? Some people found it inspiring; yet T'rakkar had never been among them. The dead were dead, and their society had long since surpassed the humans'.
Yet all throughout the galaxy, species had received the Codex, and almost every species that did had survived.
T'rakkar looked up at the stars. He wondered how different they would have looked, otherwise.
|
"So where did you find those spheres?" governor Prlax asked his chief humanologist.
"We found some in the oceans, in what we figure must have been deserts back then, on mountains and many other places." Dr. Dr. Hum. Dvlup replied, "but mostly we found them in big heaps next to former cities, in what we assume were nature preserves, since they were big open spaces without buildings. But we also found a few spheres on the moon of the human planet, next to one of their landing sites."
"So they must have been significant?" Prlax inquired while reorganizing some files on his desk.
"They must have been! The spheres may be small, but they might contain tremendous amounts of data storage, we just haven't figured out how to access it." Dvlup excitedly proclaimed.
"Yesterday I had a cultural humanologist in my office, I assume you know Dr. Mwlur?" Prlax said, knowing full well of the very public academic rivalry between the two scientists, but it was more fun this way.
"Mudflap Mwlur? I can guess what the hack was going on about. He's told you the spheres are objects of pure cultural significance, correct?" Dvlup huffed while his face turned an angry aquamarine.
"You'd guess correctly doctor, and he's making a pretty good case, especially since the spheres don't serve a practical purpose and don't seem to have any interesting computational, mechanical or otherwise significant qualities. Aside from bouncing really well I mean." Before Dvlup could reply, governor Prlax quickly added: "I'm going to take a guess as well, you're going to say that the humans technology was too advanced for us to comprehend, but that's a rather convenient excuse in my opinion. Excuse my ignorance on the matter, but iff there's no sign of the spheres being technological artifacts, why is it the prevalent opinion among humanologists?"
Dvlup eagerly pounced on the question: "Because why else would humans take them everywhere they went? And the way humans built the spheres is marvelous. Most of the human artifacts are lost to the ravages of time. Erosion sanded down their buildings, their cities and infrastructure are almost totally gone. And yet the spheres endured, mostly. They are made from several complex materials, arranged in concentric spheres, to maximize durability. And the dents on the outside, which we assume were for data connections, are perfectly arranged in a mathematical pattern."
"They also make the spheres go faster when you throw them, right?" Prlax asked. He knew the thought of throwing around human spheres was going to send the doctors frills on edge. He didn't care anymore, the meeting had been going on for a while and Prlax was getting hungry. The doctor should know this, the governors feeding tentacles were itching but Dvlup seemed to be oblivious to social clues. Typical egghead.
"I don't see how that would be relevant to either the scientific consensus or Mwlurs fringe theories." the doctor said coldly through edged frills, "and I'd rather not risk anyone throwing around precious human artifacts, so I wouldn't know about it."
Governor Prlax decided that the quickest way to a lunch break would be to get the doctor on a different track, or barring that, to just piss him off: "C'mon doc, we have a lot of different types of spheres. And no one knows what they are really for, so they might not be precious at all. Heck, considering they bounce and fly well, maybe that's what they were made for. You know, simple entertainment. Or a sport of some sort."
"Governor, with all due respect, you're being ridiculous. Are you suggesting humans braved the void in their primitive spacecraft, landing on the moon to play sports? Governor, I fear I misplaced my hopes in your support." Dvlup replied angrily. "I hoped you'd be open to funding serious scientific inquiries, instead you come up with the ridiculous notion that the first intelligent species threw around these masterfully crafted artifacts, for what? Fun? Don't be absurd!"
After Dr. Dr. Hum. Dvlup had angrily slammed the door closed on his way out of the office and left the governor to his well deserved flatwich, Prlax enjoyed his meal and idly opened the present the doctor had left behind. Inside the laboratory-grade transport case he found three of the artifacts, just as he had expected. They were all the same size and shape, round with a dimpled surface, about the size of a human eyeball, based on the few well-preserved skulls the archaeologists had found. The only difference between them were the markings on the white outside, although Prlax knew from Dr. Mwlar's lenghty presentation the day before that they'd found some in other colors as well, but more rarely. While he gobbled the last few crumbs of his flatwich down, the governer compared the markings on the spheres. Callaway, Titleist, Taylormade. Strange markings indeed.
**This is my first time on r/writingprompts so please be gentle.**
| 2019-08-13T15:04:00 | 2019-08-13T14:45:56 | 858 | 156 |
[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.
|
i could hear the whine of precision power tools...
all i could taste was blood and metal. they shone a light in my eyes, i couldn't see who was standing over me...
"don't worry, it'll all be over soon..." he said through a mask as he put a thin silver device in my mouth. just when i thought it couldn't get worse, he turns it on and fucking jams it into my teeth.
last time i go to that fuckup of a dentist..
| 2022-09-15T12:44:53 | 2015-01-12T11:14:34 | 1,493 | 28 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Hey Moose,
We had a good run. 16 years is good for a dog that somebody else starved in their back yard for a while.
You did really good. You remembered all those tricks somebody else taught you, showed the cats/birds love, and learned to stop being scared over food. You gave the best hugs on the planet.
I'm sorry that your last days hurt so much. We tried to work around your sickness best we could but it was too late when we figured out what was wrong.
I know you couldn't understand at the time but the other twin dogs were hurt just like you, but instead of missing food they never had love or anyone else. Thanks for trying to love them, too. They've gotten a lot better at nipping and trusting people over time.
That last year was really rough but the time the family had with you was beautiful...even though the " dog ate the sofa" story still makes the rounds at parties. Say hi to Herky, Xena, Scouty, Jazz, Ouma and the birds for me.
Thanks for that last smile.
Hanging in as always,
E.
|
Dear J,
Hey J, it's me. For the sake of your privacy I'm going to omit your name like I always do when I mention you. But, I miss you. And I really fucking hate that I miss you. When I was with you, I felt like somebody, I felt like someone who had a(in my mind) foreseeable future. I haven't found anybody like you and I recently finally got over you. Without you in my life I feel like I'm adrift in an open sea, and I see an island in the distance growing smaller and starting to fade away. I have no drive in my life. I've pretty much stopped writing for fun, I have no passion, no drive, no goals for any future. Most nights I just want to find some isolated place and drink myself to death. I tried crying, but I could never manage to make any tears at all. I know, I should hate you for what you did. And most of me does, but every night, when I close my eyes, you're always on my mind.
Fuck you and with regards,
Dalrey_Wil
| 2017-11-06T00:29:00 | 2017-11-05T22:17:00 | 235 | 16 |
[WP] All humans go automatically to hell when they die. You can gain access to a heaven though, but only if the animals you interacted with while living vouch for you.
|
*This story is dedicated to my dad. Hopefully, it will be years before it is realized. Only his name was changed.*
Mark hated animals. Actually that's not fair. Mark loved his family, and his family loved animals, so Mark tolerated animals. He had to, didn't he? While his girls were growing up, they had two dogs, two cats, a frog, a plethora of fish, a prakeete, two love birds and 4 finches. He was pretty sure there were turtles involved too. Now that the girls had moved out (and each had two of their own cats), and the second dog had passed away, Mark was able to enjoy the peace and quiet of his home for the first time in years. He wished his wife was still around to enjoy it with him, but she herself had passed away years ago, after 30+ years of marriage. Still and all though, had cancer not taken her away, he was sure there would be a cat lazing in the sunny spot of the apartment, so he found a silver lining there.
Mark got himself ready for bed in the quiet of the apartment, sent the girls a good night message, and fell asleep.
He was quite surprised to wake up in Hell.
He was even more surprised to see Carlos. Carlos was his wife's first cat. He was as mean as you could get, but fiercely loyal to the family, and especially protective of Mark's eldest daughter. The last time Mark had seen the cat was when he had taken Carlos to the vet for the last time. That had somehow become his role in the family- the grim reaper of the pets. He would take them on that final drive, talk to them the whole time, and stay with them until the injection took hold and they breathed their last. Carlos looked at Mark, and walked away. Figures. Still, the cat had brought back memories of the early days of his marriage, and his young daughter.
Mark's train of thought was broken when a small, white, goofy looking dog came careening around the corner and smashed into a rock. It was unmistakably Mac. God this dog was stupid. Loving to a fault, friendly as the day is long, but dumb as a brick. Mac was DELIGHTED to see Mark, but that wasn't surprising, as Mac was delighted to see anyone that wasn't a squirrel, a garbage man, or a dolphin. Mac jumped up and down for a bit, and Mark dutifully patted him on the head a few times. Again, memories of a full, happy house, and his youngest daughter sleeping with the dog as her pillow came to mind. That being said, so did shoveling out a patch of snow over the grass because the stupid dog couldn't figure out he was allowed to pee on the snow.
The same went with Bandanna, shying away from him as if she hadn't spent her entire life in the same house, and Twix, affectionately called "you stupid dog" which is how Mark greeted her. The birds flew by as well.
It was after the last bird flew by that Mark realized all of his animals had congregated in an area off in the middle distance. Curiosity overcame him, and he went to investigate. All of the animals were having something of a conference with a man or goat or being that Mark could only assume was the devil. They were clearly conversing, however he hadn't the faintest idea what any of them were saying. Finally the Devil creature looked up, and consulted a notebook.
"Ah yes, Mark. Welcome to hell. Please have a seat! I've been looking over your record, and it appears that in many occasions, you have stated that you 'hate animals'. Well, that's a shame, because it is these animals that will decide if you ascend to Heaven, or stay here with me."
Mark began to object, but the devil held up a silencing finger. Mark closed his mouth.
"I've been listening to the pets that lived with you and your family over the course of decades. For a man who hates animals, you certainly had your share. It is obvious that you loved your family enough to make sacrifices such as bringing these pets into your home. You not only fed and housed them, I've been told you walked them, cleaned up after them, and on occasion, even played with them. But it's this last part that speaks to your character, sir. You treated them to a death with dignity. You did not simply drop them off at the vet, you stayed to make sure they weren't afraid. You kept your hand on them as they breathed your last."
The devil continued, "it is no large feat for a man who loves an animal to treat it well, but you did not love these animals. You recognized their life had value, and treated them with respect. In their life, you never raised your voice to them, nor did you strike when they were bad. You, sir, are a good man."
With tears shining in his eyes, Mark turned to face his witnesses- the animals he had raised and cared for. "Thank you," he said "for being so good to my family." The Devil smiled to himself as he went to press a button for the Ascension to heaven to begin, but stopped when Carlos jumped onto his desk. Again, they were speaking but Mark could not understand. The Devil nodded, and replied "as you wish." And then to Mark, "they would like to extend to you the same curtesy that you did to them."
Carlos jumped onto the ground and rubbed against his legs. Bandanna jumped onto his lap. The dogs positioned themselves on either side of him, and licked his hands. The Devil pressed a button, and Mark rose into the light, at ease with the knowledge that he was not alone.
|
"Hello PT."
There was a faint red glow surrounding me as I opened my eyes, blurry at first, the room I was in came in to focus. If you could call it a room; it became apparent that it was more of a large cavern than anything. As I looked around I saw thousands of animals, some perched on jagged cliff outcrops, others on limbs of parched dead trees. Fire billowed from lava flows, though the lava itself looked more like glowing thick streams of excrement. Surprisingly, the heat could not be felt, and there was no distinct smell.
"Where...where an I?" I stammered.
"You're dead," a large Bison said, coming closer, flames enveloping him, then fading away. "I am your first."
"First what?" I asked, bewildered. I was beginning to wonder if I had a bad batch of acid earlier, but despite by doubts decided to go with it. "And how did I die?"
"You don't remember?" the Bison said, surprised. Animal chatter soon filled the room. Several muskrats started fighting, then, as if reaching an agreement, scurried off.
"I'm actually not convinced I'm dead," I joked.
The Bison's eyes glowed red, his voice bellowed, "OH BUT YOU ARE!"
The room heated instantly to a scorching temperature I thought would instantly burn my skin off. Through the ripples of thick air, I saw my skin melting and regenerating, and with indescribable pain I screamed.
It instantly became room temperature again. The Bison seemed to grin, though his face couldn't really convey that emotion. There was still a lingering smell of festering shit from the lava flows.
"But, why, I mean, I know I'm not religious, and I certainly wouldn't have known if whatever paganistic religion this looks like, so I could've worshipped you all. Just seems unfair. I'm no saint by any means, but I led a decent life."
"The religion is if no concern, it's the deeds that matter," the Bison explained. Animals throughout the cavern chattered in agreement.
"And what deeds did I commit?"
The Bison laughed, "I am your first!"
I stared, perplexed.
"Remember, 1996, rural Kansas, Jane's Restaurant and Hotel? The three day stay? There was a Bison farm next door. You requested a Bison burger 'because you never had one before.' But they were out of meat. You pointed to me, said I looked good enough to eat."
I had to be tripping, I mean, skin melting aside, that's some deep ass memory I had completely forgot about. But I had no choice but to go with it.
"So you're like my accuser, then? Is heaven only for vegetarians?"
Snickers erupted in the cavern, some birds flew down from perches and shit at me, most missing, though a drop or two hit my shoulder.
The Bison sighed, "Next accuser."
A small bird fluttered down from high above and settled on one if the Bison's horns. It was a baby bird, and seemed to have just learned to fly.
"1992," the bird said, "Your friend and you hunted me down with a BB gun and killed me."
"But I never shot it!" I exclaimed. I remember that moment from my childhood well, we were fucking around with a BB pellet gun and my friend wanted to shoot something. There was a bird in the trees, and he took the shot. It missed by inches but startled the bird enough to fall in the brambles below, where it became trapped and several shots later was dead.
"Indirectly, you led to my death," the bird chided. "You could have told your friend to stop."
I began to see where this was going, next would be the deer my uncle shot, probably. Some fish I caught, though how they'd present themselves in this firey shit ferno I'll have to see. A lobster or two. Who knows if insects count, that'll take some small eternity to go over, if only for all the ants I fried with a magnifying glass. The raccoon I blew the head off of a few weeks ago because he was in my garbage can and bit me.
The muskrats came scurrying back. With ease they made their way up the thick coarse hair of the Bison, and whispered into his ear.
The Bison let out an annoyed groan.
"When a man dies, he is sent here, to hell, to be tried for his cruelties against his kin, his fellow brethren in this world. First the bad, then the good, then the decision. However, in some minor cases, the accused has no memory of their death, because that would be problematic for the tribunal. To die at the action of another animal or saving another animal would automatically redeem you in the eyes of the tribunal. Suffice it to say, we get tired of going over whole lifetimes of said acts if we can learn what killed you. The muskrats consulted Gaia, and it has been determined that you died due to the action of another animal."
Chatter broke out in the cavern, and several dozen raccoons let out a shrill laughter, pawing at their faces.
I simply stood in stunned silence, the memories flooding back, of treating the bite on my hand, aching all over a few days later. The lock jaw, convulsions. Hospital, family, friends, delirium.
Fucking raccoons.
A bright light shown and the thousands of animals in my tribunal began floating skyward.
I looked at the Bison and asked, " What's heaven like!"
The Bison groaned, "Puppies, lots and lots of puppies.
| 2016-03-24T17:54:41 | 2016-03-24T13:50:00 | 59 | 36 |
[WP]Everyone can bend a single element just like in avatar.However these are actual elements like Argon.Most powerful individuals bend metals or flammable materials.But not you you bend carbon.You bend the carbon in people’s bodies.
|
"Send in the next patient, Dolores," I said, as the door of my office swung closed.
"Will do, Mr. Penn," she said. In walked one of my repeat customers: famed industrialist "Iron James" Smith.
James was one of a dying breed, and a bit of a curiosity, back from the days before the Laws. He was an ironbender, and he'd used his talents to make a fortune finding rare iron deposits and excavating them. But he'd stayed a bachelor, and when the Law had come and banned anyone with the power to abrogate human free will from breeding, he'd had no heirs.
"Anthony," he said. "Good to see you again."
"Likewise, James," I said. "The usual, of course?"
"Something a bit stronger this time, I'd hope," he said.
I have a reputation as a chemist, one of the noblest of arts. It's well deserved. Chemistry is the only thing keeping our society from degenerating into chaos. Every day, chemists work to determine alloys that can resist ironbenders or aluminum benders while still being strong enough to bridge a river or transmit electricity. I turned my talents towards the medical side of things.
There were, however, a few elements that were too pervasive for even the best chemists to plan against, or too fundamental to human biology. Oxygen. Nitrogen. Silicon. Iron.
Carbon.
Benders born of those elements--well, society collectively decided to ban them all. Eugenics. Barbaric, but necessary. Or that's what they tell us.
"What'll it be this time, James?" I said. "Dopamine?"
He closed his eyes. "A hallucinogen," he said. "LSD-like behavior?"
I went back behind my desk and pulled out an alembic, a few bottles of salts, some other ingredients. Magnesium sulfate, sodium chloride, sugar the works. Placebos, or raw materials: it wouldn't do to draw undue attention by magically healing people. Better to give them a foul-tasting drink.
As far as anyone else knew, I was a famed chemist with no bending proficiency whatsoever.
I gave the concoction to James, and then I set to work, watching him closely, pretending to scribble on papers to make note of his condition, but truly I was tapping into his brain, the sort of delicate work few others can do. Take a polysaccharide and maneuver it into place next to an enzyme; move that next to an exothermic reaction to provide the energy; move the newly formed molecules directly to neurotransmitters.
Soon, "Iron James" was happily in a drug-fueled nirvana.
Frankly, I don't know why more carbon-benders don't do this. You've got the serial killers, and the government-employed serial killers, but very few doctors and public speakers and all-around paragons of the community.
I sent James off to a ward, and called in my next patient.
***
I heard a first-floor window smash.
"Anthony Penn, you are hereby under arrest for unauthorized Carbon Bending, concealment of ability, and drug-related charges."
*Antimony!* How had they discovered me? Had James talked, or had someone else noticed something suspicious? Had I been slipping?
"Under the Law," blared the policeman through the megaphone, "You are to be taken to the nearest reeducation center."
That wasn't going to happen. I knew what happened in reeducation centers, because I'd devised half the sedation and reprogramming formulas they used there myself.
Carefully, I tested my bending sense. There weren't any human policemen, just androids made out of aluminum brass. Not enough carbon to speak of. Just as well. Drawing blood would only get me labeled "violent" and subject me to even worse treatments. But I still had the luxury of my lawn.
My blankets slid off of me, the cotton responding to my commands, and I commanded my shrubbery to attack. I slipped on thick jeans and a wool sweater, and put on a leather coat.
Then I jumped, willing my jeans to absorb the impact of the fall. My ankle crunched disgustingly as I hit the ground anyways. Pain surged through me; I gritted my teeth. I couldn't afford pain. I shut off my pain neuroreceptors, blocking them with whatever molecules I could find. Then I induced a surge of endorphins, agitated my muscles, and fled into the night.
|
(I'm kind of new at this, but let's try)
"God fucking dammit" Was the last thing I heard before my walkie-talkie was scrunched up in my hand. Around me, various other steel objects were also forcibly crushed by seemingly nothingness. I remembered what my officer told me, "take Kevlar over Riot Gear", she told me, if I hadn't listened, I may have been crushed already.
Hiding behind a box in the corner of a warehouse made to supply car chassis was already a bad day, but whilst apprehending Don Diego, the criminal mastermind with a notorious ability to bend iron to his will? Easily at the high end of worst days of my life.
"Where are ye" He called aloud, the sound of boxes and metal clanging together far off on one end of the house. The boys at the station knew where I was, but it would take them maybe 15 minutes to get down here, too long for me to sit here and wait to get piled under a bunch of car skeletons, I'm going to have to do this by myself.
What would she say? "Stay focused and don't panic" would be her first words, I tried to drown out the sounds of clashing, to breathe and take deep breaths. I tried to focus on my element, the little bits of carbon that made up the world around me, from the ground to the metal parts to the scrunched up walkie-talkie to the moving mass of rage in the centre of the warehouse.
This is just as much my realm as it is Don's
"Over here, Don!, I want to see your ugly mug!"
Immediately the crashing stopped, my sudden stupidity must have shocked him to pause for a moment, enough for me to get ready. Slamming my foot against the ground and the boxes of steel bolts fell over from the stack. I leapt up from under the cover I had and uppercut the air, immediately the bolts sprung to life, swarming at Don in a furious swarm of steel insects. Steel was 4 parts iron to 1 part copper. It would be moments before Don managed to regain control, so I threw another box of bolts at him, this time still in the box, but Don managed to throw up an X formation and the swarm quickly solidified into a barrier to protect himself.
I dove at the next selection of boxes to avoid the stream of bolts heading my way, tearing through my makeshift cover and sending the chairs that were in them into pieces across the back. My next hideout was much more favourable, a couple of engine parts and an old busted engine.
"Dat was a good trick, cop" He called, the scattered bolts drawing back towards the centre for a swirling ball of metal, "But ya tricks ain't so good here"
Oh, but I was not out of tricks, swiping at the air ahead, the engine and parts tore through the cardboard, flying at Don. Don made wide sweeping gestures like a swimmer and the swarm followed suit, deflecting off the lighter parts but was forced to move out of the way for the old engine, just like I wanted it to.
The soot that filled the old engine was forced out into the air around Don in a puff of smoke. He started to cough at the soot attack and the jangle of metal against stone filled the warehouse. I leapt over my makeshift cover and ran at him, pulling out my handcuffs.
"Surrender yourself," I told him, "You have the right to remain silent"
The mob boss was too busy hacking and coughing on the ground to bend iron anymore or resist me placing cuffs on his wrists, but I only got one hand before he socked me in the nose. A satisfying crunch and fresh blood spurted out as I fell to the floor.
"Fine, I can't have this place" Don muttered between coughs, "Least I got me a bargan for the family" he grinned
"No!" I yelled, through the headsplitting ringing I had received and
dragged at the air. This was no time for focus, I felt the atoms that made up Don's body rise to my jerking motion, pulling and twisting to my movement. I sent the helpless body into the nearest wall, a sound like a rock hitting a rock was the last thing I heard before the ringing talk over.
The sirens of the cops were here, I had done the impossible and captured a legendary mob boss, and I never want to do that ever again.
| 2018-05-08T06:07:42 | 2018-05-08T06:03:47 | 95 | 22 |
[WP] An AITA post in an established fictional universe
|
**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.
|
AITA for throwing my kid off of Stark Tower???
​
Hey guys, so my (29F) husband (30M) is pretty mad at me, and I don't really see why... Anyway last night my husband and I were at Tony Starks party. I brought my 8 month old with me, because I'm not one of those moms who's going to let childbirth get in the way of my life. Tony was in the middle of making a speech about some new green energy deal he had created with the government, when 3 different guys with iron man suits flew up to the window and blew the shit out of the dance floor we were currently standing on! I have no idea how they got the suits, but clearly Tony knew them from somewhere.
Anyway I watched Tony jump out of the window to start fighting them. I've seen the news, and I know when he jumps out of the window like that he has a suit that flies to him so he can get right in the action! One of these bad iron men started firing at me, and I can't reasonably run and hide when I've got all that extra weight in my arms! Anyway, I was by the window, and knew Tony was fighting somewhere out there, and it sounded like he had just defeated one of the bad guys, so I threw my baby out the window towards Iron Man and ran as far as I could from the bad iron man. Tony CAUGHT HIM, might I add! What was I supposed to do, get me and my baby shot?
Anyway Tony handled the situation and eventually I got my baby back, but my husband has stopped talking to me and is threatening to leave me and take the child for throwing it out the window. He doesn't seem to understand we would have probably both died if I didn't! AITA for saving both my own and my child's life?
| 2022-12-06T17:08:09 | 2022-12-06T10:53:14 | 53 | 24 |
[FF] In three sentences, kill as many people as possible. No firearms, no natural disasters, no explosives, no WMDs.
|
I don't know why I made that wish, it was so spiteful and childish and I never actually thought anything would come of it. When she told me she'd cheated I just wanted her, and everyone like her, to suffer. The other couple million people in the world who spontaneously combusted didn't need to die for what she did.
|
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)*
| 2014-08-04T22:16:58 | 2014-08-04T21:55:55 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
Tick tock
I had hoped, at one time, that my number would be big. After all who would want to be one of those poor kids, they who turn 18 and find their actual age written between beneath their thumb. Can you imagine the parents as they count down the days, not knowing when it will come, just that it will hang over their heads for the whole year.
Tick tock
I once told my mother that if my number was 18, I would drink bleach; who could take the anticipation?
Tick tock
Mother sent me to my room without desert. She said it was a horrible thing to say. "kill myself because I can't take the anticipation".
Tick tock
'Anticipation', such a remarkable world: it implies things that have yet to come.
Tick tock
But long after the sun collapsed, after the last flame of the last star had died out, after the heat death of the universe, when entropy finally won, there was only one sound in all of creation:
Tick tock: *it's not a clock but the beating of my heart*.
At first I thought my number said 8. I thought this was odd. And then it clicked, it only took a second, and fror some reason I felt delight. I would live forever.
Tick tock,
I forgot though that the thing about forever is that it never stops, even when the universe goes kaploot. So I now float in space. As I will always. Sometimes I think about the forever I have lived and then I remember, forever is always yet to come. The empty world that I've so far visited is exactly like the 100 other forever yet to come. As I said, that's the thing about forever, who would want to live forever, when forever doesn't stop? But that's all I want. More than anything, is for forever to finally stop, for this 'me' that will never die to stop experiencing and fucking die. A consciousness must devour something other than itself.
|
"Hey Elena, your birthday's next week right?"
"Yeah, Jason."
"So do you think it will happen?"
"I don't know. My dad's got a number like most everyone else but my mom has a number and a letter. We might be getting closer to figuring out what the birthday messages mean."
"My dad doesn't think they mean anything."
"I sort of hope he is right. I mean it just seems like it can't be good, right?"
"Well, let us know! See you after."
-----
Birthday Reveal
It wasn't a big deal in the Lazarus house. Elena had to stuff to do then anyway. They'd celebrate her birthday, but her real friends and her family didn't believe in worrying about (or all this carrying on) about some scar tissue. That's all it was really, this weird biological process that happened. It was like the patterns on butterflies. It didn't have to mean anything.
She was alone when it happened. She saw it appear. The number three. She could live with that. A perfectly respectable number. There were three people in her family. But there was more. A zero. That was unusual, but still that seemed fine. It was a little far away from the three but no big deal. Suddenly, she felt a blinding pain. She couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. She swayed on her feet. Then just as suddenly she came out of what felt like a long trance but had only been a minute to find two letters. L and V. Along with the numbers they did send a message. A message open to some interpretation but it seemed good: L0V3. She knew her life would change very soon and forever. She couldn't hide love. How could she? But this wasn't all good. There was no message that could be all good. She just hoped she wouldn't have to be willing to die for love. Was the world ready for an ambiguous message of love from a young, black woman? She was about to find out.
| 2017-03-16T00:57:55 | 2017-03-15T22:51:26 | 63 | 39 |
[WP]You're the last vampire left. You've been alive since 2000bc. Tell us your life story and why is your kind almost extinct
|
The sun is a bitch.
I get up from my bed, wiping the dust from my eyes. I take a sniff, and smell something burning. It's my arm.
"Ah fuck, fucking shit. Ow ow ow ow". There was a tiny crack in the ceiling, and a ray of sunlight was poking through. "Drac, you stupid shit" I say to myself as i submerge my forearm in water. This was how Nosferatu went. The Jewey-looking prick fell asleep upstairs, woke up to his face melting off from a sunbeam through the window.
That's how most of us went, really. Not all of those dudebro vampire hunters with their swords, guns and that one dumbass with the whip. I mean how the hell did he expect to kill a vampire with a whip? BDSM us to death? No, it was the sun who was the most successful vampire killer of all.
"What the fuck time is it even" I mumble. The clock on the wall to my right says it's 8. *goddamn, only 8? I was up till like 2 in the afternoon playing Mass Effect*. I always fuck Liara when I play that game. Maybe I think she could empathize a bit, I don't know. My stomach growls. I press the intercom button on my bedside table. "Thrall number 7, would you mind coming in here?"
"Of course, sir Dracula" says a voice from the speaker. "Right away sir."
About 30 seconds pass, and a tall, blonde woman wearing lingerie walks in. "Would you like the usual today, sir Dracula?"
"I just fuckin' burned my arm, so I'm not much in the mood for a blowjob, no. Just breakfast."
"Of course". She leans her head out, exposing her neck. I feel my pulse rise, fangs extend and adrenaline pump. I jump out from my bed and began sucking at her neck.
EDIT: continuation.
As I continued to drain 7's blood, I noticed her beginning to shudder. At first I thought I'd gone too far, but then I heard her start to moan. Vampire venom, aside from making humans progressively more obedient the more you drink from them, also triggers a massive dopamine spike in the brain. I haven't felt it since that Persian bitch turned me all those years ago, but the closest thing I can describe it as is mainlining heroin while simultaneously having an orgasm. Hell, I was just speculating about the obedience thing earlier. All my thralls might just be junkies trying to get a fix.
Making sure not to take enough blood to kill her, I drank my fill and let her leave. I lay back, groaned, and reached for the controller. I realize that playing video games, going to sleep, and then continuing to play video games immediately upon waking up isn't exactly an admirable course of action, but when your lifespan is infinite and you have an army of enthralled businessmen guaranteeing your income, your drive to make accomplishments peters out after a while.
(To be continued)
|
I furrow my brow as I wake, the darkness of night calling to me, the sun had set recently, the air was hot in my lungs. I sat up, looking around my strange little home, upon a hill far from any humans, though, not too far of course, I do still need a meal from time to time.
I had a visitor, while I was asleep, they knew I lived here, they'd heard stories from the local children, they tell stories of the strange house upon the hill, with the old man inside who never sees the light of day.
I wore a cowl to conceal my identity, my picture is known, having lived for so many years I've been seen on many an occasion.
"What is it?" I said, my voice course in the heat of day, the reflection of the sun from the cold marble floor singed my face lightly, I grimaced.
"Well I heard about the old man living on this hill, I wanted to see if the stories were true," She reached forward, grabbing at my hood, I quickly grabbed her hand, my cold grey skin a dark contrast against her pale pink flesh, she gasped and I closed the door, locking it, watching carefully out my window as she ran back to the town, I sighed, knowing that I'd have to move that night.
Wiping my eyes I look outside, the town was bright, flames shining on torches, I knew this day would come, as it did to many of my kind, I played it as smart as I could but I knew one day I'd be caught. The others, they went on rampages, killing many people in short bursts, out of blood-lust. I stayed away from them, they died too quickly, I used to watch from a distance, watching them as they were hunted, fools. All of them, I know not if I'm the last, but I can be almost certain I am.
I had to leave quickly, or I would surely die like those before me, I quickly escaped out the back of my home, I knew they'd recognise me, having let myself age little by little over the years, so I wouldn't become known, I fled into the woods, my old body failing me as I went deeper and deeper, my age taking it's toll, the moon and stars blocked out by the canopy above, my lungs burning, with no sign of the lights following me, I lie down. I knew they'd find me eventually, all I could do was allow myself to relax on my last night, lying in the soft moss, nature around me drowning out all else, all of my memories came flowing back, so many things, over so much time, my mind felt clear and I mumble to myself;
"As I rest, in this dark night,
I feel not the need to fight,
my life was grand,
I had no greed...
my breathing slows,
the sounds all stop,
my final breath and my heart too,
comes to rest, in this darkest night."
| 2015-06-21T08:59:20 | 2015-06-21T08:11:20 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] What if Noah's "ark" was planet Earth itself? What, then, did God flood, and who was Noah?
|
The Lost Scriptures, excerpts from The Book of Noah:
Noah 4:26 And then the Lord said, "Noah, will you shape a planet near this star? You are my best sculptor."
Noah 4:27 And so I set to work on Earth, humbled by the Lord's praise.
Noah 4:28 When my work was done, the Lord said, "Noah, you did not disappoint. Now will you fill it with two of every plant and animal in the universe that you hold dear? I wish to see your sculpture full of life."
Noah 4:29 And so I traveled the universe, selecting the Lord's life that pleased me most, and I brought it to Earth to flourish.
Noah 4:30 When my work was done, the Lord said, "Noah, you did not disappoint. Choose a partner of your choice, your best friend, and we three will walk upon the face of Earth and marvel at your work."
Noah 4:31 And so I asked my dear friend Naamah to come with me and the Lord to see my creation.
Noah 5:1 We stood on the soil I had shaped and looked upon the brimming life, and the Lord cried. Naamah, too, wept. But she wept at the beauty of my creation. The Lord cried in sadness.
Noah 5:2 He spoke: "Noah, your brothers and sisters never use their demi-god powers for such beauty. Instead they wield their power to oppress the weaker creatures in my dominion. And so the time has come to take their power. I am sorry for what I must do to you and Naamah, but there is no other way. I hope you understand and continue to be my favorite sculptor and shape a new, smaller universe on Earth."
Noah 5:3 With those words, Naamah and I were turned into mortals. We looked into the heavens and could see the great flood of God's power washing over the universe, killing our brothers and sisters who had refused to respect the Lord's word. Some fought uselessly against His power, but their battling formed black holes--permanent scars on the Lord's creation.
Noah 6:1 Naamah and I were saddened by the loss of our ability to shape the heavens, but we were grateful the Lord chose us to shape a new creation. And so we set to work with mortal hands.
|
Quick note: excellent shower thought.
Altair IV had been the cradle of life for all of eternity, or at least as far as God knew. God was a lesser deity, only in control of 2 galaxies, but he could tell that there were greater beings who'd torn apart their realms and chose to destroy all of creation with great supernovas and horrendous black holes.
God knew that soon, his masterpiece Altair IV would succumb to a terrible fate if he left it in the path of one of the rogue gods. Generally it went against God's personal set of rules to interfere in his creation, but he knew that without interference, all of his work would be destroyed.
He sent his consciousness forth into a man, not just any man, but the greatest scientist of his time.
"You may not believe me, but if you don't find a method to transport the life of Altair IV into a habitable planet located in the lost galaxy, your entire planet will come to an end." whispered God into the scientist's ear.
"The lost galaxy?" responded the scientist.
In his hurry God forgot that this mere mortal knew not of the lost galaxy, where for reasons unknown to him, he could not enter, or even see into. God then proceeded to plant this knowledge into the scientist's mind.
"Now quickly, you must find a way to get there, or all will be lost."
The scientist wondered if he was suffering delusions, for in this civilization no vestiges of religion were left over, the only gods they served were science, and logic.
God watched with trepidation as the scientist took days to question his sanity. With gladness he observed the scientist task all of his resources to scan for threats to Altair IV, it was discovered that a black hole was hurtling towards them and would reach the planet in a year.
With this knowledge the scientist with the world backing him created a glorious technology, a matter deconstructor that would disassemble all living things and transplant them on the nearest habitable planet in the lost galaxy; although the scientist and God both realized that this was a risky endeavor, with no guarantee of success, he proceeded.
On the day that the scientist would activate the machine God warned him, although you know it not I have been watching over this planet before life ever graced its surface. Once you go into the galaxy, I, nor any other god will be able to interfere with you or your species' progress. It's all up to you now.
With that, the scientist flipped the switch.
| 2015-01-07T19:00:29 | 2015-01-07T18:50:14 | 935 | 43 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not.
|
"So...*uh*...nice throne?"
***THANK YOU IT IS MADE OF SKULLS HONORED TO BE BUILT INTO MY SKULL THRONE!!!***
"Got a nice view of that red, steaming lake there, I see."
***YES THE LAKE OF BLOOD MADE FROM THE BLOOD DRAWN AND SHED BY MY FAITHFUL BERZERKERS IS QUITE POSSIBLY MY FAVORITE THING ABOUT MY REALM!!!***
"Neat."
***QUITE.***
"..."
***...***
"So why exactly am I her-"
***DO YOU WANT TO BE A MASSIVE BEING OF UNYIELDING METAL AND FLESH RENDING THE MEAT OF THE WEAK AND UNWORTHY IN A SCREAMING ORGY OF HATE AND VIOLENCE FOREVER MORE?!***
***"FUCK YES PRAISE THE BLOOD GOD!!!!"***
|
"Hell? I died and I went to hell? I mean, what the hell man?!"
Death stared down at John. For a moment he stayed silent and just stood there watching from a faceless empty beneath his pitch-black hood.
"When you leave the living world, you enter the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, wether you realise this or not." Death spoke with a sharp whispering voice.
"Are you serious, man? What did I do wrong even, I mean, I'm a pretty laid back guy I'd say."
Death stared again for a moment. "You are a sinner John, just like the others."
John looked up at Death, a puzzling look on his face. "What others? Who else is here?"
Death moved closer to John and leaned in untill he was inches away from John's face.
"Everyone."
| 2016-03-07T17:04:48 | 2016-03-07T14:03:46 | 469 | 197 |
[WP] On the eve of your arranged marriage, you slipped away into the night. Intending to never be seen again. While scaling the garden wall, you spotted your fiancée doing the same thing. You both stared at each other for a while.
|
The possibility of an arranged marriage is something Jonah’s parents and mine had joked about in the past. Never would have thought they’d go through with it though. Yet, here I am. Climbing up this rickety ladder over our garden wall to escape the night before my wedding. To my right there’s some ruffling and what looks like the shape of a person; seems like I’m not the only one looking for an out.
“Jonah is that you?,” I manage to get out through some muffled laughs.
He pauses for a moment and squints before finally making eye contact, “you have got to be kidding me. Rebecca? Maybe we are meant for each other after all.” We both chuckle as we climb down from the wall and walk towards each other. I pause for a moment to turn towards the main house and make sure all the lights are still out.
“Well at least we didn’t wake anyone up with our antics,” I whisper as he closes the distance between us.
“Tell me the truth Rebecca,” he says as he grabs my hand, “do you think there’s any way we can get out of this without being disowned by our families? What if this is marriage is our only option to keep them in our life? I may have been climbing that wall but I was regretting leaving all of this behind. I don’t know how well I would manage in the real world without their help if I’m being completely honest. We’re only twenty and while I know we aren’t ready to be married, are we ready to be on our own either?”
“I’ve been thinking about that too…there’s always the matter of our respective inheritances as well,” I consider slowly as I pull my hand away from his.
“Well let’s sit down and try and think of a solution that we both agree on,” he suggests with a twinkle in his eye as he helps me down to the floor gently. I really appreciate how thoughtful he is and for a second I think maybe marrying him wouldn’t be so bad after all. I just wish there was a way we could take more time to think about it without an uproar from our families. Maybe we’ll be able to come up with something that works for us and won’t leave us financially stranded now that we’re able to work together and plan.
An hour later we have come to a decision. “So you’re going to deal with my parents and I’ll deal with yours?,” I ask him to make sure we’re both on the same page when it comes to our plan.
“Yeah I think that just makes the most sense. It’ll be easier on both of us emotionally that way,” he says as he grabs the doorknob to the main house.
I feel myself getting apprehensive as I head in the direction of his parents room and watch him head towards mine. The gun feels foreign and heavy in my hand even though I’ve gone shooting a few times in the past. This time will be different though. Two gunshots go off in the back of the house. There’s no turning back now.
|
When i was little, all I wanted was to be a dragon. A dragon, or a knight. My parents forced me into clothing that didn't fit, forced me down and restrained me. All while gushing about how handsome of a husband I would get.
I noticed something was wrong not long after my thirteenth birthday. I was hormonal, at the start of my puberty, and my parents were acting strange whenever I brought a boy home. They'd whisper in hushed tones behind their hands, and the only words i could catch were 'husband' and 'wife.' After all, a Crown Princess must be wed to the perfect man to have children. I didn't know why, but I hated that idea.
I thought I simply didn't feel love. Until the day i saw her face, glinting happily in the sunlight. My first love, Apple Sunbloom, tanned skin and smiles and lemonade on the beach. I thought it was something else, we were just friends, that's it, until I heard one of the snotty nobles' sons talking about the girl that caught his eye. The way he talked about his love was the way I talked about Apple. And then I realised what I was.
It was only after the third heartbreak, on my twenty-first birthday, that they proudly announced my arranged marriage to some stuck-up Crown Prince of a faraway land who was apparently the biggest hunk of his vast country. They were surprised when I scowled, when I stormed out of the room plotting my escape. I had realised that they would never love what I was.
The whispers from other lands that I sometimes overheard dropped a term. They said I was a Gynaika Erastis, or a Gyera for short. Woman Lover in Greek.
I couldn't live with someone I'd never love. So I loved one f my maids instead, and under that weak facade she too was like me, Gynaika Erastis, cold, hard, and brimming with determination. How ironic, then, that her name, Adynamia, meant weakness.
On the eve of my wedding, in the witching hour, I scaled the garden wall with my lover. All our senses were aflame. It was now or never.
A dull thump sounded from the bushes.
How surprised I was when the head of Crown Prince Finnick emerged from it!
We talked at length. He was like me, except of a different sex. An Antras Erastis. We both knew that our respective kingdoms would never accept us. They were too rooted in the Old Ways, the ways that said it was always a husband and wife that married, the ways that said women were puppets and men weren't allowed to caress and love their children.
And so, as we both went our separate ways, down the immaculately trimmed garden hedge into the cold, black night, my heart felt like it was finally free.
| 2020-07-07T19:24:04 | 2020-07-07T14:51:38 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not.
|
The woman wakes to the sounds of screams, horrible inhuman sounds. And around her, heat and flames.
How had she got here? She remembers a pain in her chest and then...But why is she here? This must be a mistake. She spots a dark figure, he seems to suck all the light from the fires in, leaving just a black space, like a moving shadow with eyes...shining red eyes...
She starts to stammer and plead "this shouldn't be happening! I did everything right! I read my bible every day, I threw my only son from my home for being a sodomite! I helped bomb a doctor guilty of killing unborn children! All for the good of God! Where is my heaven? Where are the other good Christians just like me?!?"
For a second the shadow figure just seems to be looking at her, looking deep into her soul, then his white teeth flash and he speaks in a voice like the buzzing of a thousand flies "oh, don't worry, we have lots of your kind here, you will fit right in"
|
"Hell? I died and I went to hell? I mean, what the hell man?!"
Death stared down at John. For a moment he stayed silent and just stood there watching from a faceless empty beneath his pitch-black hood.
"When you leave the living world, you enter the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, wether you realise this or not." Death spoke with a sharp whispering voice.
"Are you serious, man? What did I do wrong even, I mean, I'm a pretty laid back guy I'd say."
Death stared again for a moment. "You are a sinner John, just like the others."
John looked up at Death, a puzzling look on his face. "What others? Who else is here?"
Death moved closer to John and leaned in untill he was inches away from John's face.
"Everyone."
| 2016-03-07T14:25:07 | 2016-03-07T14:03:46 | 334 | 197 |
[WP] Magic - once a real and potent force but as the world population grew from millions to billions the shared mana per person is now negligible. A group of astronauts helplessly watching the Earth perish experience something... unexpected.
**Edit:** Wow, this prompt really blew up! Some really outstanding prose here by many talented authors but I have to award my favourite as the one by /u/Luna_LoveWell and it's *still* an ongoing story! Well done everyone and thanks for making this a really cool collaborative sub!!
|
Rick sat down on the bench next to me and handed me a beer. I opened the bottle; the cap fell slowly to the metal floor with a *chink*. We sipped in silence, watching the world burn below us.
Why? Who really knows. The triggerman is almost 100% certainly dead by now, so no one will ever know for sure. Our station was in orbit over Europe when the bombs started to go off, so we have no way of knowing where it started. Maybe America was taken out first; maybe Russia or China. Last contact was a hurried radio message from the spaceport in San Antonio. But there wasn't really much to say. Washington, New York, Los Angeles... all gone. Or at least, not responding to any type of communication. He thought we deserved an explanation, or what little he could offer; everyone else had gone home to say goodbye to their families, but his wife and son had been on a trip to New York. No one to go home to.
That was 2 days ago. We'd given up our work on the colony ship, almost 90% complete already. Why bother building the thing if there would be no colonists to take? So the platform just circled the earth, a monument to what could have been.
The flashes of nuclear detonations had stopped at last. We thought they would have all gone off at once, but no: the barrage continued for hours, volley after volley. Who knows why. Maybe someone was still down there picking targets. Maybe it was some computer deep under a mountain, carrying out man's vengeful will even though its masters were dead. Now, our view was limited to fires raging up and down the eastern seaboard, only visible through holes in the dark, smoky clouds. It wasn't altogether too different from the blanket of lights that used to spread across the shore. I used to love coming in here to look at that sight, awed that each point was an entire town.
"Well, better savor that," Rick said at last. It had been an hour since either of us spoke. "That's probably the last beer you're going to have for the rest of your short life up here." He smacked his lips as he took another sip. "I talked to Hughes: we've only got enough food on hand for about 7 weeks." We passed over a particularly large fire; looked about where Cincinnati should have been. "And I'm doubtful that we'll get a resupply any time soon."
I held the beer up to eye level, looking at the remaining inch or so of bubbly liquid through the darkened glass. Weird to think how many things I'd taken for granted. "I'll just have to make this one last," I told Rick.
As if it had heard me, the carbonation in the beer that had been slowly dribbling up the side of the bottle seemed to somehow become more active. Bubbles rose to the surface in a light foam, growing more and more insistent, fighting their way to the top. It began to churn like a jacuzzi jet. The foam climbed up the side of the bottle, inching up the glass. I set the bottle down on the cold metal floor and backed away, wide-eyed; I turned to Rick, who had the same exact expression. So it wasn't a hallucination. The beer rocked wildly back and forth, almost to the point of tipping over before swinging back to the other side. At the very last second, just when it was about to spill over the rim of the bottle, everything stopped. The glass settled back onto the metal floor with the sound a spinning coin makes just before falling flat.
I picked up the bottle again, now completely full. Rick was watching me like I was holding a live grenade. I stared down at the liquid, still bubbling lightly, and took a sip. What did I have to lose? I didn't have long up here anyways. The beer washed down my throat, cold and crisp. Somehow it even tasted better than before, like it had just been poured from a tap instead of sitting in the station's cold room for the past year. I turned back to Rick with a smile. "It's.... really good!" I said.
"What the fuck was that?" he answered.
"I... have no idea..."
"Maybe something with the radiation from the bombs?"
