post_text
stringlengths 0
10k
| post_title
stringlengths 8
313
| chosen
stringlengths 1
39.5k
| rejected
stringlengths 1
13.8k
|
|---|---|---|---|
Good or bad trip. Your choice.
Thanks for the responses guys, I of course had to take a crack at it as well (be gentle it's my first try) | [WP] You're tripping on a new drug dubbed "Memory lane." It allows you to relive anything that has ever happened in your life with 100% clarity. The only catch is that the memory is random. | "Are you serious?", I said as I looked around the room and all the smiling faces. " you're joking right? Like this actually works?"
My friends invited me over for our bi-monthly trip. I wasn't really a fan. I always end up freaking out and breaking something.
"Yeah dude seriously. Take this and you can relive a memory. It's random though so if you got molested as a child things could get weird." I was intrigued but kind of hesitant. My childhood was boring. Like what if I get a memory that is just me sitting in my room watching school of rock and eating a hot pocket? I guess it's not that bad. I haven't seen that movie in a while.
"I think I want to watch someone else do it first", I said
"Alright, Katie you brought them. You go first"
Katie was a bitch, but she always had drugs so I guess she is cool.
Katie opened her bag and pulled out a canister. It looked like it was from space. She twisted the top and with a satisfying click the corner of a plastic bag popped out. She pulled out the plastic bag and I was done.
"That's meth. I'm doing meth you idiots", I angrily shouted.
Katie rolled her eyes and said, "it's not meth. Chill out. Just watch".
Just like someone would do with meth she laid it on the table, crushed it, and snorted it.
"Seriously?"
"Shut up just watch"
Katie laid her head back and blacked out. Ten seconds later she wakes up and smiles.
"How long was I out?"
"Like a few seconds", I said
"Really?! It felt like at least two hours. Anyways, my memory was pretty crazy. It was a fight I got into with this chick in middle school. I broke her nose. It was a pretty funny memory. That's really it. Somebody else go."
Everyone looked at me. I began to sweat. I thought for a moment and gave in.
"Fine I'll do it"
Slowly I take the crystal looking memory drug and crushed it. I stared at it for a moment and went down and let it travel through my nose.
I laid my head back and waited. I was nervous but I couldn't let anyone know that. I took one last deep breath and everything changed. I heard noises. Familiar noises. My parents. Images of my childhood flashed in front of my eyes. They started getting longer and slowing down until a final scene stopped and I dove into the memory.
"Are you serious?", I said as I looked around the room and all the smiling faces. " you're joking right? Like this actually works?"
My friends invited me over for our bi-monthly trip. I wasn't really a fan. I always end up freaking out and breaking something.
"Yeah dude seriously. Take this and you can relive a memory. It's random though so if you got molested as a child things could get weird." I was intrigued but kind of hesitant. My childhood was boring. Like what if I get a memory that is just me sitting in my room watching school of rock and eating a hot pocket? I guess it's not that bad. I haven't seen that movie in a while.
"I think I want to watch someone else do it first", I said
"Alright, Katie you brought them. You go first"
Katie was a bitch, but she always had drugs so I guess she is cool.
Katie opened her bag and pulled out a canister. It looked like it was from space. She twisted the top and with a satisfying click the corner of a plastic bag popped out. She pulled out the plastic bag and I was done.
"That's meth. I'm doing meth you idiots", I angrily shouted.
Katie rolled her eyes and said, "it's not meth. Chill out. Just watch".
Just like someone would do with meth she laid it on the table, crushed it, and snorted it.
"Seriously?"
"Shut up just watch"
Katie laid her head back and blacked out. Ten seconds later she wakes up and smiles.
"How long was I out?"
"Like a few seconds", I said
"Really?! It felt like at least two hours. Anyways, my memory was pretty crazy. It was a fight I got into with this chick in middle school. I broke her nose. It was a pretty funny memory. That's really it. Somebody else go."
Everyone looked at me. I began to sweat. I thought for a moment and gave in.
"Fine I'll do it"
Slowly I take the crystal looking memory drug and crushed it. I stared at it for a moment and went down and let it travel through my nose.
I woke up and everyone was looking at me.
"What did you see?"
I was so pissed.
"Yeah, It didn't work. Everything was black. I'm just gonna go home"
| I found out about it from a friend... never did anything like this before but I figured what the hell...
Looking into the mirror... down the hatch...
There she was, beautiful. Raven hair, blue eyes, tall... Gorgeous...
"Have a good day sweetheart" she said before we left.
Same usual day, same usual school, same usual lunch. Coloring, nap time, recess (my favorite). We played outside that day. It was cool, but not cold. I love the swings. All to myself today.
Back in class, back to work. I love story time.
The teacher read as we lay on our mats. Almost nap time. Of course I'm not tired! How could I be? Today is great!
The bus ride home was okay... Same old bus... But my sister is there, she always makes boring go away...
He met us in the driveway... What's wrong? Something is wrong...
"I'm sorry girls" he said with tears in his eyes... "she's gone..."
I woke on the floor and stared at the ceiling.... I miss my mommy... |
Good or bad trip. Your choice.
Thanks for the responses guys, I of course had to take a crack at it as well (be gentle it's my first try) | [WP] You're tripping on a new drug dubbed "Memory lane." It allows you to relive anything that has ever happened in your life with 100% clarity. The only catch is that the memory is random. | At first when I heard about it, I was afraid. I knew I just had to try it. It's all the rage. It's been dubbed as "Better than LSD," "More fun than anything you've ever had before," and so on. But I was going to be the judge of that. I called up my dealer, Todd. He said he just got some, was selling it at a pretty steep price. I cut a deal, and we were going to meet in an hour at the usual spot.
I arrived, and Todd was about to light some up himself. He gave me a small bag of a light blue, almost teal, substance. I forgot my lighter at home, so I had to borrow Todd's. The two of us rolled this stuff like cigarettes, and started smoking. Immediately I was back in my childhood home.
I had no idea how old I was, or what this was. I was sitting in my room, but it wasn't me. I felt as if I was a ghost, floating above myself, staring down, judging. Like that feeling you get when you think somebody's watching you. Except this time, you are actually watching.
I heard a banging at the door, and my former self snapped straight to it, with a face of fear on his, or my, face. I watched as my father slammed open the door, belt in one hand, beer in the other. I watched as I backed into the corner of my room, near to my old closet. I remember the door being broken later in my life. Was this why?
My father grew closer and closer. And with each step, I shuddered. I was so afraid. But why? My father was never aggressive, as far as I remember. Hell, I don't even remember who my dad was. Which helped me to realize that I must have been at most 14 years old when this happened. Although my interpretation of time isn't my strongest point.
My father was right over me now. I wasn't sure what would come first, the empty bottle or the belt. I was crouched in the corner, bracing for what could be the worst pain a child could feel. With myself looking away, I couldn't see what it was that brought with it the most horrible pain I'd ever felt in my life. I watched myself slouch over.
I opened my eyes to a crowd of spectators and a hospital crew. Todd had shook me awake. I looked around, gathered my surroundings, and tried to stand myself up. But why can't I move anymore? I'm staring straight at Todd, but I'm stuck. I stared at Todd, screaming for help. The EMTs had grabbed me, and put me in the ambulance while running so many tests on me. But couldn't they see I was awake? I'm right here, dammit! Why are you doing this? I'm OK!
They ignored me. I stopped screaming, I was wasting my time. I was just going to have to deal with this shit, and I could get on with my day. But then I saw my mother was there. Why was she here? I'm OK, and how did she even know where I was? How did they call her here so fast? I was only out for a few minutes. And now why is she crying? What is going on? Somebody, please, why?!
As the ambulance doors shut, I noticed that I wasn't in good shape. I had a mask over my face, tubes everywhere, and I felt like I was going to pass out. I reached for the phone. I needed to call Jackie. She needs to know I'm OK. But then I heard it again. The crying from the corner. Except this time, it wasn't my own. I caught a glimpse of my mother, Jackie, and Daisy in the corner of the room. But when did I get in this room? When did that phone I had just reached out for appear? And what happened to the ambulance doors?
A doctor walked in. I knew I was in trouble, but I recognized this place now. It was a hospital. More specifically, it was the hospital room where I was. I watched as the doctor spoke softly. Why was he speaking so low? I watched his mouth move, and heard a faint whisper that I couldn't quite make out. Then I watched as the crying grew louder and more frantic. I began to cry. But why are there no tears?
Around now it finally dawned on me. Am I dead? Why can't I use my own body? All I could do was sit there and watch, as my loved ones just watched me. A month passed. Then another. I noticed time passing faster and faster, and my senses growing less respondent. I wanted so desperately to wake up from this nightmare. I never asked for this. I never wanted any of this. I watched Jackie's visits become less and less frequent. If only she knew what kind of affect she had on me when she was around. Her visits where the highlights of my short periods of consciousness.
I looked at the clock. The hands were spinning. Hours became seconds. Days went by in the blink of an eye. When suddenly, it all stopped. The clock slowed down to normal time, and I could move again. I sat myself up, and looked around. I was alone. But I wasn't in the hospital anymore. Now I was sitting back in my room. I looked at my side, and Jackie was there, sleeping.
I got out of bed slowly. I didn't want to wake her. I walked into the kitchen, sat down, and started bawling. Why did it have to be that? I'd heard stories of people reliving their first vacation, their first time, the moment they were born even. Why did I have to get the coma? I looked at the table, and saw the picture of myself, my mother, and Jackie. It must have been after the coma. I had a large plump of hair missing on the right side of my head, just above my ear. If it had been just an inch lower, I'd be half deaf right now. Damn was I lucky.
I started heading back to the bedroom, I had work in the morning and I needed all the sleep I could get. I don't even know why I decided to try this stuff, I stopped my drug habits when I was 20. But I was told that this was THE thing. I should never have trusted Todd. Not after last time. I crawled back into bed with Jackie, and checked the clock. 2 AM. At least I can get a few hours of sleep before work in the morning. I, no, we left it all behind for a reason. And after this experience, I was never going back.
---------------------------
Very much enjoyed this prompt. I haven't written like that in a long time, felt good. Thanks OP! | I found out about it from a friend... never did anything like this before but I figured what the hell...
Looking into the mirror... down the hatch...
There she was, beautiful. Raven hair, blue eyes, tall... Gorgeous...
"Have a good day sweetheart" she said before we left.
Same usual day, same usual school, same usual lunch. Coloring, nap time, recess (my favorite). We played outside that day. It was cool, but not cold. I love the swings. All to myself today.
Back in class, back to work. I love story time.
The teacher read as we lay on our mats. Almost nap time. Of course I'm not tired! How could I be? Today is great!
The bus ride home was okay... Same old bus... But my sister is there, she always makes boring go away...
He met us in the driveway... What's wrong? Something is wrong...
"I'm sorry girls" he said with tears in his eyes... "she's gone..."
I woke on the floor and stared at the ceiling.... I miss my mommy... |
Good or bad trip. Your choice.
Thanks for the responses guys, I of course had to take a crack at it as well (be gentle it's my first try) | [WP] You're tripping on a new drug dubbed "Memory lane." It allows you to relive anything that has ever happened in your life with 100% clarity. The only catch is that the memory is random. | We'd smoked two joints by the time Fred got there and I was feeling pretty lazy. The stairs creaked as he came down.
"Sup guys," Fred laughed, "its like a fucking sauna down here, y'all smoked yourselves retarded yet or what?"
Pat quipped up, "Ha, Ha, Ha, very funny, now sit your ass down and role us another one." His eyes were blood shot, which was pretty standard. My eyes never got bloodshot.
Fred grinned, "I'm fine with that." He sat down on the couch next to me and Pat passed him the rolling tray.
We sat in silence as Fred busted up more weed, then he pulled out a small container from his pocket, from which he took out a little yellow capsule. He pulled it apart carefully with his fingernails and emptied the powdery contents onto the weed. He did nothing to hide his actions and thus managed to capture 100% percent of our attention.
"What the hell is that?" I asked.
Fred smiled to himself, "I don't even know." He laughed, "Ron McCarthy said it takes you back in time. He's a full-fledged fucktard though. Guess we'll just have to see."
Pat's anxiety faded to a look of modest interest. "I wouldn't mind going back in time..."
Fred finished rolling and passed the joint to me. "You're the guinea pig on this one."
"Whatever I don't mind."
I took the joint and sparked it, hauling the thick pungent smoke deep into my lungs. It didn't taste at all like weed, more like raspberries and overproof rum. I hit it again three more times, then passed the joint to Pat and leaned back, sinking comfortably into the amber felt sofa. But it didn't stop there, I kept sinking, down and down a path that stretched for miles into an intangible gloom. At first I thought I'd been shrunk down and become trapped inside the couch. A red glow filled the confined space, seeping through the translucent skin that surrounded me. Then all of a sudden the environment squeezed in on me, pushing me down, and I tumbled through what I suddenly realized was a viscous fluid. The pressure built, then jerky vibrations and a repetitive noise filled my ears, like a distant groaning. That was when I realized I was naked. Something was pushing me through a tube, and the word claustrophobic filled my tiny mind. Suddenly up ahead a crevice broke in the distance and through it poured a harsh fluorescent light, white and sterile as it blinded my fragile eyes. All of a sudden I was through, and a giant being grabbed me in its hands and passed me to another, who cried and brushed its giant lips against my forehead. Then I was passed to another, who passed me to another and shook me until I realized it was Fred shaking me and I had fallen of the sofa and was curled up on the ground in the fetal position.
And that was the first time I tried Memory Lane.
| What some call repression, others call voluntary memory. I have never been prone to flashbacks, which my wife and my therapist both agree (they said it without saying it) is directly related to my lack of introspection and self-awareness. In fact, I never told my wife anything of my past until a year into the relationship, and even then, all I could manage to spill was the completely mundane, middle class story of my first relationship.
So they say the drug will help. And I want to please my wife - the other night I awoke to her clawing at herself as if she hadn't been touched in years.
And here goes.
Living room. Mustard-colored carpet. Dad in rocking chair. TV on. Mother comes in the room. She looks at me sweetly; I know she has drunk something called "wine" and it makes her smile that way; there's an ink stain on her front tooth. Mariners are on and I remember I have a Ken Griffey bat (!) in my room.
"Who's winning?" asks my mom.
Dad grunts.
"Oh, nevermind," she says, and turning to me she asks, "How are you darling?"
"Good, mom."
"You boys and you're baseball." And then she makes a tsk-tsk sound and takes a sip of her wine.
My Dad, with exhaustion, walks to the kitchen and pours his scotch. What did I do to make him so unhappy? I want to cry. instead I walk to my room.
That night I feign sleep as my mother comes in to kiss me goodnight.
Back in Mr. Deckler's office. Mustard-color has been transmuted to moss-green.
They are looking at me and I am sweating.
I try to act as if I've made progress. I quickly strike the pose of introspection, as if something so profound has happened to me that there is no vocabulary for it. My wife gleams; she is trying, with the very gentleness of her expression, to help me lift my burden. I give her a silent signal that I hope conveys to her that I appreciate her kindness. My therapist is calmly, happily tabulating.
But I am anchored to myself, and I feel the heavy anchor inside me, rotting, simply too heavy to lift.
|
Good or bad trip. Your choice.
Thanks for the responses guys, I of course had to take a crack at it as well (be gentle it's my first try) | [WP] You're tripping on a new drug dubbed "Memory lane." It allows you to relive anything that has ever happened in your life with 100% clarity. The only catch is that the memory is random. | We'd smoked two joints by the time Fred got there and I was feeling pretty lazy. The stairs creaked as he came down.
"Sup guys," Fred laughed, "its like a fucking sauna down here, y'all smoked yourselves retarded yet or what?"
Pat quipped up, "Ha, Ha, Ha, very funny, now sit your ass down and role us another one." His eyes were blood shot, which was pretty standard. My eyes never got bloodshot.
Fred grinned, "I'm fine with that." He sat down on the couch next to me and Pat passed him the rolling tray.
We sat in silence as Fred busted up more weed, then he pulled out a small container from his pocket, from which he took out a little yellow capsule. He pulled it apart carefully with his fingernails and emptied the powdery contents onto the weed. He did nothing to hide his actions and thus managed to capture 100% percent of our attention.
"What the hell is that?" I asked.
Fred smiled to himself, "I don't even know." He laughed, "Ron McCarthy said it takes you back in time. He's a full-fledged fucktard though. Guess we'll just have to see."
Pat's anxiety faded to a look of modest interest. "I wouldn't mind going back in time..."
Fred finished rolling and passed the joint to me. "You're the guinea pig on this one."
"Whatever I don't mind."
I took the joint and sparked it, hauling the thick pungent smoke deep into my lungs. It didn't taste at all like weed, more like raspberries and overproof rum. I hit it again three more times, then passed the joint to Pat and leaned back, sinking comfortably into the amber felt sofa. But it didn't stop there, I kept sinking, down and down a path that stretched for miles into an intangible gloom. At first I thought I'd been shrunk down and become trapped inside the couch. A red glow filled the confined space, seeping through the translucent skin that surrounded me. Then all of a sudden the environment squeezed in on me, pushing me down, and I tumbled through what I suddenly realized was a viscous fluid. The pressure built, then jerky vibrations and a repetitive noise filled my ears, like a distant groaning. That was when I realized I was naked. Something was pushing me through a tube, and the word claustrophobic filled my tiny mind. Suddenly up ahead a crevice broke in the distance and through it poured a harsh fluorescent light, white and sterile as it blinded my fragile eyes. All of a sudden I was through, and a giant being grabbed me in its hands and passed me to another, who cried and brushed its giant lips against my forehead. Then I was passed to another, who passed me to another and shook me until I realized it was Fred shaking me and I had fallen of the sofa and was curled up on the ground in the fetal position.
And that was the first time I tried Memory Lane.
| [I love this writing promt]
Although the drug is FDA approved and I'm lying down in my therapist's office, I cannot help but think to myself that this must be the sketchiest thing I've done since all that acid in college. Whatever, if it'll help me sleep. I close my eyes and lay down on my stomach. Seconds after Dr. Fuckface Paidtomuch applies the patch to the back of my neck the drug takes hold.
There's a flash of colors which reminds me that this might have been a bad idea. I wonder for the streched millisecond if I'll be coherent as an observor throughout this entire ordeal. Then I'm looking through my eyes again, except about four inches lower than I usually do.
I'm sitting on the bench inside my highschool. I've got a boy on each side of me and their malevolence is seething off of them like my body odor off of me. I should have learned to use deodorant much earlier. A teacher walks past us and asks simply. "Everything's all right over here?"
"Yes Mr. Smith, not a problem" I say. He knows I'm lying but I guess he trusts my judgement. I wish he hadn't but looking back, it didn't matter. He walks out the double doors into the parking lot.
"You know what you did man. Let's go".
Earlier that week the long haired boy had cornered me in the hallway and let loose a fury of swear words and threats. *WHAT'D I EVER DO TO YOU? YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD MAN.* I know his girlfriend from Mr. Goodin's geometry, and she sure is a fucking looker. Hilarious too. She aludes that she has a boyfriend, and I simply don't care. We're hanging out all the time, getting to know eachother. Eventually we smooch, and here I am.
She had mentioned at least once what a controlling bastard this guy was. Mark.
The other guy was just a wingman. Displacing his teen angst.
Minutes later on the bike path Mark throws the first punch, and I deftly move out of the way. I'm much bigger than these fellas, genetically superior one might say. Also at the time, I'm a fairly devout pacifist. Can't dodge em forever though, and he catchs me in the chest. *Is this it? Woah man*
Ten minutes later they ask if I'd had enough. I'm a quick walk from my house and I decided I had.
Those guys were pansies. Softer than downy ducklings. I'm real glad I didn't hit them back. Later that year I'd recall the amount of play that fight had earned me. Myself and his now ex-girlfriend would be fooling around for a long time. Poor guy, did himself in...
---
Back in the office I jolted awake and promptly told my Dr. Uselessprescription about my experience. None of it had anything to do with my dead daughter or the constant BAC that I've learned to keep above zero. It was a fond memory though, so I decided I'd come back next week. |
Good or bad trip. Your choice.
Thanks for the responses guys, I of course had to take a crack at it as well (be gentle it's my first try) | [WP] You're tripping on a new drug dubbed "Memory lane." It allows you to relive anything that has ever happened in your life with 100% clarity. The only catch is that the memory is random. | I ring the doorbell and my friend Amanda answers, she's smiling and her eyes are glossy and red. When I ask if she's been smoking weed she simply says "better..." and walks back in leaving the door open. Immediately to my left as I walk in is a ring of people all on the floor of the living room in various stages of tripping on whatever drug they were on, some looking around nervously whilst others laid flat on the ground with big dumb grins on their faces. I look around as Amanda re-enters the room with a coffee pot full of wafer like tabs, on them are the words "Memory lane". I look into my friends eyes with an eyebrow raised, she smiled wider "it works! I totally relived my trip to Cancun earlier, its amazing!" her eyes widened on amazing in an intense way that made me feel slightly uncomfortable. As I walk over to a space in the ring of people and sit down the world shifts angle and stays that way, I try and tilt my head to level it out and I can hear Amanda laughing in the distance and my vision fades. Did I already take it?
The waves rush in and drag out in a soothing, natural rhythm and I hear panting beside me. I sit up and lo and behold rover my childhood dog is looking playfully at me, wagging his tail and licking my hand as I reach out to pet him. This is brilliant. But then the screams come, I casually turn round to see a girl no more than 8 tied and gagged to a large tree trunk washed onto the deserted section of the beach, I went to as a kid with my dad. She's looking right at me, I recognise her as Rebecca from primary school. What the fuck. I seem to be twisting something in my right hand and I look down to view a large screwdriver just like the one's my dad used on our garden fence. I stand up and calm Rover so he stays back and begin to walk down the beach towards Rebecca with the screwdriver raised, she's kicking her legs trying to wriggle free. Muffled screams are what I hear as I begin to see a patterned carpet fade back into view and the sounds of waves be replaced by low reggae and stillness. Amanda's looking at me expectantly, "Well?" she prompts. "uhuuh good-great it was good thanks" I manage, her smile droops and she seems concerned "you okay? your sweating, like a lot". I look down, she was right I was soaked, jesus that was awful..."I thought these were memories mandy?" I query as calmly as I can. She seemed offended by the question but before she could protest a lanky, dark haired guy in glasses seemed to of woken up and butted in "the drug is very potent, it allows your brain to show you what it knows even if you no longer know it consciously, japanese scientists are already trying to focus the drug to help in fact retention excersises such as exams and-" "OK thanks Milton" Amanda interjected giving me a discreet look suggesting Milton was a nerd. Did that really happen? I need to know. "Mandy I gotta shoot off, but can I get some more of that for the road?" it seemed rude so I begun reaching into my wallet. "Of course, I thought you didn't like it! but you can make it up to me with dinner on saturday?". My god even with the possibility of murder on my hands, I still hesitate to agree, our last "date" was a awkward affair at a bowling alley...3 years ago. "OK" I say and force a smile. She gives me a playing cards box with at least 20 inside, I walk outside, its dark. "how long was I tripping for?" I inquire. She chuckles "3-4 hours honey". I cringe at the use of 'honey'. I get into my car and make it round the corner before I pull over and take another.
Note: [not sure if this is as fun to read as it was to write. If anyone is interested I can add more parts tomorrow after work.] | [I love this writing promt]
Although the drug is FDA approved and I'm lying down in my therapist's office, I cannot help but think to myself that this must be the sketchiest thing I've done since all that acid in college. Whatever, if it'll help me sleep. I close my eyes and lay down on my stomach. Seconds after Dr. Fuckface Paidtomuch applies the patch to the back of my neck the drug takes hold.
There's a flash of colors which reminds me that this might have been a bad idea. I wonder for the streched millisecond if I'll be coherent as an observor throughout this entire ordeal. Then I'm looking through my eyes again, except about four inches lower than I usually do.
I'm sitting on the bench inside my highschool. I've got a boy on each side of me and their malevolence is seething off of them like my body odor off of me. I should have learned to use deodorant much earlier. A teacher walks past us and asks simply. "Everything's all right over here?"
"Yes Mr. Smith, not a problem" I say. He knows I'm lying but I guess he trusts my judgement. I wish he hadn't but looking back, it didn't matter. He walks out the double doors into the parking lot.
"You know what you did man. Let's go".
Earlier that week the long haired boy had cornered me in the hallway and let loose a fury of swear words and threats. *WHAT'D I EVER DO TO YOU? YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD MAN.* I know his girlfriend from Mr. Goodin's geometry, and she sure is a fucking looker. Hilarious too. She aludes that she has a boyfriend, and I simply don't care. We're hanging out all the time, getting to know eachother. Eventually we smooch, and here I am.
She had mentioned at least once what a controlling bastard this guy was. Mark.
The other guy was just a wingman. Displacing his teen angst.
Minutes later on the bike path Mark throws the first punch, and I deftly move out of the way. I'm much bigger than these fellas, genetically superior one might say. Also at the time, I'm a fairly devout pacifist. Can't dodge em forever though, and he catchs me in the chest. *Is this it? Woah man*
Ten minutes later they ask if I'd had enough. I'm a quick walk from my house and I decided I had.
Those guys were pansies. Softer than downy ducklings. I'm real glad I didn't hit them back. Later that year I'd recall the amount of play that fight had earned me. Myself and his now ex-girlfriend would be fooling around for a long time. Poor guy, did himself in...
---
Back in the office I jolted awake and promptly told my Dr. Uselessprescription about my experience. None of it had anything to do with my dead daughter or the constant BAC that I've learned to keep above zero. It was a fond memory though, so I decided I'd come back next week. |
Good or bad trip. Your choice.
Thanks for the responses guys, I of course had to take a crack at it as well (be gentle it's my first try) | [WP] You're tripping on a new drug dubbed "Memory lane." It allows you to relive anything that has ever happened in your life with 100% clarity. The only catch is that the memory is random. | The glass vial rolled around the porcelain basin.
*tink *tink *tink
3…. That familiar burn began.
2…. I grab the edge of the sink as all my muscles tense up.
1…. I feel it course through me as my eyes roll shut.
……….lift off.
Where would I be this time?
I could feel the rain covering me. The amber light illuminating her white skin. She looked more tan now that she ever had. I could feel her body getting heavier. Her breathes getting lighter. Our eyes locked and I squeezed her hand tighter.
“Don’t worry they’ll be here any second. Hold on”…
She smiled that smile that made me fall in love with her from the first time I met her. I stroked her wet hair trying to provide some comfort. He breaths were shorter until she stopped. Tears were now mixing with the rain. Bright flashing lights were in the distance I turned to look.
I woke up to a migraine and burning eyes. Curled up in a ball I continued to cry. I reached to the edge of the sink and grabbed another vial. Hopefully this would be the one, I’d finally be with her, with no pain. I’d been trying for years. Telling myself ,”just one more trip down memory lane”.
| I plug in. Better be worth it.
...
Damn, it's hot outside. Shoulda worn lighter clothes.
I'm waiting. Waiting.
Maybe she's taking a long time to finish her test. Who knows, Mrs. T is insane.
Finally, I hear another wave of kids leaving the school building and I recognize the voices. Henry. Marsh. Kelly. Jenny.
I've got the gift in my hand.
In the wise words of Eminem, "Palms Sweaty. Arms heavy. Something something mom's spaghetti." Well, something like that. I don't really listen to him.
Marsh knows what's up. He's cracking a smile at me before throwing a wink in. Fortunately, he's behind everyone else so it's only me who catches it.
I walk up. My knees are wobbling all over the place, like two rambunctious toddlers who just won't stay still.
I choke on my words as I hand Jenny the little box of chocolates I shoddily wrapped up.
"I...
I like you. I mean...
Will you go out with me?"
There's a pause as it sets in. It gives way to a torn expression. A pained one.
"Dave... I... Well..."
She's looking for a way out, I think.
"We're only in 8^th grade..." She mumbles some other stuff quietly.
I... Well...
I didn't really know what to expect.
"Ok... I'm sorry..." I in turn make a beeline towards the bus. God, I fucked up.
The bus ride home is a haze of gutted emotions. It's a weird feeling, being rejected.
Yet as I walk into my house, into my small room, the whole of it sinks in. I cry. I punch a pillow with my weak arms, the recoil carrying as much force as the punch itself.
"Alone.... Alone... I... I'm fucking useless and I'll always be alone..."
But there's a new voice, something I didn't see coming.
"No you won't. I'm here for you. I'm always here for you. It's ok. It's ok. Calm down."
As my eyes open, my brain connects the voice to someone. Someone I know, someone I love. The memory bed around me is still terrifying, but as my wife sits by my side, relief washes over me.
|
Partly based off a mockumentry called "CSA" on youtube.
I'm well aware this isn't historically accurate. | [WP] "Robert E. Lee International Airport welcomes you to the Confederate States of America. Please do not leave your luggage or slaves unattended." | We thank you for flying Confederate Airlines. Please exit the airplane in an orderly fashion, and make sure you are in the proper line for your race. When you exit the plane, Free Coloureds please stay to the far left, Subcontinentals in the middle, Orientals and Whites in the far right. If mixed race, assume One Drop Rule.
Baggage claim is in the bottom floor of the Beauregard Terminal. You are currently in the Cleburne Terminal. To reach the Beauregard Terminal, please use the Jim Crow Memorial Tram.
Shuttles will be waiting at the Beauregard terminal to transport you, your baggage, and chattel to different destinations in New Orleans. As a light suggestion, Victory Day celebrations are currently being celebrated in Jackson Square. The historical society and the Italian-Confederate Society will be reenacting the famous Garibaldi Landing; when Interim Commander in Chief Garibaldi - offended by the Northern Tyrant denying his generous offer of service - loaned his sword to President Davis. Moreover, there will be a reading of Supreme Court Justice and General Patrick Cleburne's "Monstrous Proposal", which allowed slaves to free themselves by fighting in the army. It is said that without Cleburne's urging and the extra manpower provided, there would be no Victory Day!
And finally, please respect the local customs. To our visitors from our friends and allies Großdeutschland, The Italian Empire, and the Japanese Empire, please do not antagonize the Jews, Albanians, or Koreans. Instead, celebrate the fact that here, in the proud Pan-American Confederacy, they are put to good work supporting our shared Axis superiority!
We hope you enjoy your stay. Yall come back now! | Sunlight poured through the tinted windows, and the gate was nearly empty. Just a recent débutante and her aging mammy, “So what's you're story sonny-jim?”
“Heading up to Detroit for a job.”
“That some kind of a joke? Hard to tell you got one of them, northerner accents.”
“No miss, just got a job with JD Automation; you know... the States own outfit. Scouted me right out of college; they flew me down here first class for the interview.” I couldn't hold back a grin while my hand strafed to the pocket with the letter, just to make sure it, and the starting salary it contained with all six of it's glorious digits -not counting the two after the decimal point- was still there.
“No shit?” she said, pretty face lighting up. Her slave looked bored, “You hear that Gurdy? This fella here is one of the ones making those machines you all like so much.”
If Gurdy did feel this way it wasn't telegraphing to her face, “What *do* you think?” I said, so abruptly that she jumped and had to smooth the wrinkles out of her apron.
“I don't mean nothing -they okay sir.”
“She doesn't like to fly, bless her. She'll be down in the hold with the others that don't pass the paper bag screening. Guess I'd be pretty fussed too.”
“I'd like to ask, if you'd let her speak freely?” I say before I can stop myself.
The woman turns, “Now Gurdy, you tell him what you really think. I'll know if you're lying, I won't whip you for bein' out a line, but I damn sure will have an airport overseer take the vinegar out of you if you lie. And daddy will hear about it,” she added raising her eyebrows. She gave me a look that as much as said *'and that's how we keep them in line down here.'*
I felt bad, watching the troubled, childlike emotions playing out across the tired face, wrinkling it the way wind rips the fabric of a flag around, “I don't like them,” she said quickly, “I don't like them at all, I'm so sorry sir. All these years, all these years we been doin' good hard work, making cars, and taking calls, and driving buses and trucks, working the farms what where all the food comes from; just like we always done. It's the natural order a things, we looked after each other; your kind and my kind. Now you just gonna -just gonna throw us away. Where will we go? How'll we eat. What'll we do?”
I looked down at the schematic, a new kind of transducer I'd designed for my senior project, “I don't know,” I said, “It's a good question."
Silence hung like cannon smoke. The letter in my pocket itched and I scratched it. The pause broken by the chime, and the boarding call, “It was very nice to me to make your acquaintance sir,” the woman said a little bit stiffly to mask how uncomfortable things had just gotten.
“Likewise,” I said, tipping my hat and we walked to our gates, and away from that brief moment in time where our paths crossed, and then divided.
I've since that day, that face, that terrified face -no matter what else I'm thinking about, it's always just below the surface. You ask me why I want to join up, why you should trust me? What horse has a northerner with deep, comfortable pockets got to say about the trade?
I'm joining the abolitionist movement because of that face. Maybe if we can end this, it'll give me some peace. |
Partly based off a mockumentry called "CSA" on youtube.
I'm well aware this isn't historically accurate. | [WP] "Robert E. Lee International Airport welcomes you to the Confederate States of America. Please do not leave your luggage or slaves unattended." | We thank you for flying Confederate Airlines. Please exit the airplane in an orderly fashion, and make sure you are in the proper line for your race. When you exit the plane, Free Coloureds please stay to the far left, Subcontinentals in the middle, Orientals and Whites in the far right. If mixed race, assume One Drop Rule.