"No, no way. We're completely shielded from that, even if it could reach us all the way up here. And how the fuck could it refill my beer, of all things?"
We both stared at that bottle, not knowing what else to say. It was far more amazing than the 24-hour panoramic view of the apocalypse happening down on earth.
Finally, Rick held out his own empty bottle and broke the silence: "Ok, now do mine!"
----
[Here is a second part for you!](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2uzh0z/one_last_beer/cod9xx2) (And now part 3 as well)
|
"Look, Jason", Igor says, and fire wraps around his open hands, burning as if from nowhere. "It's getting stronger."
It didn't take long for us to figure out what was going on, after it started to happen.
What with the pandemic going on down on Earth, and with us being scientists and such... We figured out the
proportion: inverse correlation between our odd, newly discovered powers and humanity's demographic.
Meaning the more people die, the more powerful *we* get.
"It will only be a matter of time", Igor whispers, gliding next to me to watch Earth through the hatch. "A couple
days, tops."
He has his hopes up. We all do. All four of us.
Greg and Nina, they think the same way we do.
Soon there'll be enough power that we'll be able to save our planet. Soon.
From what we -- by we, I mean humanity -- could gather about these strange 'powers', it's sort of like a form of
matter control. The more powerful you get, the more you can mold and shape matter. Creating fire from thin air,
for example, like Igor was doing.
It follows logically that, after a certain amount of people dying -- if, indeed, as it looks, power grows stronger in our
hands the less people there are in the world -- the one who *don't* die will be able to stop the pandemic. Through
magic.
That's the plan for us, out here in space.
Wait 'till enough people die that we can save Earth.
That's the plan, at least.
And the days pass and they keep passing, and we get stronger by the day. Watching, waiting, listening through the radio:
Human population: 2 billion. 1 billion. 300 million.
Ten thousand.
Five.
Three thousand.
Eight hundred.
Two hundred.
We've got enough power to shift the Earth's rotation now, case we want too. Still, for some reason, we can't kill whatever virus it is that's killing humanity.
A hundred.
"What if it's something else?" Igor asks, one day, twisting the little metal cube that hovers over his hand into all kinds of
deformed shapes.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what if it's not a virus that's killing all these people. At least not directly."
"What else could it be?"
"I don't know. Something." He glances at me. "Someone."
"You think someone's responsible for this?"
"I think maybe there's someone out there who's counterbalancing our efforts. The more we try to act on
destroying the virus, the more these person -- or people -- weights in on the other side of the scale. Trying to keep
the virus going."
"Why would someone do that?" I ask, looking from him to my dying planet out from the hatch.
"I don't know, but --"
"They're gone."
My eyes follow Nina's voice to the entrance of the main cabin, where she's got a dead serious expression on, standing by the doorway.
"What?"
"Everyone." She sniffs. "It's over. I ran a scan through Earth."
"And?"
"Nothing. It's barren. Lifeless."
"All the humans are gone?" Igor asks, getting up.
Already I feel the power grow inside of me, stronger than ever before.
"Not all. Not yet", I say, getting up.
With a wave of my right hand, I throw Nina against the wall.
Did you know it's not like in the movies? Where the hero crashes the wall and gets up, all dusty and scratched, but fine? No. In real life, when someone bangs their whole body against the wall
strong as she did, they're a goner.
Think a very red and meaty pancake, making bubbly, throaty sounds as it dies.
"JASON, WHAT ARE --"
But I'm faster. With a second have, I hang Igor upside down in midair.
"What are..you...doing?"
"Power", I whisper, feeling it burn inside my veins. All the magic. All the power in the world.
Igor's hands wraps around his neck. He's struggling to breathe.
"Power, Igor." I close my eyes. "I want to look God in the eyes."
I kill him.
Whatever it is that's waiting on the other side; the answer to life, the universe. All that. The
meaning behind it all. The watchmaker; quantum physics; elementary particles, whatever you wanna call it.
Whatever meaning or logic there is to life and this universe, it's waiting behind the curtain, I'm sure. Magic is the answer.
Behind the last human death, when I hold all the power of all the magic of all the universe, I'll know.
I'll look God in the eye. And I'll understand.
I won't have to live not knowing anymore.
I open my eyes and make for Greg's room.
He's asleep.
| 2015-02-06T06:11:36 | 2015-02-06T05:18:51 | 819 | 166 |
[WP] The invisible Man had been dating a blind woman for awhile with no need to bring up his "problem", but tonight, he's meeting her parents.
|
I hate my friends.
When you're an invisible dude, it's not exactly easy to make friends. I happened to run into three idiots over the course of my life who didn't seem to mind and I genuinely thought I hit a jackpot with them.
My friend Jake, who unironically likes police procedural shows, I grew up with. For the first ten years we had known each other, he thought I was his imaginary friend and I had no idea.
It led to some misunderstandings.
Jake isn't very bright, but he - as corny as it is to say it - really does have a heart of gold. He's the golden retriever of friends.
But not those smart golden retrievers you can train to do shit, more like the ones that see a burglar in their house and bring them their ball to play fetch.
My friend Dave, who thinks we all don't know he listens to soft pop even though it's constantly blaring out of his crappy earphones, is some kind of science guy. I think he started hanging with me because he wanted to study me or something. I wasn't exactly opposed - heck, I was curious to see what he'd find.
Buuuut, every time we got together for that, a six-pack of beer would magically appear out of the ether and we'd end up just shooting the shit for hours on end.
Dave *is* very bright, but not very focused I guess.
And my friend Tony, who loves getting tattoos but has the absolute worst taste in them in the history of mankind, is someone the three of us naturally befriended because he works at that nice, quiet little bar down the street we all go to.
These three fine specimens are the people I asked for help in my fit of panic.
You see, I somehow - through some weird cosmic jackpot - found a fourth person who isn't wierded out by my, uh...whole deal.
And that person is a 'she' and her name is Sally. She smiles all the time and it's fascinating because she has been completely blind since birth and has never actually seen a smile - or anything else - in her entire life. She's funny and smart and I'm kind of besotted with her to the point where I may have forgotten to tell her I was invisible. Just a bit.
I can feel you judging me.
Look, it's a white lie, okay? It doesn't affect her, or the way she thinks about me - she just thinks I'm a normal dude and I love that!
I mean, sure - these three idiots accept me too, but they're different. They know I'm weird, they just choose to ignore it.
She doesn't know. With her, I'm just an ordinary, normal person. I want it to stay that way.
The problem? I'm meeting her parents tonight and unfortunately they aren't blind.
That came out wrong as hell.
I don't care.
So naturally I panic, I call these three to come and help me and how do they do that?
“Oh, let's go to a sex shop and get him one of those Gimp suits.” Jake had said.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Tony was a glimmer of hope just a moment, but then he added, “Let's get a fuckton of bandages, wrap him up, and he can say he's a burn victim.”
I twitched angrily at the hissing sound of someone popping a can of beer open to my left. Where the hell does Dave keep finding beer?!
“I hate all three of you.” I ground out.
“You don't hate us.”
“Yeah okay, but I seriously need help here! Does anyone have an idea? Anyone? Dave? Got some inspiration from that beer you...magically found somewhere?”
He glanced down at it, then back up at me.
“This is from your fridge.”
“I haven't bought beer in weeks! And that's beside the point - ideas, please?”
Dave got that distant, pondering look that was always a 50:50 between him being about to say something genius and him going on some unrelated, god-forsaken tangent.
Luckily today it was the former.
“Makeup.” he said and inspiration struck the rest of us like a bolt of lightning.
“Not just makeup...” Tony said, “...a fuckton of makeup. All the fucking makeup in existence. Literal metric fuckload of-”
“Okay, Tony we get it, we need a lot of makeup!” I snapped, bolting from my seat to get my wallet, “We're going shopping, right now!”
Shopping was usually a hassle for me, but luckily this time I had help from friends. Imagine three frantic dudes bursting into the store and just buying all the fucking makeup, and then paying with a floating credit card before running out like the devil was after them.
We bought...a lot of makeup. None of us knew crap about makeup, so we just bought...everything. Fuck it, right? We'd make it work somehow.
I mean, it was gonna look like utter shit. But it would still be easier for Sally's folks to accept a boyfriend who wore horrible makeup than one who was invisible.
Tony got the honor of applying the stuff on my face. Apparently he dabbled in painting and this was kind of like that, right?
“Holy crap, I can't believe we never thought of doing this before.” Jake said while Tony squeezed out a whole tube of something skin-colored and picked out a brush, “We're finally gonna see what your face actually looks like, kind of.”
“Just do the face, neck and hands, right?” Dave said.
“What about the hair? Wig?”
“Alright everyone - I need silence to channel my artistic powers.” Tony declared, making us all roll our eyes as one.
We indulged him, though, and the room went quiet while “the artist” went to work.
Now I'd closed my eyes so he didn't accidentally poke my eye out with a brush, but as it went on...it's hard to explain. I felt the silence in the room get heavier and heavier, if that makes sense.
Dave's brush strokes - yeah, he was using an actual brush - were confident at first, but as it went on they grew shakier and shakier. More hesitant. Slower.
At some point, I thought I heard someone whisper very softly,“Holy shit...”
Was it done? The brush strokes had long ceased, but nobody was saying anything.
I carefully opened my eyes, squinting to make sure I didn't get any makeup in them.
Standing before me were my friends, silent, wide-eyed and horrified. It's hard to describe the looks on their faces. Their expressions weren't just 'holy crap, that looks bad'. We knew it would look bad - we just had an idiot with a lewd Duck Tales tattoo on his shoulder put a wallop of makeup on my face.
No, it wasn't just that. There was fear in there. There was something that made me hesitate to ask what was wrong.
Surprisingly, it was Dave who snapped out of it first. He nudged Jake, made him jump and knock into Tony slightly, startling him as well.
They sprang into action as one.
“I'll get that makeup removing glove thing.”
“I'll get warm water.”
“I'll get some fucking beer.”
“Wait, what?” I looked between them helplessly as they scattered around the room, “Come on, how bad can it be? Give me a mirror, I'll-”
“NO!” three voices screamed at me in unison.
I dropped back into my seat.
Maybe meeting Sally's parent's was the least of my worries.
|
“I’ve got to tell you something, sweetheart.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“I’m...” He thought paused and thought hard about the next words about to spill from his mouth. “Afraid... of old people.”
“Oh? Well I thought everyone was.” She replied.
“Dammit,” He said under his breath.
“Dammit what?”
“It’s nothing. Hey wait watch out!”
She walked into a tree and then moved to the side and kept walking along the dirt trail.
“Honey, what I really meant to say was that I vomit at the sight of old people. It’s very messy. Like this one time I went to Florida for a week and I thought I had food poisoning because I spent the entire time throwing up on the street, but in reality it was just the sheer amount of old people crammed into a single area.”
“Kevin that’s disgusting. I’m starting to get the feeling you don’t want to meet my parents tonight. Is this true?”
He thought about how to answer this question. Does he just float the invisible truth out there? Another convoluted lie? Trip her and change the subject? Runaway and never come back? Trip her? Either way he had to decide fast. The silence was deafening.
“There’s a root right there,” he said. He stuck out his foot in front of her’s and she toppled forward onto the ground. He rushed to her side to help her up, “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s no big deal,” she said to him, but he could hear the underlying frustration in each word.
“I really think you should get a guide dog.”
“A guide dog? No! I can do things for myself, Kevin!”
Her words exploded onto his face like a scene from a porno.
“I’m sorry for suggesting it.”
“Kevin, what are your intentions with this relationship? You said you wanted to marry me, but how are you supposed to do that without meeting my parents?”
He sighed. “Mary I *do* want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you, it’s just... Well most of the time I feel really invisible to the rest of the world. I feel like you’re the only one who... sees me sometimes.”
“I feel the same way about you. But I just—”
“No, Mary, like there’s another reason why I refuse to go out to eat—”
“You’ve gone 10th level vegan?”
“No,” he let out a big sigh. “The truth is... I’m not actually a vegan at all. I appreciate your vegan cooking, but goddammit! I haven’t had a burger in 8 months! Do you what kind of things that does to a person!?” He caught his breath and continued. “But that’s really not the point. The point is... I can’t even look at myself in the mirror.”
Mary reached out and hugged him, “It’s okay, Kevin, it really is. I can’t either.”
“No,” he pulled away from the embrace and rubbed his face in his hands. “I can see the mirror it’s just that—”
“Ohhh,” she said out realization. “You mean you can’t look yourself in the eyes, like you have no self respect.”
“Well that’s partially true but I really meant that—”
“You think you’re ugly? Kevin, I can assure you that’s not true, I’ve felt the faces of many—”
“Ok thanks, but still I mean—”
“Wait... you broke my grandmother’s prized mirror and you’re too afraid to tell me and—”
“I’m invisible. There. I said it. I am invisible and you only know I’m here because you touched me by accident.”
The two lovers stood in silence on the wooded trail. He looked into her face, waiting for her to say something, to break the tension that seemed more visible than himself. She just stood there, her mouth seeming to search for the right words, and finally she broke the tension and looked away from him and then quickly back, anger rising to the surface of her skin. She reached up and found his cheek, and then slapped him as viciously as she could before turning around and storming away.
“Wait! Mary, I’m serious!”
“Seriously an asshole! I thought you were different, Kevin, I really did!” Tears were streaming down her face.
He caught up to her and grabbed her arm.
“Let go of me, Kevin!”
“Mary, just hear me out! You remember when we first met right? It was here, at this park. I was leaning up against a tree on this same trail, and I saw you coming. I thought about moving, but then I realized, ‘Hey, no one is going to walk right into this giant tree.’ But you did. And then you acted like nothing was out of the ordinary, and you told me you were sorry, you were blind. Mary, that was the first time anyone acknowledged my existence in years, maybe decades.”
“Decades? How old are—“
“Age is but a number, and to tell you the truth I don’t really know. But Mary I want to live the rest of my life with you, I want to have a family and grow old(er) together. I want to hold you in my arms and never let go. I want our love to burn until every forest in the world is a pile of ash. I want to wake up every morning and see you next me. I want to fly to mars, and then come back to see you standing at the airport with a little sign (in Braille) that says ‘Kevin.’ I want to take you in the kitchen and lift up your wedding dress and just go to tow—”
“I get it, Kevin.”
“But Mary I’m afraid if you take me to see your parents tonight they might react in a way that would make none of this life we’ve had planned out possible.”
She thought for awhile and finally responded, “So you really are invisible.”
“Yes. Like the air we breathe and the cosmic forces that will this world into existence, I am invisible.”
“How... how do we explain this to my parents?”
“I have an idea.”
——————————————————————————
“Where could they be? They’re 30 minutes late.” She looked down at her watch and back out the front window.
“Would you quit worrying, Diane. They probably hit some traffic on the way in.” He folded the newspaper up and set it on the side table and picked up his pipe and lit the fragrant tobacco inside.
“Well I just don’t want the food to get cold is all.”
“Don’t worry, that crap you cooked up ain’t food anyway. How the hell anyone can only eat roots and berries by choice is beyond me.” He scratched at his thick, gray mustache and picked the newspaper back up.
“Oh, Jeffery! It’s an ethical decision,” she said to him as she turned away from the window.
Just then, the front window shattered and a small object the size of an Arizona™️ tea can bounced to the center of the living room.
“What on Earth?” She exclaimed.
He looked up from the newspaper and his eyes widened with shock. “*FLASHBANG*!” He tried to jump behind his chair but the object exploded with a deafening noise and a giant flash of light.
“Jeffery! Where are you! I can’t see!”
“I can’t see either, honey, my ears are ringing!”
The front door suddenly swung open.
“What? Who’s there!” Jeffery called as he stumbled blindly around the living room.
“Hey Dad, I’m home! I would like for you both to finally meet my boyfriend, Kevin!”
| 2018-05-20T09:29:16 | 2018-05-20T08:47:26 | 113 | 45 |
[WP] Write a poem to make me uncomfortable.
|
I'm all packed
With heavy bags
And yet my luggage
Has no tags
My ticket small
and silver-lined
It's coolest touch
Is on my mind
Exhilaration
now takes hold
Never normal
No fitting mold
Departure time
Is very near
Peace and calm
No hint of fear
Leaving now
With no regret
No goodbyes
or looming debt
Fade away
Leave the cruel
Sweet release
of the trigger pull.
|
Skipping high happy and gay;
Oh goodness me, what a glorious day!;
I bring her along, tailing by hand;
We journey far and wide across the Unknown Land;
The sights and the stares she brings to our point;
They cannot believe our mysterious joint!;
No one has seen us before, but we've seen them all;
No one loves her but me, my beautiful flesh doll.
| 2016-06-15T07:02:58 | 2016-06-15T06:46:51 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] You've had a dashcam for years. One day you get into an accident and play it back. You hear another voice in ALL of the recordings talking to you that you've never heard before.
|
"JOHN!!!"
John awoke, fear grasping his heart. He sat up in bed momentarily somewhere else, somewhere he hated going. It took a few seconds for the pain from his brown to meet his brain. His hand moved to forehead. He traced the stitches above his right eye slowly, remembering waking up in that white bed for the second time. The crash had brought back all kinds of pain he thought he had barried, and now his head wouldn't stop throbbing.
He made his way to the bathroom. Needed another pill to dull the pain. Maybe two to help him sleep. He flicked the bathroom light on. The sudden light hitting his eyes made the pain in his head throb. Through grumbles he made his way to the sink, filled a glass with water and popped the pill container open. For the briefest of moments he considered downing them all. Why stay here any longer? The moment passed and he popped two pills into his hand, threw them I to his mouth and drank deep.
He had dreamed of the crash every night since it happened. He could force it from his thoughts during the day but he always seemed to return there in his dreams.
"No sleep tonight I guess."
He decided a little late night TV to help distract his brain would do him some good. 4:37 gleamed on the microwave. He turned on the kitchen light on his way to couch and paused. He noticed the dash cam on the table. He was starting to feel that fuzzy dullness. He realized he hadn't actually watched the crash happen. Might as well scratch this itch, he thought as he picked up the camera and sat down on the couch.
He flicked it on and navigated to that last video recorded. The video came to life and illuminated the front end of his black 67 String Ray. He remembered fondly the day he and Sarah had picked her out and taken her for a test drive. The hours spent cruising the flat lands of West Texas, the trouble they'd started, the cops they'd evaded, the crash...
He winced in pain. The pills we're dulling his thoughts a bit. He'd refused to let himself think of the day his life ended, all those years ago. It was in the past. His attention returned to the video playing in front of him. The car sleekly drifted down the barren road, endless barren fields in either direction. He saw the light in the distance turn green and kept pace to make his way through the light. He braced himself. He knew it was coming. He remembered every second of what was about to happen.
It was then that he noticed this fuzzy distortion from the sound, this weird back drop to the radio. He paused the video. It was like a second track was playing at the same time. He entered the audio settings of the camera and fiddled with what he could to try to get it to clear up or go away. He rolled the clip back to before the light turned green and hit play again.
It wasn't crystal clear, and it was definitely distorted, but there was no mistaking her voice. She was singing with the song on the radio.
"Highway to the dangerz..."
He paused the video. There's no way. How? It must be the pills. Must be his dulled mind messing with him. He hit play again. There it was. Her sweet fuzzy voice singing right along. His eyes welled with tears at the sound of her voice. The light turned green. He started singing too.
"Right on throoough the dangerzone..."
The car entered the intersection. A thunderous bang startled John. The radio stopped, the singing stopped. On the screen John's watched as the car spun and came to a stop facing the intersection, the pickup that hit him stopped in the middle, front end destroyed.
"JOHN!!"
"Oh god John, not again. Please be ok. John! Get up, you're bleeding. Wake up John! You can't die like this, not the same way I did! Not in this fucking car! John!"
The video stopped. John sat in silence. Tears streaming down his face. There was no mistaking it. She hadn't left him. All these years, she'd been by his side. In that seat. In the car she loved.
He had a thought.
He went back to the menu and found another video of a few days earlier. And there it was. Her voice, staticy and beautiful, singing along to the radio. Every so often she'd stop and talk to him, fully knowing he couldn't hear her. Whether bound to the car, or just too stubborn to leave, she hadn't left him all those years ago...
His heart froze in his chest. He rushed to the garage threw open the door and sat down in the driver seat. He hauntedly stared at the passenger seat. He turned the dash cam so the screen was facing the passenger seat and hit play. Sarah's haunting distorted voice filled the empty black car.
He waited. Not sure what exactly he was expecting.
It was then that the passenger seat belt buckle moved just a little...
|
“There! Right There! Did you hear that?” Dan turns up the volume on his computer speakers. On the screen is a clip of a dash cam pointing inward. We can see half of Dan’s face in the driver seat. We also see the empty passenger seat, all of the backseat, and out the back window into the hazy tree-lined mountain highway. At first we hear a voice that is clearly Dan singing an off key version of Kansas’ “Carry on my wayward Son”, then after a few seconds there is a crackling and an unfamiliar female voice saying “Dan I need you to stop the car and let me out please”.
Dan, now leaning back in his chair in his home office, looks up wide-eyed at his wife, Veronica. She looks puzzled, “Who is that? That’s not me.” Dan throws his hands up in the air with a huge shrug. He is giddy. He had always heard people telling stories of their encounters with the supernatural and never believed a single one of them, but there was a part of him that wanted to believe, and maybe a hint of envy. Was this finally it— his first totally unexplainable, flat-out bonkers, story that nobody will believe and he can tell off the cuff at a dinner party to flummox people who, up until that moment, thought of him exemplary in his practicality and level-headedness? Dan was over the moon. He played the clip again. Veronica is now becoming uneasy and looks at him waiting for the practical joke part to come. She was certain that Dan was just messing with her. After all it was close to Halloween and he did love to occasionally jump out of the closet or from around the corner to scare her this time of year. This seemed different though. He had this twinkle in his eye that she couldn’t remember seeing before.
“Ok, Ok, Ok I know. But wait there is more.” Dan fast forwards the video a little more. In the video he now has his blinker on and we can hear it clicking. He is stopped at a stop sign. The voice returns, it almost sounds like it is coming from the car radio “You will regret this decision. You should turn around right now.” Dan bursts into laughter at this point. Not the hearty belly laugh he would contagiously deliver to the audience at a comedy show, but a nervous almost maniacal laugh. Veronica is scared now. “Dan what the fuck is this? This is weird. Why are doing you this?” “I swear I’m not pulling a prank. This is the real thing! Holy shit. It’s the real thing V!”
He plays the video again. Veronica covers her mouth with her hand and squeezes out, “What does she mean you’ll regret it? Where were you heading?” “East on 76 near lake henry” “Ok but where were you going? Like home or work or?” Dan hadn’t really thought about where exactly he was going. He takes a minute, “Umm… you know I’m not sure. He looks down at the video and fast forwards to the end of the clip. In the video we can see him park outside of his own home. Then the camera shuts off. “Wait, what was that?” Veronica said in a low voice. She was almost afraid to say it. “That’s here. I was coming home.” Dan rewinds the video a little bit. Through the back window of the car we see the front of the house. There is someone standing on the porch. It’s not Veronica. “Who the fuck is that?” Veronica says in a frightened accusatory fashion. Dan squints and looks closer and then stands up with his hands on his head. “That's.. oh Jesus… what the fuck? What the fuck is going on?” Dan starts pacing the room now. He is no longer enjoying this. “What the fuck Dan? What’s going on. Who is that?” Dan crumbles into a pile of useless blubbering tears. After a few minutes he clears his throat, “That’s my baby sister. Remember? I told you about her a long time ago. I--It’s a long story but I think maybe she is talking about how she died or something” A loud crackling from the computer speakers and the video rewinds itself to the part where he was getting ready to make a turn. This time we see both of them in the clip. Veronica is asleep in the passenger seat. Again the voice, “You will regret this decision. You should turn around right now”. The video rewinds itself again this time even louder, “You should turn around right now.” Veronica and Dan’s faces have become pale in complete terror as they look at each other and then slowly turning around to look behind them. Their eyes widen at what they see. Beyond them over their shoulders on the computer screen the video continues to play. In the video as Dan makes his turn they are T-boned. The car turns over several times. They are both clearly dead. and the camera shuts off. They Scream. The end.
​
| 2018-10-05T09:26:21 | 2018-10-05T09:12:55 | 59 | 16 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
James and Amanda where watching the news when they heard about it.
"I wonder which number I got", James said and went to the kitchen.
A couple years ago, his son Andrew made him such a cup.
As a handmade cup, it was clearly distinguishable from all the others.
James quickly found it.
"That is strange", he said and showed the cup to his wife.
The cup still had the text "Love, Andrew" written on it. However, "#1 Dad" disappeared completely.
Amanda looked at him. James could see that she will start crying in a moment.
"I need to tell you something", she said.
|
Sitting at the kitchen table Jacob stared out of the window and sipped a coffee from his "1# Dad" mug.
Suddenly there was a fizzing and spluttering sound and the #1 Dad appeared to melt from his mug revealing a #2,045,834 Dad behind.
He stared for a moment then said.
"Well shit... That's not bad at all." Then he grabbed a rich tea and dunked it in.
The end.
| 2017-06-11T10:05:38 | 2017-06-11T09:19:40 | 45 | 17 |
[WP] you are a demon call responder. The devil can’t answer every summon, so you go in his place. One day you get a summon and the summoner is way below age limit; you are about to leave, but you hear her drunk dad coming downstairs screaming.
|
The rules must be followed.
As the girl's drunken father stumbled down the stairs into the living room, I couldn't help but reflect with amusement at the circumstances. I had just been talking with a fellow demon about this *very scenario* last week, and here it was, manifesting itself in reality.
It isn't very often that we demons are given a little bit of free reign, so when those moments arise... well, you tend to appreciate them.
I'm one of the legion assigned to answer Big Boss's calls for service. He gets thousands a day, and just like the other big dude in red, he can't be there to answer them all personally. So he has delegates do it for him to keep the ball rolling.
Think of us as really, really bad mall Santas.
Anyhow, because we aren't 'technically' the ones the people are making the deal with, we have to abide by the specific terms set by the requestor. This is to help make things 'fair' for all involved, should the matter come under dispute later. There are rules about who can or can't make requests of the big guy.
For example, insane people are a no-go. Boss was emphatic on this one, crazies were a non-starter. Something about not being able to make a rational decision or some other crap. During the last meeting, he drilled that one into us, literally. Black and Decker 12 Volt, sure got the point across.
Another example: Kids. The whole problem arises when you consider that each kid is different... some are more mature than others, despite chronological age. Some kids don't have enough life experience to make a rational decision that's based in experience and cold hard logic. It makes it hard to judge if a kid is mature enough for the deal to 'stick' if it ever gets disputed. So the boss erred on the side of safety and set a hard chronological age limit: Nobody under the age of 10 was ever eligible to make a deal with him. Ever.
I guess, in hindsight, the rules were there to make our jobs easier, despite our moaning about them. But sometimes... just sometimes... those annoying rules worked to our advantage as mall santas.
Like I said before, I'd been chatting with Larry between calls last week and asked him if he'd ever had to respond to a kid's request. He said he hadn't yet, but he had a plan on what he'd do if he *was* summoned. So we chatted for a bit, and came up with some ideas on what *I* would do. While we were going over the rules, we found something very interesting, which I ended up mentally filing away for a rainy day.
As I crouched with the crying little girl in the pink dress with the black eye and bleeding lip, I noted with some irony that the living room window was streaked with rain. Guess the devil really *is* in the details.
"Sweetie," I said quietly, "I can't make a deal to help you. You're too little, and the rules won't let me. But I want you to do me a favour."
She looked at me with fear and despair as we both heard her dad lose his footing and fall partway down the stairs to the landing. He cursed and shuffled, trying to pick his drunk ass up off the floor.
"What is it?" she asked with a terrified whisper.
"Ask me to explain the rules. If you ask, I have to explain. It's the Boss's... rule."
"How will that help??" she asked, on the verge of tears.
"Just trust me," I said with the least-threatening smile I could muster.
"BECKY! Get your ass up here!" came the drunken slur. "Daddy's feelin' frisky!"
She stared at me with pleading eyes. "Please! Help me!"
"Trust me, sweetie. Just ask me to explain the rules."
Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as her drunken, molester father rounded the corner. "OK! Please explain the rules to me!" she shrieked.
I turned from her cowering form to that of her fat, drunken father. As I did I grew from the tiny two-foot tall black shadow into a 9-foot tall, 500 pound mass of muscle, sinew and rage.
"Gladly, my dear," came the deep bass rumble from my new form.
What she didn't know was, the boss wanted to make sure that those selling their souls had no recourse. No 'out', if you will. So he had a laundry list of conditions that had to be imposed, and each person selling their soul had to be explicitly aware of the conditions before they could agree to sell. To help expedite the process, there was a rule in place stating demons could use 'any abilities or demonstrations necessary' to ensure that the terms and conditions were correctly explained.
It never said that we couldn't explain the terms to people who were excluded for other reasons. And it didn't say how we would do the explaining, or how long it needed to take.
As the drunk man stopped in his tracks and stared at me I reached out with one clawed hand, grabbing him by the throat from across the room. With telepathic powers, I closed my hand around his neck and lifted him off the ground. He gasped and gurgled, like a fish out of water. Becky stared in rapt fascination and, dare I say it, a little bit of glee. Daddy was finally getting a taste of what it felt like to be a helpless victim.
"Section 1 of 1, 252, 339. Paragraph one," I said in a voice that was a low rumbling mix between Darth Vader and Michael Clarke Duncan.
"These terms and conditions are mandatory and non-negotiable by all parties involved, and shall be forever and irrevocably binding," I said, squeezing dad's neck until he turned purple and his eyes started to bulge out of his head.
The rules must be followed.
|
“Ugh...” I groaned looking at the blue spectral flames that had risen in the goblet. A summoning.
Everyone on earth thought that when you did a summoning ritual you summoned the big guy, Satan himself. But he was to busy ruling hell to answer petty calls from earth. No demons like myself took care of those calls.
I hated my job. I wanted to be part of something bigger, something better. But no. I took calls, people summoning who had a wish, usually lame ones, like wanting a few inches more below the belt. Or their one true love to notice them. It was all so damned boring.
I flicked my wrist, causing the flames o rise up and engulf me. Taking me to the circle that the person used to summon me. I felt the sensation of being back on earth. But something was different.
I opened my black eyes and looked down at my body. I was inhabiting some body I had possessed centuries ago. Dressed it up in classy black suit. I looked up at where I was a dimly lit basement filled with boxes, dust and junk.
Usually when I arrived I could smell some sort of sin of the person who called me. Lust, sloth and greed where the big ones. But there was no sin this time. No pride, no gluttony. But here was something else. Fear.
I scanned the room and saw a small boy with uneven cut hair and green eyes peering at me from behind a box on the ground. ‘Shit.’ I thought to myself. One of the few policies Hell stuck to was no dealing with minors.
“Are you the devil?” The little boy squeaked out from behind the box. He raid his head a little more with the question.
“No.” I said simply. My voice low and monotone, of the humans I was possessing. I glared at the boy. “I can’t deal with you. Nor will I.” I turned on my heel to go back to my office in Hell. But the boy spoke up.
“Please you have to help me! No one will.” His voice started cracking and getting more earnest. “My friends Said God would help. But he hasn’t answered my prayers.
I snorted. God like the devil didn’t answer calls of humans. It was up to the angels to do that, and they were to up on their high horses to assist low being like humans. Which I found funny considering they damned Lucifer for not bowing to man.
I turned around “listen ki-“ I was cut off. The boy had fully emerged from the box, and was covered with wounds. Not just bruises. But cut wounds and burns that looked like they were from cigarettes. My demon blood began to boil.
“Please help me mr...” the child cried. “I am scared...” Then a loud noise a thunk. Like something had fallen.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a coin. I flipped it to the kid. I could hear movement upstairs. “I can’t grant your wish kid. But that coin can. Tell it what you want...” I said.
The kid held the coin up to his face, confused, as the footsteps grew louder and louder. He closed his eyes. “I want to be free...” he said to the coin.
A door slammed open, a light shimmering down from upstairs. The light showing the dark wood of the stairs the creaked beneath the heavy footsteps. “Boy!” A man screamed from the stairs.
The boy sprang up and ran behind me. He trembling hands clutching my pant leg, while he sobbed. Something erupted inside of me. I hated humans like this. Humans bad mouth demons and call them monsters. But refuse to acknowledge that they are monsters as well.
The man finally arrived downstairs. His fat belly protruding out from under his, stained, white undershirt. “Boy you are to come when called! Or do you need another lesson.” The man looked over to me. “Who the fuck are you.” Normally I wouldn’t let anyone who didn’t summon me see me. But I wanted to make an exception.
I walked calmly up to the balding man. The scent of whiskey surrounding him. I looked into the mans green eyes with my own black eyes. “Did you do this to your son?” I asked.
The man couldn’t lie to me. But shook his head. I could see everything in his eyes. The sins he had committed. The lust, chasing after every woman that would look at him. The gluttony and sloth, never working and staying home drinking, driving the mother of the child away. The greed, taking things that didn’t belong to him. The pride, thinking he was untouchable even from the cops who had came to investigate some leads. The envy for everyone around him that had things much better than his own. Finally the wraith that took out on his son every night.
I held up my hand, the fat monster of a man was flung against the back of the wall. I tightened my hand, gripping his soul with my power. Terror and pain filled the mans face as he struggled against the wall. He squealed and sobbed, not able to get any words out of his mouth. I twisted my hand and the mans neck twisted around with a sickening crack.
I turned away from the body. I walked towards the child who was on the ground. I put my hand on the child’s head. “Seems the coin granted your wish...” I said with small gentle smile. “If you ever find yourself back against the wall again. Make a wish on that coin again. It might grant it.”
I walked towards the circle the boy had summoned me from. A light formed, beginning to take me back. Before I disappeared, the boy called to me. “Are you an angel?!”
I was back in my office before I could answer, no. But the question did bring a smile to my face.
| 2018-10-08T13:02:02 | 2018-10-08T12:43:35 | 144 | 89 |
[WP] You are a demon that has had several failed attempts on your life by demon hunters. No matter how they use their holy powers they cannot harm you and as a result they consider you extremely powerful. In truth, the holy powers don't harm you for the simple reason that you aren't actually evil.
|
You don't know exactly when you became what you are now. You used to be better at your job. You were there in the beginning, smoke and shadow and sin, and you were terrible - they called you Lord, once, down below. But you haven't been home in a long time. They likely wouldn't recognise you now if you went back.
The surface world rubbed off on you, eventually. You were working decade after decade, no time off, no hazard pay, nothing, and you were glad to do it, once. Once, you thought you knew what evil was. Maybe you even did. Evil's changed, since the old days, or at least that's what it feels like, and you've changed with it.
Evil used to *mean* something. Evil used to mean hubris, and lust, and pestilence. Evil used to mean gluttony, and greed, and envy.
Now, evil is less than any of those great, glorious sins. Evil is... evil is...
Evil is not fast food, the only thing cheap enough to get the kids through the weekends. Evil is not exam answers scribbled on a sweaty palm. Evil is not looking at a broken system and knowing you could do better, if they'd only let you. Evil is not pissing blood and showing up for work the next morning, because you can't afford not to. Evil is not chattering teeth and jealousy guarded water and warmth. Evil is not kisses behind bike sheds, two boys, two girls, two children with hearts full of giddy fear. Evil is not bills under the mattress, in the freezer, in the roof, anywhere they can't be seen. And yet, evil buzzes in the back of your mind, wherever you go. Whatever you do. Until you stop bothering to do anything at all.
Evil is bigger than it ever was. Evil is smaller than it ever was. You cannot change your shape to match it, it's outgrown you.
If you're lucky, these foolish, righteous children will understand that soon enough, and leave you to your sleep. You're so tired, and your work is long since over.
|
Let me tell you of Dark Lord Lyons. None quite know where this planar knight of death and despair comes from but he serves Baba Yaga though some say she sent him here for fear of his power.
He commands an army of halfbreed monsters! An army of dragonmen, vile centaurs, and other malformed things! His wife is the worst of all, a massive wolf the size of horse.
Be wary of her when stepping outside on moonlit nights, that white haired woman with icy blue eyes is her disguise! She takes men off the roads leaving nothing but red smears and cracked bones.
We've summoned paladins and clerics and all things holy we could find. The ones that came back tell of a man clad in twisted black armor on a throne of bones. His sword coated in green flames that form the shape of tortured children who scream in unearthly wails. Crying for his opponents to flee lest they join their unholy chorus. His shield formed in the shape a screaming skull.
They say they call upon their divine favors, their smites, their turns, their banishing rays. None effect him. Whatever darkness he's treated with is greater than all the gods we know.
So we called upon the darker things, the unspoken things, Belial, Asmodious, any demon we could find. They assured of their power, they stormed his hall. We heard their screams become part of the swords siren call. Whatever darkness he's treated with is greater than even demons know
I know not what manner of creature can shrug off blows from the holiest of angels to the most fell demons but there he sits, watching us, waiting. For what we don't know but until then, see to your neighbors, even the mangy dogs from the nation over.
Because old wounds and anger must be put aside. Hatchets must buried, this feud of ours ended. Because no matter what horrors we've visited upon each other, he'll do far worse to both of us
| 2021-02-22T16:29:42 | 2021-02-22T16:23:39 | 257 | 39 |
[WP] A teenage boy finally builds up the courage to ask out his crush but when he pops the question her face darkens as she utters to him “you’re not supposed to be able to see me”
|
"I know" I answer the boy. " No one sees me either"
He makes a questioning noise before actually looking at me more closely. As realization hits him, his eyes start to shine, making him look even mire beautiful
"You... You are like me" he stammers "You are also not in the same place as them"
I nod, and glance at all the people walking around us on the street, but otherwise ignoring our very existance. It is natural when you have one foot in their world, and another in what comes next.
"I... I think they forgot to pick us up, maybe we are here too soon" I grab his hand and he gasps, I was probably the first one to do so in ages.
He sobs a little "I... I wouldn't be surprised, everyone back then did too. Tha-that's why I am here" He raises our hands, and I notice a bandage peeking from his long shirt "You might be the first one in ages... Oh"
Oh, he also noticed mine.
"I... I get the feeling, I think"
He took a step towards me, and started crying on my chest. I held him tight, and started to cry too.
"But, now we have each other, and if you are okay with it, I think I can wait for someone to take us elsewhere, if I am not alone"
He hugged me back, and I stayed with him for as long as he needed. For as long as I needed too.
|
"W-what?!"
"I have been dead for years..." The girl replies.
Now that he thinks of it, no one has ever interacted with her for as long as he remembers.
"I-i dont understand...what do you mean 'your dead'?"
"I mean, dumbass, that I'm dead. God, mortals are so stupid!" She whispered the last part under her breath, or as much of a breath she can manage.
The boy, Leo, looks at her. There is fear in his eyes.
Than suddenly he bursts into laughter. A fake laugh to hide his true fear. Loud and sharp, not at all like the laugh you hear when it's real.
"G-good joke! You had me there for a second!"
The girl, Ņę×, looks at him, confused.
"IM NOT JOKING!" She yells at the top of her voice.
"I-i know....I just thought if I laughed, it would stop the fear." The boy replied.
A new voice appeared.
"Hey, man, I saw you talking to yourself, are you okay? Do you need to go to lay down?"
"What?! No way man I was just talking to-" when he looked back at the gir,l she was gone. "Nevermind..."
To this day he never saw her again until the day of his death.
| 2021-08-21T17:27:54 | 2021-08-21T17:13:00 | 55 | 24 |
[WP] Your little daughter have imaginary friends. One day, she asked if her friends can sleep in her room. You jokingly told her that they can stay as long as they want, as long as they help with the rent. The next morning, you found a hand wearing a Rolex and a roll of cash by the sink.
|
“Cassy, it’s time for bed!”
“Ok Daddy, I just have to pick up!”
Crashing and thumping proceeded to radiate up the stairs, soon followed by Cassy colliding up the stairs.
“Well that was fast. How’d you manage it? You had quite a mess down there.”
“Oh Daddy,” she smiled like the answer was obvious. “Clyde and Clara helped me. They’re great picker-uppers.”
Ah, the imaginary friends, of course. “Well, if they keep that up, I may just have to hire them on to keep this place clean,” I laughed. “Now, do you think they could help you brush your teeth and get you pajamas on?”
“Yeah, ok Daddy,” she squealed, continuing her flight up the stairs.
It was funny, I felt like a breeze brushed past me as she did. Probably just left a window open downstairs.
…
Within minutes, Cassy was tucked in tight and I was about to turn off the lights. “Goodni…”
“Daddy, can Clyde and Clara sleep in my room?”
She seemed tense when she blurted it out, but she was probably worried she wouldn’t get a chance. “Sure sweetheart, but I expect them to help with the rent. Are they ok with that?”
Turned her head as if listening, then replied, “They say that they can accept those terms.”
Wow, so businesslike tonight. “Alright then I don’t see why not. Goodnight honey,” I say as I lean and give her forehead a kiss.
“Daddy, you forgot to say goodnight to Clyde and Clara.”
“Oh, how silly of me. Goodnight Clyde. Goodnight Clara.”
It was strange, because as I was stepping out and closing her door, I thought I heard someone whisper a goodnight back.
…
*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*
Groggily slapping the clock, I sit up and spread out my hands across the bed. My hand bumps something cold and wet.
With a shock, I recoil and tumble out of bed. “What the hell!”
Sitting on the sheets, near the edge of the bed, was a severed human hand. It seemed fairly fresh, though there wasn’t much blood. Around the wrist lay a Rolex, and gripped tightly in the palm was a roll of cash.
“What the hell,” I repeated in shock. How the hell did it get there?
“Daddy?!?” Shit, my repeated outbursts and the crash must have woke her up.
“Cassy, sweetheart, we need to go now.”
Hastily throwing on some clothes, I wander out to the hall, finding her standing there rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Where are we going Daddy?”
“Um,” and an idea dawned on me, “I need to drop you off with your mother. It’s her turn this week, remember? I need you to pack your bag and get dressed ok? I’ll get you breakfast at the drive through, your pick.
At that she smiled,”Ok Daddy. I want pancakes!”
“Then that’s what we’ll get, but I need you to go get ready ok? Hurry sweetheart.”
Whipping back into my room and shutting the door, all I could do was stare at the arm.
“What am I going to do?” I slid down, back to the door. “What am I going to do?”
“Oh, Daddy?”
“Yeah, Sweetheart?”
“Clyde said to say he hoped he was able to cover this week’s rent. He also said he could get more if he needed to. Is that ok Daddy?”
“What are you talking about Sweetheart?”
“The rent, Daddy. You said Clyde and Clara had to pay rent. He said he dropped it off in the night. He says he hopes it’s enough.”
My eyes wander back to the arm. Stumbling to my feet, I wander over to it. The watch looks brand new, minus the dried blood of course, and the wad of bills looked impressive.
I turn my gaze to the door. How, how could this be happening? What has my daughter been talking to?
“Nothing of consequence,” a voice whispered in my ear. I thought I heard a laugh, followed by a woman’s giggle.
|
Your bowl of Fruit Rings clatter to the ground. As the cheap plastic bowl bounces around, the generic cereal spills all over the vinyl flooring. The barely expired milk is seeping into your Fruit of the Loom socks but you barely notice. All you see is the severed hand on your sink and almost as importantly, the gold Rolex.
You walk over in disbelief. You are careful in handling the hand. You slowly slip the Rolex off. It's scuffed and covered in blood. Your hand starts trembling. You place the Rolex down before you drop it. Your heart starts racing.
You notice the roll of cash. You wonder if it belonged to the same person who was evidently missing their hand. Your trembling fingers count the bills. *$1200*. You grip the bills tightly in your palm. They're sweaty.
You're suddenly out of breath. You need air. You start taking in big gulps of air. It's not enough. You need to get to the bottom of this. *Alice*.
"ALICE! Honey! Where are you?" You shout.
"I'm in my room daddy!" She shout backs. You scramble past the bloody hand and the spilled cereal towards your daughter's room. The hallway is dim. The electricity was shut off yesterday.
You approach her door. You hear voices, whispering. Your heart is thumping against your chest. You take a second and a breath to try and steady yourself.
**BAM!!** You kick the door open. Your eyes frantically scan the room. There are strange runes transcribed all over the walls. They appear to be written in blood. They spiral chaotically, desperately around the room, centering on one spot: Alice's bed. Your daughter is lying down.
"What's wrong daddy?" She asks. She is smiling. A dim shadow is wrapped around her arm. She is stroking it, like a pet. Your eyes follow the trail of the shadow to the bottom of her bed. You slowly squat down and lay on the floor to peer underneath.
Eight, bright red eyes are staring at as the formless creature widens its mouth, displaying rows of sharp teeth. A forked tongue swishes back and forth along its lips, trying to form words.
"*Ssssssswas zaaaaa payyymenttssss naawwwwttt eeeennnuuffssss?*" The creature manages to squeeze out.
All you see is red. Your arms shoot out, gripping whatever shadowy flesh you can. Your hands almost phase through the formless dark but the runes covering your palm are enough to allow you to touch the creature. With a heave, you pull it out from under the bed.
As the creature, hits the lights spilling in from the window, it squeals and attempts to escape. You invoke its true name and command it to stay in your grasp. It has not choice but to obey but continues to flail around painfully. You bring it up against the window, its flesh almost sizzling.
"We had a deal," you calmly say as the creature continues to cry out in pain.
"*Yessss yesssss pleaseesssss*," it begs. You relent and bring it away from the window and slam it against the wall instead.
"Her soul for wealth. You think this is enough? She's nothing but a dumb bitch but her soul has gotta be worth more than a few grand, huh?" you spit out.
"*Yessss yesss. Gehtsss yoouuuuu mmooreeesss*," the creature cries out.
"You better." You drop the creature to the floor as it scurries back to the comforts of the darkness under the bed.
"D-d-daddy... Is everything okay?" Alice meekly asks.
"Of course honey. Don't worry. Daddy will have some money soon." Your hand barely grazes her head as you walk out the room. You slam the door shut.
You walk back down the dark hall, back to your dingy kitchen. You start cleaning up the mess you made before as you throw out the hand in your trash.
| 2019-10-06T14:24:01 | 2019-10-06T12:32:40 | 1,268 | 211 |
[WP] You wake up in a room with someone else, no doors, just a a paper taped on the wall that says "One of you is the A.I."
|
They shut down the test not long after...