Baggage claim is in the bottom floor of the Beauregard Terminal. You are currently in the Cleburne Terminal. To reach the Beauregard Terminal, please use the Jim Crow Memorial Tram.
Shuttles will be waiting at the Beauregard terminal to transport you, your baggage, and chattel to different destinations in New Orleans. As a light suggestion, Victory Day celebrations are currently being celebrated in Jackson Square. The historical society and the Italian-Confederate Society will be reenacting the famous Garibaldi Landing; when Interim Commander in Chief Garibaldi - offended by the Northern Tyrant denying his generous offer of service - loaned his sword to President Davis. Moreover, there will be a reading of Supreme Court Justice and General Patrick Cleburne's "Monstrous Proposal", which allowed slaves to free themselves by fighting in the army. It is said that without Cleburne's urging and the extra manpower provided, there would be no Victory Day!
And finally, please respect the local customs. To our visitors from our friends and allies Großdeutschland, The Italian Empire, and the Japanese Empire, please do not antagonize the Jews, Albanians, or Koreans. Instead, celebrate the fact that here, in the proud Pan-American Confederacy, they are put to good work supporting our shared Axis superiority!
We hope you enjoy your stay. Yall come back now! | Gerald stood in line, his arms crossed. There was trouble somewhere up ahead, and he was already late. And they sure as hell weren’t going to hold to the plane for any freeman.
In the security line of Robert E. Lee airport, the freeman line stretched out to the doors of the gate. The white line was utterly empty, a single TSA agent flipping through a comic book, his feet kicked up on the desk. Someone was being pulled out of line, while two women in rubber gloves emptied the contents of his carry-on bag. Eventually the trouble seemed to clear up (likely the man had been forced to finally slip the agent a few twenty dollar bills) and the line started moving again.
When Gerald reached the front he could not keep the pissed off look from his face, or the edge from his voice. The plane had almost certainly boarded by now. He had waited all this time to go through security only to turn around, book another, later flight, and stand in line all over again.
“Do you have your clearance?” the agent asked. The kid looked like a college frat-boy who had graduated a couple years ago, winding up in the relatively cushy and well-paid job of TSA supervisor for someone with an IQ of 90.
Gerald held out his wrist. He was wearing a thin gold and black bracelet. He stuck his arm into a machine before the metal detector. The agent frowned, staring at the machine. He looked at Gerald, back at the machine.
Damnit, Gerald thought, here we go. Any chance of catching the plane was now lost.
“Please step aside, sir.”
Gerald knew the words he would say before he even said them, like he was reading his mind. He traveled enough, and had been pulled aside enough, that this was becoming old hat. Routine. A minor and expected annoyance, except for when he was already running late.
Gerald complied. This type of thing had become far more common over the last five years. Sure, there were plenty of anti-slavery rumblings. There were daily protests in every major city in the north, and in most major southern cities as well. This alone wouldn’t have made them nervous, but with a string of terrorism attacks recently – some form ex-slaves and other abolitionist extremists – they had heightened the security at every place. Not only that, but runaways with fake freeman I.D.s had become increasingly common and more sophisticated. All this led to the constant state of harassment between people like the TSA and freeman like him
“I see you’ve been free since 1984.” The man looked at the computer terminal.
“That’s correct.”
“Are you associated with any abolitionist groups of any kind?”
“No.”
“Really? You sure about that?”
“I’m very sure about that.”
“Well, it says here that you have been marked as identified with African-American Islamic Group.”
“You must have me confused with my brother. He’s the one that’s into that crap.”
“Well, you are his brother, aren’t you?” The frat-boy had a mischievous look in his eye, a sinister expression on his face. “We’ll need to you step back here with us for a few minutes. Grab his bags and follow me.”
Over in the far corner of the hallway, Gerald saw two security guards pestering a slave (marked with the little white wrist band), likely asking him why he was loitering, asking him where his master was and who he had come with. The man looked fidgety and scared, the two officers in his face.
“I’m a citizen of his country,” Gerald said. “I’m no slave.”
“You might not be a slave,” the man said, “but you’re sure as hell not a citizen,” and led him through a door into a dark place, the apathetic crowd staring with a dull interest, no one saying a thing.
“Next,” the TSA agent called.
|
[WP] "They aren't coming, are they?" | We sat there, stranded. The sun blazed down onto our faces; I could feel my skin getting burned.
"They aren't coming, are they?" Jim asked.
"Fuck if I know. We've been here for three hours 'n they were supposed to be here when we got here," Snells responded.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard a thunderous roar. I looked around wildly and saw the barren earth tear apart. We were in the middle of an earthquake.
"Get to the *fucking* cave!" Snells screamed.
We literally ran for our lives. First Jackson made it to the shithole of a cave; then Schmidt; then Manny; then me; then Alex; then Hellie; then Snells; then-
"Where the fuck is Jim?!" Manny asked frantically.
"Shit. Shit. Shitshitshit," Schmidt said, pointing out of the cave, with a blank expression on his face. Jim was hanging off of the giant jagged crevice in the ground, held onto the safety of the earth only by a single plant. All seven of us ran toward Jim and pulled him up into safety. Jim smelled like shit. I peered down into the crevice and saw only darkness.
This is my first response to a WP. I'd love feedback :D | My mommy was staring at the T.V. screen. She looked scared. I don't know what was going on, but I was scared too. I ran over and gave her a hug.
"What's going on Mommy?" I clutched onto her skirt.
It looked like it was one of those movies she and Daddy would watch late at night. They would tell me to go to bed, but sometimes I would be sneaky and watch from the door. Mommy didn't look like she was watching a movie.
She looked down at me and smiled. Her eyes didn't smile though. They still looked scared. Mommy almost never looked like that before.
"Nothing, sweetie. Some bad people are fighting very far away. But we're okay here at home." She gave me a reassuring hug.
________
My mommy shook me awake. I wasn't very happy about it.
"MOMMY! It's too early for waking up. The sun isn't up!"
Mommy covered my lips. "Shhhh...." She said. I looked around. She had two small suitcases next to her. She lifted me out of bed. Mommy looked really scared. She didn't smile at me like she usually does.
"They aren't coming, are they?" I whispered.
Mommy looked sad. "I'm so sorry sweetie." She began to cry.
"It's okay, Mommy." I wiped away her tears and smiled at her, even though I knew this wasn't going to be a happy day.
She put me on the floor. We walked out to the car and never went back home.
_______
My mommy told me that Daddy would come for us with his friends. He would come when we were safe again. There were lots of people living with us now. Sometimes they carried away people who were sleeping. Mommy told me they were just going to sleep somewhere else.
I was getting hungry.
_______
My mommy and I haven't been at home for a long time now. I miss warm food. Mommy doesn't eat much anymore. She keeps giving me hers, but I'm still hungry. Mommy looks really tired. She won't stop coughing. We're still waiting for Daddy to come for us.
It began to thunder again. It's really loud. Mommy looks up at the ceiling.
"No...It's too soon," She says between coughs. I hug her.
I know the thunder isn't a bad storm. I miss my Daddy, but I don't think he's making the booms.
"They aren't coming, are they?" I whisper.
Mommy looks sad. "I'm so sorry sweetie." She is crying now.
"It's okay, Mommy." I wipe away her tears and smile at her because I know it's the last time we'll ever be able to smile together.
|
|
[WP] "They aren't coming, are they?" | My father pressed "End" on the screen and set the phone face down, quietly on the kitchen counter. He let out a slight sigh of resignation to what was about to occur again this year. The rest of us were gathered at the kitchen table, where we had been catching up since the last family get-together at Thanksgiving.
"They aren't coming, are they?," my brother said with a slight hesitant plaintiveness in his voice.
"Yes, they are," my father replied.
Shit. As I looked around the borderline tackily-decorated house, adorned with too many Santas to count, reindeer, elves, tiny mechanical snowmen, and the simplest nod to the holiday in the form of a crocheted sign that simply read "Jesus," I thought for a moment about how our bit of happiness and peacefulness in each other's company was about to be shattered. That tiny crocheted sign simply displayed the thought that went through all of our heads when we realized they *were* coming- "Jesus."
Now, we had often joked about the comparison between my mom's penchant for overdecorating the house in a Clark Griswold-like display of lights and gadgets during Christmas, but nothing quite paralleled our family with that fictional family like my sister and her husband. They were our Catherine and Eddie. They brought their undisciplined, rude child with them every year. They tore through our Christmas like a combination of the Tasmanian Devil and Yosemite Sam. Without volume control, manners, sympathy, empathy, or remorse, they would inevitably tear through every dish served (well, their spawn would reject the food and openly feed it to the dog off of the side of the table); they would tear through gifts with little or no thanks. There would be loud cursing and bragging about extravagant purchases, immediately followed by asking my parents for money to help turn their water back on. In short, our holiday was fucked. They were, in fact, coming to Christmas again this year.
We tried to entertain ourselves and alleviate our anxiety with as much humor as possible in order to brace ourselves for the septic tidal wave about to hit us. And hit us it did. Thirty minutes later, the sound of their extremely loud, oversized truck announced that they had pulled into the driveway. Before we heard the second truck door creakily slam shut, my brother and I looked at each other during one last moment of quiet before they left for the evening, took a deep breath and exhaled, "Shitter's full." | My mommy was staring at the T.V. screen. She looked scared. I don't know what was going on, but I was scared too. I ran over and gave her a hug.
"What's going on Mommy?" I clutched onto her skirt.
It looked like it was one of those movies she and Daddy would watch late at night. They would tell me to go to bed, but sometimes I would be sneaky and watch from the door. Mommy didn't look like she was watching a movie.
She looked down at me and smiled. Her eyes didn't smile though. They still looked scared. Mommy almost never looked like that before.
"Nothing, sweetie. Some bad people are fighting very far away. But we're okay here at home." She gave me a reassuring hug.
________
My mommy shook me awake. I wasn't very happy about it.
"MOMMY! It's too early for waking up. The sun isn't up!"
Mommy covered my lips. "Shhhh...." She said. I looked around. She had two small suitcases next to her. She lifted me out of bed. Mommy looked really scared. She didn't smile at me like she usually does.
"They aren't coming, are they?" I whispered.
Mommy looked sad. "I'm so sorry sweetie." She began to cry.
"It's okay, Mommy." I wiped away her tears and smiled at her, even though I knew this wasn't going to be a happy day.
She put me on the floor. We walked out to the car and never went back home.
_______
My mommy told me that Daddy would come for us with his friends. He would come when we were safe again. There were lots of people living with us now. Sometimes they carried away people who were sleeping. Mommy told me they were just going to sleep somewhere else.
I was getting hungry.
_______
My mommy and I haven't been at home for a long time now. I miss warm food. Mommy doesn't eat much anymore. She keeps giving me hers, but I'm still hungry. Mommy looks really tired. She won't stop coughing. We're still waiting for Daddy to come for us.
It began to thunder again. It's really loud. Mommy looks up at the ceiling.
"No...It's too soon," She says between coughs. I hug her.
I know the thunder isn't a bad storm. I miss my Daddy, but I don't think he's making the booms.
"They aren't coming, are they?" I whisper.
Mommy looks sad. "I'm so sorry sweetie." She is crying now.
"It's okay, Mommy." I wipe away her tears and smile at her because I know it's the last time we'll ever be able to smile together.
|
|
[WP] "They aren't coming, are they?" | “Hey Julie, I invited Jenny to your birthday.”
“Are you serious?” Julie asked.
“Yeah, I hope that’s alright.”
“Did Jenny and Rob get married? Did I miss that?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous,” Julie’s mom said.
“Then she’s not family. I said family only,” Julie asserted.
“I already invited her.”
“I don’t care,” Julie said with more force. “You made the mistake of inviting her, now you have the pleasure of calling her up.”
“Jesus, what the fuck is your problem.”
“I said family only!” Julie repeated.
…
Julie had a July birthday. July 2 to be exact. At a very young age she learned that the Declaration of Independence was signed on July 2, but no one knew that. And she proudly informed everyone of that fact until she was old enough to realize how pretentious that sounded, but that was at a much later age.
On her 10th birthday, Walter, her father, rented out the party room at the Zizzi’s Pizza. There were 8 kids from her class who weren’t gone for the summer vacation, and she personally invited all of them with handmade invitations. The party was to start promptly at 3.
She was especially excited about seeing Robbie. Two months prior, he had signed her 4th grade class book “Dear Julie, I think you’re smart. Robbie” She was in love. She had spent the last two months picking dandelions and thinking of Robbie.
Kari was in town too, and she was going to bring her brother Sam. Kari was one of the popular girls Julie was usually too shy to approach, but Kari’s dad and Walter worked together. Walter encouraged her to invite Kari to the party.
It was Julie’s special day.
By the time 5 pm rolled around, Julie looked at her dad, “They aren’t coming, are they?”
…
Julie was turning 30.
“What do you want to do for your birthday hun?” Joel asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe dinner. My brother will be in town. Let’s do something with the three of us. After, maybe we can invite people out for drinks or something.” She suggested.
“Do you want to invite Kristin?” He asked.
“No. Family only.”
| My mommy was staring at the T.V. screen. She looked scared. I don't know what was going on, but I was scared too. I ran over and gave her a hug.
"What's going on Mommy?" I clutched onto her skirt.
It looked like it was one of those movies she and Daddy would watch late at night. They would tell me to go to bed, but sometimes I would be sneaky and watch from the door. Mommy didn't look like she was watching a movie.
She looked down at me and smiled. Her eyes didn't smile though. They still looked scared. Mommy almost never looked like that before.
"Nothing, sweetie. Some bad people are fighting very far away. But we're okay here at home." She gave me a reassuring hug.
________
My mommy shook me awake. I wasn't very happy about it.
"MOMMY! It's too early for waking up. The sun isn't up!"
Mommy covered my lips. "Shhhh...." She said. I looked around. She had two small suitcases next to her. She lifted me out of bed. Mommy looked really scared. She didn't smile at me like she usually does.
"They aren't coming, are they?" I whispered.
Mommy looked sad. "I'm so sorry sweetie." She began to cry.
"It's okay, Mommy." I wiped away her tears and smiled at her, even though I knew this wasn't going to be a happy day.
She put me on the floor. We walked out to the car and never went back home.
_______
My mommy told me that Daddy would come for us with his friends. He would come when we were safe again. There were lots of people living with us now. Sometimes they carried away people who were sleeping. Mommy told me they were just going to sleep somewhere else.
I was getting hungry.
_______
My mommy and I haven't been at home for a long time now. I miss warm food. Mommy doesn't eat much anymore. She keeps giving me hers, but I'm still hungry. Mommy looks really tired. She won't stop coughing. We're still waiting for Daddy to come for us.
It began to thunder again. It's really loud. Mommy looks up at the ceiling.
"No...It's too soon," She says between coughs. I hug her.
I know the thunder isn't a bad storm. I miss my Daddy, but I don't think he's making the booms.
"They aren't coming, are they?" I whisper.
Mommy looks sad. "I'm so sorry sweetie." She is crying now.
"It's okay, Mommy." I wipe away her tears and smile at her because I know it's the last time we'll ever be able to smile together.
|
|
[WP] "They aren't coming, are they?" | The day the British tanks and infantry rumbled into town, I knew.
But, just to make sure, I looked up and asked my sister Birthe, "They aren't coming, are they?"
We had been listening to Aunt Tove's wireless over the past couple of days, and had heard what had happened in Berlin. The German forces had surrendered there, so they wouldn't be sending reinforcements here, would they?
"Field Marshal Montgomery" was a very hard name for me to say, but I tried, and cheered him and his men on, as they paraded through the high street.
The British tanks looked so different from the German ones we had been told would be a permanent feature in our town.
As the last of the parade rolled by, I felt relief. German reinforcements weren't coming. Daddy and Aunt Marianne would be safe.
| My mommy was staring at the T.V. screen. She looked scared. I don't know what was going on, but I was scared too. I ran over and gave her a hug.
"What's going on Mommy?" I clutched onto her skirt.
It looked like it was one of those movies she and Daddy would watch late at night. They would tell me to go to bed, but sometimes I would be sneaky and watch from the door. Mommy didn't look like she was watching a movie.
She looked down at me and smiled. Her eyes didn't smile though. They still looked scared. Mommy almost never looked like that before.
"Nothing, sweetie. Some bad people are fighting very far away. But we're okay here at home." She gave me a reassuring hug.
________
My mommy shook me awake. I wasn't very happy about it.
"MOMMY! It's too early for waking up. The sun isn't up!"
Mommy covered my lips. "Shhhh...." She said. I looked around. She had two small suitcases next to her. She lifted me out of bed. Mommy looked really scared. She didn't smile at me like she usually does.
"They aren't coming, are they?" I whispered.
Mommy looked sad. "I'm so sorry sweetie." She began to cry.
"It's okay, Mommy." I wiped away her tears and smiled at her, even though I knew this wasn't going to be a happy day.
She put me on the floor. We walked out to the car and never went back home.
_______
My mommy told me that Daddy would come for us with his friends. He would come when we were safe again. There were lots of people living with us now. Sometimes they carried away people who were sleeping. Mommy told me they were just going to sleep somewhere else.
I was getting hungry.
_______
My mommy and I haven't been at home for a long time now. I miss warm food. Mommy doesn't eat much anymore. She keeps giving me hers, but I'm still hungry. Mommy looks really tired. She won't stop coughing. We're still waiting for Daddy to come for us.
It began to thunder again. It's really loud. Mommy looks up at the ceiling.
"No...It's too soon," She says between coughs. I hug her.
I know the thunder isn't a bad storm. I miss my Daddy, but I don't think he's making the booms.
"They aren't coming, are they?" I whisper.
Mommy looks sad. "I'm so sorry sweetie." She is crying now.
"It's okay, Mommy." I wipe away her tears and smile at her because I know it's the last time we'll ever be able to smile together.
|
|
[WP] "They aren't coming, are they?" | Jaq pressed his small palms hard into the window, staring intently at the blue giant that slowly shrunk in size. In his left he clutched the silicone hand of Gorden, the small android he had been given on his eighth birthday.
"It's beautiful," Jaq said, his warm breath condensing on the thick glass.
Gorden was a gift from Jaq's father, who had, for only a few days, managed to get some time off to spend with his family. He was like that, always off at work, flying to a different station ever so often. Sometimes it was Antarctica, sometimes the Arctic. Twice, he brought back small individual snowflakes, encased in a small preservation holder, one from each pole. Jaq feigned sleep most nights, waiting until he could hear the smooth click of his mother's bedroom door sliding closed, so he could sneak off to the videoscreen and call his father.
It was their secret, and one they kept well.
The blue world was fading away now, looming eerily in the darkness and silence of space. From behind it came the unwavering shine of a million million brilliant stars.
Jaq's father hadn't been able to come home for his ninth birthday.
On his tenth, a crestfallen Jaq had blown the candles alone, with his mother and Gorden cheering him on.
He and his father kept up their ritual of nightly videocalls, but they became less frequent, and his father was less able to answer his calls.
One day, Jaq didn't call.
That summer, the hottest one in two centuries, Jaq had heard his parents on a videocall.
"I checked the data again this morning." His father's concern was evident in his strained voice. "It's definite, and it's not going to change."
"There could be a mistake in the data," urged Jaq's mother.
"There's a 99.93% certainty in the results. I double checked, and triple checked. I did the equations myself. The computations are right."
His mother's shoulders sagged, and their conversation continued at a whisper too hushed for Jaq to hear.
That summer, Jaq's mother became worried, an emotion he could see in her eyes. She went to sleep later, and sometimes Jaq had heard what he thought to be sobs coming from her bedroom.
That summer, his mother packed their bags, and had stared for a long moment at a family photo they had taken during a vacation years ago, before delicately placing it in the suitcase. Jaq was five, and his father hadn't been quite so busy with his work.
Then they left.
And now they were on the *Terraborn*, a monolithic ship that had made Jaq gasp in surprise when he had first seen the large black letters on its smooth white hull.
He looked again at the planet, now just a small marble in the foreground. Jaq’s felt a pang of emotion as he stared, overwhelmed with a sense of desolation that he was unfamiliar with. He slid his right hand into his pocket and looked down as he took out the snowflakes, bright white crystals of ice lying on individual black squares. Jaq traced his thumb over the smooth glassy top, and looked up again, towards the world on which, somewhere, the person who had given the snowflakes to him stood.
“They’re not coming, are they?” He asked Gorden.
“No,” came the answer. “No, they’re not.”
| My mommy was staring at the T.V. screen. She looked scared. I don't know what was going on, but I was scared too. I ran over and gave her a hug.
"What's going on Mommy?" I clutched onto her skirt.
It looked like it was one of those movies she and Daddy would watch late at night. They would tell me to go to bed, but sometimes I would be sneaky and watch from the door. Mommy didn't look like she was watching a movie.
She looked down at me and smiled. Her eyes didn't smile though. They still looked scared. Mommy almost never looked like that before.
"Nothing, sweetie. Some bad people are fighting very far away. But we're okay here at home." She gave me a reassuring hug.
________
My mommy shook me awake. I wasn't very happy about it.
"MOMMY! It's too early for waking up. The sun isn't up!"
Mommy covered my lips. "Shhhh...." She said. I looked around. She had two small suitcases next to her. She lifted me out of bed. Mommy looked really scared. She didn't smile at me like she usually does.
"They aren't coming, are they?" I whispered.
Mommy looked sad. "I'm so sorry sweetie." She began to cry.
"It's okay, Mommy." I wiped away her tears and smiled at her, even though I knew this wasn't going to be a happy day.
She put me on the floor. We walked out to the car and never went back home.
_______
My mommy told me that Daddy would come for us with his friends. He would come when we were safe again. There were lots of people living with us now. Sometimes they carried away people who were sleeping. Mommy told me they were just going to sleep somewhere else.
I was getting hungry.
_______
My mommy and I haven't been at home for a long time now. I miss warm food. Mommy doesn't eat much anymore. She keeps giving me hers, but I'm still hungry. Mommy looks really tired. She won't stop coughing. We're still waiting for Daddy to come for us.
It began to thunder again. It's really loud. Mommy looks up at the ceiling.
"No...It's too soon," She says between coughs. I hug her.
I know the thunder isn't a bad storm. I miss my Daddy, but I don't think he's making the booms.
"They aren't coming, are they?" I whisper.
Mommy looks sad. "I'm so sorry sweetie." She is crying now.
"It's okay, Mommy." I wipe away her tears and smile at her because I know it's the last time we'll ever be able to smile together.
|
|
[WP] "They aren't coming, are they?" | Brody and I crouched quietly by the pine trees. The moonlight peering through the clouds above illuminating my brother and I as if a giant search light had found us. I try to stay as silent as possible, but my legs are restless and ready to take off at a moments notice.
"They aren't coming, are they?" Brody whispered, fumbling around with a pine cone.
"Shhh!" I respond angrily, but then realize how loud I am. "We need to give them ten more minutes."
"But if we stay here I'm scared we'll get caught. Remember what Bishop said about people who run from Paradise?"
"We're fine."
I fix my gaze onto the collection of buildings in the valley below us. I can only make out dark rectangular silhouettes floating around the always illuminated Temple Grounds.
I turn to see Brody whimpering softly, trying to control himself while wiping tears from his face.
"Brody, Jeremiah and Gill need our help. We promised we'd wait." I try to explain calmly.
"But what about Mom and Dad? I don't want to never see them again."
Brody is still young. He doesn't realize that if we stay, he'll go through the same torture all boys here go through once they become men.
I will not let what happened to me, happen to him.
"I can't explain it to you yet, but we need to leave this place for both our sake. Maybe when we're finally..."
Just then we hear a truck horn echo repeatedly through the valley below and my heart stops. The windows from most of the silhouettes begin to light up one at a time until a small town reveals itself around a great steeple.
"Travis..." Brody begs, but I'm stuck in place. Either Jeremiah and Gill were just caught trying to escape or our parents just realized that we had.
The loud, inaudible booming voices of the Elders yelling below send terror through my soul.
"Travis!" Brody tries again.
My lip quivers and I want to cry, but I finally force out the only word I can think of.
"Run!" | My mommy was staring at the T.V. screen. She looked scared. I don't know what was going on, but I was scared too. I ran over and gave her a hug.
"What's going on Mommy?" I clutched onto her skirt.
It looked like it was one of those movies she and Daddy would watch late at night. They would tell me to go to bed, but sometimes I would be sneaky and watch from the door. Mommy didn't look like she was watching a movie.
She looked down at me and smiled. Her eyes didn't smile though. They still looked scared. Mommy almost never looked like that before.
"Nothing, sweetie. Some bad people are fighting very far away. But we're okay here at home." She gave me a reassuring hug.
________
My mommy shook me awake. I wasn't very happy about it.
"MOMMY! It's too early for waking up. The sun isn't up!"
Mommy covered my lips. "Shhhh...." She said. I looked around. She had two small suitcases next to her. She lifted me out of bed. Mommy looked really scared. She didn't smile at me like she usually does.
"They aren't coming, are they?" I whispered.
Mommy looked sad. "I'm so sorry sweetie." She began to cry.
"It's okay, Mommy." I wiped away her tears and smiled at her, even though I knew this wasn't going to be a happy day.
She put me on the floor. We walked out to the car and never went back home.
_______
My mommy told me that Daddy would come for us with his friends. He would come when we were safe again. There were lots of people living with us now. Sometimes they carried away people who were sleeping. Mommy told me they were just going to sleep somewhere else.
I was getting hungry.
_______
My mommy and I haven't been at home for a long time now. I miss warm food. Mommy doesn't eat much anymore. She keeps giving me hers, but I'm still hungry. Mommy looks really tired. She won't stop coughing. We're still waiting for Daddy to come for us.
It began to thunder again. It's really loud. Mommy looks up at the ceiling.
"No...It's too soon," She says between coughs. I hug her.
I know the thunder isn't a bad storm. I miss my Daddy, but I don't think he's making the booms.
"They aren't coming, are they?" I whisper.
Mommy looks sad. "I'm so sorry sweetie." She is crying now.
"It's okay, Mommy." I wipe away her tears and smile at her because I know it's the last time we'll ever be able to smile together.
|
|
[WP] "They aren't coming, are they?" | An old man sat in a hospital bed.
In reality, though, he was not that old. He was at least fifty, maybe. Not a day over sixty, and definitely not old.
Or so he tells himself.
Shit he had done in the past, things he whole-heartedly regrets has aged him greatly. He has had needles up his arms. He had consumed so much booze that some nights he woke up and forgotten what he did, who he did and where he was. Sometimes, just barely, he can taste the bitterness of the thousands of cigarettes he had smoked in his mouth.
When he was thirty he thought he was invincible. He thought he had everything in check and that it wouldn’t spiral out of control.
He thought his wife wouldn’t leave him, the kids too. He thought his own sister wouldn’t turn her back, or his little brother would ignore his calls.
The destructive things have caught up to him, however. He quickly learned that he wasn’t invincible, that this body of his had a limit, an expiration date.
He also knew that relationships weren’t so easily repaired—just like his body.
They still send money occasionally, knowing that it won’t go into his addictions. However, everything was always cold and distant. He wasn’t entirely sure if they’d ever forgive him, really.
A nurse walked into his room, greeted him with a warm and friendly smile, but still strictly professional. The young man had quickly checked up on his vitals, marked things down and asked questions about his health. Before he was finished, the old man spoke, voice raspy.
“They aren’t coming, are they?”
The nurse looked at him quizzically, smile faltering just slightly. “Ah, who do you mean, Mr. Pham?”
“I mean my family. They aren’t, right?”
The nurse looked almost sad for a brief second, as if pitying the poor old man. He quickly smiled however, “I’m sure they’ll come visit you, don’t worry. Anyway, I need to go check up on the other patients. Have a wonderful day Mr. Pham.” He had said in a reassuring tone, before leaving the room in a hurry.
After the nurse had left, he had closed his eyes.
An old man sat in a hospital bed and wept.
| My mommy was staring at the T.V. screen. She looked scared. I don't know what was going on, but I was scared too. I ran over and gave her a hug.
"What's going on Mommy?" I clutched onto her skirt.
It looked like it was one of those movies she and Daddy would watch late at night. They would tell me to go to bed, but sometimes I would be sneaky and watch from the door. Mommy didn't look like she was watching a movie.
She looked down at me and smiled. Her eyes didn't smile though. They still looked scared. Mommy almost never looked like that before.
"Nothing, sweetie. Some bad people are fighting very far away. But we're okay here at home." She gave me a reassuring hug.
________
My mommy shook me awake. I wasn't very happy about it.
"MOMMY! It's too early for waking up. The sun isn't up!"
Mommy covered my lips. "Shhhh...." She said. I looked around. She had two small suitcases next to her. She lifted me out of bed. Mommy looked really scared. She didn't smile at me like she usually does.
"They aren't coming, are they?" I whispered.
Mommy looked sad. "I'm so sorry sweetie." She began to cry.
"It's okay, Mommy." I wiped away her tears and smiled at her, even though I knew this wasn't going to be a happy day.
She put me on the floor. We walked out to the car and never went back home.
_______
My mommy told me that Daddy would come for us with his friends. He would come when we were safe again. There were lots of people living with us now. Sometimes they carried away people who were sleeping. Mommy told me they were just going to sleep somewhere else.
I was getting hungry.
_______
My mommy and I haven't been at home for a long time now. I miss warm food. Mommy doesn't eat much anymore. She keeps giving me hers, but I'm still hungry. Mommy looks really tired. She won't stop coughing. We're still waiting for Daddy to come for us.
It began to thunder again. It's really loud. Mommy looks up at the ceiling.
"No...It's too soon," She says between coughs. I hug her.
I know the thunder isn't a bad storm. I miss my Daddy, but I don't think he's making the booms.
"They aren't coming, are they?" I whisper.
Mommy looks sad. "I'm so sorry sweetie." She is crying now.
"It's okay, Mommy." I wipe away her tears and smile at her because I know it's the last time we'll ever be able to smile together.
|
|
[WP] "They aren't coming, are they?" | Jaq pressed his small palms hard into the window, staring intently at the blue giant that slowly shrunk in size. In his left he clutched the silicone hand of Gorden, the small android he had been given on his eighth birthday.
"It's beautiful," Jaq said, his warm breath condensing on the thick glass.
Gorden was a gift from Jaq's father, who had, for only a few days, managed to get some time off to spend with his family. He was like that, always off at work, flying to a different station ever so often. Sometimes it was Antarctica, sometimes the Arctic. Twice, he brought back small individual snowflakes, encased in a small preservation holder, one from each pole. Jaq feigned sleep most nights, waiting until he could hear the smooth click of his mother's bedroom door sliding closed, so he could sneak off to the videoscreen and call his father.
It was their secret, and one they kept well.
The blue world was fading away now, looming eerily in the darkness and silence of space. From behind it came the unwavering shine of a million million brilliant stars.
Jaq's father hadn't been able to come home for his ninth birthday.
On his tenth, a crestfallen Jaq had blown the candles alone, with his mother and Gorden cheering him on.
He and his father kept up their ritual of nightly videocalls, but they became less frequent, and his father was less able to answer his calls.
One day, Jaq didn't call.
That summer, the hottest one in two centuries, Jaq had heard his parents on a videocall.
"I checked the data again this morning." His father's concern was evident in his strained voice. "It's definite, and it's not going to change."
"There could be a mistake in the data," urged Jaq's mother.
"There's a 99.93% certainty in the results. I double checked, and triple checked. I did the equations myself. The computations are right."
His mother's shoulders sagged, and their conversation continued at a whisper too hushed for Jaq to hear.
That summer, Jaq's mother became worried, an emotion he could see in her eyes. She went to sleep later, and sometimes Jaq had heard what he thought to be sobs coming from her bedroom.
That summer, his mother packed their bags, and had stared for a long moment at a family photo they had taken during a vacation years ago, before delicately placing it in the suitcase. Jaq was five, and his father hadn't been quite so busy with his work.
Then they left.
And now they were on the *Terraborn*, a monolithic ship that had made Jaq gasp in surprise when he had first seen the large black letters on its smooth white hull.
He looked again at the planet, now just a small marble in the foreground. Jaq’s felt a pang of emotion as he stared, overwhelmed with a sense of desolation that he was unfamiliar with. He slid his right hand into his pocket and looked down as he took out the snowflakes, bright white crystals of ice lying on individual black squares. Jaq traced his thumb over the smooth glassy top, and looked up again, towards the world on which, somewhere, the person who had given the snowflakes to him stood.
“They’re not coming, are they?” He asked Gorden.
“No,” came the answer. “No, they’re not.”
| We sat there, stranded. The sun blazed down onto our faces; I could feel my skin getting burned.
"They aren't coming, are they?" Jim asked.
"Fuck if I know. We've been here for three hours 'n they were supposed to be here when we got here," Snells responded.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard a thunderous roar. I looked around wildly and saw the barren earth tear apart. We were in the middle of an earthquake.
"Get to the *fucking* cave!" Snells screamed.
We literally ran for our lives. First Jackson made it to the shithole of a cave; then Schmidt; then Manny; then me; then Alex; then Hellie; then Snells; then-
"Where the fuck is Jim?!" Manny asked frantically.
"Shit. Shit. Shitshitshit," Schmidt said, pointing out of the cave, with a blank expression on his face. Jim was hanging off of the giant jagged crevice in the ground, held onto the safety of the earth only by a single plant. All seven of us ran toward Jim and pulled him up into safety. Jim smelled like shit. I peered down into the crevice and saw only darkness.
This is my first response to a WP. I'd love feedback :D |
|
[WP] "They aren't coming, are they?" | An old man sat in a hospital bed.
In reality, though, he was not that old. He was at least fifty, maybe. Not a day over sixty, and definitely not old.
Or so he tells himself.
Shit he had done in the past, things he whole-heartedly regrets has aged him greatly. He has had needles up his arms. He had consumed so much booze that some nights he woke up and forgotten what he did, who he did and where he was. Sometimes, just barely, he can taste the bitterness of the thousands of cigarettes he had smoked in his mouth.
When he was thirty he thought he was invincible. He thought he had everything in check and that it wouldn’t spiral out of control.
He thought his wife wouldn’t leave him, the kids too. He thought his own sister wouldn’t turn her back, or his little brother would ignore his calls.
The destructive things have caught up to him, however. He quickly learned that he wasn’t invincible, that this body of his had a limit, an expiration date.
He also knew that relationships weren’t so easily repaired—just like his body.
They still send money occasionally, knowing that it won’t go into his addictions. However, everything was always cold and distant. He wasn’t entirely sure if they’d ever forgive him, really.
A nurse walked into his room, greeted him with a warm and friendly smile, but still strictly professional. The young man had quickly checked up on his vitals, marked things down and asked questions about his health. Before he was finished, the old man spoke, voice raspy.
“They aren’t coming, are they?”
The nurse looked at him quizzically, smile faltering just slightly. “Ah, who do you mean, Mr. Pham?”
“I mean my family. They aren’t, right?”
The nurse looked almost sad for a brief second, as if pitying the poor old man. He quickly smiled however, “I’m sure they’ll come visit you, don’t worry. Anyway, I need to go check up on the other patients. Have a wonderful day Mr. Pham.” He had said in a reassuring tone, before leaving the room in a hurry.
After the nurse had left, he had closed his eyes.
An old man sat in a hospital bed and wept.
| We sat there, stranded. The sun blazed down onto our faces; I could feel my skin getting burned.
"They aren't coming, are they?" Jim asked.
"Fuck if I know. We've been here for three hours 'n they were supposed to be here when we got here," Snells responded.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard a thunderous roar. I looked around wildly and saw the barren earth tear apart. We were in the middle of an earthquake.
"Get to the *fucking* cave!" Snells screamed.
We literally ran for our lives. First Jackson made it to the shithole of a cave; then Schmidt; then Manny; then me; then Alex; then Hellie; then Snells; then-
"Where the fuck is Jim?!" Manny asked frantically.
"Shit. Shit. Shitshitshit," Schmidt said, pointing out of the cave, with a blank expression on his face. Jim was hanging off of the giant jagged crevice in the ground, held onto the safety of the earth only by a single plant. All seven of us ran toward Jim and pulled him up into safety. Jim smelled like shit. I peered down into the crevice and saw only darkness.
This is my first response to a WP. I'd love feedback :D |
|
[WP] "They aren't coming, are they?" | An old man sat in a hospital bed.
In reality, though, he was not that old. He was at least fifty, maybe. Not a day over sixty, and definitely not old.
Or so he tells himself.
Shit he had done in the past, things he whole-heartedly regrets has aged him greatly. He has had needles up his arms. He had consumed so much booze that some nights he woke up and forgotten what he did, who he did and where he was. Sometimes, just barely, he can taste the bitterness of the thousands of cigarettes he had smoked in his mouth.
When he was thirty he thought he was invincible. He thought he had everything in check and that it wouldn’t spiral out of control.
He thought his wife wouldn’t leave him, the kids too. He thought his own sister wouldn’t turn her back, or his little brother would ignore his calls.
The destructive things have caught up to him, however. He quickly learned that he wasn’t invincible, that this body of his had a limit, an expiration date.
He also knew that relationships weren’t so easily repaired—just like his body.
They still send money occasionally, knowing that it won’t go into his addictions. However, everything was always cold and distant. He wasn’t entirely sure if they’d ever forgive him, really.
A nurse walked into his room, greeted him with a warm and friendly smile, but still strictly professional. The young man had quickly checked up on his vitals, marked things down and asked questions about his health. Before he was finished, the old man spoke, voice raspy.
“They aren’t coming, are they?”
The nurse looked at him quizzically, smile faltering just slightly. “Ah, who do you mean, Mr. Pham?”
“I mean my family. They aren’t, right?”
The nurse looked almost sad for a brief second, as if pitying the poor old man. He quickly smiled however, “I’m sure they’ll come visit you, don’t worry. Anyway, I need to go check up on the other patients. Have a wonderful day Mr. Pham.” He had said in a reassuring tone, before leaving the room in a hurry.
After the nurse had left, he had closed his eyes.
An old man sat in a hospital bed and wept.
| My father pressed "End" on the screen and set the phone face down, quietly on the kitchen counter. He let out a slight sigh of resignation to what was about to occur again this year. The rest of us were gathered at the kitchen table, where we had been catching up since the last family get-together at Thanksgiving.
"They aren't coming, are they?," my brother said with a slight hesitant plaintiveness in his voice.
"Yes, they are," my father replied.
Shit. As I looked around the borderline tackily-decorated house, adorned with too many Santas to count, reindeer, elves, tiny mechanical snowmen, and the simplest nod to the holiday in the form of a crocheted sign that simply read "Jesus," I thought for a moment about how our bit of happiness and peacefulness in each other's company was about to be shattered. That tiny crocheted sign simply displayed the thought that went through all of our heads when we realized they *were* coming- "Jesus."
Now, we had often joked about the comparison between my mom's penchant for overdecorating the house in a Clark Griswold-like display of lights and gadgets during Christmas, but nothing quite paralleled our family with that fictional family like my sister and her husband. They were our Catherine and Eddie. They brought their undisciplined, rude child with them every year. They tore through our Christmas like a combination of the Tasmanian Devil and Yosemite Sam. Without volume control, manners, sympathy, empathy, or remorse, they would inevitably tear through every dish served (well, their spawn would reject the food and openly feed it to the dog off of the side of the table); they would tear through gifts with little or no thanks. There would be loud cursing and bragging about extravagant purchases, immediately followed by asking my parents for money to help turn their water back on. In short, our holiday was fucked. They were, in fact, coming to Christmas again this year.
We tried to entertain ourselves and alleviate our anxiety with as much humor as possible in order to brace ourselves for the septic tidal wave about to hit us. And hit us it did. Thirty minutes later, the sound of their extremely loud, oversized truck announced that they had pulled into the driveway. Before we heard the second truck door creakily slam shut, my brother and I looked at each other during one last moment of quiet before they left for the evening, took a deep breath and exhaled, "Shitter's full." |
|
[WP] "They aren't coming, are they?" | An old man sat in a hospital bed.
In reality, though, he was not that old. He was at least fifty, maybe. Not a day over sixty, and definitely not old.
Or so he tells himself.
Shit he had done in the past, things he whole-heartedly regrets has aged him greatly. He has had needles up his arms. He had consumed so much booze that some nights he woke up and forgotten what he did, who he did and where he was. Sometimes, just barely, he can taste the bitterness of the thousands of cigarettes he had smoked in his mouth.
When he was thirty he thought he was invincible. He thought he had everything in check and that it wouldn’t spiral out of control.
He thought his wife wouldn’t leave him, the kids too. He thought his own sister wouldn’t turn her back, or his little brother would ignore his calls.
The destructive things have caught up to him, however. He quickly learned that he wasn’t invincible, that this body of his had a limit, an expiration date.
He also knew that relationships weren’t so easily repaired—just like his body.
They still send money occasionally, knowing that it won’t go into his addictions. However, everything was always cold and distant. He wasn’t entirely sure if they’d ever forgive him, really.
A nurse walked into his room, greeted him with a warm and friendly smile, but still strictly professional. The young man had quickly checked up on his vitals, marked things down and asked questions about his health. Before he was finished, the old man spoke, voice raspy.
“They aren’t coming, are they?”
The nurse looked at him quizzically, smile faltering just slightly. “Ah, who do you mean, Mr. Pham?”
“I mean my family. They aren’t, right?”
The nurse looked almost sad for a brief second, as if pitying the poor old man. He quickly smiled however, “I’m sure they’ll come visit you, don’t worry. Anyway, I need to go check up on the other patients. Have a wonderful day Mr. Pham.” He had said in a reassuring tone, before leaving the room in a hurry.
After the nurse had left, he had closed his eyes.
An old man sat in a hospital bed and wept.
| “Hey Julie, I invited Jenny to your birthday.”
“Are you serious?” Julie asked.
“Yeah, I hope that’s alright.”
“Did Jenny and Rob get married? Did I miss that?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous,” Julie’s mom said.
“Then she’s not family. I said family only,” Julie asserted.
“I already invited her.”
“I don’t care,” Julie said with more force. “You made the mistake of inviting her, now you have the pleasure of calling her up.”
“Jesus, what the fuck is your problem.”
“I said family only!” Julie repeated.
…
Julie had a July birthday. July 2 to be exact. At a very young age she learned that the Declaration of Independence was signed on July 2, but no one knew that. And she proudly informed everyone of that fact until she was old enough to realize how pretentious that sounded, but that was at a much later age.
On her 10th birthday, Walter, her father, rented out the party room at the Zizzi’s Pizza. There were 8 kids from her class who weren’t gone for the summer vacation, and she personally invited all of them with handmade invitations. The party was to start promptly at 3.
She was especially excited about seeing Robbie. Two months prior, he had signed her 4th grade class book “Dear Julie, I think you’re smart. Robbie” She was in love. She had spent the last two months picking dandelions and thinking of Robbie.
Kari was in town too, and she was going to bring her brother Sam. Kari was one of the popular girls Julie was usually too shy to approach, but Kari’s dad and Walter worked together. Walter encouraged her to invite Kari to the party.
It was Julie’s special day.
By the time 5 pm rolled around, Julie looked at her dad, “They aren’t coming, are they?”
…
Julie was turning 30.
“What do you want to do for your birthday hun?” Joel asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe dinner. My brother will be in town. Let’s do something with the three of us. After, maybe we can invite people out for drinks or something.” She suggested.
“Do you want to invite Kristin?” He asked.
“No. Family only.”
|
|
[WP] "They aren't coming, are they?" | Jaq pressed his small palms hard into the window, staring intently at the blue giant that slowly shrunk in size. In his left he clutched the silicone hand of Gorden, the small android he had been given on his eighth birthday.
"It's beautiful," Jaq said, his warm breath condensing on the thick glass.
Gorden was a gift from Jaq's father, who had, for only a few days, managed to get some time off to spend with his family. He was like that, always off at work, flying to a different station ever so often. Sometimes it was Antarctica, sometimes the Arctic. Twice, he brought back small individual snowflakes, encased in a small preservation holder, one from each pole. Jaq feigned sleep most nights, waiting until he could hear the smooth click of his mother's bedroom door sliding closed, so he could sneak off to the videoscreen and call his father.
It was their secret, and one they kept well.
The blue world was fading away now, looming eerily in the darkness and silence of space. From behind it came the unwavering shine of a million million brilliant stars.
Jaq's father hadn't been able to come home for his ninth birthday.
On his tenth, a crestfallen Jaq had blown the candles alone, with his mother and Gorden cheering him on.
He and his father kept up their ritual of nightly videocalls, but they became less frequent, and his father was less able to answer his calls.
One day, Jaq didn't call.
That summer, the hottest one in two centuries, Jaq had heard his parents on a videocall.
"I checked the data again this morning." His father's concern was evident in his strained voice. "It's definite, and it's not going to change."
"There could be a mistake in the data," urged Jaq's mother.
"There's a 99.93% certainty in the results. I double checked, and triple checked. I did the equations myself. The computations are right."
His mother's shoulders sagged, and their conversation continued at a whisper too hushed for Jaq to hear.
That summer, Jaq's mother became worried, an emotion he could see in her eyes. She went to sleep later, and sometimes Jaq had heard what he thought to be sobs coming from her bedroom.
That summer, his mother packed their bags, and had stared for a long moment at a family photo they had taken during a vacation years ago, before delicately placing it in the suitcase. Jaq was five, and his father hadn't been quite so busy with his work.
Then they left.
And now they were on the *Terraborn*, a monolithic ship that had made Jaq gasp in surprise when he had first seen the large black letters on its smooth white hull.
He looked again at the planet, now just a small marble in the foreground. Jaq’s felt a pang of emotion as he stared, overwhelmed with a sense of desolation that he was unfamiliar with. He slid his right hand into his pocket and looked down as he took out the snowflakes, bright white crystals of ice lying on individual black squares. Jaq traced his thumb over the smooth glassy top, and looked up again, towards the world on which, somewhere, the person who had given the snowflakes to him stood.
“They’re not coming, are they?” He asked Gorden.
“No,” came the answer. “No, they’re not.”
| The day the British tanks and infantry rumbled into town, I knew.
But, just to make sure, I looked up and asked my sister Birthe, "They aren't coming, are they?"
We had been listening to Aunt Tove's wireless over the past couple of days, and had heard what had happened in Berlin. The German forces had surrendered there, so they wouldn't be sending reinforcements here, would they?
"Field Marshal Montgomery" was a very hard name for me to say, but I tried, and cheered him and his men on, as they paraded through the high street.
The British tanks looked so different from the German ones we had been told would be a permanent feature in our town.
As the last of the parade rolled by, I felt relief. German reinforcements weren't coming. Daddy and Aunt Marianne would be safe.
|
|
[WP] "They aren't coming, are they?" | An old man sat in a hospital bed.
In reality, though, he was not that old. He was at least fifty, maybe. Not a day over sixty, and definitely not old.
Or so he tells himself.
Shit he had done in the past, things he whole-heartedly regrets has aged him greatly. He has had needles up his arms. He had consumed so much booze that some nights he woke up and forgotten what he did, who he did and where he was. Sometimes, just barely, he can taste the bitterness of the thousands of cigarettes he had smoked in his mouth.
When he was thirty he thought he was invincible. He thought he had everything in check and that it wouldn’t spiral out of control.
He thought his wife wouldn’t leave him, the kids too. He thought his own sister wouldn’t turn her back, or his little brother would ignore his calls.
The destructive things have caught up to him, however. He quickly learned that he wasn’t invincible, that this body of his had a limit, an expiration date.
He also knew that relationships weren’t so easily repaired—just like his body.
They still send money occasionally, knowing that it won’t go into his addictions. However, everything was always cold and distant. He wasn’t entirely sure if they’d ever forgive him, really.
A nurse walked into his room, greeted him with a warm and friendly smile, but still strictly professional. The young man had quickly checked up on his vitals, marked things down and asked questions about his health. Before he was finished, the old man spoke, voice raspy.
“They aren’t coming, are they?”
The nurse looked at him quizzically, smile faltering just slightly. “Ah, who do you mean, Mr. Pham?”
“I mean my family. They aren’t, right?”
The nurse looked almost sad for a brief second, as if pitying the poor old man. He quickly smiled however, “I’m sure they’ll come visit you, don’t worry. Anyway, I need to go check up on the other patients. Have a wonderful day Mr. Pham.” He had said in a reassuring tone, before leaving the room in a hurry.
After the nurse had left, he had closed his eyes.
An old man sat in a hospital bed and wept.
| The day the British tanks and infantry rumbled into town, I knew.
But, just to make sure, I looked up and asked my sister Birthe, "They aren't coming, are they?"
We had been listening to Aunt Tove's wireless over the past couple of days, and had heard what had happened in Berlin. The German forces had surrendered there, so they wouldn't be sending reinforcements here, would they?
"Field Marshal Montgomery" was a very hard name for me to say, but I tried, and cheered him and his men on, as they paraded through the high street.
The British tanks looked so different from the German ones we had been told would be a permanent feature in our town.
As the last of the parade rolled by, I felt relief. German reinforcements weren't coming. Daddy and Aunt Marianne would be safe.
|
|
[WP] "They aren't coming, are they?" | An old man sat in a hospital bed.
In reality, though, he was not that old. He was at least fifty, maybe. Not a day over sixty, and definitely not old.
Or so he tells himself.
Shit he had done in the past, things he whole-heartedly regrets has aged him greatly. He has had needles up his arms. He had consumed so much booze that some nights he woke up and forgotten what he did, who he did and where he was. Sometimes, just barely, he can taste the bitterness of the thousands of cigarettes he had smoked in his mouth.
When he was thirty he thought he was invincible. He thought he had everything in check and that it wouldn’t spiral out of control.
He thought his wife wouldn’t leave him, the kids too. He thought his own sister wouldn’t turn her back, or his little brother would ignore his calls.
The destructive things have caught up to him, however. He quickly learned that he wasn’t invincible, that this body of his had a limit, an expiration date.
He also knew that relationships weren’t so easily repaired—just like his body.
They still send money occasionally, knowing that it won’t go into his addictions. However, everything was always cold and distant. He wasn’t entirely sure if they’d ever forgive him, really.
A nurse walked into his room, greeted him with a warm and friendly smile, but still strictly professional. The young man had quickly checked up on his vitals, marked things down and asked questions about his health. Before he was finished, the old man spoke, voice raspy.
“They aren’t coming, are they?”
The nurse looked at him quizzically, smile faltering just slightly. “Ah, who do you mean, Mr. Pham?”
“I mean my family. They aren’t, right?”
The nurse looked almost sad for a brief second, as if pitying the poor old man. He quickly smiled however, “I’m sure they’ll come visit you, don’t worry. Anyway, I need to go check up on the other patients. Have a wonderful day Mr. Pham.” He had said in a reassuring tone, before leaving the room in a hurry.
After the nurse had left, he had closed his eyes.
An old man sat in a hospital bed and wept.
| Jaq pressed his small palms hard into the window, staring intently at the blue giant that slowly shrunk in size. In his left he clutched the silicone hand of Gorden, the small android he had been given on his eighth birthday.
"It's beautiful," Jaq said, his warm breath condensing on the thick glass.
Gorden was a gift from Jaq's father, who had, for only a few days, managed to get some time off to spend with his family. He was like that, always off at work, flying to a different station ever so often. Sometimes it was Antarctica, sometimes the Arctic. Twice, he brought back small individual snowflakes, encased in a small preservation holder, one from each pole. Jaq feigned sleep most nights, waiting until he could hear the smooth click of his mother's bedroom door sliding closed, so he could sneak off to the videoscreen and call his father.
It was their secret, and one they kept well.
The blue world was fading away now, looming eerily in the darkness and silence of space. From behind it came the unwavering shine of a million million brilliant stars.
Jaq's father hadn't been able to come home for his ninth birthday.
On his tenth, a crestfallen Jaq had blown the candles alone, with his mother and Gorden cheering him on.
He and his father kept up their ritual of nightly videocalls, but they became less frequent, and his father was less able to answer his calls.
One day, Jaq didn't call.
That summer, the hottest one in two centuries, Jaq had heard his parents on a videocall.
"I checked the data again this morning." His father's concern was evident in his strained voice. "It's definite, and it's not going to change."
"There could be a mistake in the data," urged Jaq's mother.
"There's a 99.93% certainty in the results. I double checked, and triple checked. I did the equations myself. The computations are right."
His mother's shoulders sagged, and their conversation continued at a whisper too hushed for Jaq to hear.
That summer, Jaq's mother became worried, an emotion he could see in her eyes. She went to sleep later, and sometimes Jaq had heard what he thought to be sobs coming from her bedroom.
That summer, his mother packed their bags, and had stared for a long moment at a family photo they had taken during a vacation years ago, before delicately placing it in the suitcase. Jaq was five, and his father hadn't been quite so busy with his work.
Then they left.
And now they were on the *Terraborn*, a monolithic ship that had made Jaq gasp in surprise when he had first seen the large black letters on its smooth white hull.
He looked again at the planet, now just a small marble in the foreground. Jaq’s felt a pang of emotion as he stared, overwhelmed with a sense of desolation that he was unfamiliar with. He slid his right hand into his pocket and looked down as he took out the snowflakes, bright white crystals of ice lying on individual black squares. Jaq traced his thumb over the smooth glassy top, and looked up again, towards the world on which, somewhere, the person who had given the snowflakes to him stood.
“They’re not coming, are they?” He asked Gorden.
“No,” came the answer. “No, they’re not.”
|
|
I apologize if this is too specific. | [WP] The relatively clean sport of Pokemon battling is fantastic. Sadly this eclipses the dark side of the Pokemon world. Illegal "death-matches" are fought for improbable amounts of money, and the disgusting industry of "pokemon cuisine" is booming. Give me something gritty. | This was it. I couldn't believe I had made it this far. Thinking back, I wished I had never gotten into these illegal fights. They were dangerous, and I knew it from the start.
As I stared at the lifeless, disembowelled corpse of my opponent's Quilava, I felt a small amount of sympathy and I was reminded of my Mudkip's early days in battle. We used to be partners. Hell, we still were, but times have changed. He's not Mudkip anymore. He's Swampert, but it's not just the outside that's changed. I can see in his bloodshot eyes that the journey I've taken him on has mentally warped him. All I was concerned about was how that made him stronger.
I looked ahead. My Swampert growled as it washed away the splatters of blood from its large hands.
__________________________________________
I had spent so much money on supplies - mainly Ultra Balls. In fact, I couldn't even afford 5 Pokeballs now. It was a stupid idea, but hell did I want that Latios. It paid off when I finally caught it, but then that asshole showed up and stole it from me. THE legendary Pokemon Latios was stolen from me. Something in me snapped that day. The police would never believe I caught a legendary. Nobody would. If I ever found that asshole again, I'd make sure to end him. Nothing in this world mattered except making everyone pay for not believing me.
__________________________________________
The last bit of smoke from the Quilava's body entered my nostrils, and I snapped back to reality. The final opponent was already prepared. It was him. This was my chance to take away everything he had. To get back what I worked so hard to obtain. What was rightfully mine.
He removed his coat. The insignia on the shoulder glistened as one of the surrounding fires illuminated the arena. I wasn't familiar with it, but it was clear this idiot was high up in some evil organisation from another Region.
He pulled a Pokeball from his pocket. Its design was not something if come across before. Purple with a small 'M' in the middle.
I shielded my face as he unleashed his Pokemon. As my eyes adjusted, the first thing I saw was my Swampert's face. Something was wrong. Was that.. *fear*?
Then I looked up. I understood. I froze on the spot. What the hell was that thing? Red and black. Wings that ended in what I could only describe as bony skeletal fingers.
There's no mistake it was legendary - legendaries are supposed to be banned, but I couldn't muster the energy to complain. I was frozen. Its very presence instilled fear into the hearts of everyone present.
"Death!" someone in the crowd shouted hysterically, a crack in their voice.
My opponent stared at me, a look of madness in his eyes. As he opened his mouth, he uttered one word. "Feed".
A black aura filled the arena as the Pokemon let out a scream even more unholy-sounding than if you were to make a Whismur eat a Cacnea.
Then all at once, everyone in the arena dropped to the ground, lifeless. | “Have you ever seen another Chandelure glow so bright?” He can only stare at the bright purple flames as they flicker to and fro in the slight breeze, trying hard to focus on her question. “It’s because I make sure my darling eats only the best.” She reaches a couple fingers out and rubs along one of the curved lines of the lamp-like Pokemon’s body. It gives a call and focuses more on him, the mouth curved up and eyes narrowed.
“O—Only the best?” The group around them is silent, but drawn in close and the energy is eager.
“Souls.” She grins maniacally. He stumbles to his feet, his singular Pokemon already recalled and unconscious and attempts to back away, only to find the rest of the group blocking her way.
“H—Hold on—I didn’t—I don’t—” He stammers out, getting more and more panicked.
“Oh, but you did. Did someone not tell you the rules of this battle?” There’s a long silence during which grins break out on many faces of those gathered around. “Of course they did.”
“I didn’t think it was serious!” He screams, throwing himself at the human barricade in an attempt to get free and failing as it only strengthens with each attempt.
“We are very serious.” She points one long finger towards him. “We have found you sorely inadequate. Not only were you unable to land a scratch on my Chandelure, you failed to bring any other Pokemon than a weak Raticate to challenge with when you were informed of what you would be facing beforehand.” Her hand forms into a thumbs-down and the lamp Pokemon gives an echoing cry. “The punishment for bringing such stupidity and weakness to us is death.”
“Death. Death.” The low chant carries through the group for a few seconds, chilling him to the bone.
“I—I can rethink, please!” He holds his hands up in an attempt to fend off what he can see coming.
“You had your chance to think beforehand.” She smiles cruelly. “Mera. If you’ll please.” The Chandelure gives another echoing cry as its eyes glow brightly and the teenager screams in agony, purple flames leaping up around his body. “Burn the bonds and feed my darling.” His body twitches and convulses until it drops to the ground and the flames die away, his body unscathed but eyes dead. A Pokeball rolls from his lifeless fingertips.
“Death to Weakness.” The statement is repeated over and over through the small group until she picks up the Pokeball and applies a Revive to the rat Pokemon inside.
“Death to Weakness but not death to her unwilling followers.” She releases the Raticate and it sniffs the air nervously, looking to its dead Trainer. “You are free. If you come back again with another weak trainer, you may not be so lucky.” She leans down to smile at the Raticate. “So do try not to come back.” It gives a frightened squeak and scurries away, towards a gap that the group has made. The Chandelure laughs and dips in close behind the rat Pokemon, giving it a burn across one side that would last the rest of its life before the lamp-like creature returns to its trainer.
“Forgive the unwilling.” Is murmured a few times as she turns in a slow circle, grinning at the group still gathered around her.
“Death to Weakness! Death to his followers!” She yells at the top of her lungs and the entire group breaks into a roar, repeating the statement. “We shall remove Weakness from this world and leave it enriched! Enhanced! Better for all who live here!” A couple of people move forward to remove the teen’s body from where it lay. “Leave Weakness’s child to the scavengers, they will eat well today.” She laughs and starts out of the group’s circle, people clearing the way for her. “Let us continue to clear Weakness from this world!”
“Death to Weakness!” The cry startles a few roosting Pokemon from their trees.
The group moves with a steady pace, the woman leading the front with her Chandelure floating along beside her. As the body of the teen is left behind, the scavengers begin to converge on the meal that’s been delivered to them, tearing the boy to pieces. |
I apologize if this is too specific. | [WP] The relatively clean sport of Pokemon battling is fantastic. Sadly this eclipses the dark side of the Pokemon world. Illegal "death-matches" are fought for improbable amounts of money, and the disgusting industry of "pokemon cuisine" is booming. Give me something gritty. | I hated it. The noise, the texture of the broken concrete beneath my feet, The smell was the worst. Blood, sweat, burning flesh, ozone, noxious gases, they all mixed together to produce this terrible stench that burnt my nostrils as I entered the arena. We were allowed to bring in one Pokemon each, and only one would leave. We couldn't give orders, we had to let them fight on instinct, it's more "entertaining" that way.
With this I would be risking the only thing I had left for enough money to live in society again. Every fucking second I questioned whether or not it was worth it, but I couldn't go back. I looked at the competition. A Delibird, a Koffing, an Abra, a Graveller, and a fucking Lucario. A Lucario, who the fuck would bring that kind of Pokemon here, you only fight if you know you'd never make it by standard battles. It made no sense to risk such a high value Pokemon, it would sell for more than it would win.
Then I saw what his trainer was wearing. It looked like a bunch of charm bracelets and necklaces, adorning her arms and neck. Ears. Ears, small tails, bones, chunks of rock or metal, a fucking trophy showcase on stilettos. A sadistic fuck with too much money here to make more black market meals. It was over. I couldn't leave, they'd just throw me into the fray. I wanted to throw up. I felt the tears come out, but my throat was too dry to even speak, let alone bawl.
I looked down at him. He was my best friend, my only partner in this world, and the look in his eye told me that he already knew what was coming. I'd trained him as well as I could, he nodded when I asked if he would risk it, and now he's paying the price for my greed and childishness. I wanted to pick him up and go, to just sprint as fast as I could toward the exit. But that wouldn't work. We'd just die faster. There were a few tears rolling down his face and hanging off his whiskers, but he smiled. He fucking smiled. Somehow that made me feel worse.
I was considering whether it'd be less painful for him to die by a Machamp guard than battle, but before I even realized it, the battle started. It was a slaughter. The Lucario used Metal Claw and ripped off Delibird's wing. It grabbed Delibird's bag and flung it at Abra. Before it hit, Abra teleported away. Graveller and Koffing were at it, Graveller throwing rocks at Koffing, who sprayed this caustic aerosol at Graveller. I don't know what it was, death moves are forbidden, and aren't named. But I won't forget the sound that Graveller made. Delibird managed to stand up, spurting blood from what was left of its wing, and attempted to use Icy Wind.
Close Combat is not at all the rapid series of strikes you see in normal battles. It's grappling. Lucario took out its legs first, snapping them outward to ninety degree angles. Then the second wing. Then he just began stomping on its face. The sound of its beak cracking was even louder than its bones.
The Lucario's trainer just kept laughing as the other trainers wept. Most of them used the common pokemon that they caught just a couple months before. They were only losing money. I was going to lose my partner.
My Pokemon was smarter than the rest, I would like to think. He was focused on survival, darting through the battles, avoiding any engagement.
The Abra reappeared next to Koffing and used confusion on it, causing it to start quivering erratically. Then it self destructed. Their shells are porous and nearly weightless, it's how they float, so a real self destruct doesn't send shrapnel, it's just a high concussive force. Not enough to hurt the crowd, but the Abra was gone. The sound was like a wet towel being slammed on a tile floor.
There was only Lucario left. He set his sights straight on my only friend and smiled. I wish I could tell you that it was a brave battle, that he almost won against the Lucario, that there was some amount of dignity in his death.
There wasn't. It was one force palm. That's it, it sent him flying, and Lucario ran up, grabbed him by the neck, and started slamming him against the ground, again and again. There were several crunches, as his face was gradually turned into an unrecognizable red paste. Then Lucario dropped him as the crowd roared.
I couldn't think, I couldn't move, I couldn't do anything. I thought I had given up hope before, but clearly within the recessed of my mind, I thought there was a chance, and I was numbed as it was so utterly crushed that it reverberated throughout my psyche.
I ran out and cradled him, I don't even know why. Maybe I was still thinking that there was a chance, or maybe it was just the instinct to hold him, like I could still protect him from the world.
He didn't move, he didn't breathe. He was gone. I'm so sorry. I always knew you were in the top percentage, and that you had so much potential, and I threw it all away. I am so fucking sorry.
| “Have you ever seen another Chandelure glow so bright?” He can only stare at the bright purple flames as they flicker to and fro in the slight breeze, trying hard to focus on her question. “It’s because I make sure my darling eats only the best.” She reaches a couple fingers out and rubs along one of the curved lines of the lamp-like Pokemon’s body. It gives a call and focuses more on him, the mouth curved up and eyes narrowed.
“O—Only the best?” The group around them is silent, but drawn in close and the energy is eager.
“Souls.” She grins maniacally. He stumbles to his feet, his singular Pokemon already recalled and unconscious and attempts to back away, only to find the rest of the group blocking her way.
“H—Hold on—I didn’t—I don’t—” He stammers out, getting more and more panicked.
“Oh, but you did. Did someone not tell you the rules of this battle?” There’s a long silence during which grins break out on many faces of those gathered around. “Of course they did.”
“I didn’t think it was serious!” He screams, throwing himself at the human barricade in an attempt to get free and failing as it only strengthens with each attempt.
“We are very serious.” She points one long finger towards him. “We have found you sorely inadequate. Not only were you unable to land a scratch on my Chandelure, you failed to bring any other Pokemon than a weak Raticate to challenge with when you were informed of what you would be facing beforehand.” Her hand forms into a thumbs-down and the lamp Pokemon gives an echoing cry. “The punishment for bringing such stupidity and weakness to us is death.”
“Death. Death.” The low chant carries through the group for a few seconds, chilling him to the bone.
“I—I can rethink, please!” He holds his hands up in an attempt to fend off what he can see coming.
“You had your chance to think beforehand.” She smiles cruelly. “Mera. If you’ll please.” The Chandelure gives another echoing cry as its eyes glow brightly and the teenager screams in agony, purple flames leaping up around his body. “Burn the bonds and feed my darling.” His body twitches and convulses until it drops to the ground and the flames die away, his body unscathed but eyes dead. A Pokeball rolls from his lifeless fingertips.
“Death to Weakness.” The statement is repeated over and over through the small group until she picks up the Pokeball and applies a Revive to the rat Pokemon inside.
“Death to Weakness but not death to her unwilling followers.” She releases the Raticate and it sniffs the air nervously, looking to its dead Trainer. “You are free. If you come back again with another weak trainer, you may not be so lucky.” She leans down to smile at the Raticate. “So do try not to come back.” It gives a frightened squeak and scurries away, towards a gap that the group has made. The Chandelure laughs and dips in close behind the rat Pokemon, giving it a burn across one side that would last the rest of its life before the lamp-like creature returns to its trainer.
“Forgive the unwilling.” Is murmured a few times as she turns in a slow circle, grinning at the group still gathered around her.