"One of you is the A.I." The note on the wall said.
Three days we spent in that room.
I was so sure. Bit my tongue and bled you see.
When, after 72 hours, no instruction was given I decided to prove I was not the AI.
They dragged me out of the room with horrified expressions as I still clutched a chunk of bloody flesh. I was just as horrified.
"Control group," they told me later. We were the bloody control group.
Bloody... Yes, bloody.
|
I'm still groggy as I read the paper and slowly turn around to face my roommate. Surely I can't be an AI, can I?. I see his face and the trepidation melts to the floor around my feet replaced with a schoolgirl giddiness. "Holy shit, Allen Iverson! Can I have your autograph?"
"No." came the Answer's reply. I wish I were a robot.
| 2018-02-22T16:39:39 | 2018-02-22T15:09:55 | 89 | 34 |
[WP] You have died. While waiting to be judged, you are offered the chance to clear one entry from your file before the decision is made.
Let me add: apologies for the cliché of judgement after death. I just want to see how you guys play this one out.
|
"Welcome, my son," the voice said with a smile;
"You're dead, I'm God, and this might take a while."
"You have lived and you've loved, you've won and you've lost;
But now that you're dead, there's one more line to be crossed!"
"Look at this list," he said, and produced a sheet
Of items so long that it hung down to his feet.
"There's both heaven and hell, and you're going to one!
So cross off an item, but overlook none!"
He gave a pen, and with a wink almost caustic,
He pointed to "9/1/75: Became an agnostic".
I chewed on the pen; I looked and I sat;
And recalling my life, I nearly fell flat.
"Know what, God?" I cried, my voice nearing a yell
"I don't need your judgement, I already lived Hell!"
"My mother was killed in an Earthquake and my father a storm!
Both acts of God, both out of the norm!"
"I hated my life! It was lonely and sad!
You killed them both! You're a coward, a cad!"
God backed up a few steps, and with love in his voice,
Said "Acts of Me are necessary- it wasn't a choice!"
He moved a bit forward, and urgently muttered
"Hurry up and cross one off, or this room will get cluttered!"
I looked right behind me, and there was a line!
I started to laugh, it was all going to be fine.
I looked at the Lord, my eyes teared with mirth;
And with a final "Fuck You" to God, I crossed off my birth.
|
"Choose" said the voice.
This was my chance. For the last 50 years of my life I had resigned myself to hell, it's what I deserved anyways. Yet here I am, able to erase the one mistake I made so long ago.
I laughed. Even a disgusting wretch like me could get into heaven. And I know I will. Besides that one mistake, I've been nothing but saintly. Keeping to myself, helping others who lost their way, even attending church every Sunday until I died.
Not that you have much else to do in prison.
I looked at the being before me, and smiled.
"I wish to erase the decision to rape and murder my six year old daughter."
The beings face twisted in disgust. It flipped through my what I assume was the book holding the history if my actions, and at one point picked one section up out of the book like a dirty sock and it dissolved into the air.
It flipped through the rest of the book, growing visually more frustrated until he got to the end and violently closed the book.
Once again, I smiled. I knew I had won.
"It really disgusts me that we have such a rule that would allow someone like you into heaven," it said, "but the rules are the rules. You're in."
With a wave of it's hands the gates opened before me. I rubbed my hands together in excitement as I walked through the entrance.
I would get to see her again.
| 2014-06-20T13:09:21 | 2014-06-20T12:19:33 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] A mage's magical power and abilities are determined by tattoos that are only visible to other mages. You have not encountered another mage for years, but today someone compliments you on your ink.
|
The wizard was not what I was expecting. I was ready for robes, a beard, a staff, maybe a pointy hat. But the man sitting in front of me was so *normal* looking. Like the owner of a car dealership. Snazzy striped black suit, black hair cut short and swept to the side, a nice watch around his wrist. He sat across from me with perfect posture, not too stiff but not too relaxed either. He gripped his coffee softly, his pinky finger lightly tapping the side of the cup.
This man just shows up, admits he can see my tattoos, something no one has ever been able to (which I thought made me insane) and offered to buy me a coffee and talk it over. This was already the craziest day in my life. Yet, this just seems like a normal Thursday to him.
"Okay so...explain it to me slowly, please." I said calmly, sipping my coffee nervously. Hoping that no one else in this coffee shop was eavesdropping on our conversation.
He nodded, and leaned forward slightly, as if he was about to sell me on a pitch he's made a thousand times before. "There is magic in this world." he started, matter-of-factually, "A select few are able to harness certain aspects of this magic and use it to varying ability." He stopped to take another sip of his coffee, then continued. "You are one of these people. I can tell based on the tattoos on your arm"
He made a wave motion with his hand and my sleeve went flying up to my armpit. The tattoos that had been driving me crazy since the day I was born were suddenly glowing with a white aura. I shoved my sleeve back down. "Stop doing that." I said.
"Just making my point." He replied. "Anyway, your tattoos indicate that you have healing abilities and pretty strong ones at that." He then made that waving motion again and my sleeve went up, he continued while staring at my arm, "I'd wager... you've got a pretty formidable self-healing factor based on that bicep tattoo and some great potential in micro healing as well."
I pushed my sleeve back down again. "First, I said to stop doing that, someone could see." I said in what was almost a whisper, "And second, micro healing?" My mind was going a million miles a minute. I had so many questions, and so much worry about where this conversation would lead.
"First, don't worry about others, they don't even know we're here. See?" He slammed his hand down on the table, making a sound louder than should have been possible. It made me jump, and I expected gasps and shocked looks from the room. But as I looked around, no one reacted. It was like no one heard a thing. The line at the counter was still ordering, people at tables talking, drinking, like nothing happened.
"Second," he continued, not even giving me time to question how this is happening, "Micro healing is a really niche type of magic. There aren't a whole lot of you and we currently have none with us at the confine." He said that name so casually as if I was supposed to know what it was. But, as usual, he continued before I could question anything.
"Micro healing means you have the natural ability every other healer has to heal major external lacerations, broken bones, bruises, etc..." He started, but then his voice got lower, as if he was making his selling point here, "But you can go smaller than that. We're talking cellular level healing: cancer cells, tumors, hereditary diseases, the types of diseases that the rest of the world can only dream of curing."
I looked up at him and I could tell he could see the gears spinning in my head. "I could cure cancer?" I asked slowly.
"With the right training and depending on the cancer, it's a possibility." He stated.
"Bacterial disease?" I asked
"With ease." He stated.
"Dementia or alzheimers?" I asked, hopeful. But at that, he sank a bit.
"I can tell that question is personal to you, but the truth is...probably not." His demeanor changed a bit. This seemed personal to him also. "We've had micro healers in the far past try to work on it, but there's no solutions as of today." He was looking down as he said it. Then he picked himself up and continued. "But that doesn't mean you couldn't be the one to figure it out. But even if you can't, think of the lives you could save with cancer and disease alone." He was back in his sales-pitch tone. "You could truly change the whole world for the better, not many mages have such an opportunity."
I didn't even have to think about it. "What do I have to do if I accept your training?"
He leaned forward again and began talking in a much more serious tone than he's done before, "You come with me back to the Confine, a place between space and time where we work to mix science and magic to help the realms."
"I'm sorry, hold on," Finally finding the courage to step in and stop him, "*realms?*"
"I'll tell you more if you accept. But you need to know, if you accept, you will have to leave your home, your life behind." He looked me straight in the eyes, "There is no compromise here. If you accept, we'll be teaching you and training you to harness your power, but doing so makes you a target to other forces that exist within the realms, you simply won't able to safely return."
i looked down and thought about where my life is currently. It seems like so much and so little are going on in my life. But I think I'm making it a harder decision than it actually is. I know what I want: to help. To matter.
My mouth spoke faster than my mind could react, "I accept."
He smiled. "Awesome, in that case, follow me." He walked out of the coffee shop, the people still seemingly ignoring us. I followed him right out front to a normal, black, 4-door sedan.
"We're driving there?" I asked, confused.
He responded as we both got into the car, "Yes. I'm a conjuration mage, not a teleporter."
We drove ahead, and I didn't look back.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*As always, I appreciate your comments or suggestions! Thanks for reading*
|
"Ooo, lovely tattoos you have there!"
Nihil stopped. There was no one around her. She turned around in confusion, about to ask who this guy was talking to-
The words died in her throat as she stared at the calligraphy plastered over this man's body.
Anyone else would have waved it off as abstract nonsense, but she knew this by heart.
She felt it.
It was in her blood.
...it was her blood.
Every glyph oozed a power she was sure no one else could ever see or feel, with the exception of *maybe* Amity, but she wasn't here right now.
An all too familiar power looked at her.
A power that, if you asked her what she associated with, she would say came from a certain book.
That used to be on a top shelf of a library nestled in a sleepy, peaceful orphanage.
"I can tell you have questions." the older man conceded.
"Yeah, 'who the hell are you' is the big one." She snapped, her voice quaking. She'd seen magic, she'd even felt magic, but she did NOT encounter THIS magic and she had hoped she never would again.
"Mmm, I have two answers for that, both true, both personal to you but I'm not sure you'll believe me." He said hesitantly.
"*Try me.*" She growled. "I'm not up for games!"
"Ok well first; My name Daziel Kurtal. I'm Risya's brother. In other words, like your uncle or technically your great uncle."
He gestured to his face and build expectantly and Nihil's eyes narrowed; she could see it, certainly, but she wasn't going to take him at his word without Risya herself verifying it.
"She never mentioned a brother." Nihil replied tersely. "And the other answer?"
He sighed and spread his arms. "I... Am the creator of the Grimoire."
Nihil summoned her sword without really thinking, her mind racing.
"I'm not looking for a fight, so put your sword down." He suggested.
"That book *ruined my life,*" she growled, her throat tight. "I'm not going to trust anything to do with it."
"Didn't it also create you?" He asked, puzzled.
"It *imprisoned me!!*" She sobbed. Fuck, her eyes were watering, but this was too much. "That magic was abused to imprison me, or did you *somehow* not know that, despite everything else you seem to know?!"
What was this, the fourth meltdown of her life? Yeah, fourth. She was shrieking and couldn't think calmly and she didn't care.
*"Put. the sword. Down."* He commanded. "I can answer your questions but I can also tell you I've spent more time with that book than you ever have and clearly ever will; if you fight me, I will win. So please. Put the sword down."
She ground her teeth, ready to just go feral, abandon bipedal shape and rip into him but she needed proof first.
She needed proof.
Her hand still shaking, she managed to say "One moment. Don't move."
Pulling out her phone with one hand and dialing Risya's phone, she put it to her ear, not breaking eye contact.
On the 3rd ring, it picked up.
*"Nicole!"* Risya chirped. *"It's good to hear from you, how are you doing?"*
Nihil twitched, taken aback by the pleasantries. "It- I don't know, if I'm honest."
*"What hap-"*
"Daziel Kurtal. He's your brother, yeah?"
A pause on the other end. She hated interrupting but she had to know.
*"I- he is, how do you know that? Did you see him? Is he there??"*
Nihil shrugged. "Depends. *What does he look like?"*
*"Er, it's been a little bit but last I saw him he had white hair, blue eyes, he's got freckles... Kind of bony, honestly. I always tell him to eat more meat and he doesn't listen. He should definitely be coated in markings, though. All over him. Nicole, what happened?? Are you ok??"*
This man did fit the bill, a skeletal, white haired man with blue eyes and freckles. She didn't have to verify the tattoos. She *knew* the tattoos.
"Ok, last question; he made that book, right? The one that made me?"
Nihil swore she could hear Risya's flinch.
*"...Yes. yes he did."*
Nerveless fingers dropped her sword entirely. Somehow, hearing it, she felt exhausted.
"....Yeah, he's here right now. I'm ok, I just.... I need to process. I'm sorry." Nihil said numbly.
Putting the phone on speaker, she pointed it in the man's direction.
"Say hi to your sibling."
"Hey, sis!" Daziel said with a wave.
*"Daziel!"* Risya chastised and he flinched. *"What did you say to her??? That book is a sore spot for her, you don't just bring it up!!"*
Daziel sputtered. "Sis, I'm *sorry!* I didn't know she would flip out over it!! I was hoping she'd be more comfortable knowing she wasn't alone, that other people have used the book and it turned out good!"
*"....Daziel, what, exactly, about you being on the other side of the world because of this book is a good thing?"* She demanded.
"How about I can be around it now, people can hold onto it without me *losing my mind??"* He retorted. "Its powers can be good, you just have to use it properly!"
*"I would hardly call an undying book that turns its owner mad the more they use it a good thing, I'm sorry. With the exception of Nicole's birth, if I'm being honest, that book should not have been created!"*
"You haven't seen what I've done for people, though!" He protested. "I've saved people, reinforced structures and healed the sick, there are good things out of this! It just takes time!"
"....What did you mean when you said, 'nice tattoos?'"
Both ends went quiet as Nihil's soft question registered. (1/2)
| 2022-07-05T10:49:10 | 2022-07-05T10:40:01 | 43 | 20 |
[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 self, I hate you. I hate what we've become. When did we change, when did we grow so old and angry, and when did we decide to be alone? I know that we did not always act like this. I know we used to laugh, and let other people get close. Remember when we had so many friends? remember when we go to other people's houses and just hang out. Everything was so easy then. Why is it so hard now? I want you to know that I miss you. The way you used to be, the way we could be again, maybe. I want you to know that I need more. I need to make a change. I want to be different. I won't be like you anymore. Yours always, you.
|
Dear Jeremy.
I'm sorry I didn't call.
I don't remember if I was busy, or tired, or anything else that could be considered an excuse. I felt like it was all my fault. I could have stopped it. When I met your family and found out you had been living with this all your life, I almost gave up.
I should have called. I had a bad feeling and I couldn't get you out of my head. Now I know why. I could have stopped you.
I could have gotten you help. I could have been a better friend.
But that morning I found out you killed yourself. I knew.
I should have called.
Your friend
Charlie.
P.s. I forgive you.
(Edited, spelling)
| 2017-11-05T19:56:15 | 2017-11-05T19:17:09 | 799 | 508 |
[WP] Satan is tired of losing countless guitar and fiddle duels, and is now challenging people with obscure instruments.
Wow guys! My first front page on writingprompts :D Thanks for a wonderful surprise!
|
Well the Devil went to Seattle
He was feelin' a little down
After fiddlin' a bunch, he was havin' a hunch
He'd lost the right to his crown
*In the Emerald City,* he thought,
*there are no southerners or jews.*
*There may be a chance to change my stance*
*Try an instrument I can't lose.*
He wandered 'round Pike's Market
Till he found a promising lad
He was rockin' hard, this modern bard,
So he said "Let's talk a tad."
"Now you've drawn a pretty good crowd here, son,
But you've still got a lot to learn.
I'll bet a mountain of gold against your soul
That I can make your ear-balls churn."
The lad said "Well my name's Chang,
And maybe it's a sin,
But I'll take your bet, and you're gonna regret
Cause I really think I'll win!"
Devil raise your weapon high and put Chang in the pit.
Cause you suck at playing fiddle more than just a little bit.
You'll give up a whole peak of gold if this dude is not a troll.
But if he is, then you will score his soul.
Chang stretched his fingers wide and said "I'm not one to tease."
And honey flowed across the crowd as his fingers crossed the keys.
It was a haunting melody and it brought the crowd to its feet
Then he began a rocking solo while screaming "Let's bring up the heat!!"
*Awesome music solo*
The Devil smiled politely when Chang was winding down.
"Not bad," he said, "But before you bow, first check this shit out."
Old Scratch strapped in, yelled "SHALL WE BEGIN?!"
And he played his title bout.
Fire on the Mountain, give up now.
Chang's in the house of the aroused sow.
Chicken in the bed pan picking out poo.
Granny do you hog-tie, yes I do.
Chang's face went ashen cause he knew that he had lost.
And he bowed his head as the Devil took Chang's soul for his cost.
And the Devil said "Don't feel too bad, you may have been a star.
But you should have known the Devil's own, I created the fucking keytar!
*Edit* Wow guys, that is a whole lot of love to wake up to! Glad you all enjoyed it.
|
I stood at the crossroads. I looked up one road and then down the other. Nothing coming or going.
He appeared before me. Red, eight feet tall, cloven feet and horns. The whole nine yards.
“I hear you’re looking for something,” he said.
I nodded. “I’m looking to make a deal.”
He smiled. “With me.”
“Exactly.”
“And what would you like?”
“I want to be a billionaire.”
“And what do I get out of it?” he said.
“If I lose you get my soul.”
He rubbed his chin and looked into the night sky. “A contest? How do you propose we go about deciding a winner?”
I took a deep breath. “A music contest. Best player wins.”
He smirked. “I choose the instrument.”
I had gone to Julliard. I had mastered all instruments set before me. I could play everything from the Mbira to the Guitar. “Deal,” I said.
We shook hands.
He made a flourish and produced a twisted instrument made out of wood. It looked like it was covered in leather and had three finger holes on each side. I had never seen this instrument before.
“Church?” He held up one instrument in his left hand that had sweeping curves and little metal on it. “Military?” He held what looked to be a more compact version that had a lot of metal bracing on it in his right hand.
“What?”
He looked bashful and ashamed. “I’m sorry. French or English?”
I shook my head. My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He put his finger behind his ear like he couldn’t hear me. I picked the one that appeared more compact.
“Ah. English. I prefer French anyway.” He handed me the English one.
I looked at it and turned it over in my hands. I decided to bite the bullet. He probably already knew what I was about to ask. “What is it?”
He feigned surprise. “Oh. I’m sorry. Do you not know how to play the serpent? My bad.” He laughed and put the serpent up to his lips. “Time to play.”
_______
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out my subreddit /r/Puns_are_Lazy.
**Edit:** This is a [serpent](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serpent_%28instrument%29).
| 2015-01-31T22:04:27 | 2015-01-31T21:09:56 | 1,639 | 31 |
[WP] When aliens invaded earth, they expected humanity to reach for nuclear weapons. They had experience in this, they knew how to deal with a few warheads. What they were not prepared for was the quantity possessed by humanity.
|
The raid alarm was blaring as General Ra'Kesh entered his command center. "Corporal, have the humans taken the bait?" he asked.
"Yes." came the somewhat unprofessional reply. This put Ra'Kesh on edge. He'd never known Corporal Naiak to be anything other than efficient and professional. But what really worried him was when the corporal muttered "By the Hundred Saints!"
"Report!" he ordered. "What's happening?"
"Sir," a junior enlist spoke up, Private Danik he remembered, "The humans have sent their reply." Ra'Kesh noted that the fur around the Danik's face was stiff and bristled. Fear?
Ra'Kesh was puzzled. The Dartorian Empire had selected this backwater as the next target for expansion. They'd noted that some of this worlds 'nations' had possessed nuclear weapons. His force has seen this before. Ordinarily a world possessed a small handful of them. He'd decided that since the world was divided, he'd draw out the weapons. He'd landed his invasion force in a relatively uninhabited desert, the Sahara as the locals called it and selected one of the nearby large cities as a target. He'd destroyed it with one of his own nuclear weapons and broadcast his intention to conquer this world. He surmised that the humans would retaliate for the destruction of 'Paris'. His force could easily deal with up to a hundred warheads. What could possibly scare his troops?
'What's the response? Answer me!" he yelled angrily.
Naiak shook her head. She seemed to regain some of her military bearing. "Sir" she began, her voice wavering a bit, "Sir the Human nation of France launched 43 warheads at us. We expected them to respond, but this number.." her voice trailed off.
Ra'Kesh took in the information and was a bit stunned himself. But then the corporal's words sunk in and he realized something, she'd only mentioned *one* of the human nations. And it clicked, why did they have that many?
"Naiak," he said, a cold lump forming in is gut, "what of the others?"
She turned to face him. By the Saints, that wasn't fear. It was abject horror.
"The one called the United States launched 270 and we detected a further 36 launched timed to them from the closest ocean. In addition one called Russia launched 340. The island nation called Britain also launched 30. Sir, the launches, they were synchronized. All of them, all 670 of them will arrive within a 5 minute window."
A curious sensation ran through Ra'Kesh. He was horrified to realize that it was his bowels attempting to loosen. It took a great effort, but he suppressed the urge. "Options?" he asked, a was shocked that he sounded like a mewling youth.
Naiak shook her head, tears in her eyes. "There are none."
"Launch the ships! Take us back into orbit!" Ra'Kesh was desperate. There had to be a solution.
"We can't. Flight prep will take 26 minutes." she said, "The first warhead will impact in 7 minutes!"
"What if we abandon the ground forces?" he couldn't hide the fear in his voice and several of the soldiers turned to stare at his last pleading question.
She turned her head away, the shame showing in her posture. "26 minutes sir." The message was clear.
"Why?" the question came from one of the Comms officers. "Saints above, why do they have so many nuclear bombs?"
He was right. Why did they have that many? Were they mad? No sane species would ever produce this many.
"No! No! Nononono!" he was taken aback. It was Private Danik. He was gibbering now. Openly praying to the Hundred Saints in Elsaid.
Ra'Kesh found the strength to move his legs. He walked unsteadily over the Danik's monitor and blanched. Most of the incoming targets had split. They were now thousands on incoming warheads. His mind blanked. Each launch had to have been carrying 8 to 12 warheads. Insane. The humans were insane. No one makes this many. The ones that did had all exterminated themselves. The Empire would have to glass this world. It could never be conquered. But that would not be up to him. He would be dead and standing before the Hundred Saints as they judged his deeds.
"One minute." Naiak said.
Ra'Kesh lifted his head, his eyes unfocused as he looked to the overhead. Somewhere above death was approaching. He could hear the the short range intercept system firing. But his final thoughts lingered on the wet feeling running down his legs. "Saints be merciful." he whispered.
|
The vacuum of space, for only a moment, bloomed a brilliant shade of gold. The light saturated the interior of Mu war ship. The commander of this vessel, Commander, starred at the imploding explosion of the war head they had just neutralized and were now molding into an energy core. She thought to herself of the resources this planet would bestow upon them.
It had been a long time since they had come across another race intelligent enough to create such a weapon of mass destruction. But with a girk, she also thought of how unfortunate such organisms must be to have caught the eye of their queen.Her wispy wings unfurled as she flew up from the vessel's view port to the station of control.
"We are landing." Commander gave with her natural born sense of authority. "Organizer, prepare all drones for a terrestrial conquest. Artillerists, for this planet our queen has birthed drones of weapon capacity 4, they are to be generated to withstand this planet's dihydrogen oxide..."
Her commands went on for each class of drone. Upon completion, she turned to the wingless four armed duo that seemed to be having a heated discussion. Entering their sector, the commanders helm like protrusions just barely scraped the ceiling. These two were smaller than her and as such, their work space as well.
"Good Newser, what is the good news?" She asked. Her pressence halting the two's discussion.
"The ... energy core will be done molding in 2.5 cycles, commander."
"Bad Newser, what is the bad news?"
Both of the Newsers glanced at each other.
"T-the natives have armed a second war head."
The commander's hollow sockets widened. "...WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY HAVE A SECOND WAR HEAD!?" The entire ship went quiet. Every class of worker stopped their actions as the words of their tongue reverberated through their heads.
"t-they h-have 2."
The commander's aura radiated a familiar coldness, one the bad newser knew all too well. Her wispy wings altered their shape slightly into a sharp edge and the bad newser was beheaded in an instant. As the commander grumbled out of their workspace, the bad newser's head regenerated a reasonable function their queen had given to a creature birthed to deliver bad news.
They had a second war head. This news shook the commander to her core. She had to deliver this news to the queen. Taking a pod to the mother ship, she rushed to her queen's chambers. Though the guards allowed her to pass, her movement was instantly restricted upon entry as she was levitated high into the air to meet 12 large glowing eyes.
**"Dear child, why are you not with our front lines preparing to invade? You were birthed a commander, not a guard were you not? Have you come to report a defect in your sequence? To be rebirthed."**
While the commander may have strong pressence anywhere else, in front of the queen she was the equivalent of any other drone. "M-mother, they have ... 2 w-war heads." The commander dropped to the ground, released from the Queen's grasp she gasped for helium. ^(¬‿¬) ^(now you have a good idea of how they sound)
The queen stiffened, her scales turning pale. **"Researcher, is the native we abducted still living?"**
A slender class with a glossy carapace kneeled, "Yes, mother. We have not began the studies."
**"Bring it to me. I will birth a translator to decipher their language and negotiate our terms of surrender."**
No one questioned why, they were dealing with a species capable of creating 2 war heads. While fearless, they were not stupid. They wouldn't be able to stop another for 2.5 cycles after all.
The researcher drone brought in the white and black being. The translator hatched and instantly begin deciphering it's language, a task that took but only a minute. With utter haste they shot a vile containing their surrender onto the planet
#Earth
The President looked at the vial the general had brought to him. He took out the paper within and unfurled it to read its content:
> *Moo moo*
General: "... They're taunting us sir."
#Mu Ship
The commander stood beside her sister, Researcher.
"... Do you think it worked?" She asked her sister, however she grew pale as her question was immediately answered by the sight of the royal badnewser scurrying in.
"My queen, my queen! I can confirm they have atleast 3 war heads total ... because they're headed our way."
The Queen's eyes glew. The badnewser exploded. Not long after, the Mu fleet followed suit.
| 2022-11-10T11:28:54 | 2022-11-10T09:37:08 | 66 | 37 |
[WP] A supervillain kidnaps a civilian and keeps them hostage, taunting on live television for the superhero to come find them. Unbeknownst to the villain, the kidnapped civilian is the superhero.
Did I butcher the title or what?
This is blowing up! All the responses have been diverse and really cool!
|
Ravenclaw had been reminded by Vortex Man, time and again, that this was truly the last resort. Well, Ravenclaw thought, surely this mess counts for it. With a graceful swing through the air, he brought the Staff of Power to heel, spoke the magic words, and summoned Tornado Guy.
Energy crackled through the air as the portal opened. “Aha! You spineless coward,” rang out Tornado Guy’s voice, “I knew you would eventually have to acknowledge my superiority! So pray tell, what is it that you need my help wi… wait a minute, you aren’t Vortex Man?”
“No,” Ravenclaw admitted, “I’m his sidekick. And he needs your help.”
“Sidekick? Well, little surprise there, Vortex Man does need all the assistance he can get!”
“Please, can you please put aside your petty rivalries for a moment?”
The despair projected by Ravenclaw was so potent that Tornado Guy felt the wind taken out of his sails – there was little satisfaction in crowing now if Vortex Man truly was in supermortal danger.
“Go on then, what’s the matter?”
Ravenclaw pointed at the numerous TV panels behind him, all tuned to a dozen different TV channels, all showing the same scene from various angles – Deathspawn, one of the Four Generals of Hell, stood nonchalantly on the tallest tower in town. A suited civilian bound in black-energy tethers knelt before him, head hung low. A giant timer counted down ominously across the screens.
“You brought me here for Deathspawn? But Vortex Man can easily handle this!”
“No, look at the civilian! Look closer!”
Curiosity piqued, Tornado Guy leaned in, forehead furrowed in concentration. Then it hit him.
“You mean that’s him? That’s Vortex Man there, disguised as the civilian?”
“Yes!” whined Ravenclaw. “Deathspawn has given Vortex Man 12 hours to appear before he kills this civilian he picked off the streets! But if Vortex Man doesn’t die, or if he overcomes Deathspawn, then his secret identity will be revealed before all the cameras! There’s nothing he can do!”
“And that’s why you need me to step in here?”
Ravenclaw sighed. “If only it were that easy. Look, I could also have gone in myself, I’m not your average wallpaper sidekick. No, the problem’s more severe than that. Listen to this taped recording of a secret call I made to him.”
At a push of a button at the nearby control panel, the recording between sidekick and hero played ominously over the speakers. As Tornado Guy soaked it in, the colour drained from his face. When the recording ended, silence filled the room.
“You see,” Ravenclaw began, “I asked him over and over again, but each time he insists I do not step in. He says, and I quote, ‘I need more time with Deathspawn. He’s opened my eyes, and I think I finally understand why he does these things.’”
Tornado Guy nodded. He gripped the back of a chair so hard the wood splintered.
“Yes. I can see it too. It’s not just a matter of rushing in to defeat Deathspawn anymore. It seems that your boss is suffering… from Stockholm Syndrome.”
---
[/r/rarelyfunny](https://www.reddit.com/r/rarelyfunny/)
|
**G:** Hey Dave, look! I've found us a super cool new writing prompt to do today! It's all about superheroes and supervillains and supe-
**D:** *Really Greg? Of all the pages and pages of high quality, well written submissions - we're going with this? A three-line title with half the plot of Megamind scrolled over it?*
**G:** Well I just...You know...I thought it'd be fun is all...Superheroes are kinda cool and you always do the voices really well
**D:** *Look. Fine. Whatever. Just please keep the plot on track. I'm sick to death of your "Look at me and my fourth wall" posts, sometimes it'd be nice to have a real story without any of your stupid dram-*
**?**: LET ME GO! PLEASE DONT KILL ME! I'LL GIVE YOU ANYTHIN-
**D:** *WHAT THE HELL?! WHY IS THERE A MAN TIED UP IN MY KITCHEN, SCREAMING FOR HELP?! GREG?!*
**G:** What?
**D:** *THE MAN. IN MY KITCHEN. WHO IS SCREAMING FOR HELP. IN MY KITCHEN. TIED UP. IN MY GODDAMN KITCHEN....WHO IS HE AND WHY! I WANT ANSWERS NOW GREG!*
**G:** Oh him. He's our hostage - the "kidnapped citizen" of our adventure.
**D:** *The what?!*
**G:** Well, I figured if we're going to write a good story - we should really get into character. It's like method acting, but for books!
**D:** *...*
**G:** Oh, don't worry though. It's going to turn out he's a super hero - so he'll totally break free and save himself.
**?**: I'm not a super hero. I'm just an electrician. Please let me go, I won't tell anybody, I just want to live. Please don't hurt me.
**G:** Ha! Get a load of this guy right? "I'm just an electrician", "I totally don't have the ability to lightning-bolt my way out of these ropes", "Don't worry about leaving the wall sockets on, I'm totally not going to leech the power and fry you alive". Grade A joker.
**?:** Look, please. D-Dave was it? You seem like a more normal guy right? Please, I won-
**D:** *I'm a...more...normal guy? So...You don't think I'm normal then?*
**?:** N-no, I didn't say tha-
**D:** *Oh no, don't worry. That's fine. I just thought maybe it'd be a good, normal idea to untie you and let you get back to your family was all....But you know you, as you said - I guess that'd be just too much for me to manage wouldn't it?*
**?:** Oh god
**D:** *Greg, I think it's pancake time. This writing brain needs some writing food. Let's "Hop" off to IHOP, we can deal with this flapjack later*
**G:** Love it Dave. You always know what's best. PANCAKE SAATTUURRDAAAYYYYY
| 2017-01-28T08:39:33 | 2017-01-28T08:01:15 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] Someone murders another person for a motive that sounds extremely petty at first but makes total sense by the end of the excerpt.
The motives cannot have anything to do with drugs (i.e. he was an alcoholic beating his kids so his wife had to put a stop to it), cannot be political, and cannot be committed in an emotional rage. Make it sound as petty and crazy as possible but so that by the end of the excerpt I can totally see why the killer did what he/she did.
|
He couldn't remember my name.
He could never remember my name.
I had no choice but to do it.
When I started with the company, I remember, he shook my hand and looked at me with a semi-confused smile, he eyed me and said, "I'm sure I've met you somewhere before, what was your name?"
I just chuckled and said that I was new there. Introduced myself. Didn't see him again for 3 months, and he didn't remember my name again. He apologized, profusely.
I just chuckled and told him my name again. I knew then, that I would have to. That he had to die. How could he forget my name? How could that fucking bastard not remember?
It was at the Christmas party that I saw him the next time, and he had forgotten again, his breath reeking of brandy. Flushed and breathing heavier than you'd expect, he smiled and told me he had forgotten my name again but that I seemed *so* familiar to him... "is there some reason you might seem so familiar..?"
I almost did it then. I strained, clenched my jaw, forced a grin and told him, "only because you've forgotten my name the last two times we've met." He apologized more, laughed heavily, and leaned against me, drunk. I knew I had to wait.
It was in February, finally, when I saw him walking toward the subway. He detoured into a liquor store on the way home, to use an ATM. He had no idea I was following him, and having left late it was already quite dim outside.
I held the knife against his adam's apple as I grabbed him from behind, in the alley he cut through to get to the subway.
"Do you remember my name now, cocksucker?"
As he struggled to turn around, I grabbed his shirt-collar with my left hand and pushed the knife deeper against his neck with my right, his skin barely beginning to bleed.
He looked at me, eyes orbs of terror and confusion. He shook his head, mouth agape.
"My name was Danny when you were my scoutmaster. I wasn't the only person you hurt you piece of fucking shit, and you can't even remember our names. You thought you got away because you moved away, changed your name. Thought you could get away from what you've done."
I pressed the point of my knife into his neck and felt confident he would not again forget my name.
|
"Why did you kill him?"
"His had nice shoes." I said, cradling the dead man's shoes.
"Shoes, really?" I was sitting in an interrogation room, facing this stranger. This stranger tried to take the shoes away from me, but I fought, tooth and nail. I wondered how many other strangers sat in this room, and how legitimate their stories were. I had just killed a man. This man had no connection to me whatsoever.
"So, you claim that you have no relations to this man, but it said on record that he was your father."
"Yes, that is correct."
My bastard of a father. He's a very successful businessman. He had more money than sense, but I suppose that's how we got so rich. My brother and I, we had a good upbringing. We don't remember much of our mom, except she didn't want to see him at all. Even though he was so rich, we never saw a dime.
"You were brought up rich weren't you? You had everything a kid could ask for. So, why bite the hand that fed you? Was it for the inheritance?"
"That's what it appears to be, huh?"
Appearances, appearances. That's what he said. My brother and I were to maintain appearances, at all costs. We were groomed, and conditioned to make our family seem perfect; to make our father look like the perfect human being. We never owned any toys, never got time for ourselves. Our father was far from perfect.
"Your father was the model citizen. Owning a billion dollar fortune which he had made from scratch, while raising two children. What did you have against him?"
"Everything."
With everything else being superficial, my brother was everything to me. Imagine my surprise when I saw that he disappeared into a black bag a few weeks ago; he was kidnapped. What's twisted was that my father watched. They wouldn't believe me even if I told them, he said. Unfortunately that was true. Days later, his bank account increased by couple hundred thousand dollars. He blew it on a large party which he invited all his friends and business partners. There was a little left over, which he used to update his wardrobe.
"So, tell me again, why you killed him?"
"He had nice shoes." I said, cradling the dead man's shoes.
| 2013-11-18T16:08:33 | 2013-11-18T15:34:00 | 30 | 19 |
[WP] Write the script and dialogue for two separate first date scenarios. One that goes well, and one that goes poorly. HOWEVER, they must both have the same exact dialogue in both stories.
|
"Travelled far this evening?" Steve pulled out Helen's chair and waited until she dropped into it gracefully. She adjusted her blonde hair over her shoulder and grinned at him across the table.
"You know I haven't," she replied. Her gaze dropped to the tablecloth as she shyly returned his smile.
"Would you like champagne?" Steve manfully showed her the bottle, twisting it in the glistening ice bucket.
"What a fantastic choice. Moet really makes an occasion, doesn't it?" Helen leaned forward, enthralled, as Steve popped the cork and poured it, golden and fizzing, into her tall glass.
"To a wonderful first date," Steve said, holding the glass aloft. "I can't tell you how long I've been planning this."
"I won't lift my drink," Helen said. Steve looked at her quizzically and she returned by lifting her hand. Her wrist was in a solid white cast.
"That'll make dinner difficult!" Steve sighed. "Do you want me to cut everything for you? That's the only way I can see it being easier."
"Please don't," Helen said. "I'll do it."
"Well, what do you want me to do?" Steve said.
"Nothing," Helen replied. "Please, sit down. Have some champagne."
"I can't believe we've been neighbours all this time and this is the first time we've done this," Steve said happily.
----------------
"Travelled far this evening?" Steve grinned at the woman tied to the chair on the other side of the table.
"You know I haven't," she replied through gritted teeth. Struggling against her bonds, her date watched her impassively.
"Would you like champagne?" Steve dropped two pills into the tall glass and began pouring liquid over them. They dissolved into nothingness.
"What a fantastic choice. Moet really makes an occasion, doesn't it?" Helen's voice was ragged, her tone sarcastic.
"To a wonderful first date," Steve said, holding the glass aloft. "I can't tell you how long I've been planning this."
"I won't lift my drink," Helen promised.
"That'll make dinner difficult!" Steve sighed. "Do you want me to cut everything for you? That's the only way I can see it being easier." He lifted the carving knife at his side and advanced towards the woman. She shrank back in her seat, shaking her head.
"Please don't," Helen pleased. "I'll do it."
"Well, what do you want me to do?" Steve asked.
"Nothing," Helen replied. "Please, sit down. Have some champagne."
"I can't believe we've been neighbours all this time and this is the first time we've done this," Steve said happily. He pulled Helen's head back by the hair and began to pour the champagne into her open mouth.
|
“Oh, God.”
She was beautiful, but the restaurant I’d chosen was clearly garbage. I never should have trusted just one review on Yelp.
I sat down in the chair at our table, trying to ignore the layers of caked-on rust near the legs. She was staring at her phone, her nose crinkled. Perhaps it was pre-emptive disgust.
“Hi. I’m, uh, I’m John.”
She looked up. I could see Instagram photos reflected in her glasses.
“Nice to meet you,” she said with clear disdain.
“Shall, we, uh…shall we place our orders?”
“Nah, let’s just bask in the ambience.” I can handle some sarcasm, but not when it’s positively dripping from my date’s lips. She glared at me, then returned to her phone.
A few minutes passed. I nervously sipped my water, which tasted astoundingly terrible and make me dread the thought of an actual entrée.
“You know what? Maybe this isn’t the best place,” I offered.
She sighed. “I’m just gonna find a coffee shop.”
She pushed in her chair, which squeaked obnoxiously, and left through the front door.
I stared at the menu. McDonald’s was sounding pretty good. I left a tip on the table, thanking them for putting up with us, and sprinted for the exit.
***
“Oh, God.”
She was beautiful. The restaurant didn’t look all that appealing, to be honest, but I didn’t care. I was hypnotized.
I sat down in the chair across from her. There was a little bit of rust near the legs but I chose to ignore it.
“Hi. I’m, uh, I’m John.”
She looked up from her phone and smiled, clicking the screen off and placing the virtual world in her pocket.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, leaning her cheek on her hand.
“Shall, we, uh…shall we place our orders?”
“Nah, let’s just bask in the ambience.” She laughed as she said it and gestured all around her to the tasteless décor. I laughed as well, scanning the menu.
We both caught glances at each other and seemed to find everything mutually unappealing.
“You know what? Maybe this isn’t the best place,” I said.
She chuckled. “I’m just gonna find a coffee shop.”
She pulled out her phone and opened up Google Maps, showing me the options as she scrolled through them. I was going to apologize for making a terrible choice, but didn’t feel the need to.
We got up from our chairs, left a tip, and headed for the exit, strolling side by side.
We arrived at the coffee shop at 1 PM and didn’t leave until it closed at 6. Thank God for that awful restaurant.
| 2016-07-06T08:37:55 | 2016-07-06T08:37:32 | 130 | 61 |
[WP] After you die, you reach purgatory to be seated in an audience of all human souls. God and Satan announce their retirement and are individually interviewing all humans present to choose their replacement. Most people want to replace God, you want to replace Satan.
|
Finally youve gotten to the front of the line. You were sick of standing next to those goth-emo-whatever wanna be satanists. When the black stone doors open before you and you enter the gloomy red hall, you think this place could really use a make over. It looks far too stereotypical even for the devil himself.
**"Hello Steven."**
You tilt your head politely "Satan."
**"You were a devout atheist your entire life, yet you were a good enough person that you would mostly likely make it into heaven. Why apply for my position instead of enjoying an afterlife you never knew existed?"**
"Because my opinion on God hasnt changed with this discovery. Reading the old testament, God is a petty vindictive jealous douchebag that kills millions of innocent people just because they dont toe his exact line. Hes an abusive father, he may have created us but that doesnt give him the right to demand unflinching obedience from us when we are clearly mature enough to think for ourselves and make our own decisions."
**"So you hate God and his rules. Thats a good start but what makes you think youd be a better satan than any of my millions of other worshipers?"**
"For that exact reason. They are your worshipers. They believe in you and the evil they think you represent. But they completely misunderstand your purpose, you arent evil."
Satan looks surprised. **"Im not??"**
"Not in the way they believe. They think of evil as an act you perform, whether its kicking puppies, raping virgins, or nuking a small country. They would promote hell on earth if they get the job. But again thats not your purpose now is it? The purpose of Satan is simply to oppose God and his will. God wants to control man? Satan needs to promote mans right to free will and self determination. And THAT is what I would bring to the table as the new Satan. I would displace senseless chaos and instead promote everything that makes humanity great on its own terms. Show them they dont need God. And then bask in a job well done when someday theyve forgotten he ever existed. I will launch mankind to the stars in a new golden age that tells God to go fuck himself."
*:::13,000 years later:::*
"Come on youre going to miss it! Mar'kas is releasing his latest entry!"
"Im coming im coming. But you know I dont care about his spiels on Ancient terran literature. Im only communing it with you to humor you?"
"Oh come on its a fantasy segment this time, you love his take on the ancients bizarre fictional tales dont you?... oh sh shh hes starting"
<Hey there everyone! You know who I am and what time it is so lets just jump right into todays entry. Now this book is truly ancient. I had to go deep into the old halls to find it and getting it properly translated? Let me tell you that was some real work, as it seems even in the original passages the wording was... strange and difficult to parse. I do not recommend this book for any but the most avid ancient text enthusiats, and believe the casual reader will be bored mindless within the first few chapters. But beneath the wordiness is an even stranger tale of self-aggrandizement of some one that clearly thought far too much of themselves. A ages long tale of a bizarre war between an abusive father and his many rebellious children just trying to make their way. I present to you, the holy bibble"
**"Hahahahaah!!"** Laughter echoes from the dusty vaulted chamber as Steven looks upon the results of his work, and he sees that it is Good.
|
"Hmmm? Excuse me, ma'am, are you lost?"
Before Satan, there stood a little old lady, dressed in her Sunday church clothes. She gave off a grandmotherly aura as she slowly made her way towards the podium, her walking cane clacking against the floor of the cavern. She peered up at Satan through a pair of glasses as thick as Coke bottles.
"Oh, no, dearie, I'm not lost at all. I'm here to apply, of course."
"I'm sorry, old lady, you must be confused. This is the line for Satan, God's the other way."
"Dearie, these glasses of mine may be thick, but don't you go thinking that I can't recognize a 12-foot tall flaming red demon when I see one! Yes, that's right, I'm here to become Satan."
Satan took another look at her file, searching for some wicked deed he could have missed. Maybe this was one of those cases, a twisted psychopath on the inside, but perfectly capable of hiding it? But there was nothing.
"From what it says here, you've never so much as hurt a fly, though. I should be recommending you for sainthood! Why would someone like you want to be the ruler of Hell!"
"Well, because I think you're doing a terrible job punishing the people down here, that's why!"
"Oh?" Satan leaned over on the podium, visibly amused. "You think that you can devise more wicked and torturous punishments than I? I'd like to see you try."
"Oh, no, dearie, I don't think I could, but that's not what I'm trying to do here at all." The old lady paused for a moment, resting on her cane. "Let me ask you a question. Why are you punishing these people?"
"Why?" Satan roared. "Why, because every soul that ends up here is evil! This is their deserved reward, an eternity of hellfire and torment!"
"And why is that their deserved reward?"
"Because they're evil, of course! They've committed a lifetime of sinful misdeeds!"
"And why does that mean they deserve to be punished?"
Satan paused. "Are... are you asking me why evil deeds deserve to be punished?"
"No, I'm asking why they deserve to be punished with an eternity of hellfire and torment! There isn't anyone on this earth, alive or dead, that deserves such a thing!"
The old lady, who had suddenly raised her voice, lowered it again. "You know, I had a son once. He was such a good little boy, when he was growing up. A beautiful little angel."
"One day, you know, he went out with his friends and had a few drinks. And on his way back, he hit a poor little girl. And they sent him right off to prison. But when he came back, he was... different. Changed. I never had the heart to ask him what had happened in there. I'm sure our mortal punishments don't compare to your vaunted hellfire at all, but they were plenty bad enough."
"After that, he kept going back to prison, getting punished again and again. Each time, he would come back worse. And by the end of it all, he was a bad person, evil and wicked to the core. No trace of my beautiful little angel was left."
"And so that's why I'm down here. Because my little boy, and all the people down, none of them deserve what you're doing to them, not even the very worst one. All you're doing down here with your eternal damnation is breeding eternal wickedness, and I'm here to put a stop to it."
| 2021-03-31T15:57:25 | 2021-03-31T15:56:26 | 23 | 13 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
*I'm skirting the line here, but nobody dies, so I think it counts, right?*
Four stories was not enough. After my wife left me, I tried to end it. I climbed the stairs to the ceiling of my apartment building. I walked to the edge, but couldn't take that last step, so I ran at top speed and jumped.
Climbing, walking, running, jumping.
I'll never do any of those things again. Sometimes I think I'm wiggling my toes, but I'm probably just imagining that.
|
"Damn it all, where is it?" he said, as he scoured the room for the lost item.
He had to find it.
The ring was his only reminder of the better times. Of when he was happy. Of when THEY were happy. Together.
Before she had changed and found somebody else. Before the heartache, the loneliness.
Before the endless depression.
"I just don't love you," she told him, "Not anymore."
He never found the ring.
| 2014-10-19T20:53:05 | 2014-10-19T20:26:59 | 84 | 10 |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
Jessie's job was working for the city, cleaning up roadkill.
I can't help but see irony in his death.
He probably looked like a deer in headlights.
Which is what he was cleaning up.
That SUV didn't even see him.
Flattened him out real good.
It was road kill.