“Death to Weakness! Death to his followers!” She yells at the top of her lungs and the entire group breaks into a roar, repeating the statement. “We shall remove Weakness from this world and leave it enriched! Enhanced! Better for all who live here!” A couple of people move forward to remove the teen’s body from where it lay. “Leave Weakness’s child to the scavengers, they will eat well today.” She laughs and starts out of the group’s circle, people clearing the way for her. “Let us continue to clear Weakness from this world!”
“Death to Weakness!” The cry startles a few roosting Pokemon from their trees.
The group moves with a steady pace, the woman leading the front with her Chandelure floating along beside her. As the body of the teen is left behind, the scavengers begin to converge on the meal that’s been delivered to them, tearing the boy to pieces. |
I apologize if this is too specific. | [WP] The relatively clean sport of Pokemon battling is fantastic. Sadly this eclipses the dark side of the Pokemon world. Illegal "death-matches" are fought for improbable amounts of money, and the disgusting industry of "pokemon cuisine" is booming. Give me something gritty. | I hated it. The noise, the texture of the broken concrete beneath my feet, The smell was the worst. Blood, sweat, burning flesh, ozone, noxious gases, they all mixed together to produce this terrible stench that burnt my nostrils as I entered the arena. We were allowed to bring in one Pokemon each, and only one would leave. We couldn't give orders, we had to let them fight on instinct, it's more "entertaining" that way.
With this I would be risking the only thing I had left for enough money to live in society again. Every fucking second I questioned whether or not it was worth it, but I couldn't go back. I looked at the competition. A Delibird, a Koffing, an Abra, a Graveller, and a fucking Lucario. A Lucario, who the fuck would bring that kind of Pokemon here, you only fight if you know you'd never make it by standard battles. It made no sense to risk such a high value Pokemon, it would sell for more than it would win.
Then I saw what his trainer was wearing. It looked like a bunch of charm bracelets and necklaces, adorning her arms and neck. Ears. Ears, small tails, bones, chunks of rock or metal, a fucking trophy showcase on stilettos. A sadistic fuck with too much money here to make more black market meals. It was over. I couldn't leave, they'd just throw me into the fray. I wanted to throw up. I felt the tears come out, but my throat was too dry to even speak, let alone bawl.
I looked down at him. He was my best friend, my only partner in this world, and the look in his eye told me that he already knew what was coming. I'd trained him as well as I could, he nodded when I asked if he would risk it, and now he's paying the price for my greed and childishness. I wanted to pick him up and go, to just sprint as fast as I could toward the exit. But that wouldn't work. We'd just die faster. There were a few tears rolling down his face and hanging off his whiskers, but he smiled. He fucking smiled. Somehow that made me feel worse.
I was considering whether it'd be less painful for him to die by a Machamp guard than battle, but before I even realized it, the battle started. It was a slaughter. The Lucario used Metal Claw and ripped off Delibird's wing. It grabbed Delibird's bag and flung it at Abra. Before it hit, Abra teleported away. Graveller and Koffing were at it, Graveller throwing rocks at Koffing, who sprayed this caustic aerosol at Graveller. I don't know what it was, death moves are forbidden, and aren't named. But I won't forget the sound that Graveller made. Delibird managed to stand up, spurting blood from what was left of its wing, and attempted to use Icy Wind.
Close Combat is not at all the rapid series of strikes you see in normal battles. It's grappling. Lucario took out its legs first, snapping them outward to ninety degree angles. Then the second wing. Then he just began stomping on its face. The sound of its beak cracking was even louder than its bones.
The Lucario's trainer just kept laughing as the other trainers wept. Most of them used the common pokemon that they caught just a couple months before. They were only losing money. I was going to lose my partner.
My Pokemon was smarter than the rest, I would like to think. He was focused on survival, darting through the battles, avoiding any engagement.
The Abra reappeared next to Koffing and used confusion on it, causing it to start quivering erratically. Then it self destructed. Their shells are porous and nearly weightless, it's how they float, so a real self destruct doesn't send shrapnel, it's just a high concussive force. Not enough to hurt the crowd, but the Abra was gone. The sound was like a wet towel being slammed on a tile floor.
There was only Lucario left. He set his sights straight on my only friend and smiled. I wish I could tell you that it was a brave battle, that he almost won against the Lucario, that there was some amount of dignity in his death.
There wasn't. It was one force palm. That's it, it sent him flying, and Lucario ran up, grabbed him by the neck, and started slamming him against the ground, again and again. There were several crunches, as his face was gradually turned into an unrecognizable red paste. Then Lucario dropped him as the crowd roared.
I couldn't think, I couldn't move, I couldn't do anything. I thought I had given up hope before, but clearly within the recessed of my mind, I thought there was a chance, and I was numbed as it was so utterly crushed that it reverberated throughout my psyche.
I ran out and cradled him, I don't even know why. Maybe I was still thinking that there was a chance, or maybe it was just the instinct to hold him, like I could still protect him from the world.
He didn't move, he didn't breathe. He was gone. I'm so sorry. I always knew you were in the top percentage, and that you had so much potential, and I threw it all away. I am so fucking sorry.
| I had been hanging outside in the shadows of our apartment building for nearly all day now. Me and Stef and Kahela. I had my Spearow on my shoulder right now, feeding him some crumbs out of my hand. His name is Hyssop. People had been coming around for a few hours, throwing back beers with us and smoking a little something special, tobacco, supposedly with just a pinch of Vileplume powder in it. "So, is it supposed to be poison or sleep powder?" I asked Stef, half laughing. "Sleep'' she answered "Poison will make yo fucking head hurt." I tried it, it made us all very mellow. We didn't talk much for ten minutes, but I felt so loose and relaxed. It wore off after awhile. Kahela decided to break the mood "So we gonna sit around all day or are we gonna go to the Pit? The fights have been going on for an hour now, I don't wanna miss the whole thing." "Sure lets head out then" said Stef. We grabbed our bags and started walking towards the place. When we got there, It was obvious it was pretty busy, a bunch of cars were parked outside the old warehouse that had been cleared out. We got to the door and paid some meathead bouncer with an electrode by his side for the tickets. We went inside and were immediatly assualted with the noise and the heat. apparently there was a fire pokemon fighting right now. We went up the stairs to the viewing areas and I could see now it was a Flareon, desperately trying to keep a Nidoqueen at bay. Nidoqueens trainer yelled at her "GRAB THE FUCKER, SUBMISSION!" Nidoqueen charged and grasped at Flareon but she danced away breathing out a punishing flamethrower at the same time. Nidoqueen screamed in pain, her natural armor not protecting her fully from the heat. Flareons owner quipped "Thats right! Keep her away and burn her! Now firespin!" Flareon began to make a fire twister in the middle of the warehouse. Everyone backed away from the guard rails as the heat intensified. the spinning torrent of fire enveloped Nidoqueen and she batted at the flames in panic, backing up. "No Nidoqueen! Use rage! Charge her!" The Nidoqueen charged out of the twister streaming flames, blind and roaring, Flareon cut off the stream of fire and tried to jump away but Nidoqueen kicked her a few feet away. Flareon was stunned, didn't have time to react before she was on her, thrashing with her arms, head, legs. She picked up Flareons now limp form and screamed into Flareons face before biting into her soft belly and ripping out the intestines, tearing and pulling. The cheering was deafening. This was what we had come to see, Pokemon battles at their most brutal. Nidoqueen was returned by the owner, and some men came and took the body away to be butchered for meat. Bet money was passed all around for a few minutes and Flareons owner slunk outside. The next contestants came up and sent out there Pokemon: An Arbok and a Pinsir. |
[WP] You sit on the porch for your morning coffee when you see something approaching in the distance. As it draws closer you realize it is hundreds of elderly women screaming and brandishing weedwhackers. They are heading right for you. | The sea of grey perms made their way over the horizon, like a thin veil of morning fog hugging the street. Some bobbed their way closer to me, others glided effortlessly. *What had I done?* Desperately flicking through the catalogue of my mind in search of an answer, I found nothing. I had been behaved. It was not my time, not yet.
As the mass approached, it became clear that the ghostly gliders were in fact on scooters. A ghoulish cavalry, travelling at what looked like a merciless speed. 3, maybe even 4 kilometres per hour. I only had about 10 minutes before this mass was upon me. My coffee wasn't even at drinking temperature yet. With a deep gulp, I glanced down at it. The steam spat back at me, mocking me with its unquenchable heat.
2 minutes pass, and now I can hear them. The brittle, waspish hum of the scooters slicing through the thick morning peace. The clank of zimmerframe against asphalt that I felt sure I could *feel* beneath my feet. Most unsettling, however, was the song they were blasting out to keep their ruthless march in time. It came from an old wireless that one of the stronger ones had mounted onto the back of her scooter.
*Come fly with me, let's fly let's fly away* came Sinatra's dulcet tones. I shuddered, and began to sip at my coffee. Goddammit, that's hot. Those witches would love to see my tongue burn. I won't give them that satisfaction.
As they neared, it became clear that some were armed. One carried a garden rake, another carried a weed whacker. Several wore belts adorned with still-steaming tea bags and overcooked vegetables. It was no use going back inside. There were too many. They'd destroy my house, perhaps even harm my sleeping family. I had to face them.
I stepped out from the porch, walked down the wooden steps, and across my front lawn. The grandmas were unphased, continuing their pursuit without hesitation. Once in the middle of the road, I turned to face them. There were only 3 speed bumps separating us. The scooters traversed them effortlessly, one approached so fast that it looked like it might get some air time. Alas, it didn't, but it was darn close. Sinatra was all I could hear now. One of the hags standing next to the wireless swayed with the rhythm, before being angrily interrupted by the elbow of another.
With one speed bump between us, the group halted, and Sinatra stopped suddenly. The smell was overwhelming - a combination of stale biscuits, farts and colostomy bags.
"W...what do you want from me?" I demanded.
"Pardon Dear?" came the response from an elderly woman holding a towering flag portraying a skull and cross-knitting needles. She must be the leader.
"I said what do you want from me, Goddammit!" I could feel tears fighting their way to the surface. Hold them in, James. Hold them fucking in.
"Language!" shouted another. The flag bearer stepped forward, now standing on top of the speed bump. No mans land. She reached into her pocket and fumbled, as though the innards were filled with a jungle of wool off-cuts, crumbs and hard boiled sweets. I stepped back, almost stumbling in fear. *What was she going to pull out?* Her hand emerged, pulling out a pair of denchers. With a chilling slurp, she shovelled them into her mouth.
A bird chirped in the morning sun. I felt a cold weightlessness overcome me, the kind of sensation I imagine one experiences when their brain is deprived of oxygen for too long. It was as though I could fall back and the roads soft bosom would absorb me into its warm confines. I'd be safe there.
"We just wondered, lovey, whether you might mind giving Mary's car a push. She broke down just outside her house and it's holding up traffic." She summoned one of the ladies behind her, who stepped forward obediently, brandishing a teabag she had pulled from her utility belt. "Cup of tea dear?"
| It was whilst I was taking a sip out of my coffee that I heard a distant thudding noise. As the noise became louder, whatever approached became more clearer. A faint outline of hundred or so eldery women, hunched back with years of aging were coming straight towards me with what seemed to be.. what the.. weed whackers? Why is it covered in red splotches of paint I wandered as they came walking slowly within a few meters of me.
"kiiilll hiimm" croaked one of the elderly woman and that's when all hundred of them started charging in unison. To call it a charge would be an exaggeration but when there's a hundred elderly Grandma's running towards you holding weed whackers, you start to question reality. I grabbed my Coffee mug and hurled it towards the head of the closest grandma. I missed. Instead it hit the one behind knocking her out. I heard the motorised whirring of ninety nine weed whackers being turned on at once and that's when I started to make a run from it.
I took 5 long strides and jumped over the porch fence. I overestimated my athletic abilities and hit the top of the fence with my shin and fell over. Clutching my shin i looked back and saw they were gaining closer on me, although at a slow pace. Let's see them climb the fence I thought as I got upto my feet and hobbled away. |
|
[WP] You sit on the porch for your morning coffee when you see something approaching in the distance. As it draws closer you realize it is hundreds of elderly women screaming and brandishing weedwhackers. They are heading right for you. | Vance Killjoy took a long sip from the black sludge he called coffee and gazed out into the wide, and seemingly infinite, expanse of desert that stretched out before him. He could hear the stampede coming, and could see the dust cloud rising from it.
He picked up the old weathered binoculars that hung around his neck and placed the viewing end to his permanently squinted eyes. He wanted to confirm what he knowed he knew; another stampede of the oldies. They were all old women this time from the looks of their hair and dress. They were wielding weed whackers and runnin right for him.
Sure is a lack of lawn for all them weed whackers he said in is head.
This wasn’t the firs time Vance saw something like this. The first oldies attack took place 12 years ago in a one horse town thirty miles south. Vance had made his way down to take care of an old business associate, and was waiting for the man in his hotel room when the first wave of geriatric genociders rolled in. They carried rolling pins and were hittin and hollerin at anything that moved. It took him a better part of the night, and a full bottle of bourbon, but he left that town the way he found it; hung over and oldie free.
There had been countless attacks since then, all on small towns, and Vance stepped in every time. He didn’t have the slightest clue where the oldies came from, even after spending a week trackin em, but he did know that each attack was bigger, and now it seemed like they was learnin, getting smarter.
Thats okay, he thought to himself, I been gettin smarter too.
Vance got up from his rocking chair and stood, back straight, eyes fixed dead ahead at the oncoming terror. He stomped one of his heavy black leather boots on the old wooden deck. A cloud a dust erupted with the loud mechanical pop of a spring loaded piston. An old farmers pitchfork shot straight up and out from the depths of the deck. He snatched it from the air. The sides of the metal prongs were filed sharp, like knives.
He walked forward full of purpose and intent. The soles of his boots moved from wood to earth. The hard packed sand of the desert felt like a friend to him, and the light kiss of the wind a lover. He tipped his brown hat down to block the rays of the rising sun.
The only one doin some whackin today, he said, is gonna be me.
| It was whilst I was taking a sip out of my coffee that I heard a distant thudding noise. As the noise became louder, whatever approached became more clearer. A faint outline of hundred or so eldery women, hunched back with years of aging were coming straight towards me with what seemed to be.. what the.. weed whackers? Why is it covered in red splotches of paint I wandered as they came walking slowly within a few meters of me.
"kiiilll hiimm" croaked one of the elderly woman and that's when all hundred of them started charging in unison. To call it a charge would be an exaggeration but when there's a hundred elderly Grandma's running towards you holding weed whackers, you start to question reality. I grabbed my Coffee mug and hurled it towards the head of the closest grandma. I missed. Instead it hit the one behind knocking her out. I heard the motorised whirring of ninety nine weed whackers being turned on at once and that's when I started to make a run from it.
I took 5 long strides and jumped over the porch fence. I overestimated my athletic abilities and hit the top of the fence with my shin and fell over. Clutching my shin i looked back and saw they were gaining closer on me, although at a slow pace. Let's see them climb the fence I thought as I got upto my feet and hobbled away. |
|
[WP] You sit on the porch for your morning coffee when you see something approaching in the distance. As it draws closer you realize it is hundreds of elderly women screaming and brandishing weedwhackers. They are heading right for you. | The sea of grey perms made their way over the horizon, like a thin veil of morning fog hugging the street. Some bobbed their way closer to me, others glided effortlessly. *What had I done?* Desperately flicking through the catalogue of my mind in search of an answer, I found nothing. I had been behaved. It was not my time, not yet.
As the mass approached, it became clear that the ghostly gliders were in fact on scooters. A ghoulish cavalry, travelling at what looked like a merciless speed. 3, maybe even 4 kilometres per hour. I only had about 10 minutes before this mass was upon me. My coffee wasn't even at drinking temperature yet. With a deep gulp, I glanced down at it. The steam spat back at me, mocking me with its unquenchable heat.
2 minutes pass, and now I can hear them. The brittle, waspish hum of the scooters slicing through the thick morning peace. The clank of zimmerframe against asphalt that I felt sure I could *feel* beneath my feet. Most unsettling, however, was the song they were blasting out to keep their ruthless march in time. It came from an old wireless that one of the stronger ones had mounted onto the back of her scooter.
*Come fly with me, let's fly let's fly away* came Sinatra's dulcet tones. I shuddered, and began to sip at my coffee. Goddammit, that's hot. Those witches would love to see my tongue burn. I won't give them that satisfaction.
As they neared, it became clear that some were armed. One carried a garden rake, another carried a weed whacker. Several wore belts adorned with still-steaming tea bags and overcooked vegetables. It was no use going back inside. There were too many. They'd destroy my house, perhaps even harm my sleeping family. I had to face them.
I stepped out from the porch, walked down the wooden steps, and across my front lawn. The grandmas were unphased, continuing their pursuit without hesitation. Once in the middle of the road, I turned to face them. There were only 3 speed bumps separating us. The scooters traversed them effortlessly, one approached so fast that it looked like it might get some air time. Alas, it didn't, but it was darn close. Sinatra was all I could hear now. One of the hags standing next to the wireless swayed with the rhythm, before being angrily interrupted by the elbow of another.
With one speed bump between us, the group halted, and Sinatra stopped suddenly. The smell was overwhelming - a combination of stale biscuits, farts and colostomy bags.
"W...what do you want from me?" I demanded.
"Pardon Dear?" came the response from an elderly woman holding a towering flag portraying a skull and cross-knitting needles. She must be the leader.
"I said what do you want from me, Goddammit!" I could feel tears fighting their way to the surface. Hold them in, James. Hold them fucking in.
"Language!" shouted another. The flag bearer stepped forward, now standing on top of the speed bump. No mans land. She reached into her pocket and fumbled, as though the innards were filled with a jungle of wool off-cuts, crumbs and hard boiled sweets. I stepped back, almost stumbling in fear. *What was she going to pull out?* Her hand emerged, pulling out a pair of denchers. With a chilling slurp, she shovelled them into her mouth.
A bird chirped in the morning sun. I felt a cold weightlessness overcome me, the kind of sensation I imagine one experiences when their brain is deprived of oxygen for too long. It was as though I could fall back and the roads soft bosom would absorb me into its warm confines. I'd be safe there.
"We just wondered, lovey, whether you might mind giving Mary's car a push. She broke down just outside her house and it's holding up traffic." She summoned one of the ladies behind her, who stepped forward obediently, brandishing a teabag she had pulled from her utility belt. "Cup of tea dear?"
| I sat on my stoop, cup of joe in hand, waiting for dawn to spread its fingers across the sky when something came upon me, I guess you could say it dawned on me, that I should look to the west, but don't ask me why. Shockingly enough to my tired eyes, a hoard of old women were approaching with speed, weed-whackers in hand and malice in their eyes - a look of hate. A look of greed. Did they want my land, my house or my belongings? Did they simply want to kill me, and take all that I had on me? Little time it took for me to rise and start running, coffee spilled over and their feet in my ears thrumming.
*Where should I go? What do I do?* I thought as I grabbed my knife and gun, too. I could probably run into town a mile out, or maybe to the neighbor's a few hundred yards south. Either way I'd be hoofing it with my truck out of commission, so I gathered my wits and finalized my mission, brandishing my gun and sheathing my knife, ready to stand and defend my life.
I stepped up to the porch and took my aim while my hands shook and shuddered in the sudden onset of rain. Only a moment later, a sopping wet mop of grey hair emerged from the trees with sagging skin and a glare. Behind her came a mass of moomoos and gowns, silky and floral and dragging on the ground. They were covered in mud from their head to their knees, legs worn down at various degrees. Some were crawling and some were much faster, each one cackling with a gritty and demonic laughter.
How could they run, walk and crawl without any feet or an arm to catch their fall? The question itself was useless at best as they continued their advance despite the trials and tests. Weed-whackers whirring, grinding my nerves, they crawled over the fence and scared up some birds. As expected, their wings severed in flight, caught by the whackers with furious might. I wasted no time and fired a bullet, slightly off it flew and grazed one woman's mullet. I fired again, hoping for the best, and watched the bullet explode through another woman's chest.
After so many rounds and so many kills, the hoard was still growing up and over the hills. It looked like an army, something out of a book that I read years ago in the history class I took. I was desperate and lost, not sure what to do, so I loaded the last bullet and kicked off my shoes. The women hobbled down the lane at growing speeds - if only they really wanted to cut my weeds. The barrel felt cold against my chest, internally warm with the promise of rest. The angle was hard, but I somehow managed, and shot myself in the pacemaker where I was truly damaged.
And just as suddenly as I'd seen their deadly advance, I awoke in my bed with wet sheets and pants. I didn't know if I should have felt happy or cheated, but I accepted my fate and got the garden weeded. |
|
[WP] You sit on the porch for your morning coffee when you see something approaching in the distance. As it draws closer you realize it is hundreds of elderly women screaming and brandishing weedwhackers. They are heading right for you. | Vance Killjoy took a long sip from the black sludge he called coffee and gazed out into the wide, and seemingly infinite, expanse of desert that stretched out before him. He could hear the stampede coming, and could see the dust cloud rising from it.
He picked up the old weathered binoculars that hung around his neck and placed the viewing end to his permanently squinted eyes. He wanted to confirm what he knowed he knew; another stampede of the oldies. They were all old women this time from the looks of their hair and dress. They were wielding weed whackers and runnin right for him.
Sure is a lack of lawn for all them weed whackers he said in is head.
This wasn’t the firs time Vance saw something like this. The first oldies attack took place 12 years ago in a one horse town thirty miles south. Vance had made his way down to take care of an old business associate, and was waiting for the man in his hotel room when the first wave of geriatric genociders rolled in. They carried rolling pins and were hittin and hollerin at anything that moved. It took him a better part of the night, and a full bottle of bourbon, but he left that town the way he found it; hung over and oldie free.
There had been countless attacks since then, all on small towns, and Vance stepped in every time. He didn’t have the slightest clue where the oldies came from, even after spending a week trackin em, but he did know that each attack was bigger, and now it seemed like they was learnin, getting smarter.
Thats okay, he thought to himself, I been gettin smarter too.
Vance got up from his rocking chair and stood, back straight, eyes fixed dead ahead at the oncoming terror. He stomped one of his heavy black leather boots on the old wooden deck. A cloud a dust erupted with the loud mechanical pop of a spring loaded piston. An old farmers pitchfork shot straight up and out from the depths of the deck. He snatched it from the air. The sides of the metal prongs were filed sharp, like knives.
He walked forward full of purpose and intent. The soles of his boots moved from wood to earth. The hard packed sand of the desert felt like a friend to him, and the light kiss of the wind a lover. He tipped his brown hat down to block the rays of the rising sun.
The only one doin some whackin today, he said, is gonna be me.
| I sat on my stoop, cup of joe in hand, waiting for dawn to spread its fingers across the sky when something came upon me, I guess you could say it dawned on me, that I should look to the west, but don't ask me why. Shockingly enough to my tired eyes, a hoard of old women were approaching with speed, weed-whackers in hand and malice in their eyes - a look of hate. A look of greed. Did they want my land, my house or my belongings? Did they simply want to kill me, and take all that I had on me? Little time it took for me to rise and start running, coffee spilled over and their feet in my ears thrumming.
*Where should I go? What do I do?* I thought as I grabbed my knife and gun, too. I could probably run into town a mile out, or maybe to the neighbor's a few hundred yards south. Either way I'd be hoofing it with my truck out of commission, so I gathered my wits and finalized my mission, brandishing my gun and sheathing my knife, ready to stand and defend my life.
I stepped up to the porch and took my aim while my hands shook and shuddered in the sudden onset of rain. Only a moment later, a sopping wet mop of grey hair emerged from the trees with sagging skin and a glare. Behind her came a mass of moomoos and gowns, silky and floral and dragging on the ground. They were covered in mud from their head to their knees, legs worn down at various degrees. Some were crawling and some were much faster, each one cackling with a gritty and demonic laughter.
How could they run, walk and crawl without any feet or an arm to catch their fall? The question itself was useless at best as they continued their advance despite the trials and tests. Weed-whackers whirring, grinding my nerves, they crawled over the fence and scared up some birds. As expected, their wings severed in flight, caught by the whackers with furious might. I wasted no time and fired a bullet, slightly off it flew and grazed one woman's mullet. I fired again, hoping for the best, and watched the bullet explode through another woman's chest.
After so many rounds and so many kills, the hoard was still growing up and over the hills. It looked like an army, something out of a book that I read years ago in the history class I took. I was desperate and lost, not sure what to do, so I loaded the last bullet and kicked off my shoes. The women hobbled down the lane at growing speeds - if only they really wanted to cut my weeds. The barrel felt cold against my chest, internally warm with the promise of rest. The angle was hard, but I somehow managed, and shot myself in the pacemaker where I was truly damaged.
And just as suddenly as I'd seen their deadly advance, I awoke in my bed with wet sheets and pants. I didn't know if I should have felt happy or cheated, but I accepted my fate and got the garden weeded. |
|
[WP] You sit on the porch for your morning coffee when you see something approaching in the distance. As it draws closer you realize it is hundreds of elderly women screaming and brandishing weedwhackers. They are heading right for you. | Vance Killjoy took a long sip from the black sludge he called coffee and gazed out into the wide, and seemingly infinite, expanse of desert that stretched out before him. He could hear the stampede coming, and could see the dust cloud rising from it.
He picked up the old weathered binoculars that hung around his neck and placed the viewing end to his permanently squinted eyes. He wanted to confirm what he knowed he knew; another stampede of the oldies. They were all old women this time from the looks of their hair and dress. They were wielding weed whackers and runnin right for him.
Sure is a lack of lawn for all them weed whackers he said in is head.
This wasn’t the firs time Vance saw something like this. The first oldies attack took place 12 years ago in a one horse town thirty miles south. Vance had made his way down to take care of an old business associate, and was waiting for the man in his hotel room when the first wave of geriatric genociders rolled in. They carried rolling pins and were hittin and hollerin at anything that moved. It took him a better part of the night, and a full bottle of bourbon, but he left that town the way he found it; hung over and oldie free.
There had been countless attacks since then, all on small towns, and Vance stepped in every time. He didn’t have the slightest clue where the oldies came from, even after spending a week trackin em, but he did know that each attack was bigger, and now it seemed like they was learnin, getting smarter.
Thats okay, he thought to himself, I been gettin smarter too.
Vance got up from his rocking chair and stood, back straight, eyes fixed dead ahead at the oncoming terror. He stomped one of his heavy black leather boots on the old wooden deck. A cloud a dust erupted with the loud mechanical pop of a spring loaded piston. An old farmers pitchfork shot straight up and out from the depths of the deck. He snatched it from the air. The sides of the metal prongs were filed sharp, like knives.
He walked forward full of purpose and intent. The soles of his boots moved from wood to earth. The hard packed sand of the desert felt like a friend to him, and the light kiss of the wind a lover. He tipped his brown hat down to block the rays of the rising sun.
The only one doin some whackin today, he said, is gonna be me.
| Chuck took another sip of coffee and swirled it around in his mouth. It still tasted terrible, just as it always did. Bitter, dry, and incredibly hot. The last part was more so his fault than that of the coffee, as he’d once again forgotten to let it sit for longer than fifteen seconds. Still, even if it were cool, and had it not scalded his tongue to the point that he was considering hospitalization, he knew he wouldn’t like it. He never liked it. The only reason he even bothered drinking coffee was to impress Carla, on the off chance she decided to walk by and see him out on the porch. He wanted to look mature and financially stable, not unemployed and bordering on bankruptcy. Chuck placed the mug down on the side of his rocking chair and resumed watching the road for Carla.
The street looked a little different this morning. It wasn’t so much that the street itself had undergone some overnight transformation, turning into something entirely different—perhaps a forest path, or whatever streets dreamed of becoming—but rather that it was more crowded. There usually wasn’t much activity at 7:00am on Tuesday mornings around Chuck’s house, save for a few business men speeding down the road in a panicked rush to see who could get caught in traffic first. Today, however, it certainly looked more crowded. Rows of people were slowly inching their way toward him, unidentifiable blobs that seemed to be growing in number by the second as they crest the hill in the distance. Chuck leaned slightly forward to try to get a better view of the commotion.
It didn’t exactly look like a riot. Then again, Chuck had only been involved in a single riot, and not even by choice. He had been on his way to the market to pick up milk when he accidentally stumbled into a slew of young people breaking windows and looting stores. He tried not to get involved, but ended up being arrested while waiting in line to purchase his milk. The store had apparently been closed, and the broken window he had climbed through to enter was allegedly not an intentional doorway.
Chuck shifted in his seat and continued staring out at the mob of people ahead. It definitely wasn’t a riot. They were moving way too carefully. In fact, it almost seemed as if they were limping toward him, slowly meandering their way over at no more than a crawling pace. He stood up and walked to the edge of his porch, resting his arms on the wooden railing. It could be zombies, but he was pretty sure those didn’t exist. Plus, he didn’t think zombies could speak. This mob seemed to be chanting something, albeit rather slowly. He closed his eyes and tried to listen.
“Hack out feed, shave Erica,” they seemed to be shouting.. Who was Erica and why was her juice being shaved? It didn’t make any sense. Chuck waited for them to restart their chant.
“Whack out feed, shave America,” they repeated. So there was no Erica. Still, it didn’t really make much sense, America didn’t have a hair problem as far as Chuck could tell. He resumed listening as the mob moved closer.
“Whack out weed, save America,” they shouted. Chuck opened his eyes and smiled. It seemed he was witnessing a mass assault against weeds, which was actually fine with him. His lawn had long been overgrown with weeds. He could definitely support a movement to rid the world of the vile plant. In fact, he figured he might just join up with them.
Chuck began walking toward his porch steps, then stopped. Something was a bit peculiar about the approaching mob. They were now just a few houses away, their features considerably more visible. They’d grown in numbers tremendously while he’d tried to figure out what they were chanting, with more slowly crawling over the hill at the end of his road. Each person seemed to be carrying a weed whacker, with the outer edges of the mob violently mowing people’s lawns as they passed. He’d never seen anyone mow a lawn violently before, but it made sense. Action was the best way to enforce change. What he found strange, however, was the fact that every single person involved was clearly over the age of 80, and that several were soaked in blood.
“Whack out weed, save America,” they chanted, weed whackers in one hand, walkers and canes in the other. They were slowly limping their way toward Chuck. He’d never seen a protest made entirely of the elderly, except for the one time he’d gone to a diner at around 4:30pm. The restaurant had just run out of the soup of the day, which caused an elderly gentleman to begin shouting. Several more joined in, but they quickly quieted down after they forgot what it was they were angry about. Still, there hadn’t been any blood on them then. Chuck wandered down his porch steps and onto his lawn.
>I got nothing, don’t like where this is going so I’m just going to end it here.
|
|
[WP] You sit on the porch for your morning coffee when you see something approaching in the distance. As it draws closer you realize it is hundreds of elderly women screaming and brandishing weedwhackers. They are heading right for you. | I threw my coffee in the grass, opened the door, locked it, peeked through the blinds. They were running like a nurse forgot to close the door at the old folk’s home. Why the weedwhackers though?
They were screaming like William Wallace, screaming like Mel Gibson getting a ticket, screaming like Mel Gibson on the phone with his wife. I locked the other doors, came back, stuck an eye to the window. They were now a couple hundred yards from my place and gaining. I ran through scenarios in my mind, all of them involved punching an old woman.
They finally got to my lawn, stopped screaming, yanked the starter ropes on their weedwhackers. When the engines whirled to life they began cutting my grass, wide strokes, tons of pull on the gas.
I thought, “That’s nice, but what about the clippings?”
I went outside to talk to them, tell them thanks but I have a mower and I’m not a hundred years old. I can lift things myself and I can unscrew jam jar lids even if someone cleans the knife on the rim.
I tapped one of them on the shoulder, nice looking lady with a thinning flowery nightdress and sunglasses like a shoebox. “Excuse me, ma’am?”
“Fuck off!” She yelled in my face.
It was hot, so hot. A pinch the shirt on your shoulders and move it around kind of hot. Felt it across your shoulderblades. I moved to the next lady. “Excuse me,” I said.
“Fuck off!” She said.
This is when I started getting angry. They say respect your elders but assholes get old at the same pace as nice people, and there’s tons of assholes.
I looked up the block and every lawn in my neighborhood was getting the same treatment. Jim was in his housecoat, watching the mayhem, still enjoying his coffee. Katy was doing the same as me, trying to find an ear in the hearing aids and two cycle engines.
They were doing a poor job, cutting it close, kicking up soil. It would dry out in the Nevada sun by noon.
“No sprinklers!” One of them shouted.
“Get out of the way!” A burly one said, upper lip like a tennis ball in mud.
She crosschecked me with her weedwhacker, not hard but enough to get my attention. “Hey! This is my fucking property,” I told her. She didn’t give me a second thought.
I heard a window break. Went around the side to investigate, kept going to the back when I didn’t find anything. The glass on my backdoor was smashed and I heard some of them in my house. Heard other windows in the area break too. I opened the door and there was three of them in my living room, holding their weedwhackers at my face, snarling like dogs on tranquilizers.
“What are you doing?”
They poked at me, nylon line buzzing in my face. I'd had enough. I grabbed the middle one’s handle and drove the trimmer head into the nose of the woman on the left. Then I swung the contraption around and caught the middle one in the spongy part of her head, dropped her like she slipped in the shower. The one on the right was knocking kneecaps. “You’d hit an old woman?”
“Yes,” I said.
Right crossed her in the cheek. Her dentures came out whole, landed on my hardwood and chattered into the corner.