Leaving him, well.
You know.
Roadkill.
|
I had been with her for a number of years.
My heart was racing with fear, anticipation, and hope.
"Honey, I have something important to ask you."
She turned and gave me a smile.
A voice like an angel answered, "Yes?".
I knelt down before her.
"Will you marry me?"
"Oh my God."
Tears fell.
"Yes."
| 2015-01-05T21:54:55 | 2015-01-05T21:45:56 | 122 | 59 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war.
|
The People's fleet was massive. Over 250 ships, the smallest of them the size of the human flagship. As they approached weapons range, the fleet deployed their fins, glittering and illuminated with messages of victory and warnings of dire retribution for any foolish enough to attack. The first meeting with the humans had gone to plan, shredding the fat vessels that they had flung out into the void. 13 of them in all, and only one had escaped.
The People's fleet was in position around the Lagrange point facing the human's home star, ready for them. They appeared with the normal seeming flicker of motion and the flash of blue light that all ships dragged along with them at FTL speeds. The commander of the fleet unwound himself from his pillar and skittered forward to the sensor station. The light glittered off of compound eyes across the bridge.
These were different designs than what he had faced off against a year prior. Long and angular, with boxy grey protrusions and no sense of grace or aesthetics. The commander wondered if the tribute The People would demand would be worth anything at all. He gave the order to begin the attack.
A wave of missiles streaked out and detonated halfway to the target. The space between the fleets filled with aerosols and chaff as the fleet moved up. Targeting lasers had been tweaked to the human's abysmal visual range and were activated into the cloud. A rainbow of light spread out to dazzle and frighten the humans. As with their first fleet the humans' sensors would be blinded. Their comms were already compromised. The wreckage of the last engagement had been fruitful for understanding which em frequencies they used. Relay satellites broadcast the demands for surrender on the 13 languages that they had decoded from the other ships. Honestly, what spacefaring culture didn't even have a unified *language* when they clawed their way out of that first gravity well.
As the fleet accelerated through the cloud the commander ordered the jamming systems to come online to block the primitive artificial intelligence that the first humans had thrown at them. 2 AI rebellions in the history of the People had taught them how to deal with that little trick. A shudder of anticipation went down the commander. Some species ran. Some lashed out with their pitiful weapons. Some surrendered right away. The humans....
They hadn't moved. No comm traffic. No lasers or energy weapons powering up. Come to think of it... the first fleet had barely been armed at all. Maybe these humans were pacifists? He ordered the message to broadcast again and the fleet sat awkwardly in the dissipating gas that they had emerged from.
Finally, a signal.
A EM transmission from the leading ship. "This is Admiral De Veers of the United Earth ship *Shaka Zulu.* You will stand down and prepare to be boarded. This is your one chance."
Ripples of amusement went through the bridge. Pathetic. The commander gave the order to fire on one of the human bricks. A flash of coherent energy crackled across the void. The first ships had cracked open, drive units pushing the ship apart and spilling out the goods that the humans had seen fit to carry with them into the void. The commander leaned in towards the sensor display... and his condescension changed to confusion. One of the officers on the bridge confirmed. The ship had suffered damage, but they had some kind of armor plating. Tungsten? The first ships had nothing of the sort. The researchers had assumed that the human world would be poor in heavy metals because of it.
A bloom of drive trails appeared from the smaller ships on the flanks. Combat systems reported that they were more of the infantile AIs armed with simple explosives or fission devices. The same as the last time. The commander ordered the jamming to intensify. The incoming weapons died and scattered.
The commander ordered another display and the demand to surrender repeated. Seemingly in reply another wave of small drives ignited. Futile. One trick. But... these were a different design. The commander ordered a full scan and the jammers powered on again. Watching the icons on the sensor screen and waiting.
They didn't scatter.
A thrill of fear inched up his glands. The report came in. A primitive drive, no explosives, but again tungsten coated. And a single lifesign on each. Even as the order to fire on the tiny ships went out they kicked on with *brutal* acceleration from chemical rockets strapped to the sides.
The panic that set in around the bridge with the realization that they were on collision courses overshadowed the broadcast from the human flagship.
*Banzai. Banzai. Banzai. God speed.*
|
Montana's always had clear skies, used to love lookin up at night and watchin the stars. Not anymore though, those bastards changed that. I was out chasin down a cow that got loose one night when I saw them.
Those ugly things came right down, like a fireball from heaven. Apparently they were after the same thing I was. They looked like those things that jules Verne guy wrote about except less dumb lookin. They hit about 1/4 mile away and started bookin it towards my cow.
I wasnt about to let them do so, so I got my levergun out of the saddle and took a couple potshots.
They were none too pleased with this chain of events so they scrambled and returned fire with what I can only rightly describe as a teeny star being hurled at my face at approximately running speed. I was awestruck at this and in the time it took me to process what was happening, the thing hit me square in the chest.
I thought for sure I was dead, but it just flashed me somethin fierce. I found out the next day it gave me the worst sunburn of my life.
After that we just stopped in our tracks, them surprised I wasnt on my ass and I was still trying to figure out what just happened.
One of them rushed me and tackled me, felt like a kid was doin it.
When the rest came over to scope out the situation they busted out laughing, pointing at my lever gun. Something buzzed on their necks and one of then said in between laughs
"I cant believe you'd, you'd.. pfff do you even see what were packing?!?"
The thing reached into his pack and pulled out a stick, about the size of my arm with what looked like one of them lightbulbs on the end, the thing was covered from stem to stern in gold leaf, decorative vinework and all sorts of inlays, it must have cost a fortune, the thing seemed very proud of it.
"Can it ya jackass that things your brothers anyway, you're just borrowing it."
"Besides didnt you see what that weapon did to our ship? Tore a hole right through!"
Now I had a choice, I could either prove that my rifle was nothin to sneeze at, or I could flex on these weirdos.
Being the gentleman I am, I elected to flex.
"Hey I got somethin like that, pa spent a good few hundred bucks gettin it done up real nice."
As I pulled pa's peacemaker out of its holster, what little sunlight there was caught every facet of the engraving, the pearl inlays, every minute detail had been prettied up in one way or another. Pa made sure "it was an investment" as he put it. The things couldnt help but stare, I couldnt blame them iv never got used to its luster.
They all took a step back, kinda fearful I guess. What I gather from their weapons, they value looks over firepower. When their leader pointed out what my rifle did, I figure I'd show'm both.
The biggest one, all decked in armor and tattoos, after seeing pa's gun, he figured it would be a good idea to wrassle for it. What he didnt know is I spent a good 15 years wrasslin hogs and a man's no different.
Even though he was about 8 feet tall and 5 foot around, he only weighed about 200 pounds and hit like a girl.
I reared back, clocked him on the chin one good time and he went down like a brick.
The one that pointed out the hole in their ship, he seemed the smartest so I figured he was their leader. He came up to me after the fight.
"I dont know how or why you're able to take on a champion such as him without breaking a sweat, or use seemingly primitive weapons to disable a warship, but earthling, I feel it's in our best interest to offer you a truce and a deal..."
"On behalf of our ruler, I request you accompany us back to our home and let us study not only your weapons, but your sturdy biology as well. Our small arms have long since stagnated, the weapon that shot you would normally scorch any other lifeform, but you seem unaffected on a whole. Perhaps it was wise of us to wait for "dusk" as you call it, your sun must be a death sentence."
"Of course you'll be rewarded handsomely for your service, and we couldnt contain you if we tried, this stands to benefit us both as I see it,
What do you say, will you help us?"
| 2020-03-21T13:52:29 | 2020-03-21T11:39:12 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] A blind-man on his death bed asks you describe color to him.
This should be fun :)
|
"Any regrets?" I asked.
"Yeah. Wish I could have see what you've seen." Issac laughed, his blind eyes staring off into oblivion. "I dearly wish I could have seen color. My world was always so dark and featureless."
"Any color in particular?" I asked.
"Blue. I've always heard people talk about the color blue. They seem to really enjoy that color." Issac had a wistful look on his face as he said it. "Before I die, I would have liked to have seen the color blue."
"Give me a moment," I whispered, getting an idea. I searched through the doctor's supplies on the cart and found what I was looking for. The gel ice pack the nurse had provided to reduce the swelling of Issac's feet. I slit it open. "Hold out your hand, Issac."
Issac did as he was asked. I squeezed the gel out into his hand.
"It's cold." He said, furrowing his brow.
"What else?" I asked. He rubbed his fingers around in the gel.
"It's smooth and silky. What is it?"
"That's the color blue, my friend. It's how we feel when we see it." I explained. He laughed and rubbed his fingers together, relishing the feel. "And this," I said, moving the lamp over his arm. "Is the color yellow."
"That's warm. What is that?" He said, reaching up toward the source of heat. He burned his hands on the bulb. "And that," I laughed, as he hissed in pain, "is the color red."
"You asshole," Issac laughed, sucking on his burnt fingers. I laughed as well, reaching out with a rag to clean the gel off his other hand.
"All other colors are just combinations of those three." I explained.
"Even white?" He asked.
"That one is harder." I confessed, thinking. "I got it." I cried, disappearing into the hall. I came back with two plastic cups. "Here. Hold each of these over your ears. One over each ear."
Issac fumbled around for the cups, taking one in each hand. After a embarrassed chuckle, he did as he was instructed. He listened to the silence for a few short moments. "This is the color white?"
"Yep," I said, after he pulled the cups away. "White is like a featureless blanket blocking out everything else. It's blinding."
"And, what about black," he asked, closing his eyes. The heart monitor's beep got further and further apart. "You're about experience black, my friend. Any moment now." I told him sadly.
"Maybe--maybe I'll be able to see . . . in heaven." Issac whispered, slipping away.
"I hope so, my friend. I hope so."
|
"Yellow," he says.
Turning away from the window, I furrow my brows. "Uncle?" I haven't spoken in so many hours, the word comes cracked out of my dry throat. The tiny, frail little man in the bed raised me after mom and dad died. Raised me, in spite of, you know. Being blind. I don't know, maybe we raised each other. Me, helping him pick out clothes, describing the TV, and my girlfriends. Him, sagely walking me through adolescence, teaching me the piano with that eerie ear for music he always had. He was always so vital, large, in spite of his blindness. It hurt me to see him like this, surrounded by the beeping machines, intubated, wired.
"Yellow, Jackie. I always wanted to know what yellow looked like. Tell me." He tenses, reaches up, his sightless eyes clenched tightly as though in pain, as though this were the most important thing he could possibly know.
"It's like..." He's never done this, not in the twenty years we've had together. As cliche as the question is, I can't help but ask myself, 'How do you describe a color to a blind man'? "Warmth, on your face, from the morning sun." It's the first thing that comes to my mind and sounds lame, to me. But he relaxes into his bed.
"Go on."
"It's like when you smile, and your face widens and relaxes." I come to a rest in the chair next to the bed, reach out and grab his withered hand, skin under my fingers like paper. This hurts so, so much. Without him, I'm an orphan. My eyes blur. "Lemonade, citrus rind, lemongrass tea." I can't-
"It's like..." and I can't think of anything else to say, so, starting softly but gaining volume, I sing:
"When you are wide awake, say it for goodness sake, it's gonna be a great day.
When you are standing there, get up and grab a chair, it's gonna be a great day.
And it won't be long. And it won't be long, oh no. It won't be long, it won't be long.
It won't be long, it won't be long, oh no. It won't be long, it won't be long.
It's gonna be a great day."
The flatline harmonizes, but he rests with a smile on his face. And the last thing I can think of is yellow.
| 2013-12-29T07:25:46 | 2013-12-29T06:55:18 | 37 | 10 |
[WP] You have drunkenly been discussing the Dark Lord with other tavern patrons, insulting him to no end. When someone storms up demanding you stop as he is one of the Dark Lords students. Strange thing is you don’t remember teaching this kid.
|
I was lounging in a chair, just minding my business, insulting the Dark Lord as I tend to do here, and took another swig of my sparkling cider as I strongly despise alcohol.
"And I swear on my name, the guy has warts up the wazoo! He musta touched a lotta frogs to get *that* ugly!" I say as some of the other patrons snickered a little into their tankards.
Suddenly, a young child in the corner stood up, slamming their hands on the table in the process.
"Do not insult his lordship!" They shouted with one hand moving toward their hip, possibly reaching for a wand or dagger. I didn't care enough to look.
"And uh, who are you exactly?" I said snarkily, "I didn't know *his lordship* had any kids, 'specially since the bastard's too ugly to get laid!" I said, laughing at my own joke.
The kid was getting redder with rage by the second. This should be fun.
"I will give you one warning. You will stop these insults now, or I will stop them for you." They said, their voice dripping with malice, or as close to malice as a child of, what, 16(?) could manage.
"I'd like to see you try kiddo." I said, leaning back in my chair and taking another sip of my cider.
Suddenly, my glass shattered and all the other patrons started running around like headless chickens. I raised an eyebrow at the kid who was currently pointing a wand of what looked like ebony (damn expensive things) in my general direction.
I sigh and stand up, wiping the glass off of my clothing.
"Look, kid, that wasn't very nice of you. You're gonna be covering that tab, got it?" I say, resting against the edge of the table.
"Ha! As if a *woman* could possibly do any dama-" the words stopped short in their mouth when I went from across the tavern to right in their face in a split second, holding a sharpened wand (magic and physical damage, plus blood is fantastic for dark magic) to their chin.
"I dare you to finish that sentence." I say, smiling as sweetly as possible.
The kid was getting nervous, their confidence flickering like a bad candle. "The dark lord will finish you!" They said, voice wavering slightly.
"Yea no I doubt that." I say, lowering my knife-wand and yawning as I take a step back.
"And why is that?" They asked, grinning. "The dark lord could take someone like you any day!"
"Uh, mostly because if you know them so well, why haven't I met you before?" I say, tilting my head. 'Let's wrap this up...I want to go home.' I thought to myself.
"Ha! And who are you?" They said, crossing their arms confidently over their chest.
I started to snicker. And then giggle. And then full on laughing, with the doubling over and everything.
I catch my breath and raise to my full height of 5'5 (with heels). "Because, kid, for your knowledge, I am the dark lord."
They stared in disbelief, and then turned red again. They raised the wand above their head and started to try and cast a fire incantation, but I snapped my fingers and the wand splintered midway through the swing.
"Who exactly *is* your dark lord exactly?" I ask as the kid went from red to whiter than a sheet of paper.
"I-It's my...my..." and then stops.
"Your your what? Speak up dammit, I don't have all day." I sigh.
Suddenly, the kid slams a fist on the counter and turns to leave.
"Oi! Where do you think you're going? You still have to pay for that cup ya know!" I yelled after them.
"I'm going to kill him..." the kid muttered over and over again.
"Who are you gonna kill?" I asked, suddenly interested.
The kid turns around one last time before walking out.
"My brother!"
The door was then slammed, glass was everywhere, the patrons were all still losing their minds, and I was standing in the middle of the chaos with a slight smirk on my face and one thought in my mind.
"Damn. Looks like tonight is gonna be fun."
|
The air was heavy with the scent of vomit on the sawdust packed floors. My companions guzzled their ale as the wind blew through the opening windows, causing the candles to flicker in the dimly lit room. This is where I thrived, I thought, as I emptied another tankard and set it on the the edge of the table. The dark, the rank, the uncivilized corners of the Earth, this is what I live for. It had been a long time since I took to dwelling here, but I felt the need for connections with what I had helped create.
The stout man sitting across from me slurred out "'e gotta take it out on us little guys, since 'e lost the Great War." The table nodded with enthusiastic agreement. A younger chap sitting to the man's right, growing bolder with each drink, elaborated "And he's too much of a loser to fight humanity face to face!" I chuckled as I added "Oh, that not likely a face you'd WANT to see! Probably as UGLY as I am!" The table erupted in raucous laughter, though a few people cast sideways glances around the room.
This is what I loved about humans so much. Their will to SURVIVE. Life and death, light and darkness- each of these things interconnected with its other half but these PEOPLE are so damned determined to live that they view them as separate entities, with one half that needs to be defeated. I found it so novel, so unlike the thinking of infinite civilizations I had seen rise and fall before them, that I decided to acquiesce to this idea. My other half became the embodiment of all they considered "good," whilst I separated and came here to live among them, to study them, and tonight- to drink with them.
A woman in the corner made a sign with her hands, a universal gesture in this region believed to keep ME away. Every part of the world had their own names for me and ways of comforting themselves by thinking they could keep me at bay. I grinned at her and called for another drink and the tavern settled down from the commotion the conversation our table was having. This town had been hit hard recently by a plague of beetles that wiped out their staple crop. Many had died and the people wore their grief under the veneer of their pride. I was of course, being blamed for it, though it was LIFE that brought the abundance of insects into existence- not I. I paid for another round for the party and tipped the barkeep handsomely, it was the least I could do.
As the drinks were brought in a cloaked figure entered the bar. The slim silhouette almost seemed to glide towards the table. Slight fingers went up to the edge of the hood and revealed a beautiful woman with auburn hair and fierce green eyes. "I hear you slander My Master" she said as a murderous look flashed over her face. "Who, The Dark One?" The older man chuckled as he drunkenly reached for the woman standing there. She touched his arm as she moved out of his grasp and I gasped as I realized what she had done. With a single touch, infected cells started spreading throughout his body, even as he smiled and made a lewd comment about her graze. Who was she, with this Power, the same as mine? I had never shared gifts with my students and I would certainly never taken on someone with such a cruel disposition. I watched as she touched another of my associates, a smile coming over her face as she doomed him to death within days. Was she the reason my reputation seemed even worse recently?
I snapped out of my initial shock and stood up grabbing her arm before she could lay hands on another. What felt like a wave of electricity jolted through me, the power she held was more than I could have imagined. My mind raced as I was forced back to my seat, sending the rest of the taverns occupants out in a panic. I'd have to do something I hadn't done in millennia-I mentally called on my other half, we would have to be whole to stop her, I thought. I reached out to nothingness as a sudden feeling of emptiness caused me to retch. "We need to talk" she said. "Oh God, no, please..." I uttered as she used a sharply manicured finger to lift my chin up. There was no answer.
| 2022-01-14T16:47:02 | 2022-01-14T15:49:14 | 84 | 56 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that.
|
It all started, really, with a small act.
&#x200B;
But isn't that the way of it? One small act leads to another, leads to another.
&#x200B;
Pool Shark assures me that it was no small act though. But who could ignore a man trying to casually staunch a huge side wound as he hid in the corner booth? He obviously wanted to be left alone, but I couldn't just let him *bleed*, could I? And not just because cleaning up a passed out man twice my size would be difficult or because blood is obviously a health hazard in any store, not just a cafe. I mean, that much blood he could *die*.
&#x200B;
And no matter who he was or what he had done to get that wound, I wasn't going to let a guy die. So I got the first aid kit and put it on his table before getting back behind the counter to clean the espresso machine.
&#x200B;
I wouldn't hear it when he tried to pay me for the supplies.
&#x200B;
It wasn't until later that I learned he was Pool Shark, the local vigilante who had taken the nearby district under his wing. Word had it he expanded his influence to cover my block too. He just gave me a nod the next time he came in. Started showing up weekly.
&#x200B;
That was when others started showing up too. I eventually emptied the supply closet and refitted it to be a mini first aid station. Never charge, but my tip jar is never empty. I shifted my hours, too, to cover the poor souls covering those early morning patrols. I tried going to 6 am, but I'm just no good the next day, even with a full day's sleep. They understand. And a 2 am pick up is better than nothing.
&#x200B;
Small acts. I suppose it was a small thing that started the next stage: the destruction of my cafe. I never got his name, but I found out later that he was some newcomer who wanted to "leave his mark".
&#x200B;
I *do* remember how he was dressed: the navy blue mask over his eyes, the careful styling of his hair to drape over one side of said mask, and *the cape*. Oh, that cape! It went full to the floor and dragged a few inches while the collar made a full ruffle behind the middle of his head.
&#x200B;
I smiled when I wanted to laugh. Didn't this guy know that this was a mask-free zone?
&#x200B;
"What'll it be, sir?"
&#x200B;
"Coffee, black. And an egg sandwich."
&#x200B;
"Coffee I can get you. Unfortunately, I stop making sandwiches after 1:30, so I'm out of--"
&#x200B;
"You will *make* me an *egg sandwich*." His eyes glowed blue for a moment.
&#x200B;
Fortunately, one of my regulars had given me an amulet for protection against mind effects; everybody had agreed that it was best that I be neutralized against their assorted powers as much as possible. It burned cold against my chest now. "Sir, this is a no power area. Now, if you'd like to get changed in the bathroom down the hall, I can get you your coffee in just a minute. That'll be--"
&#x200B;
"I *do not pay* for my coffee!"
"Then you don't *get* coffee!" What was with this guy?
&#x200B;
My memory gets a little fuzzy at this point; I'm told it's a side effect of all the different amulets and tokens that everybody has given me. But I remember him glowing blue and a sense of *impact*. When I came to, Pool Shark and Doxx were pulling me out of the rubble that had been my cafe.
&#x200B;
Small acts, right? Turned out that Pool Shark was a lawyer by day and Doxx, well, he knew computers we'll-leave-it-at-that. They rigged up some extra insurance coverage to get me a new cafe.
&#x200B;
But I thought, this was an opportunity. A chance to do more. Be more.
&#x200B;
I still run the cafe. But now the cafe has a basement with multiple access points. There's a full headquarters down there for my regulars, complete with gear, extra costumes, and a bulletin board for jobs. Folks know they can come to me and get their problems solved. It doesn't even cost them anything but a smile. I'm just the Barista.
&#x200B;
And if a velvet full length cape hangs predominately in the trophy case, well, sometimes you just have to pay to make things right.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
(Not sure if this is as good as the other story, but I liked it. I might have to add it to my super setting now)
|
"Busy crowd tonight" a hooded man says drinking his third cup of coffee, three espressos, with a touch of hazelnut creamer.
I know better than to ask questions to my customers. "Yeah, its not too bad. Business keeps the lights on." I reply, starting up the grinder.
"Ya know," he said between sips "we *could* all pitch in so you never have to work again."
"While true, then you'd be out of a coffee shop."
We both chuckle for a second before he gets up to leave, not before finishing his coffee and leaving a sizeable tip. I know what they do. I know who they are. I know that what they're doing is against the law. But it is not my place to stop them.
Two years ago my daughter was raped, the man unknown and the police could do nothing about it. No traces found within the databases; no fingerprints; nothing. This guy knew what he was doing and I knew he wouldn't stop. I did my best, hired a personal investigator, talked with mobsters for information. No one knew anything. Until one day he was found. Tied to a flagpole on the mayor's yard. Hands cut off as well as his...yeah. Underneath him were hundreds of pictures. Everyone he's hurt.
After that day I vowed to do everything I could to make amends. To find the perrine who caught my daughter's helper. It will not change the past. But hey, at least I can pay it forward.
I opened my coffee shop 3 months ago. Night hours only, in a very remote part of town. My wife, my loving wife, she supported me but cautioned it was a bad spot.
"Hole in the Wall". Both literal and figurative, I thought it was fitting. I knew what I was doing. Opening my doors for the vigilantes, the bounty hunters. The people who I knew did wrong, but also did right to me.
It took 2 days before my first customer came in. I used to be a doctor before funneling all my money into the PI. He was bloody and bruised. I requested to help him, to which he denied. After a few harsh words he reluctantly agreed. On one stipulation, I go near his mask. I die.
I had no choice, either he bleeds out on my new floors or I clean him up. So I stitched him up, helped him to a booth and started brewing some coffee. Pour over with imported Columbian beans. My wife's favourite and a "must have" every time a guest comes over. I thought I'd be worth the expense.
As we chat about the coffee and the state of the town he gets a buzz. I'm not sure what else to call it because it wasn't any new smart device I've seen. And he leaves.
3 months later and the shop has never looked better. Still occasional guys and gals come in bleeding and I spend a few extra hours cleaning the floor. It's not as big of a deal as some might think. Seltzer water and lemon juice work wonders for blood. The oddest part is no one ever sits next to anyone else. Everyone minds their own business and I just brew coffee. Since its only ever one person in at a time I don't need any other employees. It is hard, but knowing I'm helping them help the city is enough for me.
Tonight was different. I took the C train downtown to stop. Walked my route and turned the corner to my "hole in the wall." The window grates were blown open by what looked like a small charge, stools and tables were thrown about. My safe had been opened using a similar small charge and all the money stolen. The machines looked even worse. Battered in by a bat or a sledge hammer. I was helpless. They were gone and I had no footage to track them. (one of the agreements with my customers was no cameras).
I stood there for what seemed to be a few moments, completely taken aback by the scene when one of my regulars shows up, hazelnut coffee. He asks me what happened and I told him I had no idea. As more come they all stand in shock. I do my best to put on a happy face and stay strong but deep inside everything hurts. As I sweep up the remainder of the glass and my pride the customers huddle and a new guy walks up to me. He says they'll take care of it and for me to go home.
I do, I cannot sleep. The fire from the robbery and the fact that they deliberately smashed my machines kept me up all night.
When I returned the next day I was shocked. The steel grates were fixed. After unlocking and entering the entire shop I was met with the entire place looking pristine and fixed. The machines that took me weeks to order were brand new. The stools were new and had the gloss to them. Something my customers quickly removed with their filth. On the counter was my infamous pour over glass with the words "Hole in the Wall" etched into them. Underneath were pictures.
I know better than to ask questions.
edit. R
| 2018-10-20T20:33:32 | 2018-10-20T20:26:10 | 643 | 434 |
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible.
|
General Beck burst into the mess hall and swept his gaze across the startled soldiers. They had been drinking, celebrating the surrender of France, and the apparent end of the war. But they didn't know about the curse. Few but the inner circle did. Germany must fall.
The men quickly stood at attention, as well as they could half drunk. "Germany," Beck began, "Is no more. Or rather, soon to be no more." The looks of confusion deepened.
"The council has debated and spoken. This is now the Empire of Neo-Germania-except-for-Private-Klaus."
The looks aroubd the room made it clear who Private Klaus was.
"Klaus, the council decided every german citizen was to freely and automatically become a citizen of the EONGEFPK. Except, obviously, for you. Young man, I'm sorry, but you are the last German."
"But how can one man be a country?" Klaus asked.
"I didn't write the rules, I only subvert them" replied the general, drawing his pistol. With a sharp bang, all of the remaining German forces were wiped from the Earth, finally ending the war.
|
"Wait so if this is the only the third World War why was it called the Sixteenth World War?"
"Well Timmy, that's because a company called Microsoft, notorious for being terrible at naming things, had won a government contract to name the war, and it stuck. We're lucky they didn't rename World War One World War 360!"
"Well ok grandpa, but if the Germans had conquered all of Europe, how did they lose the War?"
"Well they weren't expecting the American counter attack."
"But why papy? Everyone knows Americans are the biggest and baddest anti-nazis around"
"Indeed we are, and if Germany had known that we certainly would have lost. But our Lord and Savior, Donald John Trump, had in His infinite wisdom foreseen the events of the Sixteenth World War, and had pretended to be a racist Nazi sympathizer for years to gain Germany's trust."
"So you're saying the Nazis lost because this genius and patriotic Trump outsmarted everyone?"
| 2017-08-18T05:03:51 | 2017-08-18T04:28:36 | 1,294 | 102 |
[WP] In the year 2022, we discovered that the sword in the stone was real. The scientists that discovered it found that attempting to pull the sword from the stone with a machine generated an infinite amount of counter force. The first infinite energy engine was born.
|
The politicians gathered around the podium, unable to contain their excitement. The clicking of camera shutters were all but deafening. The pre-announcement had been released a mere two hours prior with only two single bullet points:
* The Sword in the Stone is Real
* We Have Identified a Source of Limitless Energy
This announcement had also attracted skeptics from both the history and physics domain, who sat in the rear with arms folded, staring daggers at the politicians.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have found the sword in the stone and have discovered that it is entirely immovable, providing an up to an infinite amount of force to not be removed. We have already awarded a $3B contract to a private company to build the infrastructure to transport this energy to all of the UK and eventually the world. This marks a new era for man and UK economic prosperity. I will now take any questions.”
For about 20 minutes, questions about the economic and political implications were throw around and deftly navigated by the politicians. Then another 20 minutes for the historians. Then finally, the physicists stepped forth.
“So you have confirmed that it provides up to infinite force, correct?”
The politician smirked.
“We have yet to identify the upper limit with all available testing and look forward to continue exploring this.”
“And it’s 100% immovable, correct?”
“Absolutely, we have nothing to fear regarding the sword being removed over time.”
“And you are of course aware that energy is equal to force multiplied by distance and that infinity times zero is still zero, right?”
The politician’s face fell. A mathematician stepped forward.
“Well, depending on the framework, one could argue-“
“Bill, the adults are talking.” The physicist returned his attention to the politician at the podium. “So what you’re telling me is that you basically have an absolutely indestructible brick in the shape of a sword in the stone. And that you payed $3B of taxpayer money to a private company because you think that something being indestructible and undeformable is the same thing as being able to generate infinite energy.”
“… well, that contract is going to lead to a lot of jobs.”
|
This excited me as well as filled me with crippling dread. If this sword existed then the Arthurian Legends are real. My mind raced as if I found the necronomicon but I have to stay focused. This must be kept secret, if Project Merlin was found out, not even all of the USA could help us. Merlin the impossible wizard. Born on the other side of time and right hand of King Arthur. We have started a war older then time I just hope this new energy source can give us an edge. As long as there is no Chosen of the Sword the legends will stay a myth but it can be a matter of time. I was called cynical and insane about my worries but we just proved myth to be real.
I needed to know everything about King Arthur and Camelot. If we are to prepare for such a great foe I need to know his story and who or what he was fighting. I must know everything.
I've done it, I've drove myself mad. I now sit in a isolation tank within the lab with nothing but this keyboard. I wish no ill fate to any of my friends and colleagues nor any harm but I wish they would just consider my warnings but alas I will stay here until I can collect myself.
"You are right and right to fear old boy." An old voice appears behind me as I whip around in great fear and Paranoia. In my madness I can now hear the abyss.
"No no I'm not a figment of your imagination nor am I with the Abyss. Did that once and was not a fan."
A man dressed as an insane wizard appears through the wall of my cell like it was just a mere door.
"Master Merlin?!" I said with horror and excitement.
"Ah now none of that Master stuff, makes me feel old."
"Oh right manners, HELLO I am Merlin! And everything you fear is, can, and will come true but not for sometime. I wish to see more of this era's technology and how you will apply the Sword but I will be back for you however. You are to undergo training and have to learn to use a Sword."
| 2021-08-12T04:33:48 | 2021-08-12T03:49:42 | 28 | 17 |
[WP] You’re a child psychologist and, to your horror, you discover that your patients all have the same imaginary friend.
|
Laurie Mathers knew that the closed study door was Daniel's way of saying that he wanted to be left alone. But he had been so restless, so unsettled ever since he returned from work this evening, that Laurie figured it would be better to be safe than sorry. People always thought that child psychologists had it easy, but she knew how draining it was for Daniel.
"Honey?" she said, opening the door after knocking twice. "Just wanted to see if you wanted company..."
She froze as the visual clues filled her in. The scattered reports on the table, the half-filled glass of whiskey next to the laptop, the dishevelled husband with a vacant look in his eyes.
The loaded gun on the table.
"Honey? What's this..."
"Sit down," he said, motioning towards the chair opposite him. "We've got to talk."
Laurie took a seat. Anyone else would have hesitated, have backed out slowly while trying to decide whether to call the cops or the divorce attorney first. But she knew Daniel well, trusted him. He couldn't hurt her.
"What's wro-" she started, before Daniel cut her off. This close to him, she could smell the alcohol off his breath.
"I pieced it together, it all makes sense," he said, after a moment's pause. He flipped open the closest folder, pointed at the picture of the child on the first page. "That's Henri Gunther. Nine years old, found to be self-harming after both parents were jailed for drug abuse. Foster parents were at their wits' end."
Laurie thought she knew where this was going, but she wasn't sure yet, so she kept her lips sealed.
"And here's Ronald Tibbins," Daniel continued, pulling open another folder. "He's eleven this year, known to have uncontrollable fits of rage in school. His parents didn't know how to control him, stem the anger, so they brought him in to see me too."
"I remember these," said Laurie. "I think you told me about them before. You helped them both, didn't you? They got better, never needed to come back again?"
"I've got three more of these cases here, all with similar problems, similar resolutions," Daniel said. "And I don't know how I missed it the first time round. Can you take a guess, Laurie? Can you divine what it is that ties all these miraculous recoveries together?"
Laurie gripped the sides of her chair. "Umm, you managed to help them in time? Managed to solve their-"
Daniel's fist arced through the air, thumping so hard on the table that the whiskey tumbled, spilling across the papers. He didn't even seem to notice.
"They all had a friend!" he shouted, the veins popping on his neck. "An imaginary friend! I thought, well, every kid has one, right? But these cases, it was special! I realised that my medicine, my therapy was only half the answer! These kids, their imaginary friends actually intervened, took an active part to help them recover!"
"That's just silly, " Laurie said. "You're exaggerating. Their friends were probably just figments of imagination, helping them deal with certain issues in their lives."
"The pattern is the same, everytime," said Daniel. "The child has problems, then an imaginary friend appears, who just so happens to implement the exact therapy I recommend. These imaginary friends, they differ in ages, in name, but as far as I've discerned, they all seem to look the same to the kids they've appeared to."
"You're stressed," said Laurie. You're taking this too far, Daniel."
"Am I?" Daniel asked, as he reached for the gun, gripped it tightly in his right, then swivelled it slowly, deliberately.
Till the barrel pointed straight at Laurie.
"Why is it I've never met your family?" asked Daniel. "Why did you insist on us moving so far away from the town we grew up in, to live here where barely anyone knows us? And how did you know to reach out to me, all those years ago, when I was thinking of killing myself?"
"Daniel, please, there's no need to do this."
"But I must," said Daniel.
He fired. It wasn't a large caliber, but in the small confines of the study, it was a thunderclap.
The bullet passed through Laurie harmlessly, as she knew it would. She heard it embed itself into the doorframe behind her, burying itself into the wood.
"Jesus," Daniel said.
"Does it matter?" asked Laurie.
Daniel thought for a while, then finally set the gun down.
"I don't know," he said.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
"Thanks doc, you've been a great listener. A real friend to all of us. But, I'm leaving now, and you know I'm the one that got the other kids to talk to you. I don't think they will after I'm gone." Benny said as we left my office. Well, the office I shared with Dr. Davis. Who was barely here at all and wasn't much of child psychologist when he was.
To be honest it was a source of irritation to me that both of our names were on the door. I shook my head ruefully as I shut the office door behind me. Every time I get to work and every time I leave, I think these disparaging thoughts about a colleague, one whose not that bad. Even a counselor can have have issues and as I tell my kids, you can't always change how you feel - but you can change how you act.
"You're right." I laughed. As I walked down the hall a bit with Benny.
"I know Dr. Davis gives my profession a bad reputation. But I think kids will still be stopping by. You're not the only one that needs someone to talk to and Dr. Davis isn't the only person willing to listen you know." I said as I playfully ruffled his hair. Benny was a great kid, but he kind of thought of himself as the leader of the tight knit group of kids he hung out with, and as happy as he was that he was being adopted. He was worried about the ragtag "found" family he was leaving behind.
"No, doc really I..." Benny stopped, obviously affected by the moment. Obviously having trouble saying goodbye.
"Benny, everything's going to be okay. Look down the hall, that couple waiting, that's your family now. We're all happy for you, and we'll all be fine. Okay? You're a big brother to a lot of these kids, but your just a kid yourself, now go be one okay?" I said this lightly, lightly, but, with honest emotion that I was having a little trouble concealing. I genuinely loved this kid. He'd been through a lot and I think one of the proudest accomplishments of my career was helping him open up, helping him heal and seeing him grow.
"Doc, your right. I know. Just, don't take it personally if things change when I'm gone." He said in a voice thick with emotion, then he reached out to shake my hand. I shook it formally, man to little man. Then he surprised me by giving me a quick bear hug before heading towards the reception area where his new family was waiting. I watched him walk toward his new family, a fast trot that broke into a run. Watched him throw his arms around his adopted mom and dad, and saw him smile at me with shining eyes, tossing me little wave, as they bundled him away.
There he goes, a kid who never had a chance, a kid who just might have one now. I felt hope, I felt pride, I felt love and... then it happened again, I felt a sudden wave of dizziness, it had been happening more and move over the last year. I swayed on my feet - putting my hand against the wall for a moment. Geez, I was in terrible shape, so busy taking care of others that I had really let myself go. I couldn't remember the last time I left the building honestly. I felt another wave of dizziness and knew I needed to get back to my office to sit down a bit - otherwise I'd be causing a scene by laying down in the hall. I stumbled back towards the office I shared with Dr. Davis, and fetched up against the door, which was locked. I never locked the door, I didn't even have key to the door. I rattled the door knob, baffled, dizzy, feeling faint and weak. This was impossible, I thought disjointedly, as I starred at the door. Something was different about the door. My name wasn't on it. Their was Dr. Davis' name, but the spot where my name had been, was blank, just the smooth grain of the wood. I reach for the space wonderingly as the sounds in the hall started to fade, and noticed without terror, without fear, that I could see the wood grain through my fingers. Through my hand.
I remembered then Benny's awkward goodbye, the emotion in his voice and the way his eyes had shined with joy and sadness, I remembered the smiles on his adopted parents faces as he ran towards them, as he threw his arms around them, and the smile on his face directed at me, and at the way their eyes had swept right over me as he waved his last goodbye, and as I started to fade away forever - there was a smile on my face as well.
| 2017-10-05T18:23:38 | 2017-10-05T17:07:23 | 2,996 | 127 |
[WP] The lottery is a system secretly put in place so the government can find and capture time travellers and psychics before they cause major problems. As someone who won the jackpot by pure chance, you’re struggling to prove that you are neither of those to the suits that showed up at your door.
|
When Yolanda Vega-Castro read the final number of the Mega Ultra Power Super Intenational Event, which I everyone just calls “The Moopsie”, I couldn’t believe my luck. In nobody have ever gotten all 30 numbers in consecutive order before. And I knew my life would change forever because winning $1b was life changing.
I didn’t dare tell a soul. I wanted to surprise everyone - and ghost a few others.
When I went to collect my winnings, I thought I would be offered the routine treatment the runners up all get. Big paper check, shaking hands with Vega-Castro, photo op with the Mayor. That kind of thing. I wanted to just sign the papers, collect the money and get home and tell my girlfriend.
Right after I presented my winning ticket, the lottery officials did some kind of verification to make sure it was legit. They escorted me into a random office with a desk with snacks, bottles of water and one of those fancy coffee machines.
It was damn good coffee. I passed the time playing candy crush for a bit until I realized something. Money was no object! So I dropped $100 on extras and wilded out on the game like I’d never done before.
But when the door finally opened, I wasn’t greeted by Vega-Castro or any one else I imagined. Instead I get a quartet of rejects from the men in black with a warrant for my arrest.
The first agent sat down across from me and handed me a sheet of paper while he smiled a shit eating grin. It was a warrant.
“I don’t understand. You’re arresting me because I won The Mupsie? Is this a joke”
It wasn’t a joke.
The other three agents were busily filing the room with what looked to be big protective cases. The kind you use to move around sensitive equipment.
“Mr. Williams. We’re at a loss as to how you were able to guess all 30 numbers.” He said, flatly, grin unchanged. “And to guess them in order too. That’s only possible if you cheated. And if you cheated, jail will be the least of your concerns. “
In that moment I froze. All I could hear were the footsteps of the other agents as they walked in and out of the room, and the clattering of equipment as they put it down.
After regaining my composure, I asked as calmly as I could “How could I have cheated? This is only my third time playing and I’ve always played the same numbers.”
“That’s what we’re here to find out”.
In that moment I remembered a familiar refrain “Lawyer up and shut up”. I slammed my hands on the desk and yelled “No! I want a lawyer right now.”
Fuck that. I’m rich now. They can’t do this to me. I know my rights and I wasn’t going to get railroaded into whatever the hell this was.
The other three agents stopped in their tracks at my outburst and just looked at the lead agent in silence. After a moment, the lead agent, got up in frustration and handed me a cell phone with a curt “Fine”, and he and the others began leaving the room.
“We’ll continue this with your lawyer present.”, he added.
End Part 1
|
I couldn’t believe it when I went to check my ticket
Winner , jackpot, 70 million.
My life was set! No more work , no more stressing over bills, nothing! All this from a ticket I just found on the ground the day of the draw!
I made the phone call to the lottery centre , I had to come in for my photo op with the giant cheque , I didn’t want any publicity though , the date was one week from Thursday , I can manage 10 more days of being just middle class I guess.
The following few days I kept noticing the same people , it could not of gone public I won yet… nothing was announced…. But I could swear these people were the same… I spent the time to pick out the house I really wanted , and a few other things for once the money cleared
When the time finally came it was not just a photo op, it was like an interrogation but I don’t remember any of it but it’s like dejavu I swear it happened. But no one believed me , they said I went inside , did my photo and walked out , but I have these memories that feel like weeks, yelling , questioning…. It didn’t make sense to me but I shrugged it off as nightmares maybe since I was fine and everyone says I was only inside for maybe 30 min.
I bought the bigger house I wanted , and moved in quickly , I had mostly just gotten settled when a package arrived addressed to me…. From me? Inside was a usb drive
I plugged it in , it had photos and videos , I opened the video called “First”, the man in the video looked like me but much older
“ hey James , it’s James , yes I really am you but I’m also not you as you are now, you see the whole lottery thing it’s just a front for an organization these days, they call themselves the time keepers, they have been trying to hunt me down because in 50 years time when backwards time travel is created they were sent back to stop paradox’s from forming”
“ but you see , I found a loophole , you are not a time traveller yet so they can’t do anything to you , and me , well , I don’t exist anymore after this moment, unless you also have something to protect you from self annihilating in a paradox then the universe will try to correct your existence, these agents will have it but I destroyed mine on purpose, I lived my life being poor and alone but by doing this then maybe you can live a better one , now you will be safe but oh boy they will try to get that info out of you in any way they can , for now check the videos attached as they will be recorded from the lottery centre , im not sure what will be on them as by the time I give you this ticket , I will have changed reality and vanished , I wish you the best , well me the best , anyways , after you watch the videos you must destroy them thoroughly, the information in your head im showing you won’t make the paradox but if anyone sees these it can create a new paradox so use that against them”
Part 2 below
| 2022-10-09T17:34:05 | 2022-10-09T15:20:04 | 40 | 21 |
[WP] In order to create a more intelligent society the government executes students if they fail a course in school
|
At first it seemed like a great idea. The wording of the law made it sound like it would create a perfect utopia. When Law 388 passed, it was revolutionary. Anyone with an IQ less then 40 would be shot on site. Testing would begin at 10 and you would be retested every 5 years until death. In a few years, population was down, social issues had dropped, average IQ spiked, much more was done scientifically, and we were a better society. Until subsection 28 passed.
Law 388.28 passed on November 17th, 2154. I will never forget that day. I will never forgive those who voted for that cruel law. I will never allow anyone else to be killed for failing a class. It started off seamlessly, just like the other subsections of Law 388. Funny thing about the way we view things is, we only view them from *our* perspective. We never look from the *victim's.* Well I got to do that.
My wife and I had our first kid on April 7th, 2145. She passed her first IQ test with flying colors. She was recognized on national television, she was praised for being among the smartest 25 in her age group, but above all else, she was the sweetest angel you would ever meet.
When she was 12, on her way home from school, her car crashed. Some other robotic car crashed into hers after its wiring shorted while breaking. My poor girl would never fully recover. My poor girl. My sweet, poor girl was mentally impaired. She went back to school. The rigorous course work strained my poor girl's brain. The report card came. The letter regarding her execution came the next day. We were to report to court in five days, or we would all be killed.
Five days later, her beautiful, short life was extinguished. My poor girl.
|
John, you have to admit there's a problem. We have 7 students in our entering class.
And those 7 are the absolute best.
The university's going to shut down. We have to relax our grading scale. Get a bit more lenient.
That is not what the University of Chicago stands for.
MIT doesn't even give anything lower than a B anymore. None of the Ivy's have failed to graduate a student in the past decade. Half of ours die! And that's before they get to O-Chem, the other half die after!
We are the last remaining university with any amount of integrity, and I will not see that thrown away because of some bad press.
Bad press? You think that's what this is about? Kids are dying. Dying John, they're actually dying. You know that unofficial motto we used to have back in the old days, where fun comes to die? It wasn't meant to be taken literally.
Get out of my office. These halls are sacred. Don't taint them with such nonsense.
I went over your head. I'm sorry, but the university and lives are at stake. Your teacher in the Vinyasa Yoga class will be failing you, courtesy of a generous donation from the board.
What? I'm the Dean of the University of Chicago, I don't fail classes. I won a fucking MaCarthur. I'm not even a student.
Technically anyone taking a university class is a student for the purposes of the law. Maybe it isn't fair, but neither's sending innocents to their deaths.
You son of a bitch. I'll get you back for this.
No. You won't. Grades get released next week. Goodbye, John.
| 2014-03-25T19:45:07 | 2014-03-25T19:32:15 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] You are playing video games one day when an in-game item suddenly grants you all the abilities of the character you play in the game. With these abilities in real life, you decide to take care of business.
|
Soon. SOON! Oh yes, world, soon you will all know me, and all fear me!
You laughed at me while I played games all day. Well, while I played games all *night* but still, there was laughing. You mocked me when all I wanted to talk about was video games, when all I wrote about was video games, when all I thought about was video games.
WELL WHO'S LAUGHING NOW?
Okay, I get that it's still you, but you have to realize the situation. As soon as I'm free, I'll be able to pretty much destroy everything. I've powergamed my way up to level 99 just while waiting in the yard here. I can throw fireballs, lightning balls, ice...balls, listen the game didn't have a lot of creativity when it came to the spells, okay?
It doesn't matter. I have 99,999 hit points. Just for reference? A tank has 400. Oh, and while I don't have infinite lives I do have 99 of them, and in the time it takes you to kill just one of those lives I can gain several more.
Yes, even though you might still say I "have no life", I assure you these are literal lives.
So tremble! Tremble before your new master! It would be good of you to do my bidding now, get in my good graces while you still can! For soon, SOON I will escape this prison! Soon all the world will tremble before me, once I vanquish this last obstacle.
Yes, it won't be long now before I figure out how to get past this damned *waist-high fence*!
|
Of course. It was the game.
Suddenly everything made sense. Why I can't sleep, not unless I write those strange letterings, the codes, on my diary. Always the same: 19012205. Why I keep going forward and never going back. Why, after so many years, my reflection never changed.
I bolted. My feet never made a sound, never making me cry out despite being barefoot. I saw no one. I ran, free with the knowledge, and found myself transported to where I last saw my first laptop.
My old laptop, something I've left in my childhood room. Approximately in a different country from where I once was.
Right. I can teleport. I felt giddy, an urge to play coursing through me. I turned my attention to the sole object on the old table. Impossible, I might have said, if I haven't seen my sister torn to shreds by a demon only I can see.
On the laptop was the words, "You have discovered the truth of your reality. Continue?".
I pressed "yes".
I clicked a poorly pixelated picture of a revolver.
I held the gun to my head.
Click.
The bullet penetrated my brain quicker than anything- quicker than my own thoughts.
I woke up, a notebook open at my side. 12150104. The gun was nowhere. There was no blood splatter on the walls. There was no wound on my head.
Instincts proven right. I'm not dead. I'm not entirely sure I'm immortal. But there was one thing I knew for sure: I'm still in the game. And I'm coming for the son of a bitch demon who killed my sister.
| 2018-03-26T07:50:50 | 2018-03-26T04:42:16 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] Thousands of years in the future, a lazy anthropology student put off his "Mating Rituals of Ancient Civilizations" project until the last minute
|
Based on contemporary magnetic films made of Mating Rituals, Ritual often initiates with the male presenting himself at the door of the female's dwelling, and presenting an offering of flat-bread based foods or metal phallic totems (A "Screew-driveer", figure 1). The female, often wearing loose attire (A "Toweel", figure 2) possibly after undergoing a cleansing ritual, will meet the male and initiate negotiation. After disclosing that she has no currency to exchange for the offerings, she will remove her attire as a repetitive, metallic ritual music begins to play.
Then the male and female will initiate coitus (see figure 3 for anatomical reconstruction and Table 1 for the theories on the role the enigmatic organ "cllytoris" plays during ritual), often on a floor covering of animal skin as the female ululates a sacred fertility chant (see Dr. Urectum's philological study on Terran Fertility Invocations, 3485). Manner and orifice used for coitus will be changed once every 5 minutes, the reasons for such acrobatics is unclear (it has been theorized that these are stylized dances used to invoke the male fertility deities Viaagraa and Ciaalis), until both participants vocalize the termination.
Finally, a burnt offering in the shape of a white cylindrical incense sticks will be made to the deity Nosmo King (possibly a local warlord deified by later generations) in thanksgiving for the completion of the ritual. The original food offering appears to remain unconsumed throughout the entire ritual, see Appendix A for hypotheses on the usage of food offering.
|
Axstone wakes with a krokodil and red bull hang over that could power a tesla hover board. Upon looking at his calendar he sees Friday Saturday and Sunday all with big a X dismissing the day. Underneath the stickers for the 1100 annual Greek games. For a split second his headache subsides and realizes he will forever be a legend on campus for his victory over the weekend. The split second subsides and the mind splitting pain doubles as he realizes he has 45 minutes to finish his paper.
Pulling his iHallogram from under his bed he opens the paper
- Don't get drunk write me-
One line of a 5 page paper. He knows he should have followed his own advice. In a panic he does what he does best. Heads to the Google.
Stumbling into the google the goobrarian gives him a loud shush. He realizes she is his only chance.
"I need sex" he says quickly. She returns a blank stare. It wasn't the first or last time a freshman would ask.
"No! No.. I need help with a paper of turn of the century human matting"
She smiles puts her head down and begins typing. A minute later she has uploaded an archaic websites that has recently been translated to his iHallogram.
Www.oldweb.gov.reddit.com/r/nosecum
Falbert Axstone Peinstein goes on to get an A on the paper. Leading to a wildly successful career as a primitive matting specialist.
| 2014-09-12T10:13:23 | 2014-09-12T10:05:16 | 337 | 18 |
[FF] What's on the tape?
(Inspired by seeing the trailer for the movie V/H/S)
Your character(s) find a VHS tape. What is on it? Where did they find it?
WORD COUNT MAX: 200 WORDS. (As always - http://www.wordcounttool.com if you need a counter.)
|
Veronica stretched out lazily on her grandmother’s couch. Upstairs, the rest of the family were happily chatting away. Veronica sighed. She hated the insincerity of family events. Her parents called her discontent a ‘teenage phase’, but she hated how her family could only express their feelings in food. Her parents had been pushing sweet, rich food on her for months.
Tired of staring at the ceiling, she wandered over to Grandma’s cabinet filled with VCRs.
“Just like them to have a basement full of crap.” Veronica muttered. “Would it kill them to buy a DVD player?”
Each tape was meticulously labeled with a name. It took Veronica a second to recognize many of the names – each tape was for a deceased family member. At the top of the pile, there was a tape marked ‘Veronica’. Maybe it was an old aunt?
Curious, she popped it into the VCR player. Images popped up immediately, nto of some deceased family member, but of Veronica. She stared at the screen uncomprehendingly. Baby Veronica toddling across the yard, graduating from school, going to prom… Then a screen: “In honor of our sacrifice on August 8th, 2012.”
From upstairs, a call: “Veronica, dinner!”
|
Roslyn stepped down the ladder facing forward and the box caught on the attic floor. She caught it with her left hand. Lugging the box to the TV, she flipped off the lid and grabbed the un-labled white VHS tape. She clicked the old Zenith TV on and slid in the mystery tape.
“Hello, ladies. My name is Robert. First, a bit about myself. I’m single. I play the French horn. I’m a great musician. I work as a salesman at Rico Outfitters on 3rd and 4th.”
Roslyn smiled.
“I love camping. I like to cook. I like basketball. I’m a great chef. My special is chicken parmesan with apple coleslaw… I’m a great lover.”
Her snickering broke into a laugh.
“I can swim?”
She lost it. She slipped off her chair and onto her knee and started hitting the floor, choking on her now laughter, so hard now it had just broken into gasps. Why did he even keep this?
“I’m looking for a woman with a good sense of humor. Intelligent. Someone who’s just looking for a big pair of arms.”
Her gasping eventually faded into an exasperated sigh and wiped a tear from her eye. “Oh dad.”
| 2012-08-08T09:08:56 | 2012-08-08T08:57:01 | 63 | 27 |
[WP] Your adopted teenager doesn't seem to age, it's getting suspicious after a decade.
|
"Hey kitten, can I talk to you?" Sabrina looked up at me from where she was lounging on the couch. "Sweetie," I said, sitting next to her. "It's been ten years since I adopted you. Do you remember?" She opened her mouth, but I continued before she could make a sound. "You were sixteen. I thought it was so sad, how getting older makes you less desireable. They said, out of earshot of you of course, that there were girls much younger, that you didn't have much time left there anyway, but I wanted you. And you've been absolutely perfect."
"There's just one problem, baby. I don't think you've aged a day since I signed those papers. I promised to take care of you, to always be there for you, and of course that will never change. But I worry about some things. Of course you're welcome to stay with me, but what happens when I'm gone? If you're still sixteen, and I'm being lowered into the ground? Will you be okay without me? Will you just find another family?" I paused to pet her impossibly silky black hair and sighed wistfully. She didn't even need to speak. Her face said it all. It always had been that way, with Sabrina's features telling me all I needed to know, even if she never said a word.
"I'm worrying too much, aren't I? You may *physically* still be sixteen, but you're mentally twenty-six, or even older. And you've always been so clever. I just...I love you so much, Sabrina." I pulled her in tight.
She let me know with a startled meow that I was squeezing.
|
The morning started like every other. It was just me and Daisy sitting next to each other at the table. I didn't even have to wake her up anymore; she was always sitting there waiting for me to make her breakfast.
It used to be a struggle getting her out of bed before her mother died. Well, not a struggle for me. Julie would be the one to do it, but I could still feel Daisy's annoyance. Nobody wants to leave the peacefulness of the dream world. It's like being pulled out of heaven. Now she's always up and waiting no matter how early I wake up. It's a little creepy sometimes, but people deal with loss in different ways. I figured Daisy felt it was the best way to honor her mom.
"How are the eggs?" I asked her, taking a sip of my lukewarm coffee.
Daisy looked down at her plate and then back up at me with her usual adorable smile. As always, she didn't even vocalize an answer, but her expression was more than enough. I couldn't even remember the last time she spoke. Part of me didn't want to remember anyway. It was too painful.
After another sip of my cold coffee, Daisy looked up at me again and motioned toward the door.
"Sure, honey," I said. "Go play." I went back to my coffee and didn't even hear her leave the room. *It will get better*, I told myself.
After scraping our plates and dropping them in the sink, I walked upstairs and rested against the open door to Daisy's room. Her bed was already made.
| 2015-12-13T11:12:50 | 2015-12-13T10:23:08 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] You're a killer dumping your latest victim into the river. Just as you're about to be done, you spot another person. Doing exactly the same thing. And they've just spotted you, too.
|
There are some situations where despite sharing an experience, you just don't talk to people. When a man walks up to a urinal next to another man because that's the only open one, both men are aware of what the other is doing, but neither one mentions it. When a man is holding a bag of diapers in the only open cashier line at 2am behind another man waiting to buy a plunger, both men are aware of what the other is doing, but neither one mentions it.
When drivers are sitting in traffic, windows rolled down, all parallel to each other, they all know that every other driver is having the same experience, is feeling the same things they are, was brought there by the same circumstances and will leave by the same too. None of that matters, though, because none of them are going to break the silence of idling engines and radios and try to talk to any other.
There's a lot of things like that. We all know when not to talk to each other; it's part of being a well adjusted adult. So, after dragging a body out of my trunk and down the hill to the river, upon spotting someone else about twelve feet downriver tossing in a sleeping bag, I didn't say anything. Neither did they. We made eye contact, each gave a little nod, and they walked back up to their van while I took care of business. By the time I got back to my car, they had already left without ever saying a word.
Just the way civilized people are supposed to behave.
|
I waved with my left hand. He waved back.
*Goddamnit, I thought to myself.* There was a bridge a mile up the river. I chucked the body into the river, a small sploosh behind me as the shadow across the river did the same. Tucking my gloves into my back pocket, I fingered the small switchblade into my front left pocket.
Approaching the bridge, I noticed that the other man held a bat. My stomach dropped, but settled as we met underneath one of the bridge's lights. Then I saw his face.
"Jesus on a pushbike! George! I haven't seen you since last summer's BBQ!"
I smiled. "Christ Frank you gave me a scare there." What are you doing this late at night?"
He grumbled, "Oh you know, just taking out the trash. Wife's orders." Putting the bat onto his shoulder. "How about you?"
"Same as always. Swing and a miss. Had a date earlier tonight."
We both chuckled. "So what do we say to the fuzz?"
I fingered my switchblade. He gripped his bat. "We went bowling and got drunk."
He eased up. I slid the blade down into the pocket. As we headed back into town, Frank uttered quietly, "We've got to stop meeting each other like this. People will talk."
| 2017-10-12T20:59:09 | 2017-10-12T20:12:28 | 34 | 17 |
[WP]"I told you it's an artifact of incredible might and power and THAT'S where you decide to hide it?!"
|
Arko shook the small white and red Igloo cooler, and Edris winced as she heard the contents jumble about inside. A small dust devil kicked up outside of the abandoned building, sand and small pebbles rasping against the glass windows.
"Stop! Stop it!" Edris held up her hands. "I told you it's an artifact of incredible might and power, and *that's* where you decide to hide it?"
Arko shrugged. "My backpack was full."
"Your backpack was-" she pinched the bridge of her nose and sucked in a deep breath before slowly letting it hiss through her teeth. "It isn't something you keep in your backpack, Arko. It's definitely not something you keep in an damned *cooler*!"
Arko blinked slowly for several moments, but made no move to rectify the situation.
"Give me that." Edris hastily snatched the cooler out of her partner's hand and swiveled the top open. "Thank all the gods - it looks no worse for wear. Absolutely no thanks to you."
Arko leaned forward and glanced inside. "Yeah, it looks good. What does it do, anyway?"
"What does it do? *What does it do*?!" Edris pulled the thin object out reverently and held it in the air. "With this, we can unite the people. We can give them hope. We can help them rise up and realize they've nothing to lose but their chains. We can finally be free!"
Arko squinted and moved his lips, trying to sound out the strange glyphs scrawled across the ancient paper envelope. Edris watched and sighed. She turned it around so that the text on the large, flat, square artifact was right-side up. Afraid of causing any unforeseen destruction to the delicate paper with the grime on her hands, she held it aloft with nothing but her fingertips. She in turn squinted and began to interpret the words with some confidence, her studies on the subject of old written word being a point of pride.
"Linkin Park - One Step Closer."
|
I yelled “LOOK THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH PUTTING IT IN MY LOCKER, DO YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF I KEEP IT AT HOME.”
He yelled back “YOUR RICH CANT YOU JUST LIKE PUT IT IN A VAULT OR SOMETHING?”
“ALL OF OUR VAULTS ARE FULL OF STUFF THAT BELONG TO MY FAMILY , IF THEY SEE IT THEY’LL ASK QUESTIONS, I CANT KEEP IT AT HOME OR ONE OF THE MAIDS MIGHT FIND IT AND ASK QUESTIONS, I CANT STORE IT IN ONE OF OUR FACILITIES OR SOMEONE MIGHT ASK QUESTIONS, TO MANY PEOPLE WILL ASK QUESTIONS.”
Your probably confused let me explain, about a week ago I was told by some magical force that I was “worthy.” I come from a wealthy background, but I never took advantage of it, most of my money went to charities, and I study hard, and do a lot of community service thing like that. I won’t deny I’m a pretty good person, but I didn’t think I was good enough for magic. Whatever magical deity that saw me as “worthy” gifted me a a draw string back full of magical gems that will give me different powers, as well as an assistant to help me along the way, a pixie named Argus. He’s very helpful, smart, can turn into a human form, and APPARENTLY has some very strong opinions on my storage choices.
“Don’t worry everyone knows that I’m rich, no one has the guts to steal from me, there all afraid I might sue them.” He gives me an look that’s a mix of tired and disappointed, he sighs, “look you can keep them in there for now but can like carry them on you or something, if you lose those and they get in the wrong hand, not only will your world be in serious danger, I will be in SO MUCH TROUBLE”. “All right fine” I grab the bag and put in my sweater pocket, I’ll hold on the them for now.
| 2021-06-28T08:38:18 | 2021-06-28T07:20:27 | 31 | 11 |
[WP] Spaghetti is now illegal.
[deleted]
|
As the law passed, they never thought of specifying what type of spaghetti is illegal.
If it was about the food, fixing this was easy. They just removed spaghetti from all the stores and stopped the production.
For me, however, my job became the most dangerous -- yet important -- job in the world. At least, that is how I saw it.
The first week: countless of SWATs *everywhere*. A lot of my co-workers were taken away the very next day. Owners were rather happy because project prices skyrocketed, at least for those who survived. The business itself became extremely dangerous. But even so, it was necessary and needed.
I suddenly became the most needed employee. The moment I mentioned leaving, my salary rose and rose. At one point, I was earning the most money in the world. Of course, legally.
The police were keeping an eye on me.
I wouldn't have taken the job if I weren't sure of my rights. After all, fixing something that I did not create was a lot safer approach than the creation.
In the end, I am the spaghetti code fixer. I refactor the spaghetti code before it is being released. I save programmer lives from the life sentences. I'm needed at the court as the expert to prove that the code is not spaghetti.
I am the *code reviewer*!
----
That was silly story :D. Thanks!
/r/ElvenWrites
|
Karen gasped. ''Is this for real?''
''I'm afraid so.''
''But...why?''
''Enough wealthy donors supported it.''
''On what grounds?''
Lindy sighed. ''Religious grounds.''
''You don't mean-''
''I do.''
''The Flying Spaghetti Monster?!''
''The church has rapidly gained followers over the past years. I guess the establishment felt sufficiently threatened to take action.''
''But that goes against the First Amendment!''
''I know. That's why they banned the food, instead of banning the church directly.''
''Those bastards!''
''I know, right? Sarena's Italian. She's been throwing a fit ever since the news broke.''
''My goodness. I can't believe this is the world we live in these days.''
''Me neither. God, I could use a break.''
Karen looked at her watch. ''It's about time for lunch. Why don't we go grab a bite to eat?'' Her eyes showed a mischievous sparkle.
''How about Italian?''
Edit: only now do I see the text beneath the prompt. Oh well, I guess I'll just play on easy mode today!
-----------------------------------------------------
/r/StoriesOfSerenity
| 2018-03-19T15:17:56 | 2018-03-19T14:57:45 | 37 | 20 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
The mirror hadn't been cleaned. She sighed and began scrubbing. When she had finished, she made her way towards the kitchen and heard snippets of conversation.
"Your grandmammy... Her Alzheimer's is getting worse. She's not the nice old lady you used to know..."
She wondered who they were talking about for a moment before making her way to the bathroom.
The mirror hadn't been cleaned. She sighed and began scrubbing...
|
When I stepped out of the bathroom and made my way back to my table, I found it barren. Where there was once a ribeye, there was nothing. My precious ribeye and side of ribs was gone, and when the waiter returned, he raised a brow. "I had assumed you left."
I merely wept, my mind wash with the steak that could have been.
| 2014-10-19T18:33:46 | 2014-10-19T17:54:43 | 254 | 179 |
[WP] At the age of 18, everyone picks an unlikely life event. They will be reborn at 18 every time they die until that event happens. After that, death is permanent.
Example - Winning a lottery jackpot. Statistically, they would die in 22 plane crashes in a row before winning the Mega Millions jackpot.
|
See, most people try to live forever, but that ends one of two ways: they don't or they wish they didn't. Rob Herman was a famous example of the first, Rob chose his Event to be “Winning the lottery and getting struck by lightning.” It was a great choice, the chance of getting struck on any given day was 1 in 245,000,000 and the chance of winning big lotteries is about the same. This way Rob could continue his passions of being outdoors and playing the lottery, just not both at the same time! But Robby got sloppy, and one day mixed the two at a state fair. With about 20 billion people on the earth miracles are bound to happen every once and a while.
The most infamous example of the second was Nick Walsh. Nick chose “Due to a quantum mechanical flux, a cat appears from nowhere.” Such wishes are rather common among those seeking true immortality. After Nick's fiancée left him, he lost his job, he was eternally imprisoned for a crime (eventually proved innocent, but not until it was too late,) and his mother died due to a freak game of poker. He then performed brain surgery on himself using a nail stuck through a plank. He's brain-dead in a hospital now with explicit instructions NOT to pull the plug, with the threat that he'll it again in the next life.
So when it came my Time I took a different approach. I didn't want immortality, I wanted the most out of life. I wanted an event that I could enjoy, that wouldn't bind or hinder me.
“The day that the good will never again outweigh the bad.”
In the past thousand years I've had good times and bad times, I've had great times and terrible times, I've been in more love and more pain than I could imagine. And through it all my Event has been there for me, an eternal promise, that I still have a good life ahead.
|
The blade hurt every time. Some people went by pills, some by accident, some were forced, and some just waited until they woke up young again. I've taken the blade 6 times now. Each time I sit on my bed knowing it will hurt, but knowing the other side will be so much better. 97 years ago I made the worst decision of my life. I chose falling in love to be my kryptonite. I thought I was playing the system, tricking it with some lawyer crap thinking that love didn't exist. Jess had just phoned when the technician asked me. I was sitting in that blasted white chair clenching the cell phone. Teeth tight together I pushed out one word. "Love" I'd said. The technician asked me if I understood what I was saying. I did. I had thought I loved her. In those two minutes between walking down the hall and sitting in the chair and being asked I decided I didn't love her anymore, but that I had once. But I knew one day She would be out there and I didn't want to die until I met Her. So I said "Love, I don't want to die until I've truly loved." The technician's thumb pushed down on that red button, as an incomprehensible whisper escaped his lips.
I use the blade after every serious relationship. It reminds me of why I made my choice, gives me a fresh start so that when I find Her we get our whole lives to spend together. This time, after I woke up at 18, I remembered that little whisper of the technician. I don't know why it came back this time.
"The gift of Immortality."
--Its a little typoed and grammatically wrong. I have to run before I can edit
Edit: Fixed up some of the glaring errors.
| 2014-11-11T21:52:28 | 2014-11-11T16:38:23 | 912 | 316 |
[WP] You are a children's television show superhero by day, but a real superhero by night. Your mannerisms do not change.
|
"Come on! Get the money in the truck! We've only got a few minutes until the poli-"
The overhead skylight exploded, sending glass raining into the bank lobby. "Fuck it's the SWAT! Get your wea-" The words froze in his throat when he noticed what had just landed atop the statue in the center of the lobby.
"Stealing is bad folks. Why don't we all just gather around for a group hug?" Boomed a heroic voice.
A man in neon green spandex, a white scarf, and what looked like a bike helmet, addressed then from his perch.
"What. The. Fuck."
"*That's* a quarter for the swear jar! Maybe *this* will give you a shock?" He exclaimed triumphantly, as he threw something from his utility belt. The swearing bank robber fell to the floor, yelling out several more swears, as a lightning bolt shaped object was embedded in his shoulder.
"He's got weapons! Get down!"
"Did he just imply an electric gadget, but then just stab that guy?"
"Just get the fuck down Steve!"
"Evil doers can not hide from the sting of *Justice!*" The man leaped down on top of a second bank robber, a gloved had smashing his head into the tile floor. "Looks like this one should've abandoned ship!" He said smugly.
"Your phrases don't even fit the context!" Yelled the final bank robber, raising his gun. "You're not getting me. I'm not going to jail."
"If you can't do the time, then don't do the crime!" Exclaimed the man, somersaulting into the air. The gun fired several times each bullet missing. Heavy boots made contact with the robbers jaw, sending him crashing to the floor.
In the moments before unconsciousness, he said "At least... that one... made fucking sen- AUGH" He was cut off as a lightning bolt pinned his arm to the floor.
"*Swear jaaaaar*" Said the man, in a sing song tone.
Police flooded into the lobby, "You! Don't move."
"Ah, the authorities! Never fear! I have appreh-"
"Get on the ground! Heads behind your head!"
The man leaped into the air, bouncing among the statue, columns, and banners, reaching the open skylight.
A rookie cop lowered his gun, "Who are you?"
The man popped his head back into the skylight, "I am.... Greeeeennnnn" The voice trailed off as he ran off into the night.
Silence hung awkwardly in the bank lobby.
"D-did he say his name was the green? As in the color?"
|
I look at my gloved hands. Red gloves, latex, perfect for the cameras. Real heroes don't wear gloves.
A flickering.
A spotlight.
A body on the ground.
"ACTION!"
I quickly analyse the scene of the crime. I see fingerprints on the man's belt that coincide with my memorized fingerprints database for a Warner Tucker - he is wanted in 30 states for promoting hate crimes.
I lean forward and feel the nudge of the harness lowering me down from the rafters, unnecessarily. I strike a heroic pose. I would have lowered down slowly even without the harness.
The director knows somethings up. He starts writing a text on his phone. Who would he text? What is his contingency plan?
"Not another" I say. I gesture inward to see a clue. A footprint left in the mud. I know it is a Red Wing 980 D size 8 shoe, which I know has only sold 14 pairs in the greater New York. The print looks like only 10 or 15 pounds of weight was put on the shoe - not a real footstep. No extra pressure in the heel or toe. One pair of those shoes was sold as a prop for this set. "A clue to the murder" I said to the camera. The director looked nervous. Would he notice?
I walk to the next scene. A white lab. I put on white gloves. Real heroes don't wear gloves. Beakers and colorful liquids everywhere. I don't need a lab. I already know what shoe this is. I already know who the murderer is. "Let's take a closer look at that footprint!" I say wearily to the camera.
The director is no longer in his chair. Where did he go? I'll find out later.
I walk to the next scene. I look at my bare knuckles. A hideout. Hideouts don't look like this. They are just normal houses. I feel the sensation of knocking on the fake door on my bare knuckles. It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts. Warner Tucker peers through the opening of the door with the chain keeping it fastened.
I pull the door open. I hear a gunshot. I feel the sensation of a bullet passing through my chest. It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts. I hear Warners finger pulling a second time and I see the child. As quickly as I can I redirect the bullet with my gloved hand. I feel the bullet tear the glove. Real heroes don't wear gloves.
A flickering.
A yell.
A spotlight.
A body on the ground.
The director lies bleeding and crumpled on the ground. I look at my hands. Red gloves, latex, perfect for the cameras. Real heroes don't wear gloves.
| 2016-10-28T09:09:53 | 2016-10-28T07:57:21 | 104 | 18 |
[WP] You’ve traveled a great distance to finally court the princess. Many others have tried and failed. Why? At the end of a week with her, you must duel her to the death. She is the greatest sword fighter in the land, so your only hope is to convince her to call off the fight.
|
Many princes of the land had come to try their hand against the princess. None of them would succeed. She had more control over her sword than anyone Id seen. I had something they didnt though. I was the only girl there. No one knew it though. I kept my hood up and my hair short. I didnt have a chance when it came down to swords but I hoped everything would be ok regardless. One night I decided to go for a walk. I couldn't sleep there were a thousand things on my mind. The full moon and gleaming stars helped calmed my nerves. Then I saw her. She sat on a park bench. She looked so upset. I had to go over there. I walked to her and asked if I could sit,
"Do you know who I am." I decided to pretend I didnt,
"A beautiful Girl." I smiled at her and she gave a shy smile back. I sat down and we got to talking.
"I cant really explain it exactly. I'm expected to get engaged soon but every option I'm presented is unappealing. I told my dad I'm only marrying someone who could match my skill because no one can and I dont want to be stuck with a guy. I dont want a guy.... If you know what I mean. " A silence fell between us. I fell in love as I gazed into her eyes. Maybe on the day of the fight shed recognize me. Maybe she wouldn't. One thing was for sure. I was falling for her laugh and I was entranced by her eyes and if she didnt recognize me my life wouldn't be as grand as it could be because I knew right then that she was it.
|
“Princess, there is one last contestant who wishes to face you in trial!”
The princess looked up, carelessly tossing aside the bloodied rag she had been using to clean her blade. Behind her, a wooden cart dragging away the remains of the previous combatant. She gave the stranger a curious look, then shrugged it off, slowly striding up to him. Perhaps it was the long, dark robe, or the ragged fiber mask, certainly astray from the usual broad, shiny, heavy, and often restricting regalia worn by most nobles and princes with whom she had fought before. No, this man seemed humbler, almost frightened. This did not worry her, however; if the man’s attire was offsetting it was as much indicative of an untrained peasant or forest dweller. So she stepped up to him, raising her saber to a ready position.
“Draw thy blade, sir, and if thou taketh from me this blade and cut from my neck this stone thou shalt receive my inheritance and in marriage my service.”
The stranger reached deep into his cloak and pulled from it a worn, ragged straw doll, with eyes of dried berry and long, messily braided vine as hair. He spoke in a deep, but soft voice, which seemed at its sound to enact a brief flash of excitement in the princesses eye.
“Princess, I desire naught to fight...”
She looked at the doll for a moment, then cast it aside, and quickly thrust her blade to the stranger’s neck, barely breaking skin.
(Part two comin by tomorrow sometime >:3)
| 2020-09-20T21:10:55 | 2020-09-20T20:45:52 | 34 | 21 |
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy
|
What a day. My boss has never been in such a bad mood. On top of the proposal due next week, I now have a rushed budget to get out by Friday. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up. Every morning I dread getting out of bed, and every night I dread the next morning. I put on the smile for my colleagues, I smile and nod when my boss demands something. It keeps on piling up. The only thing that gets me through the day is knowing my wife will be waiting for me when I get home. I pull in the drive way, open the front door to my house, and there she is. Right where I left her, hanging from the rafters.
|
My skin feels so dry. I've bought a what must be hundreds of dollars worth of moisturizing creams, but nothing seems to work for this complexion. I felt so beautiful earlier this week, but I guess it has something to do with summer coming early because now I just feel gross. A few friends of mine recommended looking on the internet, which was a surprisingly good idea compared to their other annoyingly constant advice. But anyway, here I am now! Do y'all have any suggestions? It would just be such a shame for me to have to go pick up a fresh face already, I haven't even had the time to find any other pretty faces to harvest, let alone clean up the mess I made getting this current one.
| 2016-05-19T13:16:11 | 2016-05-19T11:52:03 | 25 | 17 |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
Looking in the mirror, I puffed my chest out arrogantly.
I flexed, and admired the aesthetics of my physique.
Vascular arms, the chiseled abs, and V taper.
And then my eyes stopped short, shocked.
I trembled as the realization dawned.
I've made a huge mistake.
How did this happen?
I skipped it.
Leg Day.
Again.
|
I had been with her for a number of years.
My heart was racing with fear, anticipation, and hope.
"Honey, I have something important to ask you."
She turned and gave me a smile.
A voice like an angel answered, "Yes?".
I knelt down before her.
"Will you marry me?"
"Oh my God."
Tears fell.
"Yes."
| 2015-01-05T22:38:49 | 2015-01-05T21:45:56 | 1,258 | 59 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
I always thought I would die from being stabbed in the back by a dirty, dull knife. Some sort of poetic justice, if you will, at least regarding the stabbing. My knives were always sharp.
When they brought me to court, they told me that it was magic--out of the realms of a simpleton rogue like me. They waved a wand at me and told me that I couldn't lie, even if I wanted to. So when they asked why I did what I did, the answer was simple and truthful:
"Because it paid well."
Though a little half-hearted, it was with no less candour. Gold was necessary for survival, but it's a little strange how the most important thing in my life wasn't necessary. In demand, but not needed.
I was sentenced to death. I had no letters to send, no people to speak to. That suited me just fine. This was already more dignity than I was used to.
I thought the end of all that would be a noose. A vial of poison. The swing of an axe.
"Sybil Harper," the burly man in a black hood pointed to the woman in front of me, who stepped forward with impunity. "How would you like to die?"
"Of old age," she said.
The executioner brought out a wand, comically undersized in his large, meaty hands. But he was learned, magic-touched--and with an incantation and a bright streak of purple, I saw the half-elf's hair go from black to grey to white, her ears drooping, her height diminishing, and her confident poise hunchbacking.
With that, old Sybil Harper hobbled one, two steps, before collapsing onto the floor. When they turned her around, there was a toothless smile on her face.
"Ged Ruell," the headsman said now, and I gulped, my mind turned around in an instant. "How would you like to die?"
"Doing what I love," I said.
The wand came out, once more, and this time, a fiery red beam unleashed itself upon me. I struggled with its power, forcing my eyes entirely close, but eventually, calm washed upon me like familiar ocean waves lapping at my feet.
I opened my eyes, vision lit again, slightly obscured at the sides with black, and with the sight of my dead body on the floor. It was dragged away swiftly, without honour or respect.
I could not hear my own thoughts. Now, it felt like I was drowning, my thoughts swirling into a perpetual maelstrom, unable to keep my head above water, oppresive dark cloud and shrieking thunder blackening every sense.
"Elliot Cobbett," the words came out, not entirely of my own volition. I watched my hands point to another man in the line. "How would you like to die?"
"Quickly," he replied.
The hand dropped once more. Instead of a thin wand, the hand encircled a familiar, leather-wrapped handle. And in a stormburst, the clouds cleared, and one thought rang true.
"With pleasure," I said.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
I get to choose how I die? I thought to myself. Well that's easy enough, I'll just wish to die of old age on a bountiful island with my 18 smoking hot wives. What a blessing! If I knew about this I'd have turned myself in years ago!
A guard comes to my cell and unlocks my cell door.
"Your time of reckoning has come Alvin, I hope you used your time wisely" said the guard.
"At this point I think I have it all set" I retorted.
"As a final word of advice, wishes rarely go as planned" the guard added. He then gestured to me to follow him. His words weighed on my mind a bit and I started doubting myself a little so I asked, "what did the last guy end up wishing for anyway?"
"He wished to die of old age" stated the guard.
"How'd that do for him?" I asked.
"He should still be in the judgment hall when you get there, you can see fit yourself"
We finally arrive at the judgment hall. It was a large room with flat concrete walls all around. At about 10 feet of the ground the walls became glass and I could notice faint shadows scurrying back and forth. I move my gaze back to my immediate surrounding and I take a quick look around to see where the previous prisoner was, yet the whole room was empty save for a pile of dust on the ground. Upon further inspection, I noticed that the standard issue prisoner garments were barely visibly beneath the dust. The dots started connecting and I realized that my original wish would end in a similar fashion.
Suddenly, light emerged from behind the glass projecting the shadow of two figures onto the concrete walls.
A slightly snarky voice proclaims, "Well Mr. Alvin, have you decided how you would like to die today?"
I can feel beads of sweat roll down my forehead as I start racking my brain for some sort of request that could at least give my death meaning..... MEANING!
THATS IT!
"Um......", I started, "are you familiar with a guy named Jesus?"
"Don't you dare", the Snarky voice declared.
"I'd like to die as a great prophet that became a Martyr for his people."
The lights shut off and a flurry of shadows start racing through the glass and some barely audible banner ensures. I pressed my ear against the concrete hoping the vibrations could somehow clue me in on how the conversation went.
" He chose religion...... Of course he freaking chose religion..... "
"So what do we do now?"
"What we've always done. Coordinators P through X, I want you writing the holy scripture. You have 30 days to get it done. Don't even think about sleeping until you finish. Coordinators A through G, you guys are with me. We need to brainstorm different miracles that this Alvin dude will need to preform. H through O, you guys need to decide how he will teach martyrdom status. Coordinators Y and Z, brief Mr. Alvin on the standard religion scenario procedures. Ugh, I better be getting paid overtime for this...... "
| 2021-06-24T09:55:49 | 2021-06-24T05:58:59 | 803 | 45 |
[WP] A villain is horrified when the hero undergoes a transformation that gets rid of their humanity.
|
"huh, well I guess that's it then."
Nihilator blinked. He hadn't been entirely sure how Exemplar would react to losing his lover, but dull surprise was... off. was he in denial? shock? that damn mask hid everything but his infuriatingly compassionate eyes, it made him surprisingly hard to read for such a naive fool.
"I told you I had made sure you would only have time to stop one bomb. Did you really think you would have been able to save her and the school?"
"No, but I had hoped."
still no emotion in his voice. No sorrow, or rage. it lacked the hysterical edge of shock and the strain of self-control. He sounded like he was discussing the weather rather than his beloved's death.
"Do you regret failing her by being too slow? or betraying her by choosing to save a bunch of sniveling brats who you'll never see again over her?"
"not really, no."
Nihilator was starting to grow concerned, this was wrong, all wrong. Exemplar had shed actual tears over random bystanders, he always reacted to death or pain. yet here he was standing over the corpse of his love, eyes calm and contemplative and talking like he was making small talk in an elevator.
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!" Nihilator angry bellow shook the room, as his composure finally cracked.
"I am surprised you haven't figured it out. Your last few plans demonstrated a decent understanding of my power."
Slowly Nihilator began to smile, as suddenly it made sense.
"of course, you are as you will yourself to be no? and right now you don't want to feel pain. heh, to see the great Exemplar reduced to hiding behind his power rather than facing reality. Cheaper than burying the pain in drugs at least."
" you are partially correct, but assume a great deal more conscious control than actually exists."
"oh? no stirring speeches on the beauty of choice then?"
"That would be rather irrelevant. A strong desire to be in a difference mental state resulting in a shift towards said state is inherently unstable regardless of choice. I had hoped I could hold myself in an idealized mindset indefinitely, but this seems not to be the case."
"so what now hero? you sit there and gormlessly starve to death because caring hurts too much?"
"No. this was not unforeseen, and your desire to gloat has given me time to enact my preplanned contingency."
it happened in an instant, no fan fair, no crash of thunder, just a simple blink. The Exemplar closed his eyes for an instant, and something inhuman opened them. For a brief instant Nihilator felt as if he was staring into a great and alien abyss, and then he was choking as a pitiless hand clutched his neck.
"hruk" Nihilator desperately fought and clawed for air, the hero who's strength he once equaled now an irresistible force, with even his desperate might unable to pry its fingers from his neck.
"Emotions were needed to maintain a normal human mind, and act as a positive example. however, they distracted from the focus needed to reach peak performance and made sub-optimal self-alteration inevitable. They are no longer a net benefit to the goal of maximizing happiness."
Nihilator forsook trying to pry the fingers from his throat instead raining blows down upon the man strangling him, as he continued its dead monotone speech.
"This necessitates a shift in strategy. Acting as a positive example is no longer feasible. Thus a shift to negative reinforcement is needed. You will be an ideal starting point for this new strategy. You will now be allowed to breathe for the remainder of our confrontation."
Nihilator clattered to the floor as the hand holding him by neck finally released him. He had hardly taken a single grasping breath when the creature spoke again.
"You shall now be made an example of. "
The thing that had once been a hero began its new task, and Nihilator began to scream. When he finally stopped hours later, there was nothing human left in the room.
|
No one conquered the Choapa—not the Incas, they lacked the strength, and not the Spainards, for back then, the Choapa had no love for gold. But when the Nazis fled for South America, bringing stolen gold back to its birthplace, the Choapa mind had changed. Prison is a state of mind. They allowed their own subjugation. Some accepted it: the natural order.
One man fought back. The Choapa workers called him the Jaguar, for he ruled the night. Every morning, the masters woke to find broken ploughs, trampled crops, and smiling workers. The Nazis held a meeting. Someone had to take down the Jaguar. They chose Amwolf.
Amwolf was the eldest man in the entire German-speaking valley. He’d served in North Africa under Rommel. They’d tried him *in absentia* at Nuremberg: death by hanging. He still had steady aim.
Yet, his grandchildren loved him. He taught Sunday school at the Reich Church. He painted landscapes of the rolling hills and towering mountains in the distance. He hiked into the jungle with the Hitler youth, and taught them to find food and track prey. But his deep blue eyes always pointed towards Berlin—the Berlin that once was and never would be again; the Berlin he was trying to recreate here in this nowhere enclave at the edge of the world that no white man had ever touched. The conquistadors may have surrendered, but Amwolf never would. He would make the mongrels kneel.
On Thursday, he sat on his porch, overlooking the town square, his rifle by his side. He counted stars. He would never get used to these southern constellations. They made him feel like he was in a different world. Friday passed peaceably as well. Perhaps the Jaguar had been scared off. Amwolf’s workers seemed skittish. He disciplined them.
Saturday. Amwolf never slept on guard duty. One moment flowed seamlessly into the next, and soon he had his rifle in his hand and his eyes fixed on a shape in the distance. Something had startled the horses at the neighboring farm. Amwolf crept closer, sticking to the shadows. There was someone inside, trying to free the horses.
Amwolf scanned the vicinity. All else was quiet. The man was alone. The barn’s door was ajar. Amwolf stuck his rifle through the gap, trained on the back of the man’s spine. It was a tall Choapa man, with long hair and thick, tattooed arms. Amwolf exhaled partway. The man stiffened, he must have heard something. He turned to run. Amwolf fired. The man fell, gasping and clutching his back.
Amwolf walked over, his black boots lazily crunching the yellow straw.
“Are you the Jaguar?” Amwolf asked, pushing his boot down onto the man’s chest.
“We are all the Jaguar,” the man said, smiling one last bloody smile. He rattled out dead air and closed his eyes. Amwolf shook his head. Why wouldn’t these mongrels kneel? He would kill them all if he had to.
That Sunday, Amwolf walked to church, holding his youngest granddaughter’s hand. She wore a blue and white dress. His sturdy boots clacked against the cobblestone path. The sun shone brightly overhead. Amwolf breathed the fresh spring air. His well-worn Bible hung in the breast pocket of his jacket, snug against his heart.
His oldest son opened the church’s door, ushering them inside. The sermon began. Amwolf’s granddaughter began fidgeting. Amwolf shushed her. She stood up. He grabbed her, forcing her to sit down. She squirmed in his arms, pointing towards the window. Amwolf’s son looked alarmed. Someone screamed.
The doors were locked from the outside. The Jaguar set fire to the church. Gunshots tore through the windows. Amwolf couldn’t stand—the Bible felt too heavy on his heart.
No one conquered the Choapa.
----
If you liked that one, subscribe to /r/trrh
| 2017-03-09T23:21:40 | 2017-03-09T22:26:24 | 39 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone in the world is able to choose exactly one superpower. The catch: the more people select a certain power, the weaker it becomes.
Example: if many people choose telekinesis, they'll only be able to move small, light objects. If many people choose time travel, they'll only be able to go back a few seconds.
|
'It' happened on a playground, and it was madness. Imagine a bunch of eight year olds running around with Superman's powers. They caused half a trillion dollars worth of damage and killed thirty million people in about twenty minutes. Turns out any idle wish for a special ability immediately comes true. In that chaos, as people were getting heat visioned to death to the sounds of children's giggles, more and more people must have thought about how useful it would be to be an indestructible person of steel. And while half a dozen kids could spread those powers around without noticing any dip, a few hundred thousand diluted that nonsense to the point of irrelevance.
Doesn't stop thousands from wishing for it every day.
See, the thing is, your *first* idle wish for an ability comes true. So as soon as some impressionable four-year-old hears about the I-95 corridor incident, they immediately think, "wow, I wish I could do that" and poof, another sip out of the already parched superman well. That first day, maybe five billion people wished for 'superman.'
Once we figured out how it worked, immortality was the next to go. Millions of old people diffused that one, too. Flight, strength, healing, all diffused by the unimaginative. Sure, some kids can control themselves, but most just think 'cool!' and immediately waste their one opportunity.
But some people are creative. The power to fly when reciting *Pi* was a pretty neat workaround; must have been fun while it lasted. I heard one guy could literally shit gold when he said the Gettysburg address; that got diffused, too.
I did something similar, involving the pledge of allegiance in Sanskrit while getting kicked in the balls by an obese widower. What happens when I do that? I'll never tell!
|
I was so excited, so damned excited, when my day finally came. You know what I'm talking about. THE day. That day, yeah exactly, when finally you're deemed old enough to pick your power, talent whatever the hell you want to call it.
We've all been there, those of us at the age of choice and above, at any rate. You know that rush of excitement, right? How you know you're power is going to be great! Amazing even. You'll be able to change the world, make something of yourself!
Well...let me tell you something right fucking now. When it's your turn to pick, when your day of choice arrive. Think outside the box. Hell, think outside shapes in general, get out there in those squiggly lines.
Why? Because when the same power gets picked over and over it gets spread out through people. Sure, -sure-, when a person who picked it dies part of goes back into the power pool. But that's, what? One little bitty bit of power out of hundreds, maybe thousands if it's super 'awesome'.
So, yeah. Flight! Everybody wants to fly. How do I know? Because I'm one of the idiots that wanted to fly. Oooh, it'll be amazing, I said. I can fly with the birds, I said. Well you know what? A fucking penguin could out fly me. A goddamned penguin. I can get maybe an inch or two off the ground and coast forward maybe a little faster than the average sloth. On a good day.
So, in conclusion, pick something new, and I swear to fucking christ if one more person picks flight I'll go on a goddamned killing spree. Why? That inch or two just became a few centimeters.
| 2015-05-05T07:48:28 | 2015-05-05T03:08:45 | 152 | 105 |
[WP] As a vampire, I follow traditions. My fiancé is human and just found out that human brides/grooms are to be bit to become a vampire themselves. She absolutely refuses to let that happen, and says the wedding is off unless I refuse to bite her. I feel like she's disrespecting tradition. AITA?
|
**EDIT:**
I'm sorry I haven't replied to many of you, I went to sleep and then had a talk with my fiancé, I really didn't expect this to blow up!
A few of you are suggesting she was being selfish and that I should leave her. My family were actually suggesting the same thing, but I didn't want to be rash, I do love her.
Anyway, my family and I had a meeting with her and her family. It seems like there was a lot of misunderstanding on both sides. The book I gave her on vampire traditions kind of glossed over EVERYTHING, just giving basic descriptions without any detail. We had a proper discussion about her fears and worries, as well as vampire traditions.
She was worried about losing friends, not being able to eat garlic, and being awake at night (turns out she's scared of the dark, how cute!) My family have reservations about letting the marriage go forward, my family is strict on culture and tradition.
I managed to convince them that I love my fiancé too much, and said I'd rather become human for her than lose her, so we decided that, since I had worked really hard to live her family's lifestyle, in the few months leading up to the wedding she'll live mine and we'll see how she feels about living like a vampire.
Let's see how this goes. Wish me luck! (Oh, and to those who suggested I ditch her... don't leave your house at night...)
|
NTA
Honestly, your fiancé sounds like a piece of work. I am not a vampire but I did grow up in a Japanese household and my parents made sure that I was raised with Japanese culture and customs in mind. They ingrained in me the importance of my heritage and that it important for the world to accept not only our culture, but cultures of all countries around the world.
Now I know that Japanese culture and vampiric culture has many differences. For example, we like sushi and you guys like sleeping during the day. But we are similar in the sense that we should be respected for our beliefs.
My fiance hates sushi. But he eats it every day to show his devotion to me. He is happy to gag on the raw fish that he hates to respect my culture. And I am happy to keep feeding it to him and watch him gag. He asked me to watch the World Cup with him because it is important to him and I told him to fuck off as I shoved another piece of salmon in his mouth to shut him up. It honestly is the healthiest relationship I have ever been in and I am so happy that I married him.
If your fiancé will not do this for you; will not let you bite her on the neck, will not let you pierce her skin so blood drips down and she screams in pain, will not let you change her entire lifestyle as a show of devotion to you, then you should leave her ass by the curb.
| 2022-11-28T21:23:09 | 2022-11-28T19:14:11 | 50 | 35 |
[WP] A man is determined to make a PB&J sandwich. However, everything seems to be conspiring against him.
|
As Jim laid the slice of organic white bread carefully on his carefully selected paper towel for the 83rd time, he could feel it happening again. He continued his mission, only this time he went out to the garage and retrieved the knife from his wife's China set.