There was clunking downstairs, sawing. I took the steps three at a time, found two of them in my mechanical room, sawing pipes and clogging them with some type of silicon. I wasn’t looking for answers now, I was looking for a fight. With geriatrics.
Kicked one in the stomach, punched the other near the socket. Socket fell into my furnace, cleaned some dust I was storing there. Stomach bent over and got my knee for breakfast. I ran upstairs, outside, jumped from my porch, put my treads into nightdress’s jaw. Another was right there and I welcomed her to the roundhouse, gave her a tour.
They formed around me like an old fashioned Jackie Chan movie, sent one to face me at a time. I was throwing my fists and legs around, knocking them out, taunting them. “Who’s next!? Who’s next?!”
I took off my shirt, flabby belly sweating in the sun. Ripped a sleeve off, tied it around my head.
After about the twentieth K.O, they all laid their weedwhackers down and started chanting. “Ohhhhhh, ohhhhhh, ohhhh, her she comes, here she comes, ohhhh, ohhhh, ohhhh.”
The circle broke and the burly one walked through, held her weedwhacker above her head while the rest cheered. The ceremony kind of scared me so I preemptively kicked where her legs met and she fell over and rolled around, holding her crotch.
I jumped on top of her, held my fist up. “What are you doing? What are you doing here?”
She said, “All these lawns waste so much water. The planet is in trouble. So we decided we would cut the grass short and clog your pipes so you couldn’t water them. We want to leave a better place for our grandchildren.”
I said, “Jesus, there’s better ways to go about it.”
Now I have astroturf.
| I put down and forget about my coffee. The women spread out into a crescent shape filling the street, trampling flowerbeds, knocking down mailboxes and rolling over dustbins. My first reaction was amusement. There's something comical about any old woman operating any kind of potentially violent machine, never mind hundreds of them. Old women are not threatening. An old woman never succombed to a bloodthirsty or savage impulse, and if she did it was probably against her bad-tempered and abusive husband who, in the space of a few short decades, had wilfully defeated her dignified resolve.
Instead of showing myself to be intimidated I therefore stayed seated in my chair, exaggerating my lack of fear in adopting a slight smirk and awaited an explanation. The women came barrowing through my gate and over my hedges. They came up the path and across the grass. They broke through the verandah and, smelling of lavender and with their glaring teeth stained with the morning's first cup of coffee, they weedwhacked me to a pink slurry that dripped into the space beneath the house. |
|
[WP] Regale us with the tale of Mediocrites, the Greek philosopher whose life and ethos gave us the word "Mediocre." | This man Mediocrities was smiled upon by the Gods, showered with cunning by Apollo. He did drink from the cup of wine brought forth upon him by Athena as a babe. At the event of his birth his father did hold him high to the apex of the heavens.
“This babe, I deem kissed by intellect and borne with the curiosity of the whole world. Let him bring upon Achea an age of knowledge and wisdom of which only the Gods may now know.”
To these words Zeus did reply with silence. Elder Mediocrities took this as a good omen.
Mediocrities did take these words of Zeus. He crawled to his feet in his third year. His father burst forth to the streets. “The child has mastered the movement of men.”
To these words Zeus did reply with silence. Elder Mediocrities took this as a good omen.
In year eight did Mediocrities become versed in the language of man and Gods. To his mentor’s table he did scribe words of love between men, women, Gods, and donkeys with a knife. Enlightenment from the Goddess Aphrodite said some.
In year twenty to Troy did Mediocrites march. Able bodied Achaeans marched forth. Mediocrites came to Melenaus. Stranded from the march. Wheels torn from his cart by the Trojan soil. “To what God do I owe this displeasure and rotten fate!” bellowed Melenaus.
“To none!” replied Mediocrities. He fashioned a wheel from a tree trunk cut by the men. The old wheels cast aside. Melenaus moved onward to fortune. Invigorated by Ares this Mediocrities was!
Melenaus thus looked favorably on Mediocrities. In his fortieth year he called upon the man. Melenaus was ripened with age. “You are Enlightened by all you see Mediocrities. How must I rule my kingdom in my old age?”
Mediocrities replied “Greatest Melenaus, you must bring from your population average men, and pay this bureau an average sum of gold and they will administer your kingdom in your name with the face of the average man.”
“A bureau! I will call it a bureaucracy.” Melenaus lauded Mediocrities. The Achaean state then ran, without efficiency but with stability.
Mediocrities was struck down in hi fify-fifth year during a time of war. Taken by the Gods as he slept in his bed from weakness of the heart. The people wailed to the heavens at the loss of his cunning mind.
To these words Zeus did reply with silence. The people took this as a good omen.
| Sweat poured down Mediocrites' face as he kneeled before King Ananas.
"Really? The Nemean Lion? Is there no one more, i don't know, heroic that can take care of it for us?" A spectator shouted from the crowd that was gathered in the king's throne room.
"Silence fools! It is by my decree that this hero is worthy of the challenge, may he rest in pe-errrr not let me down" Mediocrites set out later that day with his knapsack thrown over his shoulder and his slingshot tucked into the band on his loincloth. He didn't know why he decided one day to become a hero, he just figured it would be more fun than a lot of other professions, which is coincidentally how many people in his land of Greece decided what to do with the rest of their lives. Ahhh, sentence structure, he thought to himself while trudging along down the road, you can go wrong so easily, and the bloody commas, it's like they try to mess me up on purpose. He gave up trying to compose his monologue/victory speech to deliver upon his triumphant return just as he entered the plains known to harbor the infamous Nemean lion.
"Ahhhhhhh" Mediocrites screamed as he felt a sharp pain in his back. So this is how my sto-
|
|
Hopefully the first in a weekly series of Historical Prompts, where a major event in history is used to spark the creative juices of the writing community.
EDIT: The stories do not need to be 100% historically accurate. I am not expecting anyone to go away and research before writing a story. Hopefully it will serve as a prompt where your imagination can take us on a wicked and wild journey hopefully encompassing the events of the prompt.
| [WP]Historical Prompt: It is 1346 - 1353 AD and The Black Death is ravaging Europe | Human years are so arbitrary. Three-hundred and sixty-five rotations around a star. So what? The universe existed for a long time before that star even formed.
Anyway, the humans told us the year was 1346. Well, they didn't tell us so much as show us. We snatched one of those filthy primates, cut open his brain, and scanned his memories. After running these memories through our Reconciliator, we were able to understand them in the proper context and cognitively integrate the information within.
The man we had examined was a typical member of his kind. When he wasn't toiling in a low-yield farm, he was making children with his mate, a similarly filthy primate with longer hair. They would perform their brutish copulation every night, not seeming to understand the limitations of their own reproductive cycles.
Through our observations we determined that this human was a "peasant", a type of worker-caste. He and the other peasants worked to supply and fund the local government. In this particular case, the local government was little more than an obese human that lived in a stone-walled fortress. He would send out groups of men to enforce his rules. These men were usually peasants as well, but they had been covered head-to-toe in crude metal sheeting and equipped with primitive short-range weaponry. Sometimes these men would brutalize the unarmed peasants for some perceived transgression or breach of etiquette. It was a wonder how the humans had even made it this far.
After disposing of the human we had examined previously, we decided to take a closer look. Using standard cloaking techniques, we walked through the peasant community, occasionally stopping to examine livestock or the young humans who ran about unattended. We even made physical contact, using our sensory appendages to get a better view. It was very informative, we learned much about primitive humanoid societies. However, there was an unintended consequence of our curiosity.
A few months after our arrival, the bio-scanner aboard our ship began to detect alarming levels of biological contamination. At first, we thought it was something the humans had passed to us. Those grimy vertebrates were hotbeds for pathogens and we were super-sterile space men from Sagittarius, after all. But after sifting through the bio-scanner's data logs, we found out that we were wrong. In a feat of freak nanotechnological spontaneity, the nano-bots that had long since replaced our immune systems had found their way into Earth's water cycle.
If this had happened on our homeworld, it would have been a trivial matter. Nano-suppression fields were easy to come by, and the bots could be shut-down before they became problematic. On Earth, it was a different matter. Unchecked and unleashed, the nano-bots replicated and eventually found their way into the bodies of humans. It was a disaster.
Unfamiliar with human biology, the nano-bots attempted to adapt. The results were hideous. Humans grew massive, weeping boils that would explode, spreading the nano-bots in a liquefied, necrotic substrate. Their lymph nodes became infected, over-whelmed with nano-bots that tried to replace them.
Before we knew it, the contagion had spread across large swaths of the Earth. The next several humans we examined had memories that identified the pandemic as something called "The Black Death". We could do nothing but stand in horror as the humans struggled to contain the spread of the disease.
We waited to see if this disease would wipe out humanity. After seven human years, we were relieved to find that it had not.
They may be an arbitrary, irrational, and superstitious race but their resilience is something worthy of admiration. | Lo, and God called from on high,
and my name drawn from such a task.
A burden upon my shoulders too much.
M back broken by the weight.
O! The dead piled high in the streets
as they all pray to me to take their sins.
A brief instance before a soul escapes
I take my fill.
The scars on my back show the penance
and the weariness on my face as well.
I've been made old. |
Hopefully the first in a weekly series of Historical Prompts, where a major event in history is used to spark the creative juices of the writing community.
EDIT: The stories do not need to be 100% historically accurate. I am not expecting anyone to go away and research before writing a story. Hopefully it will serve as a prompt where your imagination can take us on a wicked and wild journey hopefully encompassing the events of the prompt.
| [WP]Historical Prompt: It is 1346 - 1353 AD and The Black Death is ravaging Europe | The fire raged on before them, engulfing the small village and its inhabitants. There had been no other choice, half of the villagers were infected with the devil's rot and were spreading it to the others. The men with him did not forewarn those who lay sleeping in their beds, instead they locked their doors and set fires to the houses. They had to be sure the disease would not spread. The men with him all had handkerchiefs to cover their faces and so did he, yet they could still smell the dead burning in their homes. Would god ever forgive them for this? Would they ever forgive themselves? Johnathan glanced to his right and to his left, the orange-red glow of the fire illuminating the face of his helpers. Just as they were about to depart a man next to him let out a cough. | Lo, and God called from on high,
and my name drawn from such a task.
A burden upon my shoulders too much.
M back broken by the weight.
O! The dead piled high in the streets
as they all pray to me to take their sins.
A brief instance before a soul escapes
I take my fill.
The scars on my back show the penance
and the weariness on my face as well.
I've been made old. |
Hopefully the first in a weekly series of Historical Prompts, where a major event in history is used to spark the creative juices of the writing community.
EDIT: The stories do not need to be 100% historically accurate. I am not expecting anyone to go away and research before writing a story. Hopefully it will serve as a prompt where your imagination can take us on a wicked and wild journey hopefully encompassing the events of the prompt.
| [WP]Historical Prompt: It is 1346 - 1353 AD and The Black Death is ravaging Europe | My children reek of putrid rot
My boils burst filled with snot
My wife still healthy ran away
My friends are carted out like hay
My mind only wishes to know why
My God has left us out to die
My God has left us out to die
| I was designated to a battalion stationed in northern England, not too far from London. My task was easy, eradicate the plague. The only problem was that those who were sent this far north before me, never came back alive.
It was a proud moment for my young knighthood career, but I wasn't looking forward to facing the one thing that was preventing our country from progress. In addition I took a vow and oath to protect my people and my religion from any evil forces.
Upon my arrival I was shocked by the smell of death that haunted the corridors of the barracks where I found myself holed up in. I can remember taking my first step outside of the camp which we were told was infection free. The grim horizon of scorched trees and darkened mud, not to mention the unforgiving stench of corpses rotting in the hot sun.
It wasn't a place of God, or of Satan. It was paradise lost. |
Hopefully the first in a weekly series of Historical Prompts, where a major event in history is used to spark the creative juices of the writing community.
EDIT: The stories do not need to be 100% historically accurate. I am not expecting anyone to go away and research before writing a story. Hopefully it will serve as a prompt where your imagination can take us on a wicked and wild journey hopefully encompassing the events of the prompt.
| [WP]Historical Prompt: It is 1346 - 1353 AD and The Black Death is ravaging Europe | "Ring around the Rosy!"
My hand was shaking so much it looked like the torch I was holding would sputter out. The tears keep streaking down my face and as much as I try they just won't stop. I know that if I don't do this more will die than if I don't. I will die if I don't. But that doesn't make it any better, when you know its children.
"Pockets full of posy!"
I wish they will stop singing that damn song! It's not their fault, they don't know what is going on. They didn't know the dangers that were plaguing the countryside. They didn't know to not touch that dog, that sick dog they came across while playing in the forest. They didn't know what was wrong with them when the sores started appearing. They didn't know why they were locked up in this house, why doctors continuously came in to check on them.
"Ashes, Ashes!"
We talked about what must be done and agreed on what we wall dreaded the most. I was chosen to carry out the deed, because I was the priest of the town. They thought only a man of god could do this as it could only be that this was God's will. But this is not god's will, what god would do this to children? What god would have parents say their last goodbyes to their children in such a manner? WHAT GOD WOULD ALLOW CHILDREN TO PLAY IN JOY BEFORE WHAT I MUST DO!?!? I only hope it is quick for them.
"God forgive me," I plead as I throw the torch into the Sick House.
"We all fall down."
EDIT: words | I was designated to a battalion stationed in northern England, not too far from London. My task was easy, eradicate the plague. The only problem was that those who were sent this far north before me, never came back alive.
It was a proud moment for my young knighthood career, but I wasn't looking forward to facing the one thing that was preventing our country from progress. In addition I took a vow and oath to protect my people and my religion from any evil forces.
Upon my arrival I was shocked by the smell of death that haunted the corridors of the barracks where I found myself holed up in. I can remember taking my first step outside of the camp which we were told was infection free. The grim horizon of scorched trees and darkened mud, not to mention the unforgiving stench of corpses rotting in the hot sun.
It wasn't a place of God, or of Satan. It was paradise lost. |
[WP] The US has legalized assisted suicide, and a new crop of companies have sprung up to help people off themselves with "minimum hassle and cleanup." | "Thank you for calling Happy Endings, where the end of your life is no longer pending. How may I assist you today?"
"Uhh, hi. I'd, uhh, like to be dead?"
"Ok, sir. Could I please get your name, number and reason for no longer wanting to live?"
"...um..."
"Sir?"
"Yeah, uhh, my name's David Andrews."
"Ok, David. And is this your personal number your calling from today?"
"Yeah"
"Ok, very nice. Now in a few words could you please describe why you've decided to bring your miserable existence to an end today?"
"Well, I don't really have any friends. My family has all but abandoned me-"
"Alright, I'm gonna stop you right there David. It sounds like you are a "Depressed, Lonely, Loser.' Would you agree that this is an accurate description of yourself?"
"Uh... well... Yeah, I guess so."
"Great, great. Now is there a specific way you'd like to leave this cruel world behind?"
"Well, I had a gun pointed at myself the other day, but decided not to go through with it."
"Ahh, a bit of a coward aren't you David?"
"What?"
"Nothing to be ashamed of David, that's what we're here for."
"No, I just.. just didn't want to leave a mess behind is all."
"Mhmm"
"I hanged myself from the ceiling fan! It would have worked if it hadn't broken."
"Bit of a screw up, aren't you David? Very understandable."
"Hey, what the fuck? Aren't you supposed to be helping me?
"Yes David, assistance is our specialty. You mentioned gunshots and asphyxiation. Are these your preferred methods of execution?"
"No! Or.. yeah I guess. I don't know."
"Come on now, David. We need to make a decision. A man's life is on the line!"
"..."
"Just a little morbid humor to lighten the mood. Now, back to your timely demise. Would you like to hear our offers on Firearm Related Death?"
"Ugh. Yeah, sure."
"Well right now we are running a special on Dum-Dum bullets. For the low cost of $2999, we will come to your home and make sure nothing is left of that ugly mug of yours! Additional costs for clean up and disposal may apply."
"What!? NO!"
"Alright, David. Is there a specific bullet you wish to pierce your cranium? Or a powerful rifle to sever your spine if you'd like to keep your face in tact for your lonely ceremony?"
"God, no. Fuck it, no guns!"
"Alright, David. How about suffocation? We are currently running a great deal on Autoerotic Asphyxiation. Would you like to hear more?
"...yes."
| Although my assessment of suicide has always been that people reserved the right to intentionally commit self-murder in the privacy of their own environment, being an accomplice to the actual act was enough to make me change my mind - *it was going to pay incredibly well,* which was enough to make me stay my course.
I was assigned to *"Co-Conspirator Annihilation Labor"*. At the time, I wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but the word "annihilation" was screaming for me to *get out and get out quick*. I didn't listen to my instincts; humans will do anything for money, won't they?
Walking down the tiled steps into the basement level, I was hit with a putrid stench of decay and rotting flesh. The walls were eroded, the ceiling's paint was peeling off and falling onto the ground - *the place was a mess*, but what could you really expect from a place where people come to commit self-mutilation and suicide?
I was tired of the smell, but it was only the beginning, as stepping into the main floor of the basement was even worse than I would have ever expected. Janitors were mopping up blood and entrails, dumping mutilated bodies into large dumpsters, and even cleaning up the splatters on the walls. It was clear that the smell was emanating from the mass suicides; I felt vomit spit up through my throat.
...that's just what was in front of me. I cocked my head to the left; dozens of people lined up to hang themselves from the rafters of the building. I turned to the right, people plugging their heads with bullets from a variety of guns. The vomit that was once in my throat ended up on the floor, splashed into a gooey-mess.
I heard someone shout from across the factory, *"You the new guy?"* - it goes to show that I booked it out of there, called management from the restaurant across the street and told them I quit. It was for the greater good, but psychological, I was already beaten to shit.
That's why I find myself here again. Not as a worker, but as a customer. Not as someone who vomits at the sight of death, but one who embraces to a point where self-obliteration seems rather pleasant. Suicide is a good option and this is the place to do it.
_______________________________________
*((I wish I had more time to write this out, but I was strapped for time and didn't want to end up forgetting about this prompt. My response was rushed, but I still hope you enjoy.))* |
|
[WP] The US has legalized assisted suicide, and a new crop of companies have sprung up to help people off themselves with "minimum hassle and cleanup." | Detective Farmer was a few months short of retirement and he had been assigned to the "Euthanasia Division" after he had dropped papers six months ago. His primary duty now was to confirm that the deceased had indeed ordered their own passing. Every single one of his cases so far had been open and shut with obvious clues that the murder was staged by a professional Suicider.
"Meet Your Maker" was the premier Assisted Suicide firm and the cost for their services was exorbitant. Their "Suiciders" were the best at what they did, and what they did was based on the company's "Menu." One Menu item in particular was "Unsolved Murder." This Menu Item is what Detective Farmer usually encountered during his eight hour shifts. Meet Your Maker and the Police Department had an understanding - the Suiciders would leave behind a specific forensic calling card. This ensured that the lead Detective knew who "dun it" but also allowed for the general public (and family) to believe the particular client was actually murdered. In turn, the Department received a kick back for not ‘solving’ the murder. It was legal, in a sense.
Detective Farmer took inventory of the scene in front of him. It had the look of a Suicider murder, but it also felt wrong. The ‘victim’ was a young business woman; attractive, on the rise, single, and now dead. She was strangled, which was typical of a Suicider (the client usually did not want to upset their family with an overly gruesome death), but she had also been raped and drugged. He expected to discover the telltale clue, indicating a Suicider murder, somewhere within the high rise apartment, but was not having much luck. The clue he did find was not current on the Suicider list. He remembered it from previous approved lists, but this was from an expired list. *Damn, Farmer thought, so much for skating through to retirement.* This was a murder disguised as a suicide disguised as a murder.
Farmer produced a flask from his spot coat and took a long pull. *This is going to be a bitch.*
| "Odio este trabajo." My co-worker whispers as his call ends. I don't understand him, but the sobless tears dropping onto his keyboard say enough. Nothing out of the ordinary. Most dispatchers don't like it, especially in the first week. I pay them no mind. It's not my job. No, my job is to dick around on the internet while waiting for assignments. It pays very well, and has somewhat random hours, with flexible shifts. Most people wouldn't like it, but it suits me just fine. I don't need sleep like most. The average four hours per night is a very loose average for me.
"Hey, Tony, how ya' doin'?" An rough, uneducated voice pops up from around the corner. I minimize my window and turn my head to the left.
"Well, and you, Finn?" I keep my voice clean and crisp as I go through the motions of normalcy, but the hairs on the back of my neck stand up at his words.
"Slow day, JoAnn brought donuts this morning, nice day. I like donuts." He says, and I chuckle. Finn's not the brightest bulb in the box. He spent fifteen years in prison for armed robbery. Somehow he mixed up the bank with the Dunkin' Donuts next door. It made the news, and the Guinness Book of World Records, right next to the guy who glued himself to the floor of a factory. After that, EndCorp was the only place that would hire him.
"Say, y'see that Mexican? Be nice to him. He's got the same name as you." Finn observes.
"Anthony?" I inquire politely.
"Sorta. Antonio Verde. Verde's Spanish for green. Same as you, Tony turquoise." He shows yellow teeth in his grin.
*Green.* I think. I appreciate Finn's shot at alliteration, but it annoys me, in the same way that all ignorance rubs me the wrong way. It's not worth correcting Finn. Often causes a few issues with management.
"Hey, kill cubicle, anyone there?" Someone calls, using Matt's joke name for us. "We got a rush job."
I poke my head out, and see Matt's wavy black hair. That's odd. His voice doesn't normally carry such a strong Southern lilt.
Matt coughs. His nose is running. "We just got a call from guy who wants a Dispatcher right now. In Little Italy. House call. Up for it?" He asks.
"Of course." I smother a grin.
"Go to the van in the back lot. The one in the front lot's taken."
Fear rushes through me. Will they find my tools? They are well hidden, but who knows what a new guy might do?
"I already put the directions in." Matt says.
"Okay. I'll be back when I'm done." My shoes are soundless on the carpeted hallway floors, but click slightly on the asphalt outside. I open the door of the silver van, and adjust the seat before turning the car on, and following the built-in GPS's directions. It's a nice day to be driving through the city, and I open the tinted window to hear all the sounds and get all the smells, despite the late June heat. All too soon, I pull up to the small bakery. I take the printed case notes Matt stuck in the car, and read through semi-attentively as I walk around to the back.
I enter the deserted kitchen, as directed in the case notes. "Hello? Is Lorenzo here?"
A tall, skinny, dark-skinned man enters the kitchen. "I'm Lorenzo." He says. His voice is unaccented. I'm slightly surprised. The people I most often Dispatch are relatively new immigrants.
I recite my required lines and Lorenzo nods along. It's all routine and perfect. My eyes wander to a large cleaver in a sink, where all the blood has not quite been washed out.
"Can I leave first? Lorenzo asks.
"Sure." I say, matching his vernacular to make him more comfortable. He doesn't see me dry the cleaver quickly on a hand-towel and slip it into my coat as I exit the building.
----
I don't know what's 'wrong' with me. I wish I could say it was my childhood, but plenty of people come out of things like that just fine. No, I think I'm just like this. I know there have been plenty of people like me throughout history, but now, if I'm careful, I can conceal it, and live as I wish. I'm quite happy with my life as is. It's something new every day, within a few routines, and rarely boring.
----
I put the cleaver back in my coat as I get out of the van. As I hand the wheel over to Matt, I inform him carefully, in case someone's listening.
"This one was a little messy, but the cleanup won't be that hard." I tell him. "Careful of the head though."
"Yes, sir." Matt nods, and the corners of my lips pull up as I marvel at the beauty of the situation I engineered.
"And save me an eye if you want your wife to get water this weekend." I amend, and feel satisfied as I see his face tense. |
|
[WP] You're a free Genie living in the real world and still discretely grant wishes when you hear them. Tell me what it's like to be you. | There are days when you grant good wishes, days when you grant crap wishes, but I take pride in the fact that with my release from the lamp, I don't have to grant the malicious wishes.
Seriously, I'm a five thousand-something spirit of the air. I've heard of every way mankind wishes hurt on their neighbors. I've actually gained the ability to tune out wishes like 'I wish he'd break his arm,' or 'I wish he would stick his head up his ass.'
Sometimes, I like to put a spin on the wishes. Sometimes, a wish for a sudden boost in luck comes with a karmic retribution. God, I loved what happened to that asshole redneck, Earl. And then he started trying to change his karma. Right idea, wrong endgame.
But then there are the wishes that you feel like a dick for twisting. When you see a six year-old boy begging the powers that be to just hear his dead mother's voice one more time, you don't haunt him with her ghost. I'm looking at you, Val'sheer. No, you go back in time, find the mother and have her record a message for her son. Do the right thing, and the happiness on their faces is the best reward you can get.
Today though, I felt like I should do something pure. I entered the children's ward at the hospital, and listened to their wishes. Do you have any idea how many of these kids had all but given up hope? Not a one of them wished to have their diseases cured. They all made wishes for other people.
Susy Menard, the six year-old with bone cancer? She wished her parents would have enough money to pay the bills and live comfortably after she was gone.
Derrick Wolfe, the eight year-old with the brain tumor wished for his younger brother to find a friend that would make him happy.
Veronica Miller, ten years old, muscular degeneration, wished for her father to understand that it wasn't his fault.
I granted those wishes, giving comfort to the families, but as I left the hospital, I also gave a few doctors some Eureka moments. Not enough to cure the diseases, but new ways to lessen the pain and lengthen their lives. Is that a dick move? I don't know. I'm not mortal. But wouldn't anyone rather have another week or month with a loved one? | I was on the bus, and I overheard half of a woman's conversation on her cell phone. I hate those things. I read something once that said that it aggravates us because we're only hearing one side of the conversation, and it messes with our brains, or whatever, but I digress. She was talking about how the interview didn't go well, how she was pretty nervous, and she wished she could catch a break. Boom, magic words right there. I mean, literally. I may be "free," but I still have to abide by the rules. I can't use magic on myself, I can't just use it whenever I feel like, and I can't use magic to make people fall in love, resurrect anyone, or turn them into squirrels. Yeah, squirrels. Long story on that one, don't ask.
So this woman wished for a break. Now, I could have gone the ironic route and had her break her back or something, but that wouldn't be very nice. I could go the benevolent route and have that employer call her in a day and offer her the job, but that's boring. Instead, I snapped my fingers, said, "your wish... is my command," under my breath (not really a rule that we have to say that, it just makes me feel awesome), and I know that when she steps off the bus, she'll be given a card. This card will have a number, and she'll call that number. She'll set up an interview, and walk into a white-walled room with a black couch and some dude with a video camera.
Okay, okay, I know what you're thinking, I totally set this woman up for a porn shoot. Yeah, what of it? It's good money and ultimately she'll make the decision. Who knows? Maybe she'll like it. Maybe she'll be the next Jenna Jameson or whoever. Maybe she'll walk out and do something else, but she wished for a break. See, when you have all this power, you have to have fun with it, you can't just be granting wishes that play out perfectly left and right. If I did, every schmuck on the street would have a beautiful Ferrari and supermodel boy/girlfriend. It's funny, in a way, humans just can't handle that. Why do humans want Ferraris? Well, they look super sweet, first of all. Hell, I'd drive one if someone gave me the keys. But we want them because they're special, because you see one and your head (and everyone else's) head turns. People want to feel special, to feel like they are on top of the world, and I don't blame them at all. But, to steal a line from Disney's "Incredibles," "...and when everyone is Super, no one will be."
I get off the bus at the next stop, tired from a long day of work. Yeah, genie, I know, but again, can't use magic on myself. Guy's gotta eat. Well, that's not entirely accurate, I don't "eat," per se, but I have to keep some food around to keep up appearances. Can't let the cat out of the bag or I'll have people lined up outside my door constantly wishing for things. I don't HAVE to grant them, but come on, would you want hundreds of people crowding all around you all the time? I guess I could just SELL my magic... TECHNICALLY it's not in the rules, but that's kind of a dick move. Plus I'd have to explain to the government what happens, and then they'd cart me off to some secret testing facility, etc. etc. Again, no magic on myself, so I can't just disappear or change form or whatever.
I start walking home and step in some dog shit. Great. Is it really too much to ask that if people are going to keep the furry beasts around that they pick up after them? I love dogs, but come on. As I'm scraping it off I hear a few "wishes," here and there. "I wish I had a better job," "I wish Susie would call me," "I wish I had a million bucks!" Nah, I'm too tired to plan some sort of ironic thing that would backfire on the wisher just enough so they get a little annoyed. I guess I could have some 90 year old woman named Susie call that guy... but forget it, too late now. It seems like people are usually selfish with their wishes. I'm not saying they shouldn't be, they're wishes. The innermost hopes and dreams of a person are usually contained in those, but still it gets tiring always hearing, "I wish I had..." or "I wish I could...". I'm wished out today, I just want to head home, grab some greasy hot dog from the street vendor (super nice guy, by the way. I, uh, "assisted" his business during a little bit of a slump), and get some game time in.
I walked by an older guy and a kid who had just gotten some ice cream, and the kid inevitably spilled it on the ground. That's what kids do, spill ice cream, it's like they have some sort of magic aura of their own. I hear the kid say, "I love you Grampa, I wish we could spend more time together!" Okay, kid, you win this round. Time for Mr. Crowbar to pay a visit to your dad.
Ha! Just kidding, but could you imagine? Yeah, I know it's cliché, but what're you gonna do. I'm only human. |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | Things are crawling out of you.
Your skin is rippin' and tearin' and the seams are fucking *bursting*, they're poppin' like fucking zits. Something in you stretch until it *snaps*. Doesn't stop there. It goes on, they tickle and you don't know whether to scream or cry or *laugh*. They heave themselves out of you and they're tangled and you're *mortified*. You feel and feel and feel; you feel them intertwining and they're *strengthening*, **holy fucking shit** you think you're gonna *die*. There is pain and then there is agony and then there are fucking wings growing outta ya, fuckin' *maggots*. You can feel them just hungering for goddamned air. You don't wanna be a motherfucking bird but you realize you're well on your way and there's nothing left but to breathe. In, out, in out; they're yanking your innards out and you wonder if insurance will cover this when you watch the fabric of your shirt destruct. It is but tattered cloths and you think you're the same, now, after these fucking chicken wings. After a while you realize you were once a piece of meat, too, but now you're a piece of meat with wings that fucking **hurt**. | My consciousness was cloudy. I remembered nothing of the past. I was part of a rending tear which was so inherently wrong that it felt as if my very essence was shattering, torn apart, atom from atom. But the pain was not of the body. It was not felt in my arm, leg nor chest.... there was not a clenching of teeth seen on men I had witnessed on tables of torturous design. My body was perfectly still, bereft of sensation. I was disorientated and unhinged. Panicked. This was wrong.
The pain endured, the absolute kind of pain when a mother loses her child, a heart wrenching pain that cannot be described. Ultimate loss. It was enveloping me now, shredding me in total misery. Broken, nothing but a searing agony remained, embedded within my consciousness. My core was aflame. Part of me, an important part, was slowly, but steadily, being hauled out of the pores of my skin, a scorched and blistering ruin being made of every pore on my body. But my skin was untouched, an autopsy would reveal no damage. I was aware, it was not reality. I struggled.
My eyes were no longer mine, to saturate with tears. My voice was no longer my own, to expel a guttural howl of pain... I barely endured, paralyzed in complete composite agony.
It was too late now, it was nearly done. My sense of loss was total. Hope became a foreign concept. My discarded body lay slowly cooling as I transcended. The taste of my soul danced upon his lolling tongue.
P.s I never posted here so I hope I didn't break any rules. |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | Regaining consciousness was excruciating, the pain unbearable! In the mirror that hung above me, a twisted reflection lay upon a surgery table. His arms broken in several places, metal splits connecting to gears and machinery. There was blood, some of it blackened and dry, that coated the used surgical tools next to the mangled corpse. What were once legs were now bend into a position almost unrecognisable.
A buzzing filled the room as the body parts in the mirror whirred with the spinning of gears and the tearing of flesh. Bones snapped, as the corpse flailed in unimaginable pain. The convulsions impeded by the gears and metal fused to bone made the pain seizures even worse to witness.
I blacked out. Time seemed to pass as a haze between being thought and pain. I awoke again later, this time my mind seemed different, mechanical.
It was then that a voice called out from the darkness, "Welcome, to the glorious evolution!" | My consciousness was cloudy. I remembered nothing of the past. I was part of a rending tear which was so inherently wrong that it felt as if my very essence was shattering, torn apart, atom from atom. But the pain was not of the body. It was not felt in my arm, leg nor chest.... there was not a clenching of teeth seen on men I had witnessed on tables of torturous design. My body was perfectly still, bereft of sensation. I was disorientated and unhinged. Panicked. This was wrong.
The pain endured, the absolute kind of pain when a mother loses her child, a heart wrenching pain that cannot be described. Ultimate loss. It was enveloping me now, shredding me in total misery. Broken, nothing but a searing agony remained, embedded within my consciousness. My core was aflame. Part of me, an important part, was slowly, but steadily, being hauled out of the pores of my skin, a scorched and blistering ruin being made of every pore on my body. But my skin was untouched, an autopsy would reveal no damage. I was aware, it was not reality. I struggled.
My eyes were no longer mine, to saturate with tears. My voice was no longer my own, to expel a guttural howl of pain... I barely endured, paralyzed in complete composite agony.
It was too late now, it was nearly done. My sense of loss was total. Hope became a foreign concept. My discarded body lay slowly cooling as I transcended. The taste of my soul danced upon his lolling tongue.
P.s I never posted here so I hope I didn't break any rules. |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | An alarm wakes me, I reach a hand to empty space next to me. She took my dog, my daughter… my life. But I don’t have time to dwell, it’s time to run!
Shoes tied, gym shorts and that loose fitting shirt. My daily ritual, my freedom. The only time I’m safe from her memory. I can’t focus on the cheating, can’t replay the courtroom scenes. I’m finally free.
With my shoes finally tied, I sprint for the street. The sun is rising, blinding me. I smile as I feel my heartbeat at the pace of my feet. My body is well oiled machine, freedom has found me. I don’t know if I heard the screech.
There’s a ringing in my ear and I can’t move a thing. My whole body seems locked as pain flows through me. She’s here with that man, among doctors and friends. She signs something official, then she smiles at me.
In whispers and tones, I come and I go. My daughter never came to see me, my friends all seem to leave me. But, there’s no time for that now, I’m trying to scream… They’ve turned off the machine that's letting me breathe. | My consciousness was cloudy. I remembered nothing of the past. I was part of a rending tear which was so inherently wrong that it felt as if my very essence was shattering, torn apart, atom from atom. But the pain was not of the body. It was not felt in my arm, leg nor chest.... there was not a clenching of teeth seen on men I had witnessed on tables of torturous design. My body was perfectly still, bereft of sensation. I was disorientated and unhinged. Panicked. This was wrong.
The pain endured, the absolute kind of pain when a mother loses her child, a heart wrenching pain that cannot be described. Ultimate loss. It was enveloping me now, shredding me in total misery. Broken, nothing but a searing agony remained, embedded within my consciousness. My core was aflame. Part of me, an important part, was slowly, but steadily, being hauled out of the pores of my skin, a scorched and blistering ruin being made of every pore on my body. But my skin was untouched, an autopsy would reveal no damage. I was aware, it was not reality. I struggled.
My eyes were no longer mine, to saturate with tears. My voice was no longer my own, to expel a guttural howl of pain... I barely endured, paralyzed in complete composite agony.
It was too late now, it was nearly done. My sense of loss was total. Hope became a foreign concept. My discarded body lay slowly cooling as I transcended. The taste of my soul danced upon his lolling tongue.
P.s I never posted here so I hope I didn't break any rules. |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | The last thing I remember was charging at the heretic's lines. My brothers were with me, I could almost feel the Emperor watching as we cut them down in his name, prayers in our mouths and fire in our hearts. But then, an impact, followed by darkness.
I was not afraid, that was impossible, but an unfamiliar was overpowering my mind as I struggled through the dark and agony.
Disconnected images flash before me. My armour rent, my blood poring from stumps, the apothecaries straining to preserve something from the ruin of my body.
The memories fade, my view is replaced by targeting cogitators, my body by an adamantine shell. I can no longer feel the air, or move my own limbs, if I have any. But two things remain of me; pain, and faith.
"I have awoken" | My consciousness was cloudy. I remembered nothing of the past. I was part of a rending tear which was so inherently wrong that it felt as if my very essence was shattering, torn apart, atom from atom. But the pain was not of the body. It was not felt in my arm, leg nor chest.... there was not a clenching of teeth seen on men I had witnessed on tables of torturous design. My body was perfectly still, bereft of sensation. I was disorientated and unhinged. Panicked. This was wrong.
The pain endured, the absolute kind of pain when a mother loses her child, a heart wrenching pain that cannot be described. Ultimate loss. It was enveloping me now, shredding me in total misery. Broken, nothing but a searing agony remained, embedded within my consciousness. My core was aflame. Part of me, an important part, was slowly, but steadily, being hauled out of the pores of my skin, a scorched and blistering ruin being made of every pore on my body. But my skin was untouched, an autopsy would reveal no damage. I was aware, it was not reality. I struggled.
My eyes were no longer mine, to saturate with tears. My voice was no longer my own, to expel a guttural howl of pain... I barely endured, paralyzed in complete composite agony.
It was too late now, it was nearly done. My sense of loss was total. Hope became a foreign concept. My discarded body lay slowly cooling as I transcended. The taste of my soul danced upon his lolling tongue.
P.s I never posted here so I hope I didn't break any rules. |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | EDIT: I clearly missed that 200 words bit. I was wondering why everyone's story was so short. Well anyway I spent a while on this since I typed it all out on my ipod so I'm going to leave it. If the length offends just send me to the bottom of the page
James woke up to an odd tingling in his toes. Attempting g to ignore it, he rolled over and clamped his eyes shut. The tingling only increased, becoming a sharp pain. James sat up and threw off his sheet. He reached toward his toes and began to inspect them with fingers that had begun to tingle as well. Soon the sharp pain was all the way into his arms and legs. James was now very frightened. Was the knot in his stomach from fear, or was it part of whatever was happening to him? He quickly decided it was not just fear as a wave of pain flowed through his whole body. He gripped his head with burning fingers and screamed. The pain in his fingertips was unbearable. He pulled them from his head and looked at them through eyes blurred from agony. The tips of his fingers seemed to be stretching, getting ever so slightly longer and longer until the suddenly burst open violently. The bone had ripped through skin, getting longer still and sharper, ten white points oozing red. With another burst of searing pain James knew the same thing had happened to his toes. He shared through dim eyes in shock. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be, there had to be a way to stop it, to go back, it had to be a dream but it wasn't. What little James could still see was red, and he was dimly aware of the feeling of wetness but he couldn't even think through how much blood he was losing when his head felt like this, his whole face was on fire. The skin on his forehead split open before he even realized it had been stretching and two points of bone began to push through and begin to curl upwards. He wanted to faint, to die, anything to escape this torture. His body was shaking, muscles spasming, limbs twisting in agony. He felt something small and hard in his mouth, then two small somethings then three and four and he barely had the presence of mind to know it was his teeth until he felt the sharp edges of their replacements against his tongue. He couldn't tell if he had cut his tongue against them or not since his whole mouth already tasted like blood from his teeth falling out and his fangs cutting through the gums. Blood streamed down his face from his forehead and mouth, from his fingers and toes, from everywhere. A voice at the door was frantically crying "James, James!" The door flew open and someone screamed and then the scream got quieter as whoever it had been ran out of the house. The pain in his hands and feet jolted again as the metatarsals extended, and the ball of his feet became like a new joint. The ankle bone ripped through the flesh of his heel and became a spike, and the same thing happened to his elbows. He writhed and thrashed as his body twisted and changed. His back arched violently and then quickly bent forward as each vertebrae punched through his back. His rib cage expanded, the sternum coming to a point. The skin of his chest stretched but did not burst. His bed was a pool of blood, dotted here and there with the odd clump of deep red foam from his shredded mattress. His mind was aware of nothing but torture, and whatever small part of him was aware of anything wished only for death. And then James died. And the monster James had become was born.
| My consciousness was cloudy. I remembered nothing of the past. I was part of a rending tear which was so inherently wrong that it felt as if my very essence was shattering, torn apart, atom from atom. But the pain was not of the body. It was not felt in my arm, leg nor chest.... there was not a clenching of teeth seen on men I had witnessed on tables of torturous design. My body was perfectly still, bereft of sensation. I was disorientated and unhinged. Panicked. This was wrong.
The pain endured, the absolute kind of pain when a mother loses her child, a heart wrenching pain that cannot be described. Ultimate loss. It was enveloping me now, shredding me in total misery. Broken, nothing but a searing agony remained, embedded within my consciousness. My core was aflame. Part of me, an important part, was slowly, but steadily, being hauled out of the pores of my skin, a scorched and blistering ruin being made of every pore on my body. But my skin was untouched, an autopsy would reveal no damage. I was aware, it was not reality. I struggled.
My eyes were no longer mine, to saturate with tears. My voice was no longer my own, to expel a guttural howl of pain... I barely endured, paralyzed in complete composite agony.
It was too late now, it was nearly done. My sense of loss was total. Hope became a foreign concept. My discarded body lay slowly cooling as I transcended. The taste of my soul danced upon his lolling tongue.
P.s I never posted here so I hope I didn't break any rules. |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | She woke up, instinctively knowing it was going to happen today. There was a terrible, aching tightness in her belly, and as she swung her legs out of bed, a stabbing pain pierced her body. It was starting. Her body was shedding itself, tearing itself apart from the inside out. There was nothing she could do to stop it, and she knew that the only option left was to pray that she, and those she loved, would be able to pick up the pieces when it ceased. She had been changing for days; shifts in her mood, her appetite, her extremities bloated and swollen and her skin erupting with painful and unsightly blemishes.
Her husband appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, and she raised bleak and hopeless eyes to him. He hesitated, going pale.
“What is it baby?”
She hid her face from him. She knew what was happening but wanted to hide the truth a little longer; it was a futile endeavor, though, as she shuddered with the force of another wave of pain.
“I’m fine.” She hissed, clenching her teeth. He should go. He needed to go. For his own protection.
He sighed, compassion in his voice. “Do you want Midol, baby?”
| My consciousness was cloudy. I remembered nothing of the past. I was part of a rending tear which was so inherently wrong that it felt as if my very essence was shattering, torn apart, atom from atom. But the pain was not of the body. It was not felt in my arm, leg nor chest.... there was not a clenching of teeth seen on men I had witnessed on tables of torturous design. My body was perfectly still, bereft of sensation. I was disorientated and unhinged. Panicked. This was wrong.
The pain endured, the absolute kind of pain when a mother loses her child, a heart wrenching pain that cannot be described. Ultimate loss. It was enveloping me now, shredding me in total misery. Broken, nothing but a searing agony remained, embedded within my consciousness. My core was aflame. Part of me, an important part, was slowly, but steadily, being hauled out of the pores of my skin, a scorched and blistering ruin being made of every pore on my body. But my skin was untouched, an autopsy would reveal no damage. I was aware, it was not reality. I struggled.
My eyes were no longer mine, to saturate with tears. My voice was no longer my own, to expel a guttural howl of pain... I barely endured, paralyzed in complete composite agony.
It was too late now, it was nearly done. My sense of loss was total. Hope became a foreign concept. My discarded body lay slowly cooling as I transcended. The taste of my soul danced upon his lolling tongue.
P.s I never posted here so I hope I didn't break any rules. |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | Regaining consciousness was excruciating, the pain unbearable! In the mirror that hung above me, a twisted reflection lay upon a surgery table. His arms broken in several places, metal splits connecting to gears and machinery. There was blood, some of it blackened and dry, that coated the used surgical tools next to the mangled corpse. What were once legs were now bend into a position almost unrecognisable.
A buzzing filled the room as the body parts in the mirror whirred with the spinning of gears and the tearing of flesh. Bones snapped, as the corpse flailed in unimaginable pain. The convulsions impeded by the gears and metal fused to bone made the pain seizures even worse to witness.
I blacked out. Time seemed to pass as a haze between being thought and pain. I awoke again later, this time my mind seemed different, mechanical.
It was then that a voice called out from the darkness, "Welcome, to the glorious evolution!" | I sat down at the desk of my new office job. For the first hour things seemed to be going well. Then I got a phone call and the voice was muffled and faint. I raised the volume but it just became harsh. I hung up and turned to look at the person in the next cube. She was a blur. Everything beyond an arms reach was a blur. I looked down at my hands. They were swelling. My wedding band became painfully tight. I managed to pry it off. What was going on? There was a sound like fingers rubbing a balloon and a great flabby lump spilled forth from my abdomen and chest. Jesus! My adjustable chair fell to the floor. I tried to get up. My back hurt, my feet hurt. I arose with a groan and hobbled to the bathroom. I was not prepared for the face looking back at me in the mirror. My hairline had crept backwards. My jaw had become flabby and double-chinned. As I looked at my face I saw thick dark hairs curl out from my nostrils and ears. I closed my eyes. This was too much! Dear God. No more! |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | An alarm wakes me, I reach a hand to empty space next to me. She took my dog, my daughter… my life. But I don’t have time to dwell, it’s time to run!
Shoes tied, gym shorts and that loose fitting shirt. My daily ritual, my freedom. The only time I’m safe from her memory. I can’t focus on the cheating, can’t replay the courtroom scenes. I’m finally free.
With my shoes finally tied, I sprint for the street. The sun is rising, blinding me. I smile as I feel my heartbeat at the pace of my feet. My body is well oiled machine, freedom has found me. I don’t know if I heard the screech.
There’s a ringing in my ear and I can’t move a thing. My whole body seems locked as pain flows through me. She’s here with that man, among doctors and friends. She signs something official, then she smiles at me.
In whispers and tones, I come and I go. My daughter never came to see me, my friends all seem to leave me. But, there’s no time for that now, I’m trying to scream… They’ve turned off the machine that's letting me breathe. | I sat down at the desk of my new office job. For the first hour things seemed to be going well. Then I got a phone call and the voice was muffled and faint. I raised the volume but it just became harsh. I hung up and turned to look at the person in the next cube. She was a blur. Everything beyond an arms reach was a blur. I looked down at my hands. They were swelling. My wedding band became painfully tight. I managed to pry it off. What was going on? There was a sound like fingers rubbing a balloon and a great flabby lump spilled forth from my abdomen and chest. Jesus! My adjustable chair fell to the floor. I tried to get up. My back hurt, my feet hurt. I arose with a groan and hobbled to the bathroom. I was not prepared for the face looking back at me in the mirror. My hairline had crept backwards. My jaw had become flabby and double-chinned. As I looked at my face I saw thick dark hairs curl out from my nostrils and ears. I closed my eyes. This was too much! Dear God. No more! |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | The last thing I remember was charging at the heretic's lines. My brothers were with me, I could almost feel the Emperor watching as we cut them down in his name, prayers in our mouths and fire in our hearts. But then, an impact, followed by darkness.
I was not afraid, that was impossible, but an unfamiliar was overpowering my mind as I struggled through the dark and agony.
Disconnected images flash before me. My armour rent, my blood poring from stumps, the apothecaries straining to preserve something from the ruin of my body.
The memories fade, my view is replaced by targeting cogitators, my body by an adamantine shell. I can no longer feel the air, or move my own limbs, if I have any. But two things remain of me; pain, and faith.
"I have awoken" | I sat down at the desk of my new office job. For the first hour things seemed to be going well. Then I got a phone call and the voice was muffled and faint. I raised the volume but it just became harsh. I hung up and turned to look at the person in the next cube. She was a blur. Everything beyond an arms reach was a blur. I looked down at my hands. They were swelling. My wedding band became painfully tight. I managed to pry it off. What was going on? There was a sound like fingers rubbing a balloon and a great flabby lump spilled forth from my abdomen and chest. Jesus! My adjustable chair fell to the floor. I tried to get up. My back hurt, my feet hurt. I arose with a groan and hobbled to the bathroom. I was not prepared for the face looking back at me in the mirror. My hairline had crept backwards. My jaw had become flabby and double-chinned. As I looked at my face I saw thick dark hairs curl out from my nostrils and ears. I closed my eyes. This was too much! Dear God. No more! |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | EDIT: I clearly missed that 200 words bit. I was wondering why everyone's story was so short. Well anyway I spent a while on this since I typed it all out on my ipod so I'm going to leave it. If the length offends just send me to the bottom of the page
James woke up to an odd tingling in his toes. Attempting g to ignore it, he rolled over and clamped his eyes shut. The tingling only increased, becoming a sharp pain. James sat up and threw off his sheet. He reached toward his toes and began to inspect them with fingers that had begun to tingle as well. Soon the sharp pain was all the way into his arms and legs. James was now very frightened. Was the knot in his stomach from fear, or was it part of whatever was happening to him? He quickly decided it was not just fear as a wave of pain flowed through his whole body. He gripped his head with burning fingers and screamed. The pain in his fingertips was unbearable. He pulled them from his head and looked at them through eyes blurred from agony. The tips of his fingers seemed to be stretching, getting ever so slightly longer and longer until the suddenly burst open violently. The bone had ripped through skin, getting longer still and sharper, ten white points oozing red. With another burst of searing pain James knew the same thing had happened to his toes. He shared through dim eyes in shock. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be, there had to be a way to stop it, to go back, it had to be a dream but it wasn't. What little James could still see was red, and he was dimly aware of the feeling of wetness but he couldn't even think through how much blood he was losing when his head felt like this, his whole face was on fire. The skin on his forehead split open before he even realized it had been stretching and two points of bone began to push through and begin to curl upwards. He wanted to faint, to die, anything to escape this torture. His body was shaking, muscles spasming, limbs twisting in agony. He felt something small and hard in his mouth, then two small somethings then three and four and he barely had the presence of mind to know it was his teeth until he felt the sharp edges of their replacements against his tongue. He couldn't tell if he had cut his tongue against them or not since his whole mouth already tasted like blood from his teeth falling out and his fangs cutting through the gums. Blood streamed down his face from his forehead and mouth, from his fingers and toes, from everywhere. A voice at the door was frantically crying "James, James!" The door flew open and someone screamed and then the scream got quieter as whoever it had been ran out of the house. The pain in his hands and feet jolted again as the metatarsals extended, and the ball of his feet became like a new joint. The ankle bone ripped through the flesh of his heel and became a spike, and the same thing happened to his elbows. He writhed and thrashed as his body twisted and changed. His back arched violently and then quickly bent forward as each vertebrae punched through his back. His rib cage expanded, the sternum coming to a point. The skin of his chest stretched but did not burst. His bed was a pool of blood, dotted here and there with the odd clump of deep red foam from his shredded mattress. His mind was aware of nothing but torture, and whatever small part of him was aware of anything wished only for death. And then James died. And the monster James had become was born.
| I sat down at the desk of my new office job. For the first hour things seemed to be going well. Then I got a phone call and the voice was muffled and faint. I raised the volume but it just became harsh. I hung up and turned to look at the person in the next cube. She was a blur. Everything beyond an arms reach was a blur. I looked down at my hands. They were swelling. My wedding band became painfully tight. I managed to pry it off. What was going on? There was a sound like fingers rubbing a balloon and a great flabby lump spilled forth from my abdomen and chest. Jesus! My adjustable chair fell to the floor. I tried to get up. My back hurt, my feet hurt. I arose with a groan and hobbled to the bathroom. I was not prepared for the face looking back at me in the mirror. My hairline had crept backwards. My jaw had become flabby and double-chinned. As I looked at my face I saw thick dark hairs curl out from my nostrils and ears. I closed my eyes. This was too much! Dear God. No more! |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | She woke up, instinctively knowing it was going to happen today. There was a terrible, aching tightness in her belly, and as she swung her legs out of bed, a stabbing pain pierced her body. It was starting. Her body was shedding itself, tearing itself apart from the inside out. There was nothing she could do to stop it, and she knew that the only option left was to pray that she, and those she loved, would be able to pick up the pieces when it ceased. She had been changing for days; shifts in her mood, her appetite, her extremities bloated and swollen and her skin erupting with painful and unsightly blemishes.
Her husband appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, and she raised bleak and hopeless eyes to him. He hesitated, going pale.
“What is it baby?”
She hid her face from him. She knew what was happening but wanted to hide the truth a little longer; it was a futile endeavor, though, as she shuddered with the force of another wave of pain.
“I’m fine.” She hissed, clenching her teeth. He should go. He needed to go. For his own protection.
He sighed, compassion in his voice. “Do you want Midol, baby?”
| I sat down at the desk of my new office job. For the first hour things seemed to be going well. Then I got a phone call and the voice was muffled and faint. I raised the volume but it just became harsh. I hung up and turned to look at the person in the next cube. She was a blur. Everything beyond an arms reach was a blur. I looked down at my hands. They were swelling. My wedding band became painfully tight. I managed to pry it off. What was going on? There was a sound like fingers rubbing a balloon and a great flabby lump spilled forth from my abdomen and chest. Jesus! My adjustable chair fell to the floor. I tried to get up. My back hurt, my feet hurt. I arose with a groan and hobbled to the bathroom. I was not prepared for the face looking back at me in the mirror. My hairline had crept backwards. My jaw had become flabby and double-chinned. As I looked at my face I saw thick dark hairs curl out from my nostrils and ears. I closed my eyes. This was too much! Dear God. No more! |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | Regaining consciousness was excruciating, the pain unbearable! In the mirror that hung above me, a twisted reflection lay upon a surgery table. His arms broken in several places, metal splits connecting to gears and machinery. There was blood, some of it blackened and dry, that coated the used surgical tools next to the mangled corpse. What were once legs were now bend into a position almost unrecognisable.
A buzzing filled the room as the body parts in the mirror whirred with the spinning of gears and the tearing of flesh. Bones snapped, as the corpse flailed in unimaginable pain. The convulsions impeded by the gears and metal fused to bone made the pain seizures even worse to witness.
I blacked out. Time seemed to pass as a haze between being thought and pain. I awoke again later, this time my mind seemed different, mechanical.
It was then that a voice called out from the darkness, "Welcome, to the glorious evolution!" | Here's the thing; I never envisaged that my face would die before I did. I'd made the assumption that we'd meet the grave together, y'know? We were inseparable. Most people are pretty close to their faces. It's one of those package deals we get from birth.
Yet as I sit here, without a face, I realise life had other plans for me. It's even more annoying than you think. Can't go out without getting weird looks, hushed comments and screaming fuckin kids. Don't wear a mask because the lack of air makes the raw flesh sting something crazy. Blowing my nose is a chore because snot and exposed meat aren't really best buddies. Hawk out a lung scallop onto an uncooked steak, then try and clean it up. Room temperature steak, mind. Bloody. See what happens to the cloth. Faceless people should watch catchin’ colds.
Spend half my life putting drops into my eyes to stop them from turning into pebbles. Spend the other half trying to sleep. Ever tried to sleep with your eyes open? I got a sleeping mask but it don’t really help. The painkillers do, though. *And* the booze. Because, quite frankly, having no face sucks.
|
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | An alarm wakes me, I reach a hand to empty space next to me. She took my dog, my daughter… my life. But I don’t have time to dwell, it’s time to run!
Shoes tied, gym shorts and that loose fitting shirt. My daily ritual, my freedom. The only time I’m safe from her memory. I can’t focus on the cheating, can’t replay the courtroom scenes. I’m finally free.
With my shoes finally tied, I sprint for the street. The sun is rising, blinding me. I smile as I feel my heartbeat at the pace of my feet. My body is well oiled machine, freedom has found me. I don’t know if I heard the screech.
There’s a ringing in my ear and I can’t move a thing. My whole body seems locked as pain flows through me. She’s here with that man, among doctors and friends. She signs something official, then she smiles at me.
In whispers and tones, I come and I go. My daughter never came to see me, my friends all seem to leave me. But, there’s no time for that now, I’m trying to scream… They’ve turned off the machine that's letting me breathe. | Here's the thing; I never envisaged that my face would die before I did. I'd made the assumption that we'd meet the grave together, y'know? We were inseparable. Most people are pretty close to their faces. It's one of those package deals we get from birth.
Yet as I sit here, without a face, I realise life had other plans for me. It's even more annoying than you think. Can't go out without getting weird looks, hushed comments and screaming fuckin kids. Don't wear a mask because the lack of air makes the raw flesh sting something crazy. Blowing my nose is a chore because snot and exposed meat aren't really best buddies. Hawk out a lung scallop onto an uncooked steak, then try and clean it up. Room temperature steak, mind. Bloody. See what happens to the cloth. Faceless people should watch catchin’ colds.
Spend half my life putting drops into my eyes to stop them from turning into pebbles. Spend the other half trying to sleep. Ever tried to sleep with your eyes open? I got a sleeping mask but it don’t really help. The painkillers do, though. *And* the booze. Because, quite frankly, having no face sucks.
|
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | The last thing I remember was charging at the heretic's lines. My brothers were with me, I could almost feel the Emperor watching as we cut them down in his name, prayers in our mouths and fire in our hearts. But then, an impact, followed by darkness.
I was not afraid, that was impossible, but an unfamiliar was overpowering my mind as I struggled through the dark and agony.
Disconnected images flash before me. My armour rent, my blood poring from stumps, the apothecaries straining to preserve something from the ruin of my body.
The memories fade, my view is replaced by targeting cogitators, my body by an adamantine shell. I can no longer feel the air, or move my own limbs, if I have any. But two things remain of me; pain, and faith.
"I have awoken" | Here's the thing; I never envisaged that my face would die before I did. I'd made the assumption that we'd meet the grave together, y'know? We were inseparable. Most people are pretty close to their faces. It's one of those package deals we get from birth.
Yet as I sit here, without a face, I realise life had other plans for me. It's even more annoying than you think. Can't go out without getting weird looks, hushed comments and screaming fuckin kids. Don't wear a mask because the lack of air makes the raw flesh sting something crazy. Blowing my nose is a chore because snot and exposed meat aren't really best buddies. Hawk out a lung scallop onto an uncooked steak, then try and clean it up. Room temperature steak, mind. Bloody. See what happens to the cloth. Faceless people should watch catchin’ colds.
Spend half my life putting drops into my eyes to stop them from turning into pebbles. Spend the other half trying to sleep. Ever tried to sleep with your eyes open? I got a sleeping mask but it don’t really help. The painkillers do, though. *And* the booze. Because, quite frankly, having no face sucks.
|
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | An alarm wakes me, I reach a hand to empty space next to me. She took my dog, my daughter… my life. But I don’t have time to dwell, it’s time to run!
Shoes tied, gym shorts and that loose fitting shirt. My daily ritual, my freedom. The only time I’m safe from her memory. I can’t focus on the cheating, can’t replay the courtroom scenes. I’m finally free.
With my shoes finally tied, I sprint for the street. The sun is rising, blinding me. I smile as I feel my heartbeat at the pace of my feet. My body is well oiled machine, freedom has found me. I don’t know if I heard the screech.
There’s a ringing in my ear and I can’t move a thing. My whole body seems locked as pain flows through me. She’s here with that man, among doctors and friends. She signs something official, then she smiles at me.
In whispers and tones, I come and I go. My daughter never came to see me, my friends all seem to leave me. But, there’s no time for that now, I’m trying to scream… They’ve turned off the machine that's letting me breathe. | Things are crawling out of you.
Your skin is rippin' and tearin' and the seams are fucking *bursting*, they're poppin' like fucking zits. Something in you stretch until it *snaps*. Doesn't stop there. It goes on, they tickle and you don't know whether to scream or cry or *laugh*. They heave themselves out of you and they're tangled and you're *mortified*. You feel and feel and feel; you feel them intertwining and they're *strengthening*, **holy fucking shit** you think you're gonna *die*. There is pain and then there is agony and then there are fucking wings growing outta ya, fuckin' *maggots*. You can feel them just hungering for goddamned air. You don't wanna be a motherfucking bird but you realize you're well on your way and there's nothing left but to breathe. In, out, in out; they're yanking your innards out and you wonder if insurance will cover this when you watch the fabric of your shirt destruct. It is but tattered cloths and you think you're the same, now, after these fucking chicken wings. After a while you realize you were once a piece of meat, too, but now you're a piece of meat with wings that fucking **hurt**. |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | The last thing I remember was charging at the heretic's lines. My brothers were with me, I could almost feel the Emperor watching as we cut them down in his name, prayers in our mouths and fire in our hearts. But then, an impact, followed by darkness.
I was not afraid, that was impossible, but an unfamiliar was overpowering my mind as I struggled through the dark and agony.
Disconnected images flash before me. My armour rent, my blood poring from stumps, the apothecaries straining to preserve something from the ruin of my body.
The memories fade, my view is replaced by targeting cogitators, my body by an adamantine shell. I can no longer feel the air, or move my own limbs, if I have any. But two things remain of me; pain, and faith.
"I have awoken" | Things are crawling out of you.
Your skin is rippin' and tearin' and the seams are fucking *bursting*, they're poppin' like fucking zits. Something in you stretch until it *snaps*. Doesn't stop there. It goes on, they tickle and you don't know whether to scream or cry or *laugh*. They heave themselves out of you and they're tangled and you're *mortified*. You feel and feel and feel; you feel them intertwining and they're *strengthening*, **holy fucking shit** you think you're gonna *die*. There is pain and then there is agony and then there are fucking wings growing outta ya, fuckin' *maggots*. You can feel them just hungering for goddamned air. You don't wanna be a motherfucking bird but you realize you're well on your way and there's nothing left but to breathe. In, out, in out; they're yanking your innards out and you wonder if insurance will cover this when you watch the fabric of your shirt destruct. It is but tattered cloths and you think you're the same, now, after these fucking chicken wings. After a while you realize you were once a piece of meat, too, but now you're a piece of meat with wings that fucking **hurt**. |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | EDIT: I clearly missed that 200 words bit. I was wondering why everyone's story was so short. Well anyway I spent a while on this since I typed it all out on my ipod so I'm going to leave it. If the length offends just send me to the bottom of the page
James woke up to an odd tingling in his toes. Attempting g to ignore it, he rolled over and clamped his eyes shut. The tingling only increased, becoming a sharp pain. James sat up and threw off his sheet. He reached toward his toes and began to inspect them with fingers that had begun to tingle as well. Soon the sharp pain was all the way into his arms and legs. James was now very frightened. Was the knot in his stomach from fear, or was it part of whatever was happening to him? He quickly decided it was not just fear as a wave of pain flowed through his whole body. He gripped his head with burning fingers and screamed. The pain in his fingertips was unbearable. He pulled them from his head and looked at them through eyes blurred from agony. The tips of his fingers seemed to be stretching, getting ever so slightly longer and longer until the suddenly burst open violently. The bone had ripped through skin, getting longer still and sharper, ten white points oozing red. With another burst of searing pain James knew the same thing had happened to his toes. He shared through dim eyes in shock. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be, there had to be a way to stop it, to go back, it had to be a dream but it wasn't. What little James could still see was red, and he was dimly aware of the feeling of wetness but he couldn't even think through how much blood he was losing when his head felt like this, his whole face was on fire. The skin on his forehead split open before he even realized it had been stretching and two points of bone began to push through and begin to curl upwards. He wanted to faint, to die, anything to escape this torture. His body was shaking, muscles spasming, limbs twisting in agony. He felt something small and hard in his mouth, then two small somethings then three and four and he barely had the presence of mind to know it was his teeth until he felt the sharp edges of their replacements against his tongue. He couldn't tell if he had cut his tongue against them or not since his whole mouth already tasted like blood from his teeth falling out and his fangs cutting through the gums. Blood streamed down his face from his forehead and mouth, from his fingers and toes, from everywhere. A voice at the door was frantically crying "James, James!" The door flew open and someone screamed and then the scream got quieter as whoever it had been ran out of the house. The pain in his hands and feet jolted again as the metatarsals extended, and the ball of his feet became like a new joint. The ankle bone ripped through the flesh of his heel and became a spike, and the same thing happened to his elbows. He writhed and thrashed as his body twisted and changed. His back arched violently and then quickly bent forward as each vertebrae punched through his back. His rib cage expanded, the sternum coming to a point. The skin of his chest stretched but did not burst. His bed was a pool of blood, dotted here and there with the odd clump of deep red foam from his shredded mattress. His mind was aware of nothing but torture, and whatever small part of him was aware of anything wished only for death. And then James died. And the monster James had become was born.
| Things are crawling out of you.
Your skin is rippin' and tearin' and the seams are fucking *bursting*, they're poppin' like fucking zits. Something in you stretch until it *snaps*. Doesn't stop there. It goes on, they tickle and you don't know whether to scream or cry or *laugh*. They heave themselves out of you and they're tangled and you're *mortified*. You feel and feel and feel; you feel them intertwining and they're *strengthening*, **holy fucking shit** you think you're gonna *die*. There is pain and then there is agony and then there are fucking wings growing outta ya, fuckin' *maggots*. You can feel them just hungering for goddamned air. You don't wanna be a motherfucking bird but you realize you're well on your way and there's nothing left but to breathe. In, out, in out; they're yanking your innards out and you wonder if insurance will cover this when you watch the fabric of your shirt destruct. It is but tattered cloths and you think you're the same, now, after these fucking chicken wings. After a while you realize you were once a piece of meat, too, but now you're a piece of meat with wings that fucking **hurt**. |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | She woke up, instinctively knowing it was going to happen today. There was a terrible, aching tightness in her belly, and as she swung her legs out of bed, a stabbing pain pierced her body. It was starting. Her body was shedding itself, tearing itself apart from the inside out. There was nothing she could do to stop it, and she knew that the only option left was to pray that she, and those she loved, would be able to pick up the pieces when it ceased. She had been changing for days; shifts in her mood, her appetite, her extremities bloated and swollen and her skin erupting with painful and unsightly blemishes.
Her husband appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, and she raised bleak and hopeless eyes to him. He hesitated, going pale.
“What is it baby?”
She hid her face from him. She knew what was happening but wanted to hide the truth a little longer; it was a futile endeavor, though, as she shuddered with the force of another wave of pain.
“I’m fine.” She hissed, clenching her teeth. He should go. He needed to go. For his own protection.
He sighed, compassion in his voice. “Do you want Midol, baby?”
| Things are crawling out of you.