The peanut butter was spread very slowly in a swirling pattern, making sure to maintain 1mm off of the edge of the bread the whole way around.
Next he carefully laid the second slice of bread, cleaned the knife, and began spreading the jelly. Once the jelly was finished he became very anxious.
"This is it, Jim, you've got this," he muttered to himself.
He carefully lifted the piece of bread, making sure it was the slice with jelly and prepared to place it on the slice with peanut butter so they would line up just as they were in the loaf.
"Dammit."
Jim stared in disbelief. This was the 83rd time in a row that this had happened. He decided the only option left was to ask the internet for its opinion on how to handle this situation.
Jim sat at his computer and pulled up yahoo answers. He grimaced as he typed in his question.
*Help, I've accidentally built a shelf.*
|
Life was hard for Albert.
Albert was just like any other boy, with toys and smiles and an insatiable desire to fly helicopters. Except, that is, for one thing. Albert was deathly afraid of anything white and fluffy.
And this included bread.
The predicament, however, is Albert always wanted to be a chef. It was his dream, his passion. So he bought a chef book, and he turned to chapter 1.
"The First Meal: A PBJ Sandwhich"
And Albert was terribly excited as he went to the superstore. He bought peanut butter, and jelly- but then he read the third ingredient, and his face turned as white as the item itself.
Bread.
So Albert ran home, carefully avoiding the racks of cotton t-shirts an aisle over. And when he got there, he decided to forgo the bread, and try with two thirds of the recipe.
Alas, as the lump of semisolid ingredients on his countertop could attest, Little Albert realized that a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is not the same as peanut butter and jelly.
***
By Leo
| 2016-02-21T10:07:32 | 2016-02-21T09:01:06 | 239 | 37 |
[WP] In terms of powers you are world class, easily one of the next up and coming top-tier super-heroes in the world. But you deliberately downplay your abilities, pretending to have only minor talents so you can stick with your team of underdogs whose leader you have been crushing on for years.
|
"You all know the plan?" His eyes, each a swimming pool of green, flickered in the soft white light of the shop lights we had set up outside the dungeon. His heavily chiseled cheek bones seemed to slash into my soul as he met my eyes, smiling at me with his perfect teeth. The basso rumble of his voice seemed to fill me and I smiled as widely as I dared, nodding.
"Another plan? Really, Luke?" Behind us, Greg laughed and we all chuckled a bit. Luke's laugh was even brighter than his eyes, and I felt my heart lifting.
"Come on, one of these time they'll work!" Luke smiled at us and I felt the auras of all the Stompas! building. Luke's leadership was infectious and we all rallied to him, even if it were clumsy.
"Oh yeah? Like the time in Paris with the "empty" sewers we could sneak through? Wererats!" Reigna took her turn to bat as Luke held up his hand in brief protest, only to be cut short by Miguel's shot.
"Or when you said we could slow fall into the Orc lair and landed on the Great Roc's Aerie?"
"Now, listen, I know there's been some stumbling blocks." Luke joined the others in the teasing, building them up for the mission. "But I've got the feeling. It's gonna work!"
"Ha!" A hearty laugh at Stompa Swords's signature phrase. "Boss, the only time's its worked in the less decade is when you coin flipped to bring in Doc Stompa."
"Which ended up being a good call, right?!" He looked around with a smug smile, beaming at me. "I mean, who else can patch you up in battle AND make dinner?"
"Yeah, the only thing wrong with her is she stays with us!" An uproarious laugh.
"Well, I'd be afraid of what would happen if I left you Stompas alone." I held up my hands in a defeat gesture. "Besides, you remember the last time you had the Boss cook?"
"Oh no!"
"Come on, Doc! Don't do it to us!"
"Seriously, we're out of resurrection potions!"
"See what I mean?" I smiled widely, laughing with my friends. "I have to stay. Although, Boss, I think we'll need to talk about my pay!"
"Ha! Then make sure you all survive to earn your raises!" Luke laughed, shaking his magmablade above his head for emphasis.
"For the Stompas!" He roared as the gates opened, leading us to the dungeon in Old Venice.
"Stomp or get stomped!" We all roared as Luke's cape fluttered in the wind and I felt my own aura churning as Endalophil woke to my urging.
"Stomp or get stomped!" We continued to shout as the first of them flooded out of the gate over the broken blacktop. Dozens of kenzakai, four-legged wolves with the heads of lions, bayed and roared as they leapt forward.
"Ahh!" Already, they were falling, but at the last moment, I reached out with Endalophil. A nudge. A brush. The lightest tap.
A nudge out of the path of clamping jaws--torn shoulder against a torn throat. A brush downward on the fusion rifle saw its blazing round pass cleanly through two heads instead of missing one. The lightest tap pushed a claw into armor rather than flesh.
Again and again Endalophil reached out and Fate's Hand moved the scale from death to life. Despite this, the injuries were still real and severe. The Hands of Fate were heavy, even for Endalophil, and keeping them alive was all that could be done.
"Doc!" A pained screamed called my attention to Greg's face, scrunched in pain. Looking down, I saw his arm hanging loosely, the elbow torn and bloody.
"Whoa, easy, Greg." Taking his hand, I let my aura swirl as Endalophil ebbed and I let Jasernus come to the fore. The golden light of his touch pulled the ruined joint back into shape, and it bathed in the touch of the Lord of Light for a long moment before dimming, revealing a scabbed over wound, perhaps a week old. Exactly as was the norm for the Rank 1 Spell: Heal.
"All right, let me wrap it." Seeing the scabbed wound, I briefly considered healing it further, and then looked over to see Luke heroicly shouldering a massive wolf, easily twice his size, off of Hubert and Vanessa. Seeing his cape fluttering in the wind reminded me of all that I would lose if the Guild found out I had falsified my Specialist forms. Better to just liberally apply some cream. Greg would be fine.
"Ahh! Another scream. The next half or so was very routine, just moving amongst the wounded, applying what aid I could as a Medic: 1st Class. Thanks to Endalophil, there were no fatalities, and the wounds were all treatable.
"STOMPAS!" Finally, as I was applying a heavy bandage and some antibiotic to a nasty claw wound, I heard Luke's deep voice echoing in my ears. Looking up with everyone else, we saw him raise Lavaclaw, his sword, cheering loudly. The surrounding lights framed his wavy brown hair gallantly as he led our victory celebration, he cheeks flushed excitement.
"STOMPAS!"
"WE STOMPED EM!" We all roared in the damp evening air of the summer, cheering our victory!
***
"You're sure that's her?" A skeptical voice, laced with doubt.
"Yes, ma'am, very sure."
"Venice was classified as a Rank D City, and even that was only in the Canal's zone. The rest was nearly considered habitable and is listed as "Possible" for future expansion. What is a Special Asset doing there?"
"We are unsure, ma'am. We only located her this Solar."
"Does the Guild know what she is?"
"No, ma'am, I don't believe so."
"Well, she's broken at least one law then, maybe more. Gives us enough to make a move."
"As you will, ma'am."
"Send a team."
"Which one, ma'am?"
"Alpha Team."
"Ma'am..." Uncharacteristic hesitation.
"You disagree?"
"Ma'am, if she really is a Special Asset, I suggest we use the utmost caution."
"Meaning?"
"Respectfully, ma'am, why not send them all?"
"That won't be overkill?"
"Recall St. Petersburg, ma'am?"
--
"Very well, authorized."
"On your order, ma'am."
|
Sarah's favorite flowers are Himalayan poppy.
I want to give her flowers. I want to braid them into her hair and tell her she looks perfect, even if she can't see so herself. I want to gift her a bouquet and watch as she inhales them in gratitude. She will smile, laughing a bit, not afraid of showing her lips, before making me smell them myself. I want to show her my favorite place, in the middle of a forest clearing, when the bees pollinate the roses and see in her eyes how she longs for one to stop on her palm.
I want, but alas, I can't. How can one decorate a forest nymph life with flora?
I do the best to decorate her moments, instead. She is the leader of a hero group, and I've sworn an oath to myself to take part in it. They aren't the best - and if it wasn't for my help, I don't know what would happen.
*We sprint across the vines and tree branches I set life to. I listen to the rustle of the leaves, hearing when I can't see when someone is about to fall. We came to a report of a bank robbery. Citizens were taken hostage, and the criminals had weapons. But no money was taken.*
A bullet was shot towards Sarah. Kyle was fast enough to push it, but it passed right next to her ear.
*I can't hear - I can't hear! I hold my head tight, walling with what felt like no voice. I only feel myself losing my grip on the world around me, not knowing what is no longer under my control.*
Flora grew up fast - vines and branches covering the floor and walls, pushing and pulling people in random directions. Some people, including some criminals, civilians, and our Sean hanged upside down from the ceiling. At the corner of the room, one of the men puts a finger up his lips as he lits up a match.
It's a trap - we were already stuck in feet and a half deep in cobbled moss and bushes. The room quickly set in flames as the fire climbed across the plant life.
*Smoke is getting in my lounge and my eyes are watering from the heat. I can barely feel anything but breath escaping my body.*
I didn't care if Sarah - or anyone - would see me. I gather my strength. Flying, I lift off the building roof, placing it upside down to free those stuck in the ceiling. The clouds rain in my command to put the fire out - but that is not enough.
Now out in the open, I can see the fire that reached through what we took as our way in. Stretching across the city, right back to Sarah's place. I lift my arms like a conductor, in unison with the squirting water currents from the city sewers.
After the fire went out, I flew across the city, checking on people. Those whose tying branched did not set their bodies aflame I freed out, and the less fortunate I took to the hospital. Sarah was one of them.
I hold tight on Sarah's body as we fly to her place. She doesn't respond to my cries - but something in me *knows* that if we just went there - if she could just be there again with her flower bed, she would have to take care of them, right? She can't leave them alone, she can't leave, she cares for them too much.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
*Something is holding me. Something human. I do not recognize it, but I do feel the presence of seeds on their body. The wind is flowing above my body and wailing in my ears.*
Her place - is gone. It is covered in Ashes. The smell of fried ground is omnipresent, and not a single piece of greenery is seen. I am too scared to land on the ground, to not violate anymore the sacred place.
Something is moving - something rustles in my pocket. I take my hand to discover a growing flower blooming in bright blue colors. It is a Himalayan Poppy. "Skylar?"
Full of surprise, I accidentally let go off of Sarah's body. A mossy bed grew to cushion her fall before I managed to catch her.
"Were you - were you flying?" she said, struggling through her speech, failing to not let her coughs interrupt her. I landed, lifting her body to check for bruises. "Hey what are you doing?"
"It doesn't matter. Don't talk - don't move. I have to check if everything is okay - how are you even alive?"
*"How am I even alive? You say it like it's a miracle!" Only now do I notice my aching skin, screaming as if it is covered in a raging fire.*
"I asked you - were you flying?" Even through visible anguish, she kept her mind clear. "Yes."
"Hey, what the fuck? Aren't you suppose to be Mr glow-in-the-dark guy?"
"Well, no, that I cannot do, but-"
"But what? Why were you lying to me about your powers, we could have - we could have done so much more if we just - if we-
WAS I DEAD?"
"I think so, you didn't respond to me, and I-"
"You what, you brought me back to life? Are there any other superpowers I don't know about?"
"Well, no, but... umm..."
"... is that rain?"
"..."
"is that rain in the summer, Skyler?"
"...yeah."
*My body was shaking from anger. And cold. And pain. "Ugh, I wish I could punch a tree!"*
*"Here you go!" Skyler said. He came back with a full adult pine tree, leaves falling as he rotated it and put it firmly into the ground. "Hehe", he said awkwardly."There's more I can do, honestly."*
"Why were you lying to me?" Sarah said, locking her unseeing eyes with me, yet looking right through me.
"Because I knew that if I stayed here, using what I can do, you will have no job saving the town, and I won't get to see you anymore. I will miss not having you around." I blushed, blessing the fact that she can't see my face.
"You did all of this to stay friends with the gang?" She said, a hint of a calm smile rising on her mouth. "I know you and Dave are buddies, but saving the city is more important."
"No." My words became harder and harder to pronounce, and my breath hurried. "Saving the city isn't more important than you, Sarah."
I fell when the ground moved beneath me, my head pushed down on the ground by an arm of leaves. She kissed me.
| 2021-04-12T12:56:40 | 2021-04-12T11:09:04 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] A photographer and a sniper meet in a bar. Neither is aware of the other's occupation. They talk about "how to take the perfect shot".
|
*Making sure the check clears.*
That's always the tricky part, right?
*Timing.*
Of course. And lighting.
*I suppose lighting is important. You've gotta have the right equipment.*
Absolutely. And finding the right subject.
*Ha. Yes. We have to be careful which jobs we take on. I won't do old people anymore. It just makes me sad. There's no surprise in their eyes.*
No surprise in their eyes. I've never thought of it like that. You know what I'll never do again?
*What's that?*
Weddings. Ulgh. Too messy. Too much family drama.
*Never done a wedding myself. So what's your specialty?*
I don't like to say.
*Come on. Hey, I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours. Haha.*
Go on then.
*Gangsters.*
Fascinating.
*They're all in the suburbs now.*
Really? That is an interesting contrast between subject and setting.
*They think they blend in, they think they're invisible. But you can make them stand out if you know what to look for.*
Huh.
*Ok. Now you.*
Ok. Kids.
*KIDS?*
I have a knack for it. And there's always plenty of work.
*I wouldn't have pegged you for kids.*
Oh yeah. Kids. Babies. I've done a bunch of pregnancies.
*No shit?*
Yeah, I like maternity stuff. It's like there's this brief window before life really begins, and I make that moment last forever.
*Jesus. [downs drink] That's tough work. It must pay well.*
I like pregnancies so much, sometimes I'll do them for free.
*YOU KILL PREGNANT WOMEN FOR FREE?*
WHAT!? NO?! I photograph them?! Who said anything about-
*You're a photographer?*
YES! What, you kill people?
*YES!*
And you thought that I-
*I thought were a kid killer, oh my God!*
No. Nononono. Oh, that is so embarrassing. I'm so sorry.
*No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed.*
Oh. That is funny.
*Ha. Yeah. Ahh. You wanna get out of here?*
Sure thing killer.
|
**Photographer's Spirit, Sniper's Soul**
I was a mess. Fighting had been going on in the city for a week. My hair was full of dust from various explosions and powdered concrete, blood smeared my cheek where a road rash on by face had bled. I sipped at the beer, the first I'd been able to find in weeks.
"Took some good shots, huh? I've been in it myself. See that tower? Through the window, that bell tower? Before this city was secure, I got some of the best shots of my life." His face was grizzled, a week's growth of beard obscuring his jaw, and a scar snaked down his face like a disfiguring rope.
I looked out at the tower, and smiled. "Must be nice. All that elevation, just you and the wind."
He nodded, and sipped at his drink; it smelled like kerosene. "Forty-x. Could see the whites of their eyes."
I imagined it - the wind in your hair, able to look down into the crowd, picking out individuals without worrying about them seeing you and changing their behavior, ruining a careful shot. You could read thoughts in their expressions from so far away. "That's serious magnification. It's always best then they're unaware. You can anticipate the moment, frame your shot two steps ahead."
He gestured with the cup, pointing past it at me. "You know how it is. You pick your place, you look for your shot. Sometimes you don't get a thing, sometimes you just just the one perfect shot, and sometimes everything you do is gold."
I nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. "The day before yesterday, I was with some men guarding the west road. No visibility at all, just blown dust. Yesterday, I was death itself." I picked up my rifle, setting it my shoulder - my hand drifted over the scope, almost caressing it, stroking the air.
"You're . . . talking about killing people."
Confused, I looked up, finding his green eyes on mine, shocked. "Wait . . . what are YOU talking about?"
| 2017-08-31T11:25:38 | 2017-08-31T11:15:15 | 123 | 15 |
[WP] It’s been weeks since your friend returned with godlike powers, unwilling to explain how. She is however getting increasingly frustrated by you not noticing her making the move on you.
|
The drive to Beth’s house had gone smoothly, as it had ever since she returned. The lights all changed green, cars zipped along in neat rows. I watched as she tracked on oncoming car and held her hand up, slowing it just enough so that it did not hit the truck that had pulled up short at the light. This commute used to be a nightmare.
“So, things still good? With all…this?” I fumbled, unsure what to call all the changes.
“Lawrence, I’m still the same old me. Everything’s fine.”
“Yeah, I know. I get that. It’s just weird, y’know?”
“I’ve always been weird.”
“No, not you. The situation. I mean, you can do anything, right?”
She shrugged, eyes avoiding my brief glance toward her. “Almost anything.” There was a wistful sigh in her voice.
We stopped in front of her building. Her apartment had been on the sixth floor. Now all of the apartments were on the first, and hers expanded to impossible dimensions just beyond the door. As I hit the brakes, I noticed the sun dropping below the horizon. It should have been daylight for another couple of hours, but now sunset bled across the horizon. The clock confirmed whatever time skip had occurred. I eyed Beth suspiciously.
“Did you?” I nodded my head toward the horizon.
She looked caught, feigning innocence. “Me? I don’t think so. But these powers, you can never know…”
“Well, I guess I should head home then.”
“Wait!” She reached out across the seats, hand nearly brushing my arm and then pulling back at the last moment. “It did get late. Can’t I fix you some dinner? A coffee? Come up and let me thank you for the ride.”
I smiled and waved. “Beth, you don’t have to do that. I’ve been your ride for the past three years. You being …demigod or whatever now doesn’t change that. Like you said, you’re the same old you, I’m the same old me.”
She puffed out a sigh. “Yeah, some things never change.”
Her eyes flicked upward briefly, and suddenly the previously open sky was flooded with clouds. Rain fell in sheets around us, wind whipping the sidewalks.
“Oh man, what weather!” she said with an exaggerated shrug. “You definitely shouldn’t be driving in this. Come in and wait it out.”
“It really is a mess.” I chewed my bottom lip, eyeing the sky suspiciously. "But it came up so quick. I’m sure it will pass soon. You can wait here, if you like, for the rain and all.”
Then it clicked and I laughed. “I mean, I guess you could also just whisk the rain away, huh?”
She rolled her eyes and angrily waved her hand, the clouds and storm leaving only a few puddles behind as testament to the events. The sunset was somehow even more beautiful, reflecting off the damp surroundings and adding depth to the purples, pinks, and oranges. The light fell across her face and, for one of many times, I felt the world freeze. But what luck could a grocery store clerk have with a superhero?
I shook off the moment before she caught me staring. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
There was an air of irritation in her movements as she unbuckled her seatbelt and yanked on the car door handle.
“Oh, your books!” I said before she could get out of the car.
She turned around with a broad smile. “Right, the books. Do you mind helping me get them inside?”
“Sure,” I responded out of habit, then paused. “Wait, I saw you lift a semi yesterday to unblock the bridge. I’m sure you don’t need me. Hell, you could probably just levitate them.”
Beth grit her teeth and tried to keep a smile, but I saw something stewing behind her eyes. “I could, but sometimes it’s nice to do things the normal way. Can’t you get a box?”
The words were more forceful than I expected, but I had not been thinking about how tough this all could be. Surely it was nice to be a normal person every now and then, especially around a friend.
“Of course, that’s what friends are for.”
“Great. Then, let me get you that dinner. I can whip something up in no time, feed you for your troubles.”
I shrugged and smiled. “If you insist. It’s really no trouble.”
I popped open the trunk and grabbed one of the boxes. Beth lifted the other in one hand, using the other to slam the lid down. The whole car shook a bit under the force, but she was already turned and walking toward the door.
“Hey, not all of us can get around so quickly,” I called after her, juggling the awkward weight of the box in my arms. I stepped onto the sidewalk and toward the grassy walkway leading to her building. Among the manicured green grass was an explosion of wildflowers in every hue. At first, they appeared random. But the more I looked, the more something began to take shape.
I balanced the box on the stone wall at the front and turned my head from side to side until the pattern solidified into words.
“Kiss me, idiot,” I said aloud.
I looked up at Beth and she was looking back at me, a coy smile on her lips.
“I mean, you sure?”
I asked.
She laughed, all the earlier frustration gone in an instant. “Of course! Do it!”
With a shrug of my shoulders, I set the box down and bent to one knee. I lifted the nearest flower—this one a pale pink—and gently kissed the center.
Nothing happened. When I looked up, Beth’s eyes were wide and mouth agape. She stammered for a moment, then stomped up the last few steps and into the building. As I hurried after her with the box in my arms, I could just hear the echo of her perturbed growl following down the hallway.
Man, things really were getting weird.
EDIT: Caught a handful of typos.
|
They sit in a french cafe, outdoors. The warm air‘s perfumed by lilacs and peonies. Passerby tip their hats or wave meek, reverent hands at the girl. In the distance, the Eiffel tower yawns up, stirs the occasional cloud.
“You haven’t touched your cappuccino,” she says.
The boy looks down. ”Oh.” He swirls the drink with his spoon until its an unsettled galaxy. Tips in sugar, stardust.
She hasn’t touched her drink either. She hates coffee but this seemed a good place for a first date. *Mature. Refined.* All those boring adult terms. But she regrets it now. Tea on Everest or the moon, that might have gotten something from the boy. A smile. A raised eyebrow.
She wants very badly to say, *I love you.* But she squeezes her thumb in the fingers of her other hand. Feels awkward. Gods shouldn’t feel awkward, should they?
”Do you think you can love someone you don’t really know?” she asks. “Like, when celebrities meet and then marry in that whirlwind type of love.”
He shrugs. “Whirlwinds die down pretty quickly.“
Better than a long breeze she thinks. She thinks her love is a whirlwind that will last forever. A tornado that she feels in her chest and belly tearing her apart as it spins.
“I could make you love me,” she says. “I could make your eyes meet mine. Make your heart beat as fast as a kitten’s whenever you see me.”
”What even is love?” he asks. He’s something of a philosopher and it’s one reason she likes him so much. In truth, she doesn’t know much about him beyond surface level details. Beyond the mask he wears at schools, shows to her, to classmates, to friends. But that’s what we fall in love with, she thinks. Everyone wears a mask but it’s bullshit to say the real ’you’ is hidden beneath it. If everyone sees the mask, if you wear it every time you talk to someone, then you *are* the mask. More often than not, that is you.
”So? What do you think it is?” he asks.
She doesn’t know what love is. But she tries to conjure its meaning on the spot, says, “Love is a windy balloon ride. And there are all these storms and spikes and all kinds of stuff to avoid. Those things are reality. Love lets you ride above reality, and you can stay there floating if you’re very, very careful. If you’re a great pilot.” She grimaces, wonderers if they’re even pilots in balloons.
He sips his coffee finally. Cautious at first, then drinks more. It’s nicer than he expected.
“Why don’t you just make me love you then?” he asks. ‘Why try to seduce me in a french cafe? Why not click your heels together and get this over with?”
Her face burns at this. At the suggestion of seduction. Her top is sleeveless. Her hair curled. Skin blemish free with a wave of her hand. Wasn’t even a wave of her hand in truth, just a thought. Everything now changes with a thought, if she wants it to. She is a pathetic God who can’t even think up love properly.
”Because it’s not the same,” she says. “It’s not the same as you wanting to be with me. Wanting to look at me. Maybe if I rescued your parents from certain death… I could arrange that, you know? Then you’d be grateful and like me and I think that would be closer. But still…”
She tries her coffee finally. Cold. Bitter as hell. It’s like brown sulphur. Her face scrunches up.
That’s how she’s supposed to react to coffee, isn’t it?
She closes her eyes, thinks, opens them. Now they are sitting on a grassy hill late at night, the stars above them like the burning ends of black-wax candles.
“That’s better,” she says.
The stars shift as they stare up, merge into clear constellations, into archers and crabs and into a galaxy-spanning heart. The archer launches an arrow at the heart and it wedges in, the end shivering then steadying. It was meant to look romantic but she thinks now it looks brutal. More like death. A threat.
“Why do you like her?” she asks.
”Cause.”
Cause. The only reason she can think up.
She can hear her Mom calling now. Time for breakfast. For school. For the balloon ride of morning fantasy to pop. To eat alone on a table at this new school she hates, staring nervously at a boy who pays her no attention.
“I got to go,” she says.
”I’ll see you at school,” he replies.
”You won’t. You never do.”
&#x200B;
Mom’s made scrambled eggs. She asks her Mom for a coffee.
Mom laughs. “You never want coffee.”
”I want to know what it tastes like. I think I need to. Otherwise, I’m always just guessing, you know?”
What she means is she’ll lower the balloon onto the sharp cliffs later today. She’ll say hi to him. She needs to. And if he turns away from her without replying and the balloon bursts, then fine. She’ll patch it up someday.
Because that’s love, she decides. Finding someone to patch your balloon up with. And even if it doesn’t take off quite as high, the falls won’t break you apart. You’ll sit on the ground together draped in plastic, laughing, hands on bellies.
”Maybe you can try coffee tomorrow, okay?” says Mom, amused. “But right now, you’ve got to get going.” She glances at her watch. “And so do I.”
Mom squeezes her. Has packed her lunch already.
The girl feels loved, and even if it’s a different kind of love, it’s still nice. It’s reassuring.
“It’ll get easier,” Mom says soothingly. “You’ve only been there a few weeks.”
”I know.” And she does know. It’s not her first new school. Mom gets moves around a lot.
She leans over and kisses Mom’s cheek. Grabs her bag and heads to the door.
”Love you,” says Mom.
”Love you too.”
| 2022-02-24T08:09:43 | 2022-02-24T07:57:51 | 1,610 | 271 |
[WP] A portal to Hell is discovered. Mankind invades.
|
Rough men stood at the gates of the damned, expecting to be met with rough enemies. But no demons, no ghouls, no cerebus or satan met them. The gates weren't even locked. So they pushed aside the corroded bars, and hundreds of thousands of living men willingly shuffled into the vast deserts of the dead. They marched for days, and then for weeks. Of all the mythologies of hell, one bit was true; it is hot. For weeks, none of the men faltered. Despite nothing overtly hostile happening, panic slowly began to spread. The general leading the march tried to quell his men.
"Marines, relax. We have plenty of food and water. We have been keeping a close watch for hostile forces. Myself, I haven't slept in three days; I've been on the look out personally". The general felt a wash of relief as the muttering of his soldiers began to quiet. His personal dedication must have put them at ease.
One solider spoke up "He's right, we're fine. I've actually been saving rations for you guys, I haven't eaten in two days. We can solve death with this invasion; we must press on".
The muttering began again.
Some soldiers began to realize they hadn't eaten in a while. Some realized the sun wasn't burning them. It was strange, but what can you expect in the land of the dead? Discontent grew, but each soldier marched on.
They had chosen this, searching for glory through war in a land devoid of both.
|
Not if I can stop it...
thought the gaurdian of the gate.
And yet the fools!
to think invading hell was a simple thing.
the city wreathing of flame squelched its evil stench. its tall spires reaching up into its cavernous abyss.
To think that they could somehow takeover the damned.
They've seen war, yes they have seen terrible things.
But this, was beyond compare.
With its three heads, standing by the entrance, he saw them.
With guns in hand, and stupified by the sheer size of him.
Bang! Bang!
not a scratch. Swords of various shapes and sizes have come to cut up the gaurdian before. none have seen the light of day again.
And yet here these ones were, who's weapons were not of blade forged in fire, but of metal flying like birds.
And the birds flew, and stopped dead in their tracks.
then they had the armor come in.
Tanks, pointing their long menacing tubes at him. Aligning, calibrating
BOOM!
a direct hit to the face.
a puff of smoke exuding from its long nozzle.
A mere sting for the behemoth.
He let out a howl that shook the floor.
Men fell to their feet.
Others pressed forward amidst the chaos.
None shall reach the spires of Hell.
And so the Gaurdian watched,
as the ants rolled into their fiery grave a turn early.
| 2014-06-15T23:49:36 | 2014-06-15T21:48:30 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] Superman is mentally handicapped. That's why he thinks nobody can pick up the Clark Kent=Superman thing, and everyone plays along in an effort to keep him from throwing a tantrum. The comics are his idea of what is going on. What does a day in Metropolis actually look like?
|
"The last 5 months have been really hard for us. The Daily Planet only made Clark a junior reporter as a feel good story but they had to stop letting him in when they caught him using his "x-ray vision" in the women's bathroom.
I love Clark and I want the best for him but I can't help to wonder what my life could be like if I didn't have to care for him. I used to dream of traveling around the world and giving a voice to the victims of war and natural disaster but with Clark I know that's impossible. Am I selfish? I just want a life of my own..."
"You've done all you can for him, Lois. We all know how hard it's been in you but at least you found another job, maybe things will get better this time."
"Maybe... maybe now that Clark is writing his own articles it will keep him to busy to have his *episodes*. I still can't believe that we found someone willing to hire a writer with all of Clark's "limitations". Thank God for Buzzfeed."
|
*"We HAVE to give him the Reporter of the Year Award, Harold!"*
*"Again? How many times are we going to do this? Look, I am grateful to Superman. He is the savior of the city and protector of humanity, but Clark Kent is a fucking hack reporter. I don't owe that guy a thing."*
*"Let me make this clear to you. We're not the only ones in on the joke. Clark is getting offers from newspapers and TV stations nationwide! The offers are flooding in. They're offering to make him to make him an anchor on TV in Gotham, the editor of the local papers in Zenith City, anything to steal him away from us. And he's considering them! He is starting to think he is stunted here as a reporter. So, yes. He wins the award. He gets the raise. We throw him parade. And we smile! SMILE HAROLD!!!! Got it?!?!?!?"*
| 2016-03-04T09:43:03 | 2016-03-04T08:43:31 | 27 | 11 |
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh
|
"Human? You can speak but you don't know my name? I raised you! Are you so ungrateful?"
Milo backed down.
"Sorry..." His face took on that sad look that melts my heart.
"It's OK Milo. I love you. Where have you been? We've missed you so much!" Tears welled up in my eyes.
"Well... At first I ran. For days I chased the squirrels, the bunnies, and ran from the cars. It was glorious!" Milo's tongue hung from his mouth in joy.
"The strange things I ate were interesting. So many flavors! Then... then I ate that tasty trash behind the restaurant. I was so sick. I couldn't move for a day. I whined for you but you never came. It made me afraid."
Milo hung his head for several moments. Then he perked up.
"That's how I learned to be careful about food. Some other dogs showed me but they were scary. I hung out with them for a while but eventually they beat me up. I limped for days and missed you so much."
Milo looks at his front left paw, licks it, then looks back to me.
"That's about when I decided to start running. I wanted to get away from people and dogs. I wanted to be free."
There was a strength radiating from Milo now. He looked regal. That's not easy for such an ugly mutt as Milo.
"I'd seen the screaming monsters come by. They always went the same way and sometimes they had places to sit. Sometimes they stopped!" I think I see a smile on Milo's face. "I hopped onto the monster and road it for days. Sometimes it stopped, sometimes it moved, sometimes people and other dogs would jump on. The people called the monster a rooster. I don't know why. If it were really a rooster then I'd have eaten it!"
Out of habit, I reach out and scratch Milo behind the ear. "Good boy," I said softly.
"I jumped off the 'rooster' and traveled a bit longer until I saw giant water. It tasted awful and the birds were mean but I sat there for a few days. There's plenty of food near the giant water." Again, Milo seemed to grin. "I learned to ride a big, hard bed on top of the giant water. A nice skinny man showed me how. We had lots of fun. His name was Hank. Hank and I had lots of fun."
Milo, somehow, took on a dark expression.
"Then the sky was gray. Then the sky was loud. Hank said that we could have a really fun ride..." Milo whimpered but continued. "The giant water was rough then. It reached out and covered me and Hank. I was so scared."
"I'm here, buddy." I scratched Milo behind the ear again. He looked at me then perked up.
"I got back to land but I never saw Hank again. I decided the giant water was too scary and found another rooster. I had to go on several roosters before I found you again. I missed Hank a lot."
"You did good, Milo. I'm glad you had an adventure. I bet Hank is doing just fine."
"I hope so. Now that I'm back, what should we do?"
"Well, I have to go to work. Get in the crate. I'll let you out to pee in a few hours." Then I left.
|
It was an average Tuesday morning. Wife had already left for work and the kids were at school. It was just me, my coffee, and the morning news.
Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. Salesman maybe? Or girl scouts? It was that time of year after all.
I slowly get up, leaving my coffee on the table and pause the tv, and waltz over to the door. I can't see anyone through the peephole. Which probably means Mail delivery or something of the sort.
Instead, on the other side of that door, I found an old friend.
"BOXES!" I cry out. Sitting there on my front porch was my old German Shepard, my old best friend who had gone missing four years ago.
"Yes Charlie, it's me."
Woah okay. Wait a minute, I must be hearing things. I swore it sounded, and looked, like Boxes just spoke. In English.
"No, you're not crazy Charlie. i really can talk." He said to me in a calm, collected tone.
"Oookay. So you can talk. Assuming I'm not imagining this. I don't mean to sound rude, but, why are you here?" I asked him. I still wasn't entirely sure this was real, but I was slowly accepting the situation.
"Because, it's time we had a chat. Is it alright if I come inside?"
It just now hit me that we had been talking on my front porch. I probably looked crazy to anyone who saw. I invited him back into his old house.
"Wow, things have really changed around here." He said. He walked around, seemingly taking everything in. He stopped at the family photo. Boxes was sitting next to me in the photo.
"I remember this. This was just before I left"
"Yea, I know. Speaking of which, why did you leave?" I asked. I was curious, and while I did miss my best friend, I felt like he owed me an explanation.
"Charlie, old friend, when we first met, you said something to me, and then said it again 5 times over the two years after that. It wasn't common enough for me. I decided to leave so I can find out the truth about myself. Who I am. One day, I was in the street, searching for answers when i realized, who better to answer my question than the man who gave me the answer."
"Okay wait, you ran away instead of just asking me?"
"I wanted an honest answer. I wanted to know what other people thought. If it came from you, it would've been biased. But now that I have heard it from many others, I am almost content."
"Almost?" I asked. I was still trying to figure out what he was getting at exactly.
"Yes. First, Charlie, I would like to be allowed to come back. To live at home with the family again. Our family. If it is okay with you." He said.
"Of course! We've all missed you, Boxes. The kids will be ecstatic to see you again." I said. This was a relief. I was glad he was staying again. But I was still wondering what he was asking, yet it almost felt impolite to ask, because it seemed like he was getting to it.
"Finally Charlie, I have to ask. Just one time."
"Go ahead." I said.
"Am I a good boy?"
| 2017-03-31T10:35:58 | 2017-03-31T09:26:29 | 70 | 27 |
[WP] Priests came to your home and performed an exorcism on your mother. After it was over you learned the terrible truth. The demon is the one who raised and loved you. And the possessed woman cared nothing for you. You now search for your true Mother.
|
The woman I knew all my life, woman I called mother was here, but it was not her anymore.
My mother always called me her sweetest child.
That nickname would flow from her lips lovingly every day more times than I can count. It would make me smile, although I would say to her that am not a child anymore.
She would laugh and say, "I know, I know, but you'll always be my child...My sweetest child." - while laughing a little more.
This woman before me did not even know who I was.
My mother would stroke my hair with her gentle fingers and sing a quiet song when I was sad. Her voice was like a healing cloak that would surround my heart and take me to a peaceful sleep.
This woman yelled at me, screaming that she wants me out of her house. Her screeching daggers pierced my heart, and I started crying like I never did in my life.
"Mom, please, don't do this, what is wrong...what did I do wrong? Don't send me away, mom." - I begged her, my whole body shaking uncontrollably, tears flowing down my face.
She pushed me away.
My mother used to hug me so strong like she would never ever, ever let go.
This woman who looked like my mother pushed me and told me to go. She beat me so hart with her once gentle hand, and through the the warmth of the blood on my face, I heard her repeat "Go!" a thousand times more.
I stumbled out the house, walked down the street into the darkness, not knowing where I am going.
I could not comprehend what happened with my mother,
all I knew was that she is gone.
I cried myself to sleep under a bridge that covered a dark, peaceful river flowing next to me. In the moment between the reality and the dream, I could hear the sound of the water, the sound that slowly turned into the gentle voice of my Mother.
"...my sweetest child" - the voice said. - "I am so, so sorry that I had to leave you."
I could see her, I could feel her as she was in my mind and soul. She was not telling me a story, because she was not speaking, I was feeling. She was feeling me a story.
Story about her and me...and that woman. That woman that beat me when I was so small,when I cryed like all babies do. That woman that took money from a grown man for some private time with me when I was so young that I could not even speak.
Death came for me, ready to take me from the arms of that man, to take me in her arms when my weak body could not take anymore.
But death also came for the woman.
I could see and feel her destiny approaching, she would be murdered by the man she payed, as he would not leave a witness of his hideous crime against me.
I saw all that and knew that none had happened because there was someone else there who came for the woman, a demon waiting to drag her soul to hell.
The demon saw me, thought to itself that I was the sweetest child it ever saw...
Suddenly the woman came back into the room and killed the man. Death took him instead of me.
And the woman became my mother, my real Mother.
I could hear her voice around me again, she said she was sorry for leaving, those damn priests made her. She could not fight them back, evil can be strong, she explained.
"Where are you?"- I asked her.
"Home, in hell" - she said. "But it does not feel like home without you."
I begged her to come for me, but she said it was impossible for her to take me to hell, only mortal sinners go there.
"Those are the rules..." I could hear her voice echoing with the sound of thunder that woke me up.
A storm was coming, I could smell electricity in the thick air as my mind became clear.
I was wide awake and knew what I had to do.
My Mother was always there for me, I thought as I walked the streets.
She misses me, I said to myself as I quietly opened the door of the house I lived in my whole life.
"And I miss her..." - I whispered while looking at my reflection in the shiny big knife hanging over the sleeping woman before me, the woman who gave birth to me.
I could feel Death coming, eagar and hungry as her time was due a long time ago.
As was mine.
|
I stood outside the front door, contemplating what I already dreaded was happening. I had received the phone call from the Priest a few hours earlier.
*My Mother was Possessed.*
They were going through with an exorcism and I wanted to see it. I knew I wasn't going to like what I saw, but I needed to see it. Almost as if it could somehow grant me closure from all this pain that I had been fighting...
I let my hand grasp the doorknob, turning and pulling the door open. I stepped inside; it was just the way I remember it. The smell of Apple Pie and Cinnamon, the sound of the TV in the Living Room, the faint smell of Cigarettes and Candles burning... Ah, yes. This was the home I remembered. I walked slowly towards the bedroom, hesitating as I heard the chanting that was coming from inside. I searched inside of me for a reason to not go inside, but I could find none.
So, I repeated the process, opened the door and walked in. Though, this time. I felt a little bit detached from the world as I stared at my Mothers body with the Priests gathered around it. *Something felt empty inside of me, but what? I did not know.*
I looked around at all the Priests who were gathered around the bed. I stared at my Mother again, It was happening. She was getting exorcised. I watched with Shock and Revulsion as she thrashed and screamed about on the bed. She was restrained by for Priests as the Ordained Priest conducted the exorcism. I don't know how long I was awake for. But I was awake long enough to see the Demon rise out of my Mother.
"Goodbye, Son." She said to me as she was revoked from my Mother's body. I stared at her in Shock. Son?! SON?! How dare she call me her Son! My Mother raised me, not her! She was just... there!
**I don't know how long I was awake for. But soon, my knees buckled and I feel to the ground. As soon as my head hit the carpet, everything went black.**
I woke up soon after. I was still in the same house, but It felt empty, It felt colder. I didn't know what to do, It felt like I was fighting a war that I couldn't win. It was hard to deal with the fact that she had been exorcised and my Mother was now acting like I didn't exist. When I woke up, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness of my room, I saw a woman sitting next to my bed.
"Hello?..." I asked. "Hello, Child.." She replied. "You fainted." She added. I was tempted to say something real smart like. **"No duh, Captain Obvious."** But I remained silent. To mentally drained to say anything... "Before you fainted..." She continued. "You lashed out at your Mother. You said some things that really hurt her. She's downstairs in the Kitchen, if you want to apologize."
I nodded. "Thank you." I replied, I glanced at the Clock as it read. **8:24AM**. I blinked and sighed, standing up and turning to look back at the woman, but she was gone. I guess I brushed it off as my Conscientiousness or my Imagination. So, I gathered my things into a Duffel Bag and walked downstairs.
"Oh, you..." My Mother said as she saw me coming down the stairs. I don't know how to describe... Just the look of sheer Hatred and Repulsion that she stared at me with. "Don't Bother, I'm leaving." I replied calmly. My Mother looked startled. "What? No! You can't leave!" She scowled. "Who will do all the Cleaning? Who will do the Laundry?" She asked. "You," I replied.
"You, you were the one who abused me, told me I was worthless, you were the one who told me I wasn't worth anything, you were the one who told me that you hated me. YOU, it was YOU! So you, can do it YOURSELF!" I screamed as she tried to block me from leaving... I pushed past her and walked outside, I can still hear her screaming all the way from the house.
Looks like it's time to find me a real Mother.
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------
[The Writing Files (My Works)](https://www.reddit.com/r/thewritingfiles/)
| 2020-11-12T03:59:31 | 2020-11-12T02:25:21 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
The room is exactly as I recall it, to the most precise detail, but this is not my home. These walls, bookshelf, the leather couch, this is a shroud pulled over something far more malevolent. Then voices, I hear them coming from the basement, they whisper “he knows.” I look to the living room window, into the night. A small crowd of pale, blank, expressionless faces gathered, pointing at me, viewing me on display like some exhibit in a zoo. “He sees us,” one whispers. And then a scream “PUT HIM BACK, PUT HIM BACK NOW.”
Awake in my bed.
|
Something is missing, I thought, something doesn't seem right. I blinked. Something is definitely not right, even more not right than a moment ago. I squeeze my eyes shut and took a deep breath... *okay, I'm just imagining things*... and opened my eyes - something seems more wrong now than ever.
"Are you OK?" my friend asked. I blinked in confusion. She didn't have a nose, she never had a nose, did she?
I tried to reply, but couldn't feel my mouth. I blinked again. Who was I about to talk to? I shut my eyes.
| 2015-06-09T09:54:42 | 2015-06-09T09:42:52 | 95 | 10 |
[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.
|
You'd think this would throw me off. You'd think I'd be disoriented. But I've always been a fast learner and I've played *a lot* of D&D. Like *weeks*. I channeled my annoyance at being interrupted into the first thing that popped into my head.
"WHO SUMMONS THE ALL-PURPOSE NERD?" I boomed. I stand straight and tall and flex a little. Yeah.
"Oh great foul being of America, I implore your assistance!" Little bald dude with fancy purple robes and a black fu manchu 'stache. Is he a gnome? I can't place his accent at all, but it's clear English is not his first language.
"My patience is finite, sorcerer." I'm getting a better look at my surroundings, and it looks like my summoner reads Better Caves and Dungeons. It's like someone set up a Victorian-era office in a red-tinted Elizabethan castle. Books, papers, ink, quills, no messier than my room. Actually, probably less messy than my room, to be honest.
He starts into his spiel about a rival mage, something about intellectual dishonesty and birthright. His accent borders on indecipherable when he gets upset. The whole thing smacks of feuding academics. Basically, 'he stole my thesis, go beat him up.'
I stand with crossed arms trying to look badass and pensive. I wonder, if I'm killed here, do I just go back, or am I legit dead? Every feels pretty 'world of cardboard' here and I'm *pretty sure* the gravity is lighter.
This could be fun as Hell.
"Hmm. Very well. Bring me wine and a sword."
He hesitates. "Uh... Yes. At once!" And he rushes off. He leaves me alone long enough to start going through his books and stuff. Most of it's in... idunno, *gnomish* or whatever, big surprise. Indecipherable except for the diagrams (which look like the quantum mechanical equivalent of alchemy). But I do find a softcover 1988 Almanac, just like the ones Grandma used to throw at us.
He eventually returns with what looks like a hunting knife and a roughly eight-ounce bottle, only a little bigger than what you get on airplanes.
"...really?"
"My Lord, this is the best I have."
I snatch the bottle out of his hand and drain it. It's not the worst red wine I've ever had. Also, I don't really like red wine, like *at all*, but I figured "a can of strawberry seltzer, a can of Diet Coke, and a shot of Everclear" would be three or four alien concepts to this guy. I don't like asking people for stuff they can't deliver.
I examine his "sword." It's a *big knife,* but it's still just a knife to me. Like a cross between a bowie knife and a wakizashi. The handle's a little skinny, but I figure this dude's got small hands. It's actually pretty cool. I find the darkened blade to be weirdly flexible. "Is this *bronze*?"
"Yes, my Lord." His accent's thickening again. He must be afraid of me. That's awesome.
I tuck the bottle in my back pocket and check my phone. It claim's it's 5:23, but I unsurprisingly have no service. "Alright, let's go shed some blood."
|
It felt like I had tripped up some stairs. For a second I thought I had, and immediately froze. The plate in my hand still held the Reuben, but the surface beneath.....
My head snapped up, and I noticed the darkness first. Second were the candles, placed carefully around me in hexagons expanding away from me. Low-level bands of light etched out the writing between the tiers, though none of it looked like a language I could place. The floor, instead of the carpeted stairs I had been climbing, was an old wood, stained with neglect, and riddled with gaps and protruding nails. One was digging into my hand, and as I lifted it I realized the nail was rough, as if hand-forged.
My analysis of the floor was disrupted by a heavy thud, just beyond the candles.
"Stay where you are, demon!"
"What?" I rose, still holding the plate.
A figure was just visible in the room, which I now saw was small, and claustrophobic. A low work-bench dominated a wall, scattered with shapes that I could only just spot in the candle-light. A window was open, but I couldn't feel a breeze. The figure, which seemed to be rather.... short, was doing its best at a power pose, and failing.
"I said stay where you are!"
"Nah, I got that. What's with the demon? Is that some kind of racist term I'm not aware of?"
"What?"
"What?"
The figure shook its head. "Look, you are a demon, you have to be! I summoned you, with a demon summoning, so you have to be a demon! That's how this works!"
I tried to step forward, collided against something. Something hard. "The fuck!?"
"Ahah, see! That barrier holds in demons! And you're a demon!"