Your skin is rippin' and tearin' and the seams are fucking *bursting*, they're poppin' like fucking zits. Something in you stretch until it *snaps*. Doesn't stop there. It goes on, they tickle and you don't know whether to scream or cry or *laugh*. They heave themselves out of you and they're tangled and you're *mortified*. You feel and feel and feel; you feel them intertwining and they're *strengthening*, **holy fucking shit** you think you're gonna *die*. There is pain and then there is agony and then there are fucking wings growing outta ya, fuckin' *maggots*. You can feel them just hungering for goddamned air. You don't wanna be a motherfucking bird but you realize you're well on your way and there's nothing left but to breathe. In, out, in out; they're yanking your innards out and you wonder if insurance will cover this when you watch the fabric of your shirt destruct. It is but tattered cloths and you think you're the same, now, after these fucking chicken wings. After a while you realize you were once a piece of meat, too, but now you're a piece of meat with wings that fucking **hurt**. |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | The last thing I remember was charging at the heretic's lines. My brothers were with me, I could almost feel the Emperor watching as we cut them down in his name, prayers in our mouths and fire in our hearts. But then, an impact, followed by darkness.
I was not afraid, that was impossible, but an unfamiliar was overpowering my mind as I struggled through the dark and agony.
Disconnected images flash before me. My armour rent, my blood poring from stumps, the apothecaries straining to preserve something from the ruin of my body.
The memories fade, my view is replaced by targeting cogitators, my body by an adamantine shell. I can no longer feel the air, or move my own limbs, if I have any. But two things remain of me; pain, and faith.
"I have awoken" | Regaining consciousness was excruciating, the pain unbearable! In the mirror that hung above me, a twisted reflection lay upon a surgery table. His arms broken in several places, metal splits connecting to gears and machinery. There was blood, some of it blackened and dry, that coated the used surgical tools next to the mangled corpse. What were once legs were now bend into a position almost unrecognisable.
A buzzing filled the room as the body parts in the mirror whirred with the spinning of gears and the tearing of flesh. Bones snapped, as the corpse flailed in unimaginable pain. The convulsions impeded by the gears and metal fused to bone made the pain seizures even worse to witness.
I blacked out. Time seemed to pass as a haze between being thought and pain. I awoke again later, this time my mind seemed different, mechanical.
It was then that a voice called out from the darkness, "Welcome, to the glorious evolution!" |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | The last thing I remember was charging at the heretic's lines. My brothers were with me, I could almost feel the Emperor watching as we cut them down in his name, prayers in our mouths and fire in our hearts. But then, an impact, followed by darkness.
I was not afraid, that was impossible, but an unfamiliar was overpowering my mind as I struggled through the dark and agony.
Disconnected images flash before me. My armour rent, my blood poring from stumps, the apothecaries straining to preserve something from the ruin of my body.
The memories fade, my view is replaced by targeting cogitators, my body by an adamantine shell. I can no longer feel the air, or move my own limbs, if I have any. But two things remain of me; pain, and faith.
"I have awoken" | An alarm wakes me, I reach a hand to empty space next to me. She took my dog, my daughter… my life. But I don’t have time to dwell, it’s time to run!
Shoes tied, gym shorts and that loose fitting shirt. My daily ritual, my freedom. The only time I’m safe from her memory. I can’t focus on the cheating, can’t replay the courtroom scenes. I’m finally free.
With my shoes finally tied, I sprint for the street. The sun is rising, blinding me. I smile as I feel my heartbeat at the pace of my feet. My body is well oiled machine, freedom has found me. I don’t know if I heard the screech.
There’s a ringing in my ear and I can’t move a thing. My whole body seems locked as pain flows through me. She’s here with that man, among doctors and friends. She signs something official, then she smiles at me.
In whispers and tones, I come and I go. My daughter never came to see me, my friends all seem to leave me. But, there’s no time for that now, I’m trying to scream… They’ve turned off the machine that's letting me breathe. |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | EDIT: I clearly missed that 200 words bit. I was wondering why everyone's story was so short. Well anyway I spent a while on this since I typed it all out on my ipod so I'm going to leave it. If the length offends just send me to the bottom of the page
James woke up to an odd tingling in his toes. Attempting g to ignore it, he rolled over and clamped his eyes shut. The tingling only increased, becoming a sharp pain. James sat up and threw off his sheet. He reached toward his toes and began to inspect them with fingers that had begun to tingle as well. Soon the sharp pain was all the way into his arms and legs. James was now very frightened. Was the knot in his stomach from fear, or was it part of whatever was happening to him? He quickly decided it was not just fear as a wave of pain flowed through his whole body. He gripped his head with burning fingers and screamed. The pain in his fingertips was unbearable. He pulled them from his head and looked at them through eyes blurred from agony. The tips of his fingers seemed to be stretching, getting ever so slightly longer and longer until the suddenly burst open violently. The bone had ripped through skin, getting longer still and sharper, ten white points oozing red. With another burst of searing pain James knew the same thing had happened to his toes. He shared through dim eyes in shock. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be, there had to be a way to stop it, to go back, it had to be a dream but it wasn't. What little James could still see was red, and he was dimly aware of the feeling of wetness but he couldn't even think through how much blood he was losing when his head felt like this, his whole face was on fire. The skin on his forehead split open before he even realized it had been stretching and two points of bone began to push through and begin to curl upwards. He wanted to faint, to die, anything to escape this torture. His body was shaking, muscles spasming, limbs twisting in agony. He felt something small and hard in his mouth, then two small somethings then three and four and he barely had the presence of mind to know it was his teeth until he felt the sharp edges of their replacements against his tongue. He couldn't tell if he had cut his tongue against them or not since his whole mouth already tasted like blood from his teeth falling out and his fangs cutting through the gums. Blood streamed down his face from his forehead and mouth, from his fingers and toes, from everywhere. A voice at the door was frantically crying "James, James!" The door flew open and someone screamed and then the scream got quieter as whoever it had been ran out of the house. The pain in his hands and feet jolted again as the metatarsals extended, and the ball of his feet became like a new joint. The ankle bone ripped through the flesh of his heel and became a spike, and the same thing happened to his elbows. He writhed and thrashed as his body twisted and changed. His back arched violently and then quickly bent forward as each vertebrae punched through his back. His rib cage expanded, the sternum coming to a point. The skin of his chest stretched but did not burst. His bed was a pool of blood, dotted here and there with the odd clump of deep red foam from his shredded mattress. His mind was aware of nothing but torture, and whatever small part of him was aware of anything wished only for death. And then James died. And the monster James had become was born.
| Stupid gypsy, thinks she’s all high and mighty just because she can speak in ancient tongues. Hah. She’ll think twice before getting in my face again. That bitch looked so dumb standing there with bits of Ronnie’s burger in her hair. Ronnie’s an asshole for chucking it at her, sure, but she totally deserved it. All she had to do was moove out of the way.
That’s weird, my fingers feel kind of numb. What the hell, what’s wrong with my hand? It looks like a damned hoof! My body is starting to feel really heavy and something strange is happening down in my pants. I feel some bumps that never used to be there. Are those nipples? Oh my god, there’s a huge sac forming behind them. What’s happening to me?! I’m supposed to meet Jen at the moovies in an hour!
My clothes are tearing apart and my body feels too heavy to stand on my own two feet. Let me put down my hands, hooves, whatever they are. That’s mooch better. God, I’m getting really hungry. I can feel my stomachs growling. Why does the grass look so appetizing? Oh, that’s really yummoo. Moo? Moo. Moo moooo! |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | She woke up, instinctively knowing it was going to happen today. There was a terrible, aching tightness in her belly, and as she swung her legs out of bed, a stabbing pain pierced her body. It was starting. Her body was shedding itself, tearing itself apart from the inside out. There was nothing she could do to stop it, and she knew that the only option left was to pray that she, and those she loved, would be able to pick up the pieces when it ceased. She had been changing for days; shifts in her mood, her appetite, her extremities bloated and swollen and her skin erupting with painful and unsightly blemishes.
Her husband appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, and she raised bleak and hopeless eyes to him. He hesitated, going pale.
“What is it baby?”
She hid her face from him. She knew what was happening but wanted to hide the truth a little longer; it was a futile endeavor, though, as she shuddered with the force of another wave of pain.
“I’m fine.” She hissed, clenching her teeth. He should go. He needed to go. For his own protection.
He sighed, compassion in his voice. “Do you want Midol, baby?”
| Stupid gypsy, thinks she’s all high and mighty just because she can speak in ancient tongues. Hah. She’ll think twice before getting in my face again. That bitch looked so dumb standing there with bits of Ronnie’s burger in her hair. Ronnie’s an asshole for chucking it at her, sure, but she totally deserved it. All she had to do was moove out of the way.
That’s weird, my fingers feel kind of numb. What the hell, what’s wrong with my hand? It looks like a damned hoof! My body is starting to feel really heavy and something strange is happening down in my pants. I feel some bumps that never used to be there. Are those nipples? Oh my god, there’s a huge sac forming behind them. What’s happening to me?! I’m supposed to meet Jen at the moovies in an hour!
My clothes are tearing apart and my body feels too heavy to stand on my own two feet. Let me put down my hands, hooves, whatever they are. That’s mooch better. God, I’m getting really hungry. I can feel my stomachs growling. Why does the grass look so appetizing? Oh, that’s really yummoo. Moo? Moo. Moo moooo! |
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | She woke up, instinctively knowing it was going to happen today. There was a terrible, aching tightness in her belly, and as she swung her legs out of bed, a stabbing pain pierced her body. It was starting. Her body was shedding itself, tearing itself apart from the inside out. There was nothing she could do to stop it, and she knew that the only option left was to pray that she, and those she loved, would be able to pick up the pieces when it ceased. She had been changing for days; shifts in her mood, her appetite, her extremities bloated and swollen and her skin erupting with painful and unsightly blemishes.
Her husband appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, and she raised bleak and hopeless eyes to him. He hesitated, going pale.
“What is it baby?”
She hid her face from him. She knew what was happening but wanted to hide the truth a little longer; it was a futile endeavor, though, as she shuddered with the force of another wave of pain.
“I’m fine.” She hissed, clenching her teeth. He should go. He needed to go. For his own protection.
He sighed, compassion in his voice. “Do you want Midol, baby?”
| EDIT: I clearly missed that 200 words bit. I was wondering why everyone's story was so short. Well anyway I spent a while on this since I typed it all out on my ipod so I'm going to leave it. If the length offends just send me to the bottom of the page
James woke up to an odd tingling in his toes. Attempting g to ignore it, he rolled over and clamped his eyes shut. The tingling only increased, becoming a sharp pain. James sat up and threw off his sheet. He reached toward his toes and began to inspect them with fingers that had begun to tingle as well. Soon the sharp pain was all the way into his arms and legs. James was now very frightened. Was the knot in his stomach from fear, or was it part of whatever was happening to him? He quickly decided it was not just fear as a wave of pain flowed through his whole body. He gripped his head with burning fingers and screamed. The pain in his fingertips was unbearable. He pulled them from his head and looked at them through eyes blurred from agony. The tips of his fingers seemed to be stretching, getting ever so slightly longer and longer until the suddenly burst open violently. The bone had ripped through skin, getting longer still and sharper, ten white points oozing red. With another burst of searing pain James knew the same thing had happened to his toes. He shared through dim eyes in shock. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be, there had to be a way to stop it, to go back, it had to be a dream but it wasn't. What little James could still see was red, and he was dimly aware of the feeling of wetness but he couldn't even think through how much blood he was losing when his head felt like this, his whole face was on fire. The skin on his forehead split open before he even realized it had been stretching and two points of bone began to push through and begin to curl upwards. He wanted to faint, to die, anything to escape this torture. His body was shaking, muscles spasming, limbs twisting in agony. He felt something small and hard in his mouth, then two small somethings then three and four and he barely had the presence of mind to know it was his teeth until he felt the sharp edges of their replacements against his tongue. He couldn't tell if he had cut his tongue against them or not since his whole mouth already tasted like blood from his teeth falling out and his fangs cutting through the gums. Blood streamed down his face from his forehead and mouth, from his fingers and toes, from everywhere. A voice at the door was frantically crying "James, James!" The door flew open and someone screamed and then the scream got quieter as whoever it had been ran out of the house. The pain in his hands and feet jolted again as the metatarsals extended, and the ball of his feet became like a new joint. The ankle bone ripped through the flesh of his heel and became a spike, and the same thing happened to his elbows. He writhed and thrashed as his body twisted and changed. His back arched violently and then quickly bent forward as each vertebrae punched through his back. His rib cage expanded, the sternum coming to a point. The skin of his chest stretched but did not burst. His bed was a pool of blood, dotted here and there with the odd clump of deep red foam from his shredded mattress. His mind was aware of nothing but torture, and whatever small part of him was aware of anything wished only for death. And then James died. And the monster James had become was born.
|
|
[FF] In 200 words, describe a ghastly and very unpleasant body transformation. Can be mechanical, biological, magical or whatever you like. (possibly NSFW) | My legs are wrong. Each limb: bifurcated. Each bifurcation: bifurcated. Continue until there are 128 stalks now calling themselves my legs. Each one has the same structure as the originals, only thinner. More brittle. Walking is harder - normal walking doesn't require my conscious effort. Now I'm controlling 128 legs. I shuffle and fall. Cracks ring out as femurs and tibias splinter.
I get up, somehow. So many damaged legs. I'm so much weaker now. More sharp reports echo throughout the hallway as the remaining legs crumble under the weight of my trunk. I balance my hips and butt on the floor as the wreckage of my legs fan out like tentacular dowels. They twitch, autonomously, and begin to divide again. Time passes and the division continues. Soon, it's hard to make out the individual divisions. I'm just a torso on top of a crackling mist that lazily waves in the patterns of the air currents. I'm helpless. | Yawning, Tim tossed aside his duvet and swung his legs off his bed. The strange clicking as his feet hit the floor made him pause and looking down, he was surprised to see a pair of goat legs stretching down below his thighs. Slowly Tim sat back down and examined his legs more closely. Somewhere about mid-thigh, thick hair began sprouting out and his legs became sinewy, before ending in what could only be described as hooves.
To his credit Tim did not scream, instead he slowly stood and tested the legs. They seemed fairly strong and he realised that his balance was fairly unaffected. This was an odd set of circumstances but, goat legs or not, certain bodily functions were still pressing and so he trotted his way to the bathroom, the click clack echoing down the hallway.
Breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of his still human penis, he began to try to reconstruct the night as he peed. It had started in a nightclub and then, then things got hazy. He’d met a girl with really pointy hat, and they’d gone to a private party and… it suddenly hit him.
He’d fucked a witch.
|
|
[WP] In the year 2024, a group of astronauts surveying the moon discover a large facility which seems to be of nazi Germany origin. A corpse lays on the floor with a journal. What is in that journal? | In a shaky, half smeared hand, written in pencil:
"
Oberst Martin Scholl starb hier, im Wissen dass alles verloren ist.
Vierzig Jahre habe ich ausgeharrt, und euch zugehört.
Alle sind sie gestorben, die geschworen hatten die Schläfer zu bewachen.
Eines Deutschen Pflicht endet erst im Tod.
Lasst sie träumen.
Weint nicht um mich, obzwar ich schwand,
In jener Sternen Nacht.
Gramt wenn ihr müsst, doch nicht zu lang,
Meiner Seele sanftem Flug.
Ich fand hier Frieden,
Meine Seele ruht.
Der Segen euer Liebe ward mir beschieden,
In all der Jahren Zug.
Hier ist kein Schmerz,
Ich leide nicht.
Die Furcht verließ mein Herz.
Nehmt all dies und vergesst mich nicht,
und gedenkt mir ohne Schmerz.
Gedenkt nicht meiner Atemnot,
Gedenkt nicht meinem Leid,
Es liegt einer Mutter Sohn hier tot.
In wacht bis ans ende der Zeit.
"
On the back of the page, allmost as an afternote.
"
Translation:
Corporal Martin Scholl died here, knowing that all was lost.
For fourty years I held watch and listened to you.
All of those have died who were sworn to guard the sleepers.
The duty of a german only ends in death.
Let them dream, and please forgive them.
Weep not for me though I am gone;
into that starry night.
Grieve if you will but not for long,
upon my soul's sweet flight.
I am at peace,
my soul's at rest.
There is no need for tears.
For with your love I was blessed;
for all those many years.
There is no pain,
I suffer not,
The fear is now all gone.
take all this and forget me not.
A rememberance without pain.
Remember not my fight for breath;
remember not the strife.
Here lies a Mothers Son in death,
On watch for all his life." | Commander Jack "Eagleheart" Johnson slowly approaches the corpse. Beads of sweat drip from his forehead into his spacehelmet, quickly absorbed by the spacefabric. This discovery will surely win him the Purple Heart, or the Congressional Medal for Americanness. Soon he'll be famous and loved, loved by the father who always rejected him despite Jack subsequently qualifying as a jet fighter pilot, research test pilot, astronaut and officer within the Cover Space Operations Initiative, or CSOI. He's the final American to ever confront a Nahzi!
Slowly he picks up the journal. It's leatherbound. The words are carefully handwritten in the most Nazi-ish cursive imaginable. Jack recognizes the words, but he does not read German.
*Waarom schrijven we eigenlijk in een dagboek? Dat is totaal niet efficiënt in het geval van catastrofa* |
|
[WP] In the year 2024, a group of astronauts surveying the moon discover a large facility which seems to be of nazi Germany origin. A corpse lays on the floor with a journal. What is in that journal? | "I think I'm gonna be sick."
"Keep it together, Sanski. Last thing you want to be mushing around in is low-g vomit." Said Lorne, dusting off the panel to the airlock.
"We can't... can't tell anyone, can we?"
Lorne turned to look at him. "No. No we can't."
"How could they have been here first? They didn't have the time, the resources!" Sanski was in denial, the great black swastika sigil staring down upon them proved otherwise.
"When the war was over we took for ourselves a great deal of engineering knowledge, and manpower, straight from Nazi resources." Lorne turned the pin and pushed it into the socket. With a hiss, the thin remaining atmosphere pushed past them as the door veiled open.
"Oh god." Said Sanski. Inside, crumpled against the inner door of the building lay a grey, mummified corpse. The door's red paint had been clawed at ferociously, apparently the man had been killed by decompression.
"Don't touch him. He's been dead a long time, but never had a chance to rot. We don't want to bring that stink home with us." Said Lorne.
"Do you think there's anyone still alive in there?"
"No. I don't care how advanced they were, 70 years in space is unsurvivable without provisions, fresh oxygen, water, fuel, medicine, tools, material. Anything in there is long dead. Poor bastard's skeletons would have turned into corkwood eventually, soft enough to crumble in your hands by now."
"Hey, look." Sanski reached out his proxy arm and snatched up a booklet from the ground. "He was carrying something, here."
Lorne looked it over. "Think its a logbook, journal maybe." He picked it up and began flipping through its pages. "It's all in German. Remarkably preserved in the low oxygen, though, we can get this tr-" He stopped on a page. Something fluttered out, to the floor. It was a flower. Long faded, but still red in its petals, still green in its stem.
The two looked at each other. "I'll be damned." Lorne flipped to the end of the book, finding something taped to the back page.
"Looks like this guy left a sweetheart behind. Blonde german girl flashing a big shiny rock. I think this guy popped the question."
There was a click, behind them the airlock door had slid shut, sealing them in. "I think we're being pressurized." Said Sanski, the dash on his arm indicated a growing atmosphere.
Sound began to return to their environs and the body on the floor was crumpling up as the air filled the chamber.
"Be prepared for the worst, Sanski."
The pressure lock disengaged, and the red door began to slide up on its own volition. Sunlight poured through skylights into the chamber, a hazy fog of dust hung in the air. There were bodies everywhere. A radius of them, in fact, each had been shot repeatedly and lay in black, molding mounds on the floor.
"JESUS. What the hell happened in here?"
"I think... I think she did." Said Lorne. At the far end of the room, slumped over in a chair, a corpse with striking blond hair sat at a control console, an automatic rifle in her hands. Unlike the others there was no red arm band, instead, a blazen yellow patch on her shirt caught the sunlight.
Even from across the room, they could make out a handmade Star of David. On her finger the diamond ring still glittered. | Ich kann nicht mehr dem Datum sagen, die Zeit vergeht so langsam hier. Ich sehe die Welt durch eine blaue Perle ausgesetzt, in den Himmel zu drehen und ich merke wie schön Dinge waren. Ich frage mich, wie viele mich blind auf meine Übergabe an nachschlagen. Wie schade, dass ich sie noch einmal beitreten könnten, statt zu diesem Grab beschränkt. Haben sie mich vergessen? Sicherlich müssen sie haben.
Die anderen sind tot. Ich schreibe diese wissen, dass es keine menschlichen Augen je bestaunen werden. Der Amerikaners waren nicht einmal annähernd unsere Technologie und sogar jetzt Frage ich mich, wie die Dinge wieder nach Hause abzuzahlen. Ein Teil von mir wünscht sich, dass jemand, aber wie wusste sie könnten. Keiner wusste, bis es zu spät, bis wir auf ein Tier aus Metall Flüssiges Feuer speienden unserer schöne Heimat verschwinden unter uns beobachtete. Wer könnte einmal verstehen, was wir erreicht haben?
Jetzt ist es viel zu spät. Eva ist lange tot durch die Zeit, die jemand uns findet. Zeit sage nur was dieser Narr, Gustav in meiner Abwesenheit getan hat. Ich nehme nicht der Feigling Weg wie er neigt zu tun ist. Sein jammern..., das ist eine Sache, die ich nicht verpassen wird.
Schließlich die Welt gehört mir. Ich kann es in meinen Händen halten...
|
|
[WP] After overcoming many difficult trials, and defeating countless minions, the hero finally confronts the evil lord... and is killed in the middle of his dramatic introduction. | This is bad.
Somehow he's gotten past the guards, past the sharks, past the genetically engineered dinosaurs (I told them it was a bad idea) and he is going to get here any second. I haven't even practiced my monologue yet.
There's so much to do, I need to start the display, charged the hologram set up the trap door, open the, oh shit he's here.
I stay crouched behind the console.
"There's no use in hiding Dr., I will find you."
Just a few more seconds and the hologram will be charged...there, now just to swing down the monitors and...
"Ah, I see you hav..."
Where did he go? Is he hiding somewhere?
"Oh that's a cheap trick, trying to get the drop on me before i can even..."
There was a damp squelch from beneath my foot. I look more closely at it.
"err" I said, to the rapidly extending pool of blood, coming from behind the drop down monitors.
"Oh"
This wasn't supposed to happen.
"You dumb prick, I thought you were smarter than this, I thought this was gonna be my great moment, the day I outsmarted you, proved that I am better. What the hell will the league do if they find out I killed you by accident? I'll be a laughing stock of the whole league."
A brilliant idea entered my mind. What if, I made it look like I did this on purpose. It was brilliant, a masterstroke, even by my standards. Moving quickly, I picked up his discarded rifle, moved over to the door and started firing across the room. I can't just aim wildly, this has to look authentic.
I spent the ammo, and moved into the area that I had recently sprayed and fired at the wall, forming a path to the monitors.
Excellent, this place looks like a real battle, took place. It's not how Id like to have to have defeated him, but it's better than killing him by accident.
That, I just won't stand for. | The Evil Lord laughs maniacally as he puts down the copy of "152 Rules for Being an Evil Overlord" he was reading as the Hero came in.
"Now that I can monologue safely," he said giddily. "Did you really think I was that stupid and unprepared? Did you really think after the ways that you defeated my predecessors that I wouldn't be prepared? Joke's on you isn't it?"
He motioned for his Chamberlain to approach.
"Put him on display atop the walls. Hang a sign that says he died while trying to be a show off and paid for it. And arrange a festival to celebrate the victory. Everyone in the Kingdom gets the week off to participate. Also lift the heightened patrols, travel restrictions and curfew."
|
|
[WP] After overcoming many difficult trials, and defeating countless minions, the hero finally confronts the evil lord... and is killed in the middle of his dramatic introduction. | He killed him. My brother and I had journeyed through deserts, mountains, and season upon season. We fought entire armies, solved riddles and problems with nobody to help us along the way, just the two of us.
We finally arrived at his lair. My brother was about to speak the three words that would strike fear into the heart of that killer, that kidnapper, that dark sorcerer. "It's-a me, Mario!"
But it was too late. Bowser killed him instantly. And now, I, Luigi, must punish him for his badness. Rest in peace my brother. I will avenge you. | The Evil Lord laughs maniacally as he puts down the copy of "152 Rules for Being an Evil Overlord" he was reading as the Hero came in.
"Now that I can monologue safely," he said giddily. "Did you really think I was that stupid and unprepared? Did you really think after the ways that you defeated my predecessors that I wouldn't be prepared? Joke's on you isn't it?"
He motioned for his Chamberlain to approach.
"Put him on display atop the walls. Hang a sign that says he died while trying to be a show off and paid for it. And arrange a festival to celebrate the victory. Everyone in the Kingdom gets the week off to participate. Also lift the heightened patrols, travel restrictions and curfew."
|
|
[WP] After overcoming many difficult trials, and defeating countless minions, the hero finally confronts the evil lord... and is killed in the middle of his dramatic introduction. | The Dread Sorcerer Vorhaven rested his head in his hand and sighed heavily. This was not how things were supposed to go.
The robed neophyte Apprentice, who had been standing over the Champion's body so triumphantly, now started to look nervous. The bloody dagger in his hands drooped uncertainly.
"...My lord?" he managed, with some stammering. "The, uh, the interloper is slain, I have-"
*Do you understand how much effort you have wasted?* Vorhaven's rasping voice carried an undertone like the buzzing of carrion flies within his dark robes and armour. *How much time I put into these prophecies?*
"My lord? This was... He was the Champion of Ravenwood, come to vanquish... I thought-"
*I very much doubt you are capable of thought.* A lazy flick of Vorhaven's wrist, and the Apprentice was pinned spread eagle against the far wall. *Or you may have* thought *about how some grinning blockhead of a jumped - up cowherd could possibly be a threat to me.*
"The- the sword..." the Apprentice's voice was choked now. "The prophe-"
*The prophecy I wrote almost a hundred years ago, about a blade of evil's bane which these ignorant peasants were so willing to believe could defeat me with an enchantment that makes it glitter.* Vorhaven stood from his throne of skulls and obsidian and strode toward the Apprentice just slowly enough for maximum menace. *What if they try something desperate now? Like poison my food? Where do you think the beef comes from?*
"I- My lord, I'm sorry, I just wanted to serve-"
*Oh, you'll serve.* Vorhaven paused at body of the late Champion and gave it a nudge with the toe of his clawed iron boot. *It isn't all theatrics, you know. These old bones are getting very worn. That dead lug had nothing between his ears, but iron in his limbs. And naturally, the slayer of the Dark Lord will assume a leadership role among the people.*
"Lord?" coughed the Apprentice.
Vorhaven turned to the Apprentice and raised a bony hand, green fire rising from his palm.
*I'll have to substitute another body. Perhaps the poor hero sustained some injuries in the battle, emerging victorious, but unrecognisable...*
The green fire extended toward the Apprentice's face. He managed to scream, but not for long. | The Evil Lord laughs maniacally as he puts down the copy of "152 Rules for Being an Evil Overlord" he was reading as the Hero came in.
"Now that I can monologue safely," he said giddily. "Did you really think I was that stupid and unprepared? Did you really think after the ways that you defeated my predecessors that I wouldn't be prepared? Joke's on you isn't it?"
He motioned for his Chamberlain to approach.
"Put him on display atop the walls. Hang a sign that says he died while trying to be a show off and paid for it. And arrange a festival to celebrate the victory. Everyone in the Kingdom gets the week off to participate. Also lift the heightened patrols, travel restrictions and curfew."
|
|
[WP] After overcoming many difficult trials, and defeating countless minions, the hero finally confronts the evil lord... and is killed in the middle of his dramatic introduction. | He killed him. My brother and I had journeyed through deserts, mountains, and season upon season. We fought entire armies, solved riddles and problems with nobody to help us along the way, just the two of us.
We finally arrived at his lair. My brother was about to speak the three words that would strike fear into the heart of that killer, that kidnapper, that dark sorcerer. "It's-a me, Mario!"
But it was too late. Bowser killed him instantly. And now, I, Luigi, must punish him for his badness. Rest in peace my brother. I will avenge you. | This is bad.
Somehow he's gotten past the guards, past the sharks, past the genetically engineered dinosaurs (I told them it was a bad idea) and he is going to get here any second. I haven't even practiced my monologue yet.
There's so much to do, I need to start the display, charged the hologram set up the trap door, open the, oh shit he's here.
I stay crouched behind the console.
"There's no use in hiding Dr., I will find you."
Just a few more seconds and the hologram will be charged...there, now just to swing down the monitors and...
"Ah, I see you hav..."
Where did he go? Is he hiding somewhere?
"Oh that's a cheap trick, trying to get the drop on me before i can even..."
There was a damp squelch from beneath my foot. I look more closely at it.
"err" I said, to the rapidly extending pool of blood, coming from behind the drop down monitors.
"Oh"
This wasn't supposed to happen.
"You dumb prick, I thought you were smarter than this, I thought this was gonna be my great moment, the day I outsmarted you, proved that I am better. What the hell will the league do if they find out I killed you by accident? I'll be a laughing stock of the whole league."
A brilliant idea entered my mind. What if, I made it look like I did this on purpose. It was brilliant, a masterstroke, even by my standards. Moving quickly, I picked up his discarded rifle, moved over to the door and started firing across the room. I can't just aim wildly, this has to look authentic.
I spent the ammo, and moved into the area that I had recently sprayed and fired at the wall, forming a path to the monitors.
Excellent, this place looks like a real battle, took place. It's not how Id like to have to have defeated him, but it's better than killing him by accident.
That, I just won't stand for. |
|
[WP] After overcoming many difficult trials, and defeating countless minions, the hero finally confronts the evil lord... and is killed in the middle of his dramatic introduction. | The Dread Sorcerer Vorhaven rested his head in his hand and sighed heavily. This was not how things were supposed to go.
The robed neophyte Apprentice, who had been standing over the Champion's body so triumphantly, now started to look nervous. The bloody dagger in his hands drooped uncertainly.
"...My lord?" he managed, with some stammering. "The, uh, the interloper is slain, I have-"
*Do you understand how much effort you have wasted?* Vorhaven's rasping voice carried an undertone like the buzzing of carrion flies within his dark robes and armour. *How much time I put into these prophecies?*
"My lord? This was... He was the Champion of Ravenwood, come to vanquish... I thought-"
*I very much doubt you are capable of thought.* A lazy flick of Vorhaven's wrist, and the Apprentice was pinned spread eagle against the far wall. *Or you may have* thought *about how some grinning blockhead of a jumped - up cowherd could possibly be a threat to me.*
"The- the sword..." the Apprentice's voice was choked now. "The prophe-"
*The prophecy I wrote almost a hundred years ago, about a blade of evil's bane which these ignorant peasants were so willing to believe could defeat me with an enchantment that makes it glitter.* Vorhaven stood from his throne of skulls and obsidian and strode toward the Apprentice just slowly enough for maximum menace. *What if they try something desperate now? Like poison my food? Where do you think the beef comes from?*
"I- My lord, I'm sorry, I just wanted to serve-"
*Oh, you'll serve.* Vorhaven paused at body of the late Champion and gave it a nudge with the toe of his clawed iron boot. *It isn't all theatrics, you know. These old bones are getting very worn. That dead lug had nothing between his ears, but iron in his limbs. And naturally, the slayer of the Dark Lord will assume a leadership role among the people.*
"Lord?" coughed the Apprentice.
Vorhaven turned to the Apprentice and raised a bony hand, green fire rising from his palm.
*I'll have to substitute another body. Perhaps the poor hero sustained some injuries in the battle, emerging victorious, but unrecognisable...*
The green fire extended toward the Apprentice's face. He managed to scream, but not for long. | This is bad.
Somehow he's gotten past the guards, past the sharks, past the genetically engineered dinosaurs (I told them it was a bad idea) and he is going to get here any second. I haven't even practiced my monologue yet.
There's so much to do, I need to start the display, charged the hologram set up the trap door, open the, oh shit he's here.
I stay crouched behind the console.
"There's no use in hiding Dr., I will find you."
Just a few more seconds and the hologram will be charged...there, now just to swing down the monitors and...
"Ah, I see you hav..."
Where did he go? Is he hiding somewhere?
"Oh that's a cheap trick, trying to get the drop on me before i can even..."
There was a damp squelch from beneath my foot. I look more closely at it.
"err" I said, to the rapidly extending pool of blood, coming from behind the drop down monitors.
"Oh"
This wasn't supposed to happen.
"You dumb prick, I thought you were smarter than this, I thought this was gonna be my great moment, the day I outsmarted you, proved that I am better. What the hell will the league do if they find out I killed you by accident? I'll be a laughing stock of the whole league."
A brilliant idea entered my mind. What if, I made it look like I did this on purpose. It was brilliant, a masterstroke, even by my standards. Moving quickly, I picked up his discarded rifle, moved over to the door and started firing across the room. I can't just aim wildly, this has to look authentic.
I spent the ammo, and moved into the area that I had recently sprayed and fired at the wall, forming a path to the monitors.
Excellent, this place looks like a real battle, took place. It's not how Id like to have to have defeated him, but it's better than killing him by accident.
That, I just won't stand for. |
|
[WP]You catch your significant other in bed with another person, turns out, they have a perfectly valid explanation. | "What's going on here?" I demanded. I had returned home from a business trip early, only to find my husband in bed with another person.
"Mommy's home!" my five-year-old daughter exclaimed from the bed. She was wearing one of my best pillowcases as a cape.