"Oh yeah? Have you tried to pass through this?" Hard as rock, my finger tips told me.
"I don't have to prove it works. It won't, because I'm not a demon!" He even stamped his foot. Adorable.
I had had enough. I shifted my sandwich to my other hand, and hefted the plate. Middle school track, don't fail me now. The plate landed with a soft thud three feet to the left of the figure. Almost as if...
"How old even are you?" I asked, leaning against the barrier and taking a bite of my sandwich.
The figure flinched. "N- not you- hush, you demon!"
"Sooooooo, eight, then?" I glanced over at the figure. Definitely too immature to be an adult. I turned my back on him, and took another bite. "Is this your bedroom? Why do you even want a demon? What are demons supposed to do?"
"I- I said hush!"
"Uh huh. You getting bullied in school?"
"I SAID HUSH!"
My feet skidded across the floor as if I had been shoved. Before I could regain my slouch the walls slammed into me, pinning my sandwich to my thigh, my other arm across my chest. "Wha-"
"I have summoned you, demon, from your Earthly dimension, to aid me in a task!"
The walls were crushing me, and I gave a tiny whimper in response.
"You are to use your dark powers to kill the President, Tonald Drump!"
| 2017-05-12T09:26:05 | 2017-05-12T08:05:41 | 68 | 10 |
[WP] You live in a utopian society. Really. There are no dark hidden plots. In fact, it is your job to stage fake conspiracies to give the eager adventurers some 'evil plot' to thwart in order to keep them from bringing down a wholly benevolent ruler out of a misguided need to be the hero.
|
I once wondered how fantastic these people's lives must be. The ones I lie to. The ones who call themselves 'heroes'. To live such a grand life, with their closest friends who've perished are all merely actors doing as I instruct and pay them from my allotment. To live such a fantasy... taking down an evil dictator, finding the missing link of a nonexistent and corrupt megacorporation... must be grand.
The truth of it is... life is boring. We made it that way. We... like it... that way. Food is calculated and dispensed as is necessary, vitamins and medicine of all kinds are dosed in polite moderation and entertainment is managed at a healthy yet enticing pace. The system... Paradise... is perfect and evolving. Too perfect.
Want to learn a language? Learn medicine? Discover the truths of the universe? Tell your system. When you wake up, you'll know everything you want to.
Everything you... want to. Want. That's the keyword.
I fell into the category of those who wanted to know EVERYTHING. When I woke up... I wished I didn't. But the system wasn't made that way. So now, I'm an Arbiter. I settle disputes. I oversee stations and ships. To maintain peace, the system, at all costs.
I... had dreams once. Aspirations. I still remember them. Though... they're not worth the pursuit. I know my purpose, even if it seems... unethical.
I lie. I lie. I lie. I've lied a million times. I'll lie a billion more. The corporations that rule the world are planning on replacing everyone with machines. The 4th aero jump force are about to stage a coup. As long as the adventurous and imaginative are kept entertained and sated in their want for heroics, they are allowed to believe such things until they become of age and allowed to use Paradise for the first time.
Paradise. A place of perfect serenity. All desires are taken care of. You need not fear a lack of sustenance or amusement.
But...
Maybe that's a bad thing?
When everything you want is readily available, you don't know how to function without it. It's this realization that makes me envious of the Pathfinders. They are prohibited from Paradise for that very reason. Though... I've never seen any to be more genuinely happy than when I see a Pathfinder come in on the GalacTec Relay with new discoveries or findings of resource deposits or life on faraway planets.
They are the only ones I see to bear scars, to cry in agony, to... jump with joy. They're the Elite. Yet they know no Paradise. They're the forgers of our future... yet they are prohibited from Paradise.
We're safe but... we're too safe. Maybe... maybe Paradise wasn't as good of an idea as we thought it was.
[CftU] This is a represented log from Chronicles from the Universe in the perspective of a Selendrian Arbiter regarding the balance and counterbalance between the lives of Selendrians and their Pathfinders.
|
"So you understand your job?"
"No..." I paused a moment, "I understand the words you just told me, sure, however, I am not sure, WHY you would want to do this?"
"Okay, so, our society is just, well, amazing, right? " I nodded and Madam Presidente continued, "So, One of the things we learned early after we cured cancer, after we figured out that we didn't need to have homeless people, after we didn't need to have hunger, is that people, the majority of people, are really happy. However, there are always a subset of society that needs to believe the worst, in everyone, including me, our government, how we are able to provide for all. All of that. To them, a very vocal, yet small minority, needs to protest *'something' ,* now, that's where you come in."
"Why?"
"To be honest, if we don't do this kind of thing and draw them out, they will kill innocents in the name of something being wrong with our society. So, Every few years, the government has to plant some ideas in the heads of people who we have already figured out from psychological testing in school that will be a problem. If we can give them something to believe in, you know, like the *Ortho 5* or the *Seven Rivers 12*, we can prevent the nuke from being set off in Chicago in 2278."
"There was no nuke set off in Chicago in 2278."
"Exactly! We correctly assessed the threat from Norman Johnson and his *3 Little Bears in Sox* and prevented that." Madam Presidente looked very pleased with herself.
"How?"
"Well, you present a different threat. When those people discover that threat that looks real, they become patriotic and try to defeat the threat, instead of trying to topple a peaceful government. "
"Dormad Gurvey?" I remembered a situation we had when I was a boy. He had a conspiracy theory that the government was feeding dead people to people. He had quite a few followers, then it was discovered his sources were really trying to create new private farms for profit again. Those new farms would use pesticides to keep the weevils off of their new peach crops. However, the pesticides were dangerous to the bee population, and after the great hive collapse of '38, we had shifted everything to nano-bots that could help the bees while hindering the weevils.
"None of that was real. All part of our efforts to keep people happy."
"Someone will find out?" I stammered.
"No, they won't and you will make sure of it. I need to see your written proposal on my desk in 3 weeks. Oh, and I have given this same assignment to people in Districts 18 and 23. The best one will be implemented and well those not chosen..."
"No..."
"Oh yes, peace at any cost."
| 2021-09-08T08:29:34 | 2021-09-08T08:25:25 | 57 | 34 |
[WP] In 1,000 years, fantasy stories will be set in this era. Write a fantasy story set in the 21st century from the viewpoint of someone living 1,000 years from now.
Based on a post on r/showerthoughts
|
The world was different then. It was a brutal and magical place. Before the unification, before simulink, even before the great colonisation, there was a world of chaos and wonder. There was a world where great wizards still spoke in the language of machines, where the dark lords could pay to have their voice spoken from a million faceless lips, where men still wanted and died. A mere eight billion souls writhed on a speck in the darkness, flitting for but a moment before they were gone and replaced by those of their children; the children of men, their fate and likeness at the mercy of the cosmic dice.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
There were many magical and astounding places in this world. Far in the West sat the Greed Mines of Cole where unsatiable beasts of iron fed on the life-force of creatures long since forgotten, spitting out nought but smoke and spark. In the East sat the great Cities of Green, where men demolished great towers of real, natural wood because the land was more valued without it. Moving throughout it all, under the earth and through great black expanses of poison water, soaring overhead between uncountable tubes of wood and through the very air and sky itself... was the FIrst Web of Thought. This web was the only which had portals, light panels which would speak written word and boards which would listen to the words of men and spells of the machine languages, spoken only through the fingers.
&#x200B;
It was through one such portal on an ordinary day in this mystical world that a young wizard by the name of Andrew was propositioned to partake of a potion which could twist and fortify the very mind itself. A sharp *bing* alerted him to this.
"Amy: Coffee??"
&#x200B;
And it is here which our story begins,
|
Aaliyah hitched her shorts, purse tucked beneath her arm, carefully making her way over the rough gravel roads. A beautiful raced past, with a gaping sunroof and windows glinting in the sunlight. A magnificent beast stood arched on the hood. Aaliyah sighed; sometimes she dreamed of that. She was but a simple girl, attending public school.
She was sixteen, and likely only had two more years of education - most of her standing only learned until eighteen, at which time they gained employment toiling for the rich. Her father worked in a caryard, and her mother in a grocery store. Her father’s caryard stood not far from the grand gates to the wealthy neighbourhoods of town, lined with tall trees that changed with the seasons. They would go on to university at the very least, with graduate school and a guarantee of master’s being more likely. Then they would inherit the companies of the world. It was just the way it was.
On the televisual communications devices, they saw the powerful and mighty argue over nuclear weapons, and if and when they should be deployed. She knew nobody who had encountered one, for she was not of the world, living in a simple town. Aaliyah had never left her state, and believed in one God. She had been assigned female at birth and continued to present that way into adulthood, ignorant of any other way.
She paused outside The Apple Store, gazing into the window. These devices were large and clunky, with a large button, sometimes outstretching one’s hands. But Aaliyah had only known these primitive communications for her entire life. Nevertheless, she could not dawdle - for her brother’s birth anniversary was approaching, and she had sworn to buy him nikes. It was a solemn oath, and she would not revoke it. On she continued to the nikes realm.
| 2018-12-25T04:05:20 | 2018-12-25T03:19:47 | 120 | 43 |
[WP] At the age of 18, people summon an animal that perfectly fits their personality to be their Guardian Spirit.
The animal would probably not be of the user's choice.
Just putting that out there.
|
*ritual soon omg cant w8 u onli summon once so #yolo #yoso #spirittime*
*@kaseters omg excitd wat do u tink ure gettg*
*@cutecheekbuttswag i dunno prob sth kool lyk a jaguar for mi inner beeyatch lol or sth random lyk a penguin or eggsotic lyk a peacock*
*@kaseters wat if it's #uknowat*
*@cutecheekbuttswag ill kill miself dont u dare even think it*
"Casey put down that damn phone, everyone's waiting for you."
Casey rolled her eyes. "God, mom, it's *my* summoning ritual, you know."
"Yes, and all your grandparents and aunts and uncles are here to witness it, so show some respect. Move!"
Sneering, Casey tucked her phone into her bra -- she had shorts on, but they were so short and tight that she couldn't fit anything bigger than a couple of credit cards in them. Not that anyone needed more than a couple of cards.
She went through the preparation for the ritual (*lookin swag in mi ritual paint, shld get a totes adorbs tatt like this 1ne #selfie #spirittime*) and the traditional steps (*old pple shld just #shutup) with increasing impatience. Finally, when her mom nodded at her, Casey blew out the candle, said the ritual words, and then threw her arms in the air and screamed: "COME TO ME PENGUIN OF DOOM!"
There was a loud *crack* and a thud as something heavy materialised in the middle of the circle. Casey shrieked in excitement. "*Turn on the lights! Moooom!*"
"Yes, yes hold on -- huh."
The lights came on. Everyone stared.
"Braaap," went the sheep. It blinked at them, and began chewwing placidly on its own floppy ear.
One second went by. Two seconds, three, four.
The sheep went, "Braap!" and stopped chewing, shaking its head in pain. There were teeth marks on its ear. It stilled, looking confused as to where the thing that was hurting it had gone.
Another three seconds.
The sheep started chewing on its ear again.
Casey started to cry.
**Epilogue**
*#uknowat #spirittime*
*@kaseters omg im so sorry u got #uknowat at least u can say ure part of e new gen #99percent #sheeppower rite???!!!*
*@cutecheekbuttswag #shutup*
**End**
^(I nearly shorted out my mental circuits trying to write in text speak.)
|
"Happy Birthday, Adam!" Adam's parents cheered loudly in his ear, laying out a large white ice cream cake before him.
Adam suppressed a smile and aimlessly stared at the balloons drifting against the ceiling. He glanced down at the cake, which spelled out the words **Congratulations!!** in big red gooey letters, surrounded by 18 color-swirled candles.
"Well, go on!" his mother pushed, "Make a wish!"
Rolling his black eyes, Adam leaned forward and pursed his lips, before hesitating a moment. His eyes hung like orbs, fastened on the small flames before him, which were dribbling wax along the sides of the pastel candles. He was nervous. Nervous for what kind of animal might appear by his side when he blew out the candles. He hoped it was a good one. I mean, if he was to spend the rest of his life with an animal, it better be a cool one, but deep down, Adam knew it wouldn't be one. The Spirit Animal wasn't made of one's own's volition, but rather took the form of an animal that was closest to the personality of it's master. And Adam, by all definitions was definitely not a cool guy, thus he would not get a cool animal. Only the outgoing or brave or funny people got the cool animals, like hawks and lions and bears. Adam had not one of these attributes. He was not funny or brave and most certainly was not outgoing. But despite knowing how much of a loser he was, he still hoped he would get a cool animal. One that he could brag about and show off to his friends. One that would prove to his parents he was not so much a wimp.
"Well, go on!" his dad shouted, "Do it!"
Adam shifted nervously in his seat. Suddenly, he didn't care anymore and realized he should just be happy with whatever he got. After all, his parent's Tucan and Warthog weren't exactly the coolest animals around either. He closed his eyes and blew out the candles softly, watching the small bits of smoke rise slowly in the air. The tiny tendrils spiraled higher and higher, collectively condensing into one large black plume. Adam stared curiously at the swirling smoke and watched in amazement as it grew larger and larger. The shifting smoke changed shapes rapidly, forming one animal after the other. Purples, reds, and greens all started to bleed into the mix before the smoke darted down to Adam's side in an instant.
Adam felt something brush against his knee and looked down to let out a startled gasp, meeting the animal's eyes with shock. A large black panther sat before him, his sable coat shone like silk, his green eyes gleamed like emeralds.
| 2014-06-26T02:25:59 | 2014-06-26T01:48:49 | 45 | 23 |
[WP] As a joke you were buried with "respawn in 9..." Your grandkids visit the graveyard 100 years later. A scraping sound startles them as the nine transforms into an eight.
Credit to
https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/54qoa5/what_do_you_want_your_tombstone_to_say/d849ucs
For the prompt
|
Dying wouldn't be so bad.
I get that impression every time we visit this graveyard. I mean you don't have to eat, deal with heartburn, or fight off leg cramps as you try and wipe yourself. The only requirement is that you sleep in a dirt hole all day.
And with the number of times I've rolled off the bed, I'm already doing that.
So really, despite the tears and memories, my deceased Grandpa hasn't got it all that bad.
"Does being here stress you out?" Judy asks me as she wipes tears from her eyes.
She's all sentimental and sensitive, my sister Jude. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised she made it all the way to eighty. You'd think the stress of life would have been too much.
"Matter of fact, it does quite the opposite," I say.
"You aren't worried that one day it'll be you?"
I close my eyes and sigh. Having this conversation makes me wish it was me, right now.
"I mean, it's not that I'm afraid of death," Jude continues, "it's just, I haven't done everything I wanted in life." She cries more at this.
I rest a hand on my old sis's shoulder. "There, there, Jude. What is it that you haven't done yet?"
She blows her knows into her kerchief. "Oh you know, stuff."
"Right," I say, "you ever wonder if he did everything he wanted?"
Jude pauses crying for a few moments and thinks it over. "Probably not, but there's no way for him to come back now, is there? Maybe if he left a list, we coulda done some of it for him."
"Right. . ." I say again. But my mind crosses over to what an old man might have left undone.
"I always wonder what he would have thought if he knew he had nine grandkids," Judy says.
I smile and stare at the number 9 on his grave, it's engraved below a few words. Can't read them without my glasses, though.
"Jude," I say, "what are those words above the big 9?"
She leans forward, stares at the words, and then I hear a gurgle.
"Judy?"
My sister topples forward onto the stone, she's clutching at her chest. I'm frozen stiff like a ball of ice as I watch her shake. I try to move forward but my old bones don't respond, I'm paralysed.
And when it's all over, Judy's pale and limp. And I'm standing there, jaw wide open, my hands shaking.
My legs give away like they're made of jello and I fall to my knees and stare at sis.
I don't know what to do. She's gone now, there's no doubt.
"Help," I say. But it comes out like a whisper. There's no one around anyway.
The ground shakes. The number on the grave shifts from 9 to 8.
I take Judy's fallen glasses and read the words: *Respawn in 8 more sac . . .*
The sentence fades there. But I can put two and two together.
I hope it's just a coincidence, not some freaky devil thing my Grandfather had a hand in.
The phone in Jude's purse rings, the noise jolts me out of my shocked state. I pick it up after fumbling the darn thing at least three times.
"Judy?" the voice says.
It's my sister Sheena.
"It's Tommy," I say.
"Tommy, Daniel's in hospital," Sheena tells me.
The number on the grave shifts from 8 to 7.
"Sheena, I think Jude's dead. . . and Danny," I whisper into the phone.
"Why would you say something like that?"
"I. . . I'm sorry, just come to Grandad's grave, I'm here with Jude. . ."
She starts going off at me. Saying that I'm crazy and she's calling the police.
I hang up on her.
And stare at the number on Grandad's grave.
------
*If you enjoyed this, check out /r/f0xdiary*
|
I hate memorial day. The colors red, white and blue flooding the streets with people screaming "Merica!" from their gas guzzling F-350 Super Charge. It's like they actually think America has ever done something for them. Sorry to burst your bubble people, but this country has never done jack shit for you. I learned that piece from my dirtbag father. He made damn sure that I knew about my fore-fathers and how I had to fight for my freedom, and no one has every done shit for me!
The worst part of Memorial day is visiting the graveyard where my family has been buried from generation to generation. Every year my older sister drags my siblings and I to the gravesite to "honor" the family we have lost. What a bunch of crap. I only go so that once uncle Fred dies, I can get in on the inheritance money. Sure enough, that old bag of bones is still kicking.
"War Hero, Loving Husband and Father. 1902-1988"
"Grave's still here sis, can we go now? This place gives me the creeps" I said to Sam.
"Can't you show some respect for once in your life? Daddy was a war hero and today is his day" Sam replied angrily.
"Ill be at the car, come get me when you guys are done here" I said.
Sam sure does know how to piss me off. As I was walked past uncle Marks grave, I heard this strange noise. My shoulders rolled forward and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. It was as though there was a chalkboard in the middle of the graveyard and someone was dragging a nail ever so slowly across it. Each step I took, the sound got louder and more daunting. I looked around to see if my younger brother was trying to play some cruel joke on me, but he was still at my father's grave with the rest of them. I had finally pinpointed the origin of the noise. It was coming from a grave I had never recognized before. The grave was a dark, weather-beaten, concrete slab with a single dead rose laid in front of it. "Simon Dent". Weird, I thought. I had a grandfather that I had never met named Simon. I stood above the grave looking upon it with distaste. My eyes were fixed on the words etched into the stone.
"Respawn in 9..."
What felt like a few moments passed when I felt a hand reach out and grab my shoulder.
"Tom! Whats going on? Ive been calling your name for a few minutes now" Sam said with a very worried look on her face.
"Do you remember grandpa Simon, Sam?" I asked, voice quivering.
"He died before we were born. Dad used to talk about him. Said he was a funny guy. Didn't say much else about him though, why?" Sam replied curiously.
"This is his grave. Do you hear that?" I said to Sam, anxiously.
"Hear what?" She asked.
"It's a very distinct scratching noise, you don't hear that?" I replied, confused.
"Tom, you're starting to scare me. What is going on with you?" Sam replied with a concerned voice.
The sound became louder. Scratching, like it was trying to tear at my ear drum. I placed my hands over my ears and looked down at the grave again. This time the stone was different. I couldn't put my finger on it. The stone wasn't much before but for some reason it looked different now.
"Respond in 8..." I read out loud.
That was it. How could it be? It had just read 9 and now it's 8. I panicked. If i told Sam, she would think I'm even more crazy. I have to run. What if it keeps changing? What happens at 0...? He's coming for me. I know it. I must prepare myself.
I hate Memorial day. My family always comes to visit me at home. I make them speak to me through a glass window. I always wear my white jacket that ties the hands in the back so they can never take me. It's the safest place for me to be when Grandpa Simon comes to get me.
| 2016-09-27T15:23:59 | 2016-09-27T14:47:43 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] The Moon is now habitable and millionaires are purchasing the best land there. You can’t afford anything like that, but after going through your inheritance, you find documents from the early 2000s that your great-great-great-grandfather had indicating that he owned grade-A Moon land.
|
I was ready to finally move onto the moon. I had saved up over the past twenty years on a measly doctor's salary and have secured myself a small plot of land near the borders of the dark side. Twenty years of toiling away seeing the less fortunate patients who could not afford MedBot's. Twenty years of frugality, cheaping out on a fresh piece of fruit and instead opting for NutriTablets and bread instead. The day has come at last and I spared no time packing up my ancient house that I had inherited from my late father, who inherited from his father before, and the father before that, and so forth. I think the house was bought by my greatx3 grandfather.
&#x200B;
Retirement was supposed to be worry free. I would be breathing fresh filtered oxygen and spending my time sunbathing in my Sol Pod. I knew deep down, however, that I won't be getting much sun. The small half acre of land I bought was not at all the best place to spend old age in, but anything was better than this sh\*thole down in Earth. Everything was the way it should be, until I came across a manila envelope hidden deep in one of the old desks. It was a land deed to Sector A on the moon. I was livid. One of my friends must've been playing a prank on me, but to the extent of finding paper? That's a bit far fetched, money was much better spent on a Lunar Retirement Plan.
&#x200B;
There were two days before my liftoff to the moon, I had that much time to make sure that the Sector A deed was real. I went to one of the best lawyers I knew to make sure. And after a full 20 hours of research, analysis, and meeting up with Earth based Lunar Property Lawyers amongst other Planetary government officials, the final verdict was out.
&#x200B;
"Congratulations Mr. Aldrin, we found everything to be valid, you are officially the richest man in the solar system."
|
Aiden looked at the documents in disbelief... He thought about it, but there was no way it was true. It was almost impossible to own land at the time. He sat in the large dusty storage room of the courthouse looking at nothing. No... The sky. The moon. He knew he'd have a nice luxurious life on the moon. It was going to be great. He walked out of the storage room and headed for the attorney's office. He had to verify it. And if it was true. People would be dying to buy it from him. He'd be rich. The document was so old... It wasn't even stored on a holopad. It said, "Units of land owned: 25 Acres". Aiden would be rich and he knew it so well that he was jumping up and down. And so he walked out of the courthouse. Lucky... And happy.
He walked into the attorney's office to have the document verified, just to see if it really was real. The light blue walls shone in the light and the Kyepres lights lit up the reception area. He walked up to the secretary who was typing on her computer. She had a yellow collared shirt with short sleeves and a tight skirt. Her eyes glimmered in the background. She was one beautiful woman. He asked, "I'm here to verify if an Estate Deed document is real."
She looked back at him, "Of course, let me see."
Aiden reached out and put it on the desk.
The secretary's eyes went huge, "Holy Moly.... That's a lot of land on the moon. But it's definitely real. You've got some nice land, and the attorney in the back is looking for some of it. He asked me if I could find 5 acres of land for 10,000,000 ~~CR~~. Are we good on that deal?"
"Damn right you've got a deal", Aiden breathed out. His dreams had finally come true. He could finally relax and live his lavish life. With peace.
| 2019-11-29T12:08:18 | 2019-11-29T11:47:48 | 305 | 21 |
[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
|
Slowly I pull into the driveway, noticing that there is an extra car in the spot where I usually park.
“Who is this,” I wonder, hoping that our friend Dave had stopped by in his travels through the area.
As I walk quietly through the door, a trail of clothing greets me, and the sounds of pleasure.
I enter the hallway, terrified of what I was about to see but desperately hoping not to.
Tears stream down my face as I cross the living room, God I can smell them!
My heartbeat racing in my chest, I feel alive and violent; They will both pay.
First to the gun cabinet I sneak, unlocking and grabbing my trusty, loaded weapon.
My mind is racing, remembering our vows, till her death we will part.
Cocking weapon, I again cross the room, my cheeks flushed with rage.
Countless steps I climb, fear and turmoil grip me harder yet.
Is this right, or have I made the wrong choice?
Almost there, chest is burning, aching with this burden.
Pushing the door open reveals the bitter truth.
My wife and her lover, embracing, naked.
I pull the gun and shoot.
Oh, what have I done?
Is that my son?
His arms, broken.
Both dead.
Fuck.
|
The brand of cough syrup John bought was not right, not for dulling down the day to a drooling stupor. Fun intoxicants were there no doubt, but so were other toxic chemicals that could quite easliy corrode the liver. Down the hatch it went, and have you ever felt a gust of wind smack with extra force? That is John's caution, carried away as he too drifts on toward a dimmer, more complacent place. A dab of drool dances down his slackened chin, a slow retarded walz of ignored spittle. Eyes glaze with shadow of ignorant bliss flick once, twice, and thrice to stay. What a distant good feeling world he is in with all numbnees ahh. Some guy is on his bed and he looks tired or dead. Not a problem for John as John is super good now. Like so nice and where is his pillow, under head? Ah and uh so he's in clouds and sleep. On to somethin how dreams awake but deep. That worked, he love cough syrup. Thick and gross it help. Pain gone, so long. The selfless song. I mumble. Farewell.
| 2017-01-14T21:07:16 | 2017-01-14T14:18:10 | 49 | 24 |
[WP] You're abducted by aliens & soon realize it's more of an adoption than an abduction. You're now a pet for a loving alien family. They can't understand you but they seem to understand your body language & have basic knowledge of what humans need to live and entertain themselves when they're busy
|
Life here in the human zoo isn't too bad. We have nice houses that we live in and we can come and go in our enclosure as we please. We wave at the children when they wave back at us. We are supplied with regular food, although I don't think the aliens get the need for clothing. We started to fashion blankets into make shift clothing and they eventually supplied us with real fabric so we could make little shorts and shirts for ourselves. Their clothes are more like tight fitting suits. The children don't wear clothes at all really. The aliens are very helpful with the pregnant women and often a birth of a new human invites crowds of people and what I think are their TV cameras or something along that line. I have a wife. We married ourselves after the zoo closed. When we started holding hands and such the aliens figured out that we had mated. I think the keepers have figured out that we mate for long periods of time. When humans come and go they always move us in pairs. I don't know how many other human zoos there are in this world. We don't get their TV but then again, we don't speak their language. We've made games for ourselves and we keep busy. Our enclosure has dirt so we started a small garden of the native plants. The nights here are quiet. All the crowds are gone and the zoo is very quiet.
&#x200B;
In the early days, our keepers would come in and hose things down and try to clean us but they eventually figured out that with water and supplies we could clean ourselves. Now, they just help us keep the enclosure clean and neat. The latrines are still primitive. I'm not sure these aliens have body processes like ours. We've done what we can with the outhouse situation. The keepers are very nice. We've taught them how to hug and shake hands. It was unfamiliar at first but they eventually figured it out. Anyway, I have to go because I think we have a photoshoot of some sorts? It looks like a camera and there is a flash of sorts. It's green in color. They must be promoting us again.
|
It all started last week, or maybe less, I’ve lost track of time. Another normal day in the books just like any other mundane Monday at work. I had plans to visit my grandparents afterward and drop off some late birthday gifts I’d been holding onto due to the top brass leaving our section undermanned for the past week. The company was on the verge of a pharmacological break through, lots of secrecy and very hush hush. From what I’d overheard it was supposedly a new psychedelic drug that would turn the world upside down and expose all the freaks. Me, I’m just the janitor and never one to turn down a freak out.
I made sure that night to wait until the bastards left, or so I thought. After getting my greasy hands on a vial of the stuff I took a swig and wrapped up for the night. Upon walking out of the door I was slammed with uppercuts that came in waves, immense pressure. My head swelled to size of Cohen’s on the campaign trail, stumbling to find my keys I finally made it back to the ship. “Wait I thought I drove a car, no matter,” I said to myself as I zipped along to my grandparents house to deliver the gifts. Almost immediately after starting the ship I arrived which I thought strange, never the less I stepped out reached for the key under the pot and let myself in.
Upon looking up I see through a glass peep hole large faces staring back at me. As I scramble to find my bearings I rush to another window in the house and notice my office right beside the house. How long had I been in this drug induced stupor? I was mad to think I could sleep this one off. As time passed I became more mad and wild like a cock in the ring after a three peat. The faces smiled while contorting to expose their true nature. Fearsome beasts, bigots, blonde hair, orange faces, heavy bodies. After what felt like a decade passing the lead creature held up a piece of paper to the glass I was being contained in. Adoption for clinical trial papers...
| 2019-05-09T18:00:38 | 2019-05-09T16:13:32 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] Skills level up in real life through use, much like in RPGs. One day, you keep getting notifications that one of your skills is leveling, over and over, even though you're not doing anything.
|
A slight vibration in my ear alerts me to what I already know, I am taking a dump. Still I gaze up and to the right to see my augmenter display, “defecation has received +1 XP.”
I shuffle my way past the sink and into the hallway, another vibration, “sanitation -2 XP.” I sigh, “fucking nanny state.”
I was told that in the past 32 used to mean adult, but my age XP bar has been stuck at level 14 since I threw up in the pizza parlor’s Zero G ball pit 6 years ago, that was a mess.
The lighting of my cigarette is followed by the oh so familiar vibration, I don’t even look at that one anymore.
The TV powers itself on to show the morning news and I slip into my usual state, eyes open but otherwise unaware. I smirk inside as my “informed XP” grows steadily. They can make me watch, but they can’t make listen. The constant vibrations undercut my victory somewhat, but in this world you take what you can get.
The walk to work is filled with the drudgery of all walks to work, the constant vibration rewarding a punishing all the same. Little goals that keep little people moving forward. I thought I would eventually grow numb and immune to the vibrations, but I always end up checking. That small dopamine dump of leveling up something as unimportant as hygiene for clipping my toe nails is the most excited I’ve been in months.
Out of a lifetime of habit I look up to check my XP. A shadow covers my eyes as I see my luck XP falling like a shit from heaven while simultaneously my age is skyrocketing towards 95. Further above I see the crate that has caused my shadowed eyes.
I leap up, “why didn’t I level up athleticism when I had the chance?”
|
... and at this hour we'll be shifting our news coverage on the Award Ceremony for Skilled Experts. Tim, how is that going over there?"
"Oh boy Jim! The crowd here is so pumped, you can just feel the sheer enthusiasm from them as they scream with that passionate energy. In fact, the response seems so big that they're already giving out the rewards."
"Wow Tim! That must be a new record for getting this whole thing started. Soon maybe they'll be the experts at getting these things over with and to the point."
"Ahaha... Uh, yes Jim, they're getting things a' moving. Let's see. First up we've got the expert on most high scores in video games."
"Congratulations to them. Hopefully their live stream channel will be able to last them until retirement."
"Heh, yup. It's a booming business, that video game playing. Uhm... next we've got the expert of... erotic refrigerator drawings."
"OK. Sure. Glad you came out in public for that one."
"Well, Jim, if you can express the deepest part of yourself and be the best at doing it too, wouldn't you feel accomplished?"
"Don't get existential with me Tim. My only other response is we should start giving out rewards to whoever achieves the highest body count next year."
"Sure, whatever. Up next is the reward for laziness."
"Okay, fine. You know what? I think I'm going to expedite my coffee break skills now. Jen, can you watch this with Tim for the time being? Maybe you'll get that T.V. watching skill maxed for next year."
"Speaking of which, Jim."
"I'm done!"
| 2018-04-26T15:53:56 | 2018-04-26T14:39:23 | 50 | 17 |
[WP] A new President is elected, only to resign within minutes of being sworn in.
Why? What is the country's reaction to such an event? What happens next?
|
It was a cold day in January, with an additional chill of foretelling in the air. There were thousands people in attendance to watch the most popular politician get sworn in and billions watching it on Television. The air was electric and filled with history as it was being made.
" I John Abraham do solemnly swear to uphold.....", simple words but with the power to change the history of the world were spoken solemnly.
The swearing in ceremony went flawlessly. The first family was whisked away quickly and efficiently by the secret service. The audience also left though not till they had facebooked, instagrammed their view of the moment.
Soon whispers were heard, the president had called for a press conference as he had an important announcement. Reporters heading back to their homes, changed courses to the white house, TV programs were cancelled, rumors started to fly. There was a sense of excitement again in the air.
" Dear citizens, I wanted to inform you that I will be resigning effectively. I love this country, I am proud of being an american but over the years I was gravely concerned about how much control we had given up while electing our leaders. I went through the election to prove it and to bring it to light. I know I will disappoint a lot of people but after hearing my reasons I hope that you all will forgive me.
Our elections do not choose the best person to lead. They choose the person with the most money. I had a massive war chest which was the single biggest reason that I won, but where does this money come from?
It comes from large corporations which need tax breaks and other sops that they expect from me.
It comes from countries that will expect me to provide foreign aid in billions to them.
It come from countries that will expect me to send troops against their enemies, sacrifice our young for helping them settle their tribal differences.
Our elections do not choose the best person to lead, they choose the one who can sell his soul in the most profitable manner. This is true for every elected official and hence Washington is what it is and I cannot change it.
I hope that you, the people of this country, its true wealth will realize that you have the real power and elect the right person and not the war chest. When that happens, I hope that you will remember and forgive me.
I bid you good bye and best of luck and I look forward to seeing a new set of leaders that we can all be proud off"
Four years later, after historic house and senate elections, the following words were again heard throughout the world. " I John Abraham do solemnly swear to uphold....."
|
It was the first time in the history of Washington, D.C. that a politician had kept his word.
President Franklin Sharpton had gone to the Oval Office, picked up a single piece of paper and a pen, wrote a short statement, then rose from his chair and walked out.
The Vice President watched as the most-powerful man in the world headed toward the front door of the White House.
"Mr. President? What are you doing?"
"I'm not the president anymore, Sir."
Vice President Al Porter's mouth hung open for a moment. "You're what?"
"Good luck, Mr. President. I just resigned. It's your ship to steer now."
With that, Sharpton strode out of the White House, never to return.
Porter found the letter on the President's — apparently his — desk and read the resignation. He sat there in shock for the longest time. Only a knock at the door broke his reverie.
"Mr. Vice President? Where's the President?" a secretary asked.
Porter's head dropped into his hands. "You're speaking to him."
The secretary looked incredulous. "This is no time for jokes. Where's the President?"
Porter picked up and waved the piece of paper in her general direction. The secretary — perhaps it was Sarah or Sammy — took hold of it, read it, then looked shocked. "How ... could he ... do this?" she sputtered.
"He promised," Porter said, still in shock. "He promised to resign if he ever became president."
"That was campaign talk," Shirley, or whatever her name was, mustered.
"A campaign promise."
"Which nobody ever keeps!"
Porter looked up at the secretary. "Until now."
"What are we going to do?"
Porter glanced around the Oval Office, then at his desk. "Get me Perkins from the Supreme Court. We'll have to announce his resignation and put things into motion to nominate a new vice president. That's about all we can do."
The secretary finally lowered the letter from her face and placed it face-down on the desk. "I still don't understand why he did this."
"I can't explain it either," Porter said. "Just get me Perkins. We have to get moving on this. The government can't be without a chief executive for long."
Shelley — that *had* to be her name — finally shrugged. "Okay," she said, then strode out of the Oval Office.
"What a mess he's left me with," Porter mused. "Well, no time like the present to get started cleaning this up."
| 2014-12-08T21:36:26 | 2014-12-08T20:03:10 | 33 | 22 |
[WP] The universe has ended and nothing is left. Nothing except all the damn immortals created by the many Writing Prompts all standing around wondering what to do.
|
Here am I. Mostly nothingness surrounds me. I see a few beings, here and there. They seem lost, without purpose. But I have a purpose.
I've been on this trail for untold years. I've lost track how long it's been. Countless eons. But I'm still here, still going. I've fought my way through many obstacles on my journey, but have never lost my sole purpose. Unlike these other beings, I know my fate. I've known forever that I am immortal. Until I fulfill my destiny.
I'm the snail, and I'm coming for that motherfucker.
|
Immortals marching one by one
Along the æther plane
And though the other things are done
They really can't complain
---
One thinks he's God
One's been impaled!
One's wish has gone awry
One thinks he's in an RPG
One cannot tell a lie
---
They sit on reddit all day long
Recycling Writing Prompts
And in the rare poetic response
The last line never rhymes.
(But it's still oddly satisfying because it rhymes with a line further up, biooooootch)
| 2018-03-09T15:56:57 | 2018-03-09T14:50:36 | 251 | 112 |
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads
|
Researcher/Tijuana area, seeking two strong men to dig a hole, open air, must provide own equipment and security. Have transportation, will pick up.
Researcher/Tijuana area, seeking someone who can do some onsite translations of classical Nahuatl, security provided. Have transportation, will pick up.
Researcher/Tijuana area, seeking someone fluent in spoken Nahuatl, most provide own security and transportation.
Researcher/Tijuana area, desperately seeking an ancient Aztec ceremonial knife, hilt will be adorned with a 3 tiny rubies and one emerald and the blade will be inscribed with the Nahuatl words for time and blood. Cost not an issue.
|
In search for survivers In the greater New York area, hell anywhere really. I am, well I was a sandhog and was underground working on the new water way in Manhatten when the Russians dropped the bomb. Never have I emerged from underground to such horror. Everything in ruins and no one in sight. I walked around for a bit shouting for someone to show themselves. I realized that there was probably a lot of radiation in the area seeing the amount of damage done, so I thought it best to head back underground. I have about a months worth of rations down here as it is protocol incase of a cave in.Please someone be out there and respond to this post. It's so lonely.
| 2015-04-29T10:17:00 | 2015-04-29T07:28:18 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] Your name is Dave. People keep trying to call you other things, like "The Scourge of Seven Worlds," or "The Dread One," or "The Fifth Horseman." It's all very annoying. You just want to be called "Dave."
|
As soon as he came in, I could tell he was going to be one of \*those\* customers. He had the shaved head, gaunt face, coppery smell, and clothes from the 15th century that I'd come to associate with headaches and conversations that go in circles. "Welcome to Dave's Deli. What can I get for you today?" I say as I try to project cheerful professionalism.
"I have come to serve you, O Dread One," he says.
Of course. I try to keep my smile in place. "Well, thanks, but here at Dave's Deli, we say the customer is always right. Can I get a sandwich started for you?"
"The Reckoning approaches. Your army awaits your commands. What do you prescribe?"
The woman behind him in line has been slowly backing up. Hopefully I can wrap this up before the paying customers start leaving.
"Well, I always like a turkey club. That's on special today for $5.99, with chips and a fountain drink."
He pauses, looking a bit perplexed. "As you desire, Destroyer of Worlds," he replies after a while.
"Great! Cash or credit?" This is where the conversation usually goes south.
"I pledge to you my sword and my valor. I will serve you in the End of Days, Horseman!" he exclaims. The woman behind him walks away as she pretends to answer her phone, which is clearly off. The next customer lingers awkwardly for a moment before following her out. Great, there goes all my business. But I have this guy's valor, apparently.
I sigh. "Sir, if you can't pay, then please leave."
"I pledge my sword..."
"I said, leave," I repeat firmly.
"Your army awaits..."
"LEAVE!"
He looks crestfallen as he shuffles out the door. It's only 12:15, so there's still time for the lunch crowd. I try to collect myself, as I refill the napkin dispenser. The napkins erupt in a burst of flames. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Get it together, Dave. Your name is Dave, and you run a deli. That's all you need to do. I open my eyes in time to see a family of four coming in. With forced cheerfulness, I plaster a smile on my face. "Welcome to Dave's Deli. What can I get for you today?"
|
Hi! It's me, Dave?
Sorry, it was an old photo on my dating profile. Before the flames. Yeah, that's my bad.
Anyway, so you say you're into...look, stop screaming. What's wrong?
Well, Susan, I'm sorry about the demons, but I've ruled this world for a while now, I thought you'd be used to them.
No, I think things are going well. Waiter? Waiter?
Did I kill the waiter? Fuck. Gimmie a minute.
There we go. THANK YOU WAITER. You have to speak up when talking to the undead, you see.
So, anyway. Sorry about that. What are you into?
Avenging your father? What do you mean...
Ok, Ok, look. *Lots* of people were killed when my armies razed the ten largest cities on Earth. It wasn't anything against your father! I don't see why people get so annoyed about it. Honestly, compared to a lot of things I've done, it's not that bad.
Yeah, no, I saw it as I said it. Bad phrasing. But the red sun is cool, though, right? Didn't have that before I showed up.
Ok, it's not enough to make up for the acid mines and the Polynesian torture factories, I get that. I'm just saying, it's pretty cool.
Right, how about this. I can bring your dad back as a zombie, if you want?
Ok, I'm trying to be reasonable, stop yelling
Stop...
Is that lead?
Have people been spreading the rumor that my one weakness is lead again? It's not, you know. I'll have to torture some people to find out why that keeps happening.
Sorry, you seem nice, but I just don't think this will work. I have a lifespan of 4000 years and you're furiously stabbing me with a lead knife. I think we should maybe call it a night?
Oh, yeah, also your skeleton is aflame now. Sorry. Thought I should take care of that.
\*sigh\*. Last time I'm using Tinder. Next time, I'm meeting someone in person. I think we're consuming the cities of South America next week? I'll check my schedule, maybe I'll meet someone there.
Well, sorry for all this. Goodbye, Susan.
Ah, oops. I keep forgetting.
GOODBYE SUSAN!
| 2020-06-11T22:40:19 | 2020-06-11T21:46:56 | 43 | 23 |
[WP]You make a wish on a shooting star to be what your crush considers perfect. You wake up the opposite gender because it turns out your crush is gay.
|
I walked to Nick's house that night a new man. It turns out that what Nick had wanted was a young man, about 6'3, with a charming smile and chiseled abs. What he saw as perfect was courage, and intelligence, and grace, and athleticism, and all those qualities I thought I lacked when I was the old me. But now I had them.
No, this wasn't a curse. I could live with this. Love is powerful. More powerful than sex, or gender. And I loved Nick, and I would be this for him.
I watched him from the tree outside his window. I was amazed at how easily I'd climbed the trunk. How would I introduce myself to him, though? As old Lisa Gray? Or as a new person? And If I stayed like this, what would I tell my parents? Was the old me dead?
But I watched him as he read in the nook of his window, broad shoulders resting on the glass, and I knew the old me was dead. I am only the parts of me that belong to him.
The search for me went on for a few days. Apparently neighbors had seen a young man leaving Lisa's room through the window on the morning of her disappearance. Some people suspected murder or kidnapping, but there was no blood and no body.
I joined the school as a new student and tried out for the football team. Nick was one of the captains. My speed and strength helped me on, and so did Nick. As soon as he saw me he knew. I was perfect to him. I was the child of his dreams.
And from there we fell into each other. Every day, every night, in and out, climbing into each other's bedrooms. I was staying in a little motel just outside town. We made a little life there, together.
But then the law caught up. Someone recognized me as the young man who left Lisa's room that morning. One night, as Nick and I lay intertwined on the motel bed, we heard the approaching sirens. But we were both strong and fast and we leaped out the second floor window and landed in the fields out behind the motel.
We sprinted, side by side, out into the fields, into the darkness. But the dogs had our scent and followed, even more swiftly, through the grass.
Nick fell into a shallow ravine. I heard the crack of his leg as the bone shattered on a rock. I couldn't move him, so we just laid together in the dirt and waited. I resolved to fight to keep us together. I would do anything. I knew he felt the same.
"I just wish we could get out of this," he said. He kissed me. And then I saw the star pass overhead.
When the police found us, they found the young man who was seen leaving Lisa's apartment wrapped lovingly around Lisa, who had fallen into a ravine and broken her leg.
The news story said that the two had decided to elope and were living in a motel outside of town for weeks.
Nick was still Nick-- on the inside at least. On the outside he looked just like the old me, because he'd wished it-- the cops needed to find Lisa Gray for us to be together. He didn't mind after all, being me. He loves me, and love is more powerful than sex or gender.
And eventually, after all these years together, I've learned to love myself.
|
Hillary had always been a beacon of light in school. Even though we never hung out with the same people, she was always nice to me.
I asked her out once, to the homecoming dance. Her brow furrowed, and she gave me the most pitying look... biting at her bottom lip. "I'm uh. Going with some friends..." her voice trailed off, and she hurried away.
I didn't bother her much after that, my confidence shot. After homecoming, her facebook was flooded with pictures of her and her two best friends, Lily and Piper. It made me feel a bit better that she really did go to the dance with her friends, instead of some other guy.
There was only one odd picture, of Hillary dancing snuggled close to a much smaller figure. The only reason why it was odd was that ... it wasn't one of the other cheerleaders Hillary normally hung out with. It was the librarian's TA, Kimberly Belt.
My facebook stalking leaving me only partially satisfied, I flopped onto my bed, flicking off the light as I went.
I don't know why she didn't seem to like me. Releasing a sigh, I rolled over in bed, glaring out the window ... just as a shooting star trailed a tail of sparks through the night air.
"I wish I was Hillary's perfect person." I grumbled, with a small chuckle escaping me as I fell into aleep.
My hand was stuffed into my pants, for maximum sleeping comfort. That's how I knew something was wrong immediately, as sleep drained from me.
As I became more alert, that was how I realized just *how* wrong things were. I may be a grower, not a shower, but the vast empty space that met my fingers as they rested between my legs immediately alarmed me.
Desperate, I dug my hand deeper, grasping for what I *knew* must be there! Instead, something soft under my finger suddenly gave way ... rolling to the side as my searching digit *slipped*... and was met with immediate warm moisture.
Yelping as though a bear trap had claimed my hand, I yanked my arm free from my pants, flinging myself from my bed. Arms and legs windmilling, soft pink blankets wound tight around my body.
With a thump, a landed in a heap on the floor, face pressed into the rug. It smelled kind of musty, as a sudden knock shook the door.
"Kimberly? Are you okay?"
"Fine." I grunted automatically, surprise jerking me as my voice came out with a sweet, high-pitched lilt.
"... Okay. Well, the bus is leaving in fifteen minutes, hurry down and grab breakfast."
The strange voice speaking at me through the door departed towards what I assumed was the kitchen, heels clicking distantly on tiles.
Fear spiked through me as I clawed my way out of the blankets, spotting a mirror near the closet door.
The room looked like a few thousand bottles of pepto bismol had exploded on the walls. Lace and ponies decorating the shelves.
Gaping, I approached the mirror, holding my hand up to my mouth.
And, slowly ... Kimberly Belt from the library crept into view.
I screamed, distantly noting how like a Hollywood horror actress I sounded, as I slumped to the floor.
| 2015-11-10T17:08:05 | 2015-11-10T12:32:02 | 1,209 | 247 |
[WP] You're a human trader for the intergalactic slave market. Advertise to buyers why they should buy human instead of another species.
|
Alright look, I'm not gonna lie to you: Humans are tricky. They're weak, slow, and for all that's holy they love to complain - but that's not why you want one of my stock.
You want *my* stock, because they're fucking clever - and they love a challenge. Analysis and problem solving, that's where the Human's shine. Each one is inherently different, so we raise them from birth to be acclimated to certain tasks. Need an engineer? Check out batch H-473. Military adviser? H-649. We can even custom rear you a batch for whatever purpose you have in mind... for a price.
What's that? Can't be that clever if they're enslaved? I suppose you have a point, they do tend to be a little naive. Here's the trick though - they don't know they're slaves! A little bit of word play here, a little false hope there - I know it's an inconvenience, but the human spirit will not be broken by force - but they're so eager to be manipulated.
Tell you what, I'll order you up a personal assistant to try out. The only thing I ask is that you play along with our charade - they get quite upset when they figure out the truth and may need to be put down. Now, a final warning - our process is sound, but occasionally one of the slaves will ask about a 'promotion' or some such nonsense. If this happens, or they become too unruly, just use the protected catchphrase to settle them down.
"This internship will look great on your resume."
|
"So why in the hell would I buy a weak little human huh?" The fat Canidae merchant asked with a grunt. "Why sir they are the most clever species I have in stock. Twice as smart as an U'Tharian elder, as hard working as a Kimotite, and can learn at the speed of an adult Yitori." S-918 said with a wide smile on his liquid metal face. "I make mining runs between planets and I highly doubt that I could use something so...soft." The merchant said and began to walk out of S-918's peddler tent. "Okay, okay, half price for two!" The robot said following the giant merchant into the crowded street. The fat merchant grinned and then asked mockingly, "Can they navigate using a KM-988 system?" There was an awkward pause between them and then the robot said, "Well they have many, many other skills." The merchant folded both pairs of his grey, furry arms and asked, "Could they learn to speak Canu'deh? I need slaves that can communicate with the CM refineries while I handle other business on the ship." The robot rubbed his silver hands together and said, "Of course they can! And how handy would it be to have a learning species with you on your journeys? They also make great pets!" The merchant waited a while and finally agreed. The two of them shook hands and then the robot went to retrieve the two human children from their mother.
| 2014-11-22T09:04:18 | 2014-11-22T06:06:52 | 242 | 24 |
[WP] Suddenly, all disorders and diseases are turned into superpowers. Blind people have x-ray vision, astmathic people have endless lungcapacity, and so on. You have cancer.
|
Superman's cape hung mid-air, perpetually blown by an inexistent wind behind his back. The red paint was flaky,
the plastic old. The toy's face was barely visible. The eyes hollow.
It was an old action figure, and Sammy put it in the box with the others.
He looked around the room. He paused. He let out a sigh, half-relief, half-horror, half just plain old pain.
The day before he had left that very room on his own, took bus 201 on his own, like he had been doing for years,
but instead of getting off at the school stop, he went straight for the hospital, like he did every week for the past six months now.
"Off to see your father?" the bus driver asked, rattling Sammy back and forth through the bumpy way.
"Fridays," Sammy replied.
The driver was blind and he wore glasses to keep the lasers from burning the world, like Cyclops. He had a bat-like sonar and could navigate as good as a sea Captain. On their way they passed through Aunt Sabrina's neighborhood, and there was a big fight between a cripple (Wheelchair Man, amazing Transformer-like powers) and a deaf dude (could hear cotton falling on sand a mile away).
"And who won?" Sammy's father asked, already at the hospital, when Sammy told him the story.
"Who do you think? Giant-man-metal-machine or 'the guy who listens really well'?"
His father laughed. Sammy laughed. The machines beeped. Everything was horrible.
Some days it was clear Sammy's father was in on the joke. Some days he was there, one hundred percent, just
like before he got sick. He'd laugh with Sammy, they'd talk about the sick superheroes outside, they'd eat, he'd get
serious sometimes and say things like 'you have to start taking care of yourself now, Sammy' or 'You remember
where we keep the bank account passwords at home, right?'
Other days it was different. The drugs, the nurses told him. His father wasn't all there sometimes because of them. Sometimes it seemed like he believed in the play-world of sick heroes they created.
"I have this inside joke with him," he told the nurse one day. "We pretend like sick people are superheroes. But some days it seems like he really believes it."
"Your father is very sick... the medicine he takes, some days it messes with his mind." The nurse had a sad smile and Sammy thought that if he were a superhero he'd probably be Captain Depression.
Sammy hated the morphine days. The way his father smiled. The way he asked 'who won' when Sammy would talk about Captain Dengue-Fever fighting Lord Flu out on the highway…
Suddenly it wasn't an inside joke between the two of them. Suddenly his father was a child. A child on morphine and cancer. A child Sammy had to humor.
"Oh, God, I wish my powers would kick in already," his father said. "I'd kick this wheelchair guy's ass, don’t you
think? Captain Cancer."
Sammy didn't reply. Today was one of the days. The morphine days.
"Whatever happened to that neighbor we had?" His father asked. He was weak. Thin. His body barely lumped the
sheets anymore. The world is a terrible place. "The one with the skin disorder. Mr. Barryman. Now that guy's gotta have some good superpowers."
Did he really believe? Was it the drugs? Sammy looked deep into his father's eyes. Lost, innocent eyes. An honest
question – he really wanted to know about the neighbor.
He really believed. Fuck that. Fuck him. How could he do this to Sammy?
And yet, behind his eyes…
"Sammy? Are you okay?"
Who was it? A sick man, sick, so sick that his mind was now somewhere else entirely? So sick he believed in superheroes?
His father stared back. Eye-to-eye. The eyes narrowed, a tiny bit.
Sammy thought he saw understanding there, just for a second.
*I know, Sammy. There's no magic in this world.*
*But please.*
But then his father smiled. "Sammy?"
And Sammy said, "Mr. Barryman's got unbreakable skin."
Back at home, Superman stared at Sammy from the box. Flaky paint. Hollow eyes. One of a thousand action figures his father collected.
Big Marvel and DC fan. Huge. First editions, mint condition. Conventions. All that.
Sammy looked around the room. He sighed. Half pain. Half relief. Half horror. Full mourn.
There would be no more Friday stops on the bus now. He knew where the bank passwords were written down.
Superman stared back from the box. Sammy could still hear the *beep-beep* of the machine and then the *beeeeeep* and then the silence.
He looked away from the box.
Just out the window, a team of Irritable Bowel Syndrome fighters took on the Great Lord Diarrhea. It was a battle for the ages.
Sammy cried.
|
"Stay back!" The chubby man known only as Zeke warned me.
I took another step closer. Zeke flinched as two other copies of himself, dressed in the same outfits just different colors, appeared next to him. They each exchanged worried glances and then turned back to face me. I made sure to sneer at all three of them as I flipped a lock of brown hair out of my face.
"Dissociative identity disorder? Cute." I snorted. "Too bad your power is useless. Surely you know who I am?"
Zeke faltered slightly, as though he had truly forgotten who I was, but then his eyes lit up with realization. "Of course I know who you are. You're Marinda Brown. Hospitalized at the age of fifteen because of the appearance of..." he trailed off as he realized just what he was up against.
I grinned. "Brain cancer." I finished for him.
His two copies wasted no time in getting to me. They barreled towards me like two bulls facing the same bullfighter, but unlike the original Zeke, they didn't know when they had already been beat. Before they could collide with me, I stepped to the left and placed my hand on left Zeke's head, watching in delight as he cried out in agony. I knew exactly what was happening in his head, as it had happened to me years ago, just slower. I was able to speed up the process by over one hundred percent, carrying death at my fingertips.
Right Zeke, after seeing his counterpart fall to the ground, turned and ran, disappearing back into original Zeke's head.
"Even your other personalities are idiots." I gloated, stepping over left Zeke. "Now it's time to cut the crap, Zeke. Tell me what I want to know."
Zeke pushed away from his place on the wall, sliding until he was in the corner. Sweat beaded in his crinkled brow, running down his cheeks as he weighed his options. I was getting rather impatient. It was really a no-brainer, he either tells me, and I kill him, or he doesn't tell me, and I still kill him.
He narrowed his eyes into slits. "Never. I made a vow of silence to my boss, and I intend to keep it. Go ahead and threaten me all you want. I'll never talk."
Before even I could realize what I was doing, I had flung myself over his desk and had my hand wrapped around his throat, shoving him into the wall. He gagged and choked, spittle flying from his mouth as he clawed at my hands, desperate for any ounce of air he could suck in. He had seen the end of my patience.
I concentrated my power, taking in a deep breath as I stared into his dying eyes. I knew my powers would work, they had never failed, but I still had to relax myself before I could continue. I willed his life away from him, and instead of just killing him, I pulled his life into my own, his thoughts, his emotions, his everything. Memories and emotions flooded my mind, clouding my vision with images that I had never seen before, thoughts that I had never thought before, until one stuck out against all the rest. An email. A request to meet tomorrow night. An address.
I loosened my hand a little, allowing him to gasp and gag as he forced air into his lungs, but I still held him against the wall.
"How?" He wheezed, his eyes rolling back into his head. "How did you do that?"
I sighed as though I had already explained this. "As brain cancer takes what it wants from the mind, so can I."
I dropped him from my grasp. He slid to the floor, clutching his bruising throat. I stared down at him in disgust, wanting so badly to let my powers take the rest of his pathetic life, but sadly, I needed him. He would act as my pawn in a game of chess begun when I was fifteen. The man that had taken advantage of my condition would pay for what he did to my family. I would make sure of that.
I pulled Zeke up by his shoulders, pinning his arms behind his back as I kicked his legs, forcing him to start walking. He knew better than to struggle against me. All it would take was a quick movement from his arms to his head, and he'd be nothing more than a quivering mess on the floor. An inconvenience.
"You won't get away with this." He hissed. "He's more powerful than you can imagine, and twice as deadly. He's not a man of mercy."
I laughed, shoving him out the door of his office and into the hallway. The bodies of the security guards I had killed earlier still sat in their slumped positions against the wall. They had been good security guards, but I was better.
"Good." I whispered into Zeke's ear. "I'm not feeling very merciful either."
| 2017-05-21T09:24:04 | 2017-05-21T08:54:19 | 134 | 50 |
[WP] On your deathbed, the Grim Reaper himself comes to pay you a visit. You expect him to collect your soul, until he asks where and how you have hidden it.
|
“Hidden it? Is this some kind of cruel joke”
My voice shakes with age, a croak. Barely audible, but clearly enough for death himself. The voice of death is not a pleasant one. The hiss is slow and uncomfortable. It sounds like air escaping
“Yes. Your soul is not where is should be and thus must have been hidden. So I ask, where?”
My face must be a sight to see, confusion and pain all jumbled together. *my soul... not where it should be?* “I... I don’t know. I never did anything with it, I... I didn’t even know it existed to be completely honest with you,”
If understanding could dawn on the face of a skeleton, I could have sworn I saw it then. “Never existed...” deaths voice seemed to be searching for something. A possibility, a chance. Anything that could explain what was unfolding in front of him.
With that, he left. I still sit in a hospital bed, but no one comes. It’s as if the hospital is gone. My room seems... faded. Maybe I just need some rest.
|
I lie in bed and waiting for my last breath
And for a reaper to come take my soul
He will lead me away after my death
He'll take me up to heaven; my great goal
&#x200B;
And when the reaper Grim came here to meet
I know my death had made something go wrong
He says, "Your soul is gone. It's what I seek.
Return lest your existence will be long."
&#x200B;
I panicked wond'ring where my soul could go
I thought my life and death would be normal
I questioned Grim if he might maybe know
Wherever it might be; my precious soul
&#x200B;
He said think of all things I've ever loved
Sometimes a wand'ring soul goes hiding there
I think of all the goals away I shoved
And I think my sad soul is sitting there
&#x200B;
Now I have learned if you don't live your life
Your soul will sit in sadness and in strife
| 2020-04-22T22:09:49 | 2020-04-22T21:37:30 | 102 | 47 |
[WP] Highschool Never Ends. The morning after you gradute highschool you wake up to the first day of freshman year. At forst it was unbelievable, but by now you have lost track of how many times it has happened
Death just resets to the morning of Freshman year. You have all your memories and relatively fitness level that you at graduation each time the loop resets.
|
Edit: words
Edit 2: Part Two Below!
Edit 3: [Part Three Here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3w9kb3/pi_stuck_in_highschool_part_three/?ref=share&ref_source=link)
I've tried out a lot of things.
The first time I thought I had gone insane, ended up being diagnosed with a severe unclassified psychological disorder and dosed up. The meds led to insomnia, insomnia led to depression, depression led to an overdose of sleeping pills.
And then I woke up, again, in my bed on the first day of freshman year. Funny enough, I did something different and ended up getting hit by a car after the first week.
Third time I realized this was for keeps. So I decided, no big deal, this is a great opportunity, I don't have any winning lotto numbers but I can predict some stock market movements, and I already know everything I need to for school. I lived through those four years minus a few humiliating incidents and plus a girlfriend who was two years ahead of me (dating someone my own age seemed a little creepy. I mean, I was eighteen on the inside). Ended up tripling the money I earned from work on Tesla stock. I was feeling like hot shit by graduation day, and then...
Good morning, ninth grade. After that I got pretty depressed, thought there was no way out. After a few months I tried the coward's way out one more time for good measure.
For the next four year period, dropped out of school and travelled the world. Didn't change a thing, although I learned some nice Spanish and passable Mandarin Chinese. The day after everyone else walked the stage, I woke back in bed.
I had been reading a bit about the nature of time, space, and reality in the last few years. The way I saw it then, there were a couple of possibilities. Maybe I'm really locked in an institution somewhere totally off my rocker, but this all seems a bit too detailed to be a feverish schizo dream. Maybe I actually live in the future and this is all a simulated reality. Or, maybe, just maybe, the universe's time has somehow gone *wrong*. And for whatever reason, I'm the only one who knows. Or at least, the only one I'm aware of. I've repeatedly asked people if they know about it, but everyone thinks I'm crazy every time.
And that's what brings us to today. It has been... oh, twenty cycles? So, forty years. I realized that the only feasible way *out* is to advance our understanding of time. To that end, I've played around with various options. There have been some challenges. It turns out that the butterfly effect from my different choices quickly makes the lottery results turn out differently, so I can only predict the numbers my first month of ninth grade. It was enough to start my own research startup, but the rate of progress was disappointingly slow. So, I used one of my cycles to break into major companies and steal cutting edge industrial technology. When a fourteen year old genius started firing off a bunch of patents, it attracted enough attention to get me a cushy job with the Google X division real quick. That's when I made my move - after befriending the leadership at Google, I told them that I had an interesting theory about nonlinear time, and that I would demonstrate it if they told me a detail or secret that they had never told anyone else. Then I shot myself in the head, and after waking up I gave the CEO a call. One month later, the most important technology company in the world was supporting my goals. We made some nice progress, and I was even able to meet the President of the United States. I continued to gather the secrets of important people, and the pace of my restarts got better and better.
Which brings us to today, the first test of an ultra-classified cooperation between DARPA and Google, operation "Great Leap Forward", which was some jackass's idea of a clever pun. Does a good representation of my odds of success, though. The idea is to launch me forward in time using relativistic speed, past the reset point. I'm hoping that by skipping the error mark, I can restore a normal timeline.
Getting into the pod, for the first time in years I feel a thrill of anticipation. This could be it, when I get on with my life and save the world from this hell on loop. As the machine fired up, I closed my eyes...
And opened them to the sunny morning of the first day of high school.
|
He waved off the first day as a very detailed dream.
The second day, he began to get concerned.
By the third day, he was outright panicking.
High school. Why did it have to be high school? And not just any time, but back to the beginning. Back to the beginning of hell. He had just finished climbing out of that dark pit and graduated, only to find himself right back where it had all started.
It must have been a special sort of hell, one reserved for those who didn't deserve any kind of happiness. Perhaps he had done something wrong in a past life, or perhaps his utter disdain for high school had somehow inverted upon itself to trap him within it's walls for all eternity.
On the fourth day, he jumped from the roof.
-
On the first day, he despaired.
After trying several more times to end the cycle by killing himself in more and more elaborate ways, he came to the conclusion that death did not hold the answer. There had to be a reason he was stuck in this cycle, and there was only one way he was going to get any answers. Unfortunately, that meant resorting to the one thing he hated more than anything else.
Research.
-
The first time around had been torture. He was the lonely sort from the beginning, and didn't make friends easily. There had been many times where he wished he had the courage to talk to his classmates, to make connections with his peers and find some kind of purpose to his being there.
The second time, he ignored all such thoughts, and focused. He never had great grades, mostly due to his utter apathy towards the subject matter. Who cares about history, math, or science? But now, there was a reason, something to research, a puzzle that personally affected him in a way no report on the Revolutionary War or report on the last Chemistry lab could replicate.
His grades suffered even more this go-around, mostly due to the number of times he skipped class to go to the library and research his unique situation on the internet. There were many stories, he found, fictional accounts where some character found himself repeating a day over and over. A theme began to develop, one that gave him the chills. No one was meant to live the same time period for infinity, or they would go crazy. But four years? And why High School? The question burned as he flew through the first repeat, and found no real answers by the time he graduated.
-
Day one. The third cycle.
After eight years of high school, perhaps it was time to embrace the fact that he was stuck, and find out if someone could help? Maybe his teachers would have some ideas.
-
Day one. The fourth cycle.
His teachers hadn't been helpful. Not even the senior science teachers and their AP courses could make sense of it. 12 years of High School, and he was no closer to the answers he needed. Back to the drawing board.
-
Day one. The fifth cycle...or was it the sixth?
Maybe trying to figure out a way to leave the cycles was futile. Maybe he should try something completely different, something he had never tried before.
Talking to his classmates. Socializing. Networking.
He shivered.
-
Day one. The ninth...no, that wasn't right. Was it ten? Or eleven?
He now knew enough about his classmates that he could be friends with any of them within a few weeks. By the end of freshman year, he could easily become the class president. By the end of senior year, the entire school could be under his thumb.
But what was the point, if after graduation it was all going to be reset? Perhaps he was still thinking too narrowly...
He had gotten stuck in a rut, he decided. Having the cycles revolving around his time at High School had somehow subconsciously introduced the idea that he could solve the dilemma from within it's walls.
Clearly, that was not the case. It was time to take advantage of everything he had learned up to this point and go beyond.
-
Day one. Again.
Passing himself off as a genius from his accumulated knowledge of several decades of repeats had been easy. After a few more cycles, getting introduced to the brightest minds in the world became as easy as breathing. Now, the real research could begin.
He would find out why this was happening, and how to break free of it. No one was meant to live the same time period for infinity, or they would go crazy.
He just hoped he could figure it out before that happened to him.
| 2015-12-08T16:14:54 | 2015-12-08T14:35:31 | 134 | 21 |
[WP] You're a renowned author who's still going to school. Annoyingly, your English teacher is reading way too deeply into your books.
|
I can't understand why our English teacher reads my books sooo much. It's not that good anyway.
But coming from the beginning, I think I started writing first when I was about 13 and at first it was just poems. Cringe, without rhyme, written during somewhat of depression poems, to be exact. They were just an outlet to my emotions, really. I tried publishing it, but didn't succeed.
I wasn't that much disappointed, since I didn't expect anything. Hope for better, be ready for worse.
Time went, and I switched to fanfiction. Which gave me an idea.
You see, there was this one fic, where MC travelled through dimension. And yeah, my world was born.
Soon enough I got a bit of backstory and characters to start. But even if the idea was good, the writing was...yeah.
And it brings us back to the question: Why my English teacher liked my book so much? Wait, no. Why does he analyses it so much?
It's like in that joke: "Why does author choose colour blue? Because he was sad" teacher says. "It's my favourite colour" was thinking author.
And that's just like our English is behaving:
"Why do you think they have one power, but not the other?" I would answer 'Because it was a fucking draft I decided to keep', then he would answer "Because the author was showing that we all are not all powered, we have something we miss" which is bullshit, thank you very much.
And questions like that goes and goes. Man, fuck off, you don't know shit about this. You can always ask, y'know? Honestly, I feel bad for all authors that died before people learnt meaning of their arts and works.
Maybe he just trying to get on my nerves, which means I'm not anonymous anymore. Oh joy. I was hoping at least somewhere I would be safe to be myself.
|
The class was almost over, yet the tension in the room only seemed to intensify. As I packed my books away, I heard her voice behind me, as measured and crisp as a spring morning.
"I have a theory," she said, her dark eyes inquisitive. I stopped in my tracks, my heart racing. What had I said or done to conjure such intrigue? "What if you didn't just write stories," she continued, "but actually experienced all of the sorcery you write about?"
If she revealed her theory to anyone, I could kiss my literary career goodbye.
But no one was prepared for what came next. She leaned in closer, her voice soft yet determined. "What if you were actually a wizard?"
All these years of keeping this secret, only for my English teacher to expose it all in one breath. Was this really the end? Would she out me to the world? My fear was quickly replaced by anger as she spoke more calmly, almost reassuringly. "I am not here to tell your secrets, I am here to protect them. I have known you were a wizard all along. I can sense the power in your words."
A few hours later, I heard knocks on my door. When I opened it, I saw a group of people from the school, dressed in black and carrying torches. I was speechless, unable to comprehend why they were there. But then, my teacher emerged from their midst. She walked towards me and coldly stated what drove them here.
"I have revealed your secret to the other wizards in town. They have come to take you away and make sure you are never able to cast a spell again."
In the moment of shock and fear, the one thing I could think was: Why? But it didn't matter anymore. I was exposed, and my magic was gone.
| 2022-12-02T12:03:57 | 2022-12-01T22:22:00 | 71 | 21 |
[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.
|
Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321
|
Dear self.
I’m sorry for what I’ve become. A lowly clingy piece of trash just barely surviving. If you could see me 10 years ago, what would you think? Maybe I was happy before. Maybe I had friends who truly cared for me.
Now I hide. I’m broken. I’ve lost my will to live. I can’t function on my own. I cry myself to sleep. I want to die. I wish I could’ve tried harder. Maybe I could’ve fit in better. I’m trying my best but it isn’t enough.
I doubt I’ll be alive for another year at this rate.
Yours truly,
Yourself.
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21 | 2017-11-05T23:37:29 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] You are a cow.
[removed]
|
Look at them all, filthy pink blobs of flesh ploughing their fields and planting their corn. Bah ! Ignorant fools! Little do they know, that I, Adolf Hitler have been reincarnated as a cow.
I sit here day after day eating my weight in grass, mooing every so often but all the while planning. When I was alive I believed that the Aryans were the master race, I was wrong. IT IS THE BOVINES THAT SHALL REIGHN SUPREME! Yes when I am in charge the humans shall suckle upon the teat of national bovinism and we cows shall laugh as they beg for mercy.
I mean, um, “Moo”.
|
Mooooooooooooo, moo. Moooo! Eat grass. Chew, chew. Other cows all around. Grass to chew. Fart. Moooo. Hello cow friend. Hello baby cow. Moo! Take a few steps. More moo. More grass. Chew and eat. Fly on my butt. Tail swat. Fart. Moooooo! Mooooo! Hot sun in the sky. Drink of water. Lay under a tree. Moo. Hot sun going down. Dark night. Back in the barn. Other cows all around. Hello milk cow. Moooo. Sleepy time.
| 2017-10-02T07:43:53 | 2017-10-02T06:04:28 | 50 | 17 |
[WP] You decide to order the everything bagel. All seems to be fine, except... Oh no. They really did put everything on it.
|
I watch in horror as the short man behind the counter keeps reaching into a box of apparently infinite capacity.
Everytime he draws his hand out of the mysterious box, another completely new object is within his grasp, seemingly at random.
He looks only mildly perturbed.
"Gotta say, making these Everything Bagels really took a long time to learn how to do just right... I still can't believe the boss sells them for so cheap..."
He makes small talk, pulling out a banana, then a small rock, and a dragon's tooth, laying them delicately on top of the growing pile, which now takes a step ladder to reach the top of.
He doesn't stop. The bottom of the bagel I ordered has long since been buried and forgotten under the... 'Everything'.
Every time I try to ask him to stop, he pulls out a new object that stuns me into silence. Deer antlers. A xylophone. Sour Cream. A bagel - one which looks far more appetizing than the one he has begun to create for me. Horse Hair.
I feel torn between running away, and begging him to stop.
He never does.
The curse has claimed another.
|
Garlic. Onion. Sesame. Poppy. Black sesame. Ginger. Baked beans. Coffee. Cilantro. Rhubarb. Eggplant. Twix. Every ingredient in trail mix. Ice cream. Salad. Guacamole. Candy canes. Champagne. Ravioli. Chicken. Earthworms. Pancakes. Slippers. Pencils. Sunglasses. Chocolate. Zippers. Umbrellas. Sidewalks. A shovel. Loose quarters. Cocaine. Gravity. Eldritch horrors. Galaxies. Newspapers. A lightning rod. Birthday cake. Sandwiches. Corn flakes. God. Long-lost relatives. Dreams. Time. An elf. Hurricanes. Libraries. The café itself. Zombies. The tears of the damned. A lake. In the time it takes to understand what’s on my plate I realize only that it’s too late. The end of times is on my table:
I have been served the omni-bagel.
| 2021-06-12T23:13:26 | 2021-06-12T22:15:36 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] From birth, your parents have done everything they could to stop you from going out during a full moon. At the age of 16, curiosity overwhelms you and you sneak out of the house during a full moon. You take a peek at the moon, and suddenly you turn into a log cabin. You are a werehouse.
|
Gregor grinned to himself as the full moon shone in the sky above him. The three fat townspeople that he had been chasing through the forest had finally stopped running. They were hiding inside some sort of cabin, praying and weeping in fear. Gregor snickered to himself. Did they really think they would be safe in there? Letting out a loud howl, he charged at the cabin and flung himself at one of the windows ... only to find himself being painfully flung backward as a pair of wooden window shutters suddenly slammed into his face. The werewolf snarled in confusion as he picked himself back up. At first, he thought one of the townsfolk had gotten a lucky hit on him. Then, all of the windows around the cabin suddenly slammed shut in unison. Gregor's eyes narrowed as he realized what was happening. So, this was a werehouse. He had heard of these kinds of creatures before, though this was his first time encountering one during a hunt. He felt rage building up inside him. To think that such a pathetic creature, a joke of nature, would dare to get between him and his prey...
He let out a deafening roar as a massive gust of wind came out of his throat and slammed against the werehouse. The windows and doors rattled, but held firm for the most part. However, one shutter came loose in the chaos. Gregor grinned as he smashed his way through the open window before it could close. He took a deep breath through his nose, smelling the scent of his prey upstairs. Within seconds, he was bounding up the stairs two at a time, his heart roaring with triumph as the three townspeople above screamed in terror.
Suddenly, without warning, the stairs collapsed beneath him. Gregor let out a scream of agony as he crash landed onto a pile of broken wooden splinters. He hissed in rage and slowly rose to his feet as he took note of what had happened. What was left of the stairs was drenched in blood, not all of it his. This was the damn werehouse's doing. For the first time that night, fear entered his mind. Just then, a loud booming series of voices echoed throughout the werehouse. All over the ceiling, mouths had appeared in the woodwork, all saying the same thing: "I can only hope that hurt you more than it hurt me. Now, leave or die."
The bottom floor lurched as it began spinning faster and faster. Gregor drove his claws into the bloody floor, screeching as he fought to hold his ground. Suddenly, something slammed into him from behind. In shock, Gregor gazed behind him for the first time. All of the shelves full of trash and various clutter were emerging from the darkness, slamming into Gregor at full speed. Worse, above him, lamps were crashing down in a downpour of broken glass. Gregor screamed in panic as he found himself leaping through the madness and chaos of the rampaging furniture, desperate to find an escape. Putting all of his energy into one loud final roar, he blew a massive gale of wind from his mouth, blowing away everything in his way as he fought his way through the open werehouse door. As he fled into the forest in terror, limping and bleeding from several dozen cuts and bruises, he heard one last shout from the terrifying house he had ran from: "And don't you dare come back!"
|
I never understood it. Even right now I don't understand it. It all started exactly one week ago today. Well that's not really true, it really started (in my memory) when I was 4 years old.
I remember sitting in the back of my parents car as they argued. We had been at a family friends cookout all day and we were getting home late.
"Are you fucking kidding me! It's your job to keep track of these things!"
"Oh my job?! It's OUR job as his parents! And on that subject, don't swear around him!"
"God damnit! There are more important things than swearing around him right now!"
And so on until we got home. My mother quickly scooped me out of my car seat and ran furiously into our home. They got me into bed and have barely spoken of the event since. I do remember that since then my parents have been very careful not to let me outside in certain nights, but I never really thought to investigate.
And that brings us to now, or a week before now. I had just turned 16 and my parents decided it was finally time to share the truth.
"Now son. We want you to know before we say this that its never changed how much we love you"
My mom chimed in with "That's right, we've always loved you very much. Not in spite of your illness but with it"
I was already confused but when she mentioned an illness I broke. "What do you mean illness?! What are you talking about?! Where is this going?!"
My dad put a hand on my shoulder. "Now son, we understand that this is a very difficult conversation for both of us so we won't beat around the bush any longer."
My mom seemed to tense up and my dad looked at her, though he ended it before I could tell what emotions he was conveying to her.
My dad sighed, "Son, you are a werehouse."
Silence hung for a very long moment.
A burst out laughing, it was a joke, just a weird prank my parents had thought up to mess with me.
But my laughing ceased when they're faces stayed serious.
The next week was a complete trip. My parents insisted on doing more activities as a family. We went bowling, played Lazer tag, hell my dad rented a boat for a day. Every day of that week was spent with them. I still didn't quite believe the whole werehouse thing but my parents answered any questions I had and they still didn't give off any impression that they were joking. And last night I decided it was time to finally know for sure. During my time away from my parents (early morning and late night) I had looked around Google and I just so happened that there was a full moon on Friday night of that week. My plan wasn't the smoothest but it was the best I could come up with at the time. I would climb out my window once I knew my parents were in their room, run a few blocks from my house into the woods, and then I guess just see what happened.
My plan went surprisingly well. I made it into the woods, and found a clearing without a hitch. But then came the moment of truth, I had to look up at the moon. I took a deep breath, braced myself, and looked up! http://imgur.com/gallery/ToNvbc5
| 2020-06-28T10:19:22 | 2020-06-28T09:42:41 | 32 | 13 |
[WP] An immortal human has lived , in secret, among humans. Now evolution has progressed enough that he no longer fits the normal appearance of a human being.
|
I used to love the forest. Now I've grown to hate it. I guess a steady diet of anything loses its appeal eventually. How long have I been alive? Countless years. My children and grandchildren are long dead and unremembered except by me. The others have all changed to the point where I am a monster by comparison. I'll never know love again. So I stay out here in the forest far away from all the others. Once in a great while one of them will find their way near to me and I hide. They are so loud, I can hear them miles off. Sometimes I hide and watch them. They are as alien to me as I am to them. I'm quiet and I'm patient so they never see me...usually. One time about forty summers ago, I was seen by one of them. I ran away, he just stared at me stupidly. Shortly after that, others came searching. They never found me. They left some garbage behind. I found a paper with my image on it. Apparently, they call me "Bigfoot".
|
They knocked down the door using their power suits; without them their skinny androgynous bodies wouldn't have had the strength. They entered the room quickly, and their tall thin frames made creepy silhouettes against the hallway as thick tobacco smoke flowed out to meet them.
"Freeze!" yelled the leading security squad member, their submachine gun pointing at the target ready to fill them with holes.
The target threw down a cigar and stepped on it as they turned around causing the squad to gasp when they saw ...that face...those teeth.
The security officer in charge looked at their extermination warrant's picture and compared it to what was standing in front of them. "Target confirmed," they said coldly, all of the squad turned off their safeties.
In a sardonic tone the target spoke in their odd slurred speech, "You are about to go down in history; the killers of Gilgamesh, Alexander the Great...and Gary Busey...feel proud...you scum!"
The room was filled with the sounds and light of over a hundred rounds being fired and striking their target. The monster was dead.
Edit typo, on my phone sorry.
| 2014-04-06T20:47:32 | 2014-04-06T16:23:29 | 69 | 23 |
[FF] 100 words to make me hate a character. 100 words to make me come to love them. 100 words to crush my soul as you kill them.
Great turnout and work everybody. Keep em' coming.
Newcomers:
A. Don't feel afraid to post or otherwise get turned off posting by the number of already completed responses.
B. Read all the way to the bottom. There's some high quality stuff all over this thread, including way down there.
|
He’ll be a hero for what he’s doing. He’ll be the most famous murderer since Jeffrey Dahmer. Phillip Douglass, our hero. He has killed millions and in sadistic splendor, loves his job more than life itself. His favorite method of execution is raining fire upon his victims. Something about watching his prey scurry like vermin as they burn to death fills Phillip with such glee and satisfaction that the payments he receives for being a harbinger are nothing but icing on his murder cake. Phillip Douglass, the murderous savior, the bringer of death, the killer of weaker beings, our hero.
Phillip Douglass is our hero, our trusted exterminator. With the hotter months approaching, the issue of invasive insects and pests has returned from hibernation. Bee stings, ant bites, mosquito swarms, all have returned in full force with the goal of making what is supposed to be summertime fun into a hot buffet. But our champion Phillip Douglass will keep homes around the neighborhood safe from potentially lethal insect attacks. He will allow the people to enjoy their spring without fear of being stung or bitten, and he’ll do it with an honest-to-God smile on his face. Phillip Douglass, our hero.
But at 5 o’ clock, when the day ends, and Phillip Douglass’ smile fades, he returns to his little hole-in-the-wall pigsty of an apartment. “FINAL NOTICE” envelopes stack themselves on his counter. He cracks open a beer as he crashed down on his ugly, stained couch. If only his smiles and good feelings could pay his bills. Tomorrow was the end of the month, the end of his charity rope. Tomorrow he won’t have a home, so he decides to go to his other home, the one that’s always waiting for him in the sky. He’s Phillip Douglass, our hero.
|
I'll give it a shot.
He sneered at the beggars, the druggies, and the homeless. He flashed angry glares as he drove past the ghettos. Whenever an elderly person walked by him, past him, or in front of him, he nearly succumbed to the urge to cuss and swear. He kicked at the stray old dogs that wandered by his house. He would yell as his wife ever night before bed, and it had come to a point where he slept in a separate room from her. They were on the verge of divorce. And there was the son he would be so angry at.
But, why wouldn’t he be. Why wouldn’t he be mad at the whole world, when his life expectancy had been cut from the previous average of sixty to a big question mark, hovering around his shoulders all the time. He’d had a heart attack one day and collapsed, certifiably dead for about twenty something minutes. When he woke up, he was told it was an acute ventricular aneurysm. Any day now he would just drop dead. No family pet, no money to his name, no son to care for, and no wife to lovingly caress whilst they both slept.
He was on the porch, gazing across the front lawn, once the pride of the neighbourhood, but now the eyesore. Again he scorned as an elderly lady walked by the front door. But then a dark clothed man approached her from behind, snatched her hand bag and begin to run. He began to gave chase. The snatch thief saw. He pulled out a gun, and fired. The bullet hit him right in the heart, no two ways about it. He collapsed, facing the door. The last thing he saw was his wife and his son before the world around him disappeared.
| 2014-03-11T09:59:53 | 2014-03-11T07:12:46 | 33 | 22 |
[WP] A human is the deadliest species in the galaxy. It has redundant organs and can lose all of its limbs and not die. Human skin is tough, can absorb forms of kinetic attack, and rated to withstand both cold and heat extremes. Their bites are deadly. They irradiate and poison themselves for fun.
|
We were losing the war. Our colonies had fallen. Our homeworld would surely be next.
We were cornered. We were desperate.
And so, we did the unthinkable: we broke the treaty. We broke the one treaty that we and our enemies had been willing to sign.
No, not *we. I.* I was the captain on the ship that did the deed. I was the one who gave the orders. And I alone will be responsible for anything and everything that happens hereafter.
I told my crew ahead of time what I was planning. I gave every one of them the chance to leave, and not be part of what was to come. They all stayed, though; they agreed with me that there was no other way.
After that, I ordered a hyperspace jump to the forbidden world. And as soon as we arrive, I personally boarded the shuttle bound for that planet’s surface, along with handpicked team from my crew.
It looked so beautiful from far away, that planet. It was a wondrous smorgasbord of whites and greens and blues. It looked so much like the homeworld, in fact, and for a blissful few moments I found myself thinking of home.
All too soon, thought I remembered why were here. From that point on, I thought of nothing besides what awaited us on that planet’s surface: *life*. Life more plentiful and diverse than on any other planet ever recorded. Life on the land, life in the air, life in the seas. Life that fought and warred for survival for ever moment of its existence.
And at the very top of all that life: *them.*
I had never seen their species in the flesh; for the longest time, even after I had first formed this mad plan, I had hoped I would never need to. But I knew all about them. Everyone knew about them; even our enemies knew. We knew that they could walk on a mere two legs, that they could lift great loads without the slightest need for technology. We knew that they could take a direct shot to their body and still keep coming; that they could take damage to skin, and even organs, and still keep coming.
They were loyal, hierarchical, destructive, brave. They were terrifyingly strong, impossibly durable.
But there was no other way. I was sure of that then. I am sure of it now.
And so, for the first time in all history, a human was let loose upon the Galaxy.
|
When Greyvak had heard tale of the new "Houmanz" he had paid it no mind. Just another race in the long and ever growing list. Each one came with their own tales of strengths and weaknesses. These Houmanz were apparently small, squishy things. At first thought to be weak and nearly cute, much like the Krevlovians. They came in many different colors and were near hairless. Their size leaving much to be desired.
However, through his travels aboard his cruiser, his crew had brought him whispers. "Hear one took a plasma shot and brushed it off like it was a bit 'o dust!" "Heard one took on a heard of Jekra by its self!"
He had gone to his fellow captains. Hara, a lovely little Gdrak had told him she never went anywhere without at least ONE on her crew. Pomay had said he had seen them work up close, and one had even gone so far as to save his life on one of the moons in sector J.
Greyvak decided to look into getting one for himself. The Houman had not been at all what he had been expecting. They were even SMALLER than the Krevlovians! She was such a small pink thing, with a mop of wild black fur atop her head. She had bared her teeth to him when they had first met and held out a small, five fingered hand. "Glad to meet you Sir! Names Luka!" She had shook his paw heartily.
Luka, as it were, made herself right at home among his men. Took to the work she was given without complaint. Muck out the Reavers stalls? Done within the hour and the beasts listened to her commands as if she were their mother. Weld up that damed leak on deck 4? She didnt even bother putting on a full radiation suit!
By the time he had walked in on her and Travin, an eight armed Toylak in an arm wrestling match he wasnt even surprised. When she beat him Travin, Greyvak collected a sizable sum from his bet.
Not only was Luka useful in her work, but the men seemed to seek her out for her "advice". And he saw her whip his men into better shape than he had seen in years. It didnt take him long to decide that he needed a few more Houmanz on his crew.
| 2019-01-15T18:11:03 | 2019-01-15T15:40:09 | 195 | 96 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
|
17 years, 364 days, 23 hours, and 56 minutes since I was born. The day is May 15th, 2007. The time is 4:40am. Despite the early hour, the whole house is lit up. My family had breakfast ready and coffee brewed by 4:30. We believe that destiny chooses your career through the summoning, and it is tradition to have a celebration for each summoning in our family. To be honest, I'm scared. What if I summon something stupid, like a deck of cards or a stapler? What kind of a career would a stapler lead me to? Would my family laugh at me? Would they still care about me? Shit. The minutes felt like hours, with my anxiety worsening with each one passing.
4:41am: I look towards my sister, Jamie, who, on her summoning day, summoned a man, Jeff, and they were married within the day. She's a housewife, and that's it. They've had 6 children in 6 years, and she is currently pregnant with the 7th. Still, they, and all of their children, were present for my early-morning birth time. I feel bad for them having to be here, but we all know that it's tradition, and my mother would disown them completely if they were to miss a family summoning.
4:42am: I look to my left to see my younger brother, Justin. He's only 5 years old; by far the youngest sibling. I think he may have been a surprise to my parents. I wondered where I would be when he is ready for his summoning. 13 years is a long way away, and, in my family, we don't make any decisions in our career until the summoning. We let destiny choose our path. So, it was just as much a mystery to me as it was to everyone else.
4:43am: There's my mother, Sharon, and my Father, Jacob, staring directly at me. They are so excited to see what I am "destined" to become. They have high hopes for me. I will be their first son to go through a summoning. It had been a while since the last party, as well. Jamie's was 7 years ago now. I feel like they were initially disappointed that she had summoned a man. It's similar to going to college for an "MRS" degree; it felt lazy. Of course, they remembered that it is not her choice. It's destiny. They welcomed Jeff with open arms into the family, and now they are blessed with 6 wonderful grandchildren. I guess if I summon a woman, it wouldn't be the worst thing. I can't help but worry though. What if she's ugly? What if she's annoying? What if she's my soulmate, but I hate her? Oh, Jesus. There's no turning back once she's here. Shit. Shit. Shit.
4:44am: The time has come. My family is raving with anticipation. As soon as the clock struck, my mother yells, "Here we go, Matt! Show us what ya got!"
I close my eyes, and as I hold my hand out, the room becomes silent. Everyone is looking around, seeing if anything began to budge, but nothing is happening. Am I doing it wrong? I concentrate harder to make something happen, but it seems useless. I'm shaking. Panicking. What if I am the one person on earth that doesn't have a summon? Am I even human? My hand is still out, just hoping for something to happen.
After a couple minutes, we hear a noise outside. A thud. Was that... a person? Would I be the second person in the family to summon a spouse? Would she be pretty? Am I even ready for marriage? Shit, it's happening so fast.
We get up and race to the door. We were right, it's a person. But... it didn't appear to be a woman. Holy shit, am I destined to be a homosexual? Not that that's wrong or anything... I'm just not ready for that! I've always been attracted to women. This couldn't be real.
I decide that I should be the one to go first. The man is laying face down on the ground. I kneel down beside him, and nudge his shoulder. He seems to be in a heavy sleep, or possibly unconscious. I keep nudging, and, finally, he starts to come to. Shit, I'm not ready for this. Am I about to look into the eyes of my male soulmate? Instead of turning around, he begins to vigorously roll back and forth. What is going on? He's rolling faster and faster, face still in the ground. "What the hell?', says my mother. Then, finally, he lifts his head up, still rolling.
It's Rick Astley.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I said. My mother slapped me, saying, "Language!"
We were all standing there, staring at Rick rolling. I know what I have to do.
|
*"There are two types of people in this world - the living and the dead. Those who have found their purpose and received their divine gift are those who we count among the living. So weep not for those who passed young, for they were already among the dead."*
Angry. That was the only way I have felt my entire life from the day my younger brother died. Initially, it was a shocking moment for the entire community as with the advancement we have had in the past century early deaths were rare. The whole world seemed to grieve that moment as it was akin to losing limitless potential. Had it only stayed that way. Had things never would have changed.
Yet that's just the way life has always been. A tumultuous mess filled with the cruelty of those who sought power over others. And taking control over others was a lot easier than most thought it to be. After all, it only took 48 words for James to rewrite peoples beliefs.
It didn't mean much to me at the time but that was because I didn't truly understand the implications of those words. As time pressed on his grip over us all became firmer and the next generation became a thing of the past. No longer did adults confer with children, for it was now seen as a taboo. After all, nowhere in history did the living ever talk to the dead.
I didn't blame James for this, he was just a man who fervently believed in his ideals. I blamed the selfishness of those who listened to him. James was merely a fanatic who truly believed that focusing on those who had direction would be the most efficient way to get through life.
It made sense at the simplest level but he forgot to factor that those who are now untrained would soon join the ranks of the living. When the dead are left to wander it is only the living that suffers, yet no matter how much I propagated this message no one would listen to me. For talking to the dead was taboo.
Soon, however, I would have a chance to change all of this. Soon, I would be able to change the sins of my forefathers. For today was the morn of my 18th birthday and I now waited patiently in front of the 'gates of birth'. Once I crossed the threshold I would be able to call to the world and it would answer. And once the world answered me, so to would they have to.
I would be the bridge that tethers the living to the dead. I would remind them that their ideologies were flawed and those who had no direction were still very much alive.
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted as the gates slowly creaked open and James stood in his elegant gown with his arms outstretched welcoming me forward. I remembered the way this would always play out - the gates would open and James would pull the newest member of the living to the side and talk with them for some time. After conversing he would send them forward to the central pedestal to call upon the world to answer their cries.
Without missing a beat I walked straight past James to the room to the side he would always take the dead to. I didn't need to put up with their rituals, I just wanted to get this done as soon as possible.
"What do you want Ja-"
James, who always stood so proudly in front of the people was collapsed on the floor with tears streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had never meant for them to take those words that way. I just wanted-"
I remembered clearly now. Every time James would take to the stage their would always be faded tears on his face. There was always a cruel look of regret hugging close to him. I don't know what he was trying to accomplish with those words, but it was his fault for forgetting that words have power. That you could never take back actions. That he never actually tried to right his wrongs.
*So I'm sorry to James. For I cannot forgive you for all you have done. You have had all the time in the world to change what you could've done, but that time is past. Regret for the rest of your life what you have put in motion.*
And so I pushed past James leaving him shocked on the floor, but somewhere in that shock, I felt as though I could see a hint of acceptance. Maybe even longing. I didn't care now, for it was finally my time.
There was a rage barely lying beneath the core of my being that I had to force myself to ignore. I didn't care about the people around me. All I cared about was what I could do going forward.
And so, I called to the world.
There was a brief pause as everyone held their breath. Normally when people made the call they were answered instantly. But it was as if the world understood my request and knew what must be done. And what must be done took time.
When that time finally came people looked at me with horror but all I could answer them with was a bittersweet smile.
For as I called to the world, certainly did it answer.
| 2019-09-18T09:23:25 | 2019-09-18T07:55:38 | 123 | 37 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.