"There was a thunderstorm, so she wanted to sleep in here with me," my husband explained sheepishly. He had a bedsheet tied around his own neck, also approximating a cape. "We wanted to practice being brave, so we are playing superheroes."
I smiled. Best husband ever. | "We just slipped. He came by unexpectedly to drop off a hat I'd left in his car. I had just eaten a couple of bananas and you know me, I just left the peels lying on the ground. I know you've said not to eat in bed, but I was just feeling lazy. Err his clothes? Oh uh well his pants got caught on the door handle and he took his shirt off to cover himself. I just got out of the shower so I was naked anyways."
This writing prompt courtesy of my girlfriend. Still can't believe she would eat bananas in bed after I specifically told her not to. |
|
[WP]You catch your significant other in bed with another person, turns out, they have a perfectly valid explanation. | "What's going on here?" I demanded. I had returned home from a business trip early, only to find my husband in bed with another person.
"Mommy's home!" my five-year-old daughter exclaimed from the bed. She was wearing one of my best pillowcases as a cape.
"There was a thunderstorm, so she wanted to sleep in here with me," my husband explained sheepishly. He had a bedsheet tied around his own neck, also approximating a cape. "We wanted to practice being brave, so we are playing superheroes."
I smiled. Best husband ever. | I know it looks bad but please let me try to explain,
I was watching you on the news, on CNN about a Malaysian plane,
The flight was 370, said it vanished without a trace,
So now you understand exactly, this expression on my face.
Where have you been, Jim? Everyone was worried sick about you,
No phone calls, no texts not even an e-mail either, too.
I mean what did you expect, me to just sit here and wait?
Everyone thought you were dead, God, this reminds me so much of "Cast Away."
Seriously, you like Helen Hunt, you know she didn't try to hurt Tom Hanks.
She was just trying to make something happen out of a situation that stinks.
I'm just like her, you get it, your plane crashed it must have, right?
I even told you before you left, you should have caught another flight.
This wouldn't have happened, we woulda had time to prepare,
Get married and have children, start a new life in Delaware.
Just like we planned, remember, we had it all laid out,
That was what this whole trip of yours was all about...
Get paid, go to Dover, get some part-time jobs, start a family -- buy a dog?
Buy a boat and go fishing in the bay for lobsters in the early morning fog?
It woulda been great, but then you had to make that trip, honey,
*"OH I GOTTA GO TO MALAYSIA, ITS IMPORTANT FOR OUR NEST EGG MONEY!"*
WELL NOW LOOK AT ME, left all alone worried sick!
But, deep down I knew though that-
**I'm 3 hours late, bitch! Now can you get off that other man's dick!?**
|
|
[WP] A spy mistakes a civilian for their contact, after the person unwittingly responds with the correct pass phrase | Bill checked his watch again. 1:59 PM. *Just a few more seconds*, he thought. He scanned the lunch crowd milling about the park, his eyes expertly flicking over each individual. He didn’t pause long enough to register anything other than whether they matched the description of his contact. *No, no no…Bingo*. Sandy blond hair, blue suit, brown leather satchel. He waited patiently for the last sign. The man in the blue suit wandered over to a bench, sat down heavily, pulled a pack of American Spirits from his jacket and lit one up. Bill stood up at last. *Here we go.*
Arthur Redlener’s day had started off bad, and then become progressively worse. He’d opened his meager closet to discover he was out of clean shirts. Quickly, performing the Sniff Test on the pile heaped in a corner of his room yielded just one, badly wrinkled shirt that he reluctantly threw on. Then he arrived late to work. Again. In his defense, the sedan in front of him getting T-boned by a speeding Hummer during his morning drive to work was a very difficult thing for him to anticipate when planning his commute. However, he was a mere temp and was therefore not entitled such things as “a fair hearing” or such ninnying excuses as “I had a near-death experience on the way to work so cut me some slack today”. Instead his supervisor had lectured him on his work ethic, questioned his commitment to being employed and put him on notice that the next strike would be his last. As he’d glumly got up to return to his cubicle, his supervisor imparted one last piece of advice. “And for god’s sake Arthur, put some thought into how you dress when you come into work.” He’d mumbled a half apology and quickly left.
Arthur left the office for his lunch break and walked over the nearest park. He found the trees calming and between nearly dying and possibly losing another job, his anxiety was reaching new, unexplored heights. He chose an empty bench and removed the pack of cigarettes he’d purchased on the way to the park. He’d been 37 days without a cigarette, but as he lit up and took that first drag, he didn’t feel a single twinge of regret. As he stared absently into the distance, contemplating the sad state of affairs he found himself in, he was dimly aware that a man had sat down next to him.
“Beautiful day we’re having, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’ve had better,” replied Arthur finally glancing over.
The man nodded solemnly, as if he knew exactly what kind of day Arthur had been having. He pulled a manila envelope from his jacket and placed it the bench next to Arthur.
“It’s all in here. Make sure you go through all of it,” the strange man said.
*Oh great*, thought Arthur. “Listen buddy, I’m sure your music is really amazing and everything, but I don’t really have any cash on me and I’m not really into…whatever style of music you make.”
The man gave him a funny look. “So the Agency is hiring comedians now? Fan-fucking-tastic.” He shook his head, grumbled about things going to hell in a handbasket and then walked away, leaving the manila envelope on the bench.
Arthur picked up the envelope. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he wondered how the stranger knew he worked for a temp agency, but the thought was quickly forgotten when he realized what he was holding. A small tablet powered up to reveal a slideshow. The pictures featured a man he quickly recognized as the prime minister with several beautiful women, none of whom were his wife, engaging in an increasingly erotic display of acrobatic ability. *Oh dear god*, he thought. *I’m definitely getting fired for this.*
| I leaned back on the park bench, struck a match, and re-lit my pipe. The fall breezes were gentle and it was a wonderful day for a relaxing albeit illegal smoke. Suddenly, a young shabbily dressed man seated himself by my side.
"You know you can't smoke here," he said.
"What of it," I replied with a scoff.
"Not without offering your friend a light," he winked pulling out a cigarette case. "I guess we're both a bit behind the times here," he laughed putting the cigarette to his lips. I reached for my match book to find it empty.
"I'm sorry I'm out of matches."
"That's okay," he said I have a lighter.
"I suppose they work better, but you can never be sure," I chortled as he lit his own smoke and stared at me intently.
"It's nice to finally meet you," he said extending his hand for a shake. I took it. "You seem a nice enough fellow, dreadful shame this business of ours. I'll tell them the Americans got you, a man deserves his dignity. I don't even care why you did it, but I know it was you." With that he stood up leaving me all the more confused for I had never seen this fellow in my life. Why I didn't speak, even I was not sure. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, as panic set in I glanced down at my palm and saw a delicate pin prick of blood. |
|
[WP] A spy mistakes a civilian for their contact, after the person unwittingly responds with the correct pass phrase | At last, I finally have got that rotten book back to the library.
'Mein Kampf, what a stupid book to include in my reading list this semester. I bet I am on a watch list now.' I thought to myself as I handed the book to the man sat behind the desk.
"Interesting read?" He said in a neutral tone.
"Not really." I replied.
"Would you prefer a less political book?" He stated inquisitively.
I looked at my reading list and there was A Man's Search for Meaning, by Victor Frankl. "I guess I might prefer A Man's Search for Meaning."
He reached behind the desk and produced the book, handed it to me an told me, "Thursday", I looked at him blankly and headed towards the door passing a man in a dark blue suit when, suddenly, I remembered; there was another book I needed to study. I turned sharply on one heel and marched to the politics section.
I could hear a conversation in the background as I moved through the aisles near to the checkout but my view was obscured by books.
"I am here to return a book."
"I see..."
"It wasn't really an interesting read, do you have anything by Victor Frankl?"
"What!?"
"Son of a bitch!"
I could hear muttering and low pitched swearing and then, suddenly, the thunder of feet as I approached the desk, the two men must have ran out of the building and down the street.
I looked at the book and back to the shelf of the politics section, there was another copy of the book. 'A Man's Search for Meaning'.
I switched the books and sat in plain sight as they both came back into the building, I was pretending to read as they approached me.
"Can I see your book, I think I may have handed you the reference only copy."
I handed the book over to him, as he examined the cover intently, I could see a look of confusion on his face.
It was just a regular book...
"Perhaps you accidentally put the reference copy on the shelf and picked this one up, it must happen sometimes?
The man rushed to check.
He couldn't find the book.
"Ahh, a Man's Search for Meaning, by Victor Frankl, interesting choice." said the librarian. "I'll just scan it for you."
The man stood in front of me suddenly went wide-eyed and dived over the table knocking me to the floor.
When the ringing in my ears stopped and my eyes focused, I could see the entire room was destroyed and what remained was engulfed in flames. | "Its not that I don't like borscht," Will thought, "its just that I don't get why they have to make so much."
For the last several weeks some friends of his wife from Moldova had been staying at Will's house and they had insisted on making this odd red soup on a number of occasions, always using the largest pot in the house. This lead to everyone in the house eating nothing but borscht for several days following. Will's wife had even insisted on packing him a thermos of the stuff to take to work.
Will was sitting in a park near his office. He had planned to buy lunch from a foodtruck that usually stopped near the park but it hadn't come today.
"Just my luck," he thought, "well at least I have something."
Having already wasted a good portion of his lunch break hoping the food truck was just late, even walking the perimeter of the park to make sure it hadn't set up on a different corner than usual he decided to just eat the borscht.
He again noted the man sitting at a separate park bench to his right. Will assumed that like himself this man had been hoping for the food truck.
Will then opened the thermos and took in a mouthful of the soup.
"My borscht is cold," he muttered to himself.
If he had been at the office he could have used the microwave in the break room. Will sighed to himself but resigned himself to swallowing down the rest of the borscht and then returning to the office.
He noted that the man who had been seated on the other bench had gotten up and walked past him quickly. strangely insted of staying on the paved path the man walked along side the path, behind Will's bench and out of the park.
Will shrugged, finished the beet colored soup and walked back to work. Only when he got back to his office did he notice a thumb drive in his pocket.
"Huh," he said out loud, but then he dropped it on his desk where it was soon lost. |
|
[WP] A spy mistakes a civilian for their contact, after the person unwittingly responds with the correct pass phrase | Traffic whipped past down towards the city.
Jeremy slung his briefcase atop the circular iron table. "Are you here for the interview?" he asked.
The boy blinked behind squarish frames. "Yes..."
"Alright," Jeremy declared, brushing the chair's intricate metalwork before plopping himself down. He took a minute to appraise his target:
Young, bright, open to anything. But he looks so blondishly American... Glancing down at an espresso on the table, Jeremy tested, "where are you from?"
"Renton." Bingo. He's the one.
Meanwhile, the boy, unemployed, farsighted and from the suburbs of Renton, gaped at the revelations presented by the brusque stranger, and knew he had to do something. | "Its not that I don't like borscht," Will thought, "its just that I don't get why they have to make so much."
For the last several weeks some friends of his wife from Moldova had been staying at Will's house and they had insisted on making this odd red soup on a number of occasions, always using the largest pot in the house. This lead to everyone in the house eating nothing but borscht for several days following. Will's wife had even insisted on packing him a thermos of the stuff to take to work.
Will was sitting in a park near his office. He had planned to buy lunch from a foodtruck that usually stopped near the park but it hadn't come today.
"Just my luck," he thought, "well at least I have something."
Having already wasted a good portion of his lunch break hoping the food truck was just late, even walking the perimeter of the park to make sure it hadn't set up on a different corner than usual he decided to just eat the borscht.
He again noted the man sitting at a separate park bench to his right. Will assumed that like himself this man had been hoping for the food truck.
Will then opened the thermos and took in a mouthful of the soup.
"My borscht is cold," he muttered to himself.
If he had been at the office he could have used the microwave in the break room. Will sighed to himself but resigned himself to swallowing down the rest of the borscht and then returning to the office.
He noted that the man who had been seated on the other bench had gotten up and walked past him quickly. strangely insted of staying on the paved path the man walked along side the path, behind Will's bench and out of the park.
Will shrugged, finished the beet colored soup and walked back to work. Only when he got back to his office did he notice a thumb drive in his pocket.
"Huh," he said out loud, but then he dropped it on his desk where it was soon lost. |
|
[WP] A spy mistakes a civilian for their contact, after the person unwittingly responds with the correct pass phrase | Youngblood hated Chicago in winter. It wasn't just the cold. It was the wind whipping off the lake as well. Strong enough to make a climber's jacket feel as thin as a bedsheet. He had not disembarked the 767 but he could see the February wind shreiking across the tarmac from his tiny window. At least he would be out of here tonight. A red eye to Tuscon for a handoff and then a well deserved vacation in Rio. Youngblood felt the shudder of the aircraft pulling to a stop at the gate and the jetway suctioning onto the side of the door. He was already unbuckling his belt and grabbing his carry on, his only piece of luggage. His other gear had already been delivered to the safe house in Ukrainian Village.
As Youngblood walked off the plane and past the other gates, he mulled over the details of the day's assignment, while buttoning his black tailored jacket. *OK, meet the local contact on the Orange Line platform. Verify identity. Obtain thumb drive. Eliminate contact.* It was pretty straightforward compared to some of his other recent assignments and Abernathy had given him a lot of leeway on how he wanted this one done. Maybe Abernathy just wanted to give him a break. He was pushing fifty and was losing the legs and stomach for the job. He was almost looking forward to the desk.
The train platform was bustling with groups huddled under the heaters for warmth, their breath causing ephemeral clouds. From the escalators leading down to the platform, Youngblood scanned the headgear of the crowd. He had only received one detail about the local contact from Abernathy, but it was pretty solid. He had no doubt he would be able to find him. *Who even wears hats like that nowadays? It's almost begging to get noticed.* Halfway down the escalator and he already had picked out the two fedoras in the crowd. A heavset man with a patchy beard who looked to be approaching middle age prematurely and a young teenage girl. He knew the contact was a computer genius. Abernathy said that the contact had put together what was shaping up to be the next Stuxnet and that it had to be grabbed before anyone else did the grabbing.
Youngblood approached the man in the fedora, who was standing off by himself on the edge of the platform away from the heaters. *Does this guy LIKE cold? Goddamn...Hell, I'm at the airport now. If he's got it on him, pehaps a little train accident and I could be back on a plane by lunch...* Youngblood sidled over to the man in the fedora, making note of the surveillance camera sightlines while not directly looking at anything in particular. When he was sure the man in the fedora had noticed his presence, he uttered the phrase he had to commit to memory: "In Austrailia, February is a summer month."
The man in the fedora looked Youngblood up and down. After a long moment he replied, "Whereas here in Chicago we're freezing our butts off. Nice Goldeneye reference." Youngblood nodded as the phrase settled into his brain like a key into a lock, putting him at ease. *All right. Hard part's done. Is that the train coming? Hot damn, all I need is the drive and I can get out of this place.* He noticed that the man in the fedora's backpack was sitting on the ground and was not around his shoulders and that peeking through the mesh on the front of the pack was Youngblood's objective. The flash drive. *Thank you Abernathy. For once you've thrown me a cakewalk. You've got a bottle of scotch coming to you...* The train's rumble grew louder as it rounded the final bend to pull into Midway station. "Thanks." muttered Youngblood. "I've always...admired that film."
Youngblood, gauging the speed and distance of the train, surreptitiously placed a foot on the back of the man in the fedora's knee and pushed hard. His timing was impeccable. The man in the fedora was standing too close to the edge. He went sprawling onto the tracks with a sqwak and turned over to look up. He caught Youngblood's eye right before the train ran over him, splashing the train and platform with gore. Youngblood, without missing a beat, scooped up the man in the fedora's backpack and smoothly blended into the shocked crowd. It was not until later in Tuscon, while poring over Minecraft and Assassin's Creed saves on the flash drive, that Youngblood recalled the teenage girl wearing the fedora in the crowd looked nervous and ran away, alone, after he had kicked the man onto the tracks. *Fuck. Abernathy is not going to like this.* | "Its not that I don't like borscht," Will thought, "its just that I don't get why they have to make so much."
For the last several weeks some friends of his wife from Moldova had been staying at Will's house and they had insisted on making this odd red soup on a number of occasions, always using the largest pot in the house. This lead to everyone in the house eating nothing but borscht for several days following. Will's wife had even insisted on packing him a thermos of the stuff to take to work.
Will was sitting in a park near his office. He had planned to buy lunch from a foodtruck that usually stopped near the park but it hadn't come today.
"Just my luck," he thought, "well at least I have something."
Having already wasted a good portion of his lunch break hoping the food truck was just late, even walking the perimeter of the park to make sure it hadn't set up on a different corner than usual he decided to just eat the borscht.
He again noted the man sitting at a separate park bench to his right. Will assumed that like himself this man had been hoping for the food truck.
Will then opened the thermos and took in a mouthful of the soup.
"My borscht is cold," he muttered to himself.
If he had been at the office he could have used the microwave in the break room. Will sighed to himself but resigned himself to swallowing down the rest of the borscht and then returning to the office.
He noted that the man who had been seated on the other bench had gotten up and walked past him quickly. strangely insted of staying on the paved path the man walked along side the path, behind Will's bench and out of the park.
Will shrugged, finished the beet colored soup and walked back to work. Only when he got back to his office did he notice a thumb drive in his pocket.
"Huh," he said out loud, but then he dropped it on his desk where it was soon lost. |
|
[WP] A spy mistakes a civilian for their contact, after the person unwittingly responds with the correct pass phrase | Parka 7 sat down on the park bench and placed his briefcase on his lap, blandly smiling like the suburban house-husband he was portraying. The heavy-set woman in a ripped Bare Naked Ladies tee with a blonde streak in her matted hair next to him fit the vague description of Limbo 9.
"Those mockingbirds are mighty gorgeous, huh?" he asked her. Her face lit up as she watched them. Mockingbirds were Elana's favorite type of bird, and rarely did anyone actually notice them. When she wasn't being picked on by her incessantly drunk boyfriend, or listening to his three children scream at her, she tried to get online and study birds as much as she could. It was difficult, trying to keep a place to stay with that abhorant drunk, and get through community college, but she didn't have anywhere else to go, and if she wanted to transfer into state, she had to stay with him until she had enough money saved to move on campus. No one outside of him talked to her though, not ever. Being heavyset and wearing ratty clothes essentially made her a non-item. Men looked past her and women avoided her.
But here was this stranger, opening up to her...about *mockingbirds!*
"Yeah!" she responded. "Fun fact, did you know that mockingbirds sometimes know up to 200 songs?!"
Parka 7 was perturbed, or perhaps impressed. He wasn't quite sure. He knew she was much more experienced than him, and maybe that's why she was adlibbing, but he felt unnerved by the "fun fact," and the inaccurate nature of how she had delivered the passphrase. It was supposed to be "Mockingbirds may have a repitoire of over 200 songs at any given time." It was a cut and dry statement, which he had heard delivered without emotion or emphasis hundreds of times before. It worked, so why alter it?
Because Limbo 9 must have known how to blend in. Who goes around just saying wikipedia facts outloud like they're some sort of factoid robot. Thinking about it, Parka 7 realized that many of the agents with whom he had communed were now dead, but Limbo 9 was a legend in the community. Her reputation for unorthodoxy preceeded her. He trusted her- she was a pro.
The briefcase exchanged hands and she looked at him with a confused face.
"I didn't-" she began.
"You look like a person who would appreciate these birdwatching devices," he adlibbed himself. Parka 7 decided that from now on- he would be a pro too. He would *really* blend in.
"What?" Elana asked. She was stunned. This random stranger was giving her...*birdwatching* supplies after just one conversation. "Is there something wrong with you?"
Parka 7 was thrown off balance. He didn't know what to say. Just a moment ago, she had gone completely off script and was just adlibbing whenever she felt like, but now he tried to do it and she was being *critical?* During a *drop?* He felt ashamed and betrayed. He gritted his teeth and turned away, storming off, leaving her with the suitcase.
Elana's mouth remained agape. She popped open the suitcase. Inside was a dissembled automatic rifle. She stared at it for a moment, wondering why anyone would hunt mockingbirds with an automatic rifle. | "Its not that I don't like borscht," Will thought, "its just that I don't get why they have to make so much."
For the last several weeks some friends of his wife from Moldova had been staying at Will's house and they had insisted on making this odd red soup on a number of occasions, always using the largest pot in the house. This lead to everyone in the house eating nothing but borscht for several days following. Will's wife had even insisted on packing him a thermos of the stuff to take to work.
Will was sitting in a park near his office. He had planned to buy lunch from a foodtruck that usually stopped near the park but it hadn't come today.
"Just my luck," he thought, "well at least I have something."
Having already wasted a good portion of his lunch break hoping the food truck was just late, even walking the perimeter of the park to make sure it hadn't set up on a different corner than usual he decided to just eat the borscht.
He again noted the man sitting at a separate park bench to his right. Will assumed that like himself this man had been hoping for the food truck.
Will then opened the thermos and took in a mouthful of the soup.
"My borscht is cold," he muttered to himself.
If he had been at the office he could have used the microwave in the break room. Will sighed to himself but resigned himself to swallowing down the rest of the borscht and then returning to the office.
He noted that the man who had been seated on the other bench had gotten up and walked past him quickly. strangely insted of staying on the paved path the man walked along side the path, behind Will's bench and out of the park.
Will shrugged, finished the beet colored soup and walked back to work. Only when he got back to his office did he notice a thumb drive in his pocket.
"Huh," he said out loud, but then he dropped it on his desk where it was soon lost. |
|
[WP] A spy mistakes a civilian for their contact, after the person unwittingly responds with the correct pass phrase | Parka 7 sat down on the park bench and placed his briefcase on his lap, blandly smiling like the suburban house-husband he was portraying. The heavy-set woman in a ripped Bare Naked Ladies tee with a blonde streak in her matted hair next to him fit the vague description of Limbo 9.
"Those mockingbirds are mighty gorgeous, huh?" he asked her. Her face lit up as she watched them. Mockingbirds were Elana's favorite type of bird, and rarely did anyone actually notice them. When she wasn't being picked on by her incessantly drunk boyfriend, or listening to his three children scream at her, she tried to get online and study birds as much as she could. It was difficult, trying to keep a place to stay with that abhorant drunk, and get through community college, but she didn't have anywhere else to go, and if she wanted to transfer into state, she had to stay with him until she had enough money saved to move on campus. No one outside of him talked to her though, not ever. Being heavyset and wearing ratty clothes essentially made her a non-item. Men looked past her and women avoided her.
But here was this stranger, opening up to her...about *mockingbirds!*
"Yeah!" she responded. "Fun fact, did you know that mockingbirds sometimes know up to 200 songs?!"
Parka 7 was perturbed, or perhaps impressed. He wasn't quite sure. He knew she was much more experienced than him, and maybe that's why she was adlibbing, but he felt unnerved by the "fun fact," and the inaccurate nature of how she had delivered the passphrase. It was supposed to be "Mockingbirds may have a repitoire of over 200 songs at any given time." It was a cut and dry statement, which he had heard delivered without emotion or emphasis hundreds of times before. It worked, so why alter it?
Because Limbo 9 must have known how to blend in. Who goes around just saying wikipedia facts outloud like they're some sort of factoid robot. Thinking about it, Parka 7 realized that many of the agents with whom he had communed were now dead, but Limbo 9 was a legend in the community. Her reputation for unorthodoxy preceeded her. He trusted her- she was a pro.
The briefcase exchanged hands and she looked at him with a confused face.
"I didn't-" she began.
"You look like a person who would appreciate these birdwatching devices," he adlibbed himself. Parka 7 decided that from now on- he would be a pro too. He would *really* blend in.
"What?" Elana asked. She was stunned. This random stranger was giving her...*birdwatching* supplies after just one conversation. "Is there something wrong with you?"
Parka 7 was thrown off balance. He didn't know what to say. Just a moment ago, she had gone completely off script and was just adlibbing whenever she felt like, but now he tried to do it and she was being *critical?* During a *drop?* He felt ashamed and betrayed. He gritted his teeth and turned away, storming off, leaving her with the suitcase.
Elana's mouth remained agape. She popped open the suitcase. Inside was a dissembled automatic rifle. She stared at it for a moment, wondering why anyone would hunt mockingbirds with an automatic rifle. | At last, I finally have got that rotten book back to the library.
'Mein Kampf, what a stupid book to include in my reading list this semester. I bet I am on a watch list now.' I thought to myself as I handed the book to the man sat behind the desk.
"Interesting read?" He said in a neutral tone.
"Not really." I replied.
"Would you prefer a less political book?" He stated inquisitively.
I looked at my reading list and there was A Man's Search for Meaning, by Victor Frankl. "I guess I might prefer A Man's Search for Meaning."
He reached behind the desk and produced the book, handed it to me an told me, "Thursday", I looked at him blankly and headed towards the door passing a man in a dark blue suit when, suddenly, I remembered; there was another book I needed to study. I turned sharply on one heel and marched to the politics section.
I could hear a conversation in the background as I moved through the aisles near to the checkout but my view was obscured by books.
"I am here to return a book."
"I see..."
"It wasn't really an interesting read, do you have anything by Victor Frankl?"
"What!?"
"Son of a bitch!"
I could hear muttering and low pitched swearing and then, suddenly, the thunder of feet as I approached the desk, the two men must have ran out of the building and down the street.
I looked at the book and back to the shelf of the politics section, there was another copy of the book. 'A Man's Search for Meaning'.
I switched the books and sat in plain sight as they both came back into the building, I was pretending to read as they approached me.
"Can I see your book, I think I may have handed you the reference only copy."
I handed the book over to him, as he examined the cover intently, I could see a look of confusion on his face.
It was just a regular book...
"Perhaps you accidentally put the reference copy on the shelf and picked this one up, it must happen sometimes?
The man rushed to check.
He couldn't find the book.
"Ahh, a Man's Search for Meaning, by Victor Frankl, interesting choice." said the librarian. "I'll just scan it for you."
The man stood in front of me suddenly went wide-eyed and dived over the table knocking me to the floor.
When the ringing in my ears stopped and my eyes focused, I could see the entire room was destroyed and what remained was engulfed in flames. |
|
[WP] A spy mistakes a civilian for their contact, after the person unwittingly responds with the correct pass phrase | Parka 7 sat down on the park bench and placed his briefcase on his lap, blandly smiling like the suburban house-husband he was portraying. The heavy-set woman in a ripped Bare Naked Ladies tee with a blonde streak in her matted hair next to him fit the vague description of Limbo 9.
"Those mockingbirds are mighty gorgeous, huh?" he asked her. Her face lit up as she watched them. Mockingbirds were Elana's favorite type of bird, and rarely did anyone actually notice them. When she wasn't being picked on by her incessantly drunk boyfriend, or listening to his three children scream at her, she tried to get online and study birds as much as she could. It was difficult, trying to keep a place to stay with that abhorant drunk, and get through community college, but she didn't have anywhere else to go, and if she wanted to transfer into state, she had to stay with him until she had enough money saved to move on campus. No one outside of him talked to her though, not ever. Being heavyset and wearing ratty clothes essentially made her a non-item. Men looked past her and women avoided her.
But here was this stranger, opening up to her...about *mockingbirds!*
"Yeah!" she responded. "Fun fact, did you know that mockingbirds sometimes know up to 200 songs?!"
Parka 7 was perturbed, or perhaps impressed. He wasn't quite sure. He knew she was much more experienced than him, and maybe that's why she was adlibbing, but he felt unnerved by the "fun fact," and the inaccurate nature of how she had delivered the passphrase. It was supposed to be "Mockingbirds may have a repitoire of over 200 songs at any given time." It was a cut and dry statement, which he had heard delivered without emotion or emphasis hundreds of times before. It worked, so why alter it?
Because Limbo 9 must have known how to blend in. Who goes around just saying wikipedia facts outloud like they're some sort of factoid robot. Thinking about it, Parka 7 realized that many of the agents with whom he had communed were now dead, but Limbo 9 was a legend in the community. Her reputation for unorthodoxy preceeded her. He trusted her- she was a pro.
The briefcase exchanged hands and she looked at him with a confused face.
"I didn't-" she began.
"You look like a person who would appreciate these birdwatching devices," he adlibbed himself. Parka 7 decided that from now on- he would be a pro too. He would *really* blend in.
"What?" Elana asked. She was stunned. This random stranger was giving her...*birdwatching* supplies after just one conversation. "Is there something wrong with you?"
Parka 7 was thrown off balance. He didn't know what to say. Just a moment ago, she had gone completely off script and was just adlibbing whenever she felt like, but now he tried to do it and she was being *critical?* During a *drop?* He felt ashamed and betrayed. He gritted his teeth and turned away, storming off, leaving her with the suitcase.
Elana's mouth remained agape. She popped open the suitcase. Inside was a dissembled automatic rifle. She stared at it for a moment, wondering why anyone would hunt mockingbirds with an automatic rifle. | Traffic whipped past down towards the city.
Jeremy slung his briefcase atop the circular iron table. "Are you here for the interview?" he asked.
The boy blinked behind squarish frames. "Yes..."
"Alright," Jeremy declared, brushing the chair's intricate metalwork before plopping himself down. He took a minute to appraise his target:
Young, bright, open to anything. But he looks so blondishly American... Glancing down at an espresso on the table, Jeremy tested, "where are you from?"
"Renton." Bingo. He's the one.
Meanwhile, the boy, unemployed, farsighted and from the suburbs of Renton, gaped at the revelations presented by the brusque stranger, and knew he had to do something. |
|
[WP] A spy mistakes a civilian for their contact, after the person unwittingly responds with the correct pass phrase | Parka 7 sat down on the park bench and placed his briefcase on his lap, blandly smiling like the suburban house-husband he was portraying. The heavy-set woman in a ripped Bare Naked Ladies tee with a blonde streak in her matted hair next to him fit the vague description of Limbo 9.
"Those mockingbirds are mighty gorgeous, huh?" he asked her. Her face lit up as she watched them. Mockingbirds were Elana's favorite type of bird, and rarely did anyone actually notice them. When she wasn't being picked on by her incessantly drunk boyfriend, or listening to his three children scream at her, she tried to get online and study birds as much as she could. It was difficult, trying to keep a place to stay with that abhorant drunk, and get through community college, but she didn't have anywhere else to go, and if she wanted to transfer into state, she had to stay with him until she had enough money saved to move on campus. No one outside of him talked to her though, not ever. Being heavyset and wearing ratty clothes essentially made her a non-item. Men looked past her and women avoided her.
But here was this stranger, opening up to her...about *mockingbirds!*
"Yeah!" she responded. "Fun fact, did you know that mockingbirds sometimes know up to 200 songs?!"
Parka 7 was perturbed, or perhaps impressed. He wasn't quite sure. He knew she was much more experienced than him, and maybe that's why she was adlibbing, but he felt unnerved by the "fun fact," and the inaccurate nature of how she had delivered the passphrase. It was supposed to be "Mockingbirds may have a repitoire of over 200 songs at any given time." It was a cut and dry statement, which he had heard delivered without emotion or emphasis hundreds of times before. It worked, so why alter it?
Because Limbo 9 must have known how to blend in. Who goes around just saying wikipedia facts outloud like they're some sort of factoid robot. Thinking about it, Parka 7 realized that many of the agents with whom he had communed were now dead, but Limbo 9 was a legend in the community. Her reputation for unorthodoxy preceeded her. He trusted her- she was a pro.
The briefcase exchanged hands and she looked at him with a confused face.
"I didn't-" she began.
"You look like a person who would appreciate these birdwatching devices," he adlibbed himself. Parka 7 decided that from now on- he would be a pro too. He would *really* blend in.
"What?" Elana asked. She was stunned. This random stranger was giving her...*birdwatching* supplies after just one conversation. "Is there something wrong with you?"
Parka 7 was thrown off balance. He didn't know what to say. Just a moment ago, she had gone completely off script and was just adlibbing whenever she felt like, but now he tried to do it and she was being *critical?* During a *drop?* He felt ashamed and betrayed. He gritted his teeth and turned away, storming off, leaving her with the suitcase.
Elana's mouth remained agape. She popped open the suitcase. Inside was a dissembled automatic rifle. She stared at it for a moment, wondering why anyone would hunt mockingbirds with an automatic rifle. | Youngblood hated Chicago in winter. It wasn't just the cold. It was the wind whipping off the lake as well. Strong enough to make a climber's jacket feel as thin as a bedsheet. He had not disembarked the 767 but he could see the February wind shreiking across the tarmac from his tiny window. At least he would be out of here tonight. A red eye to Tuscon for a handoff and then a well deserved vacation in Rio. Youngblood felt the shudder of the aircraft pulling to a stop at the gate and the jetway suctioning onto the side of the door. He was already unbuckling his belt and grabbing his carry on, his only piece of luggage. His other gear had already been delivered to the safe house in Ukrainian Village.
As Youngblood walked off the plane and past the other gates, he mulled over the details of the day's assignment, while buttoning his black tailored jacket. *OK, meet the local contact on the Orange Line platform. Verify identity. Obtain thumb drive. Eliminate contact.* It was pretty straightforward compared to some of his other recent assignments and Abernathy had given him a lot of leeway on how he wanted this one done. Maybe Abernathy just wanted to give him a break. He was pushing fifty and was losing the legs and stomach for the job. He was almost looking forward to the desk.
The train platform was bustling with groups huddled under the heaters for warmth, their breath causing ephemeral clouds. From the escalators leading down to the platform, Youngblood scanned the headgear of the crowd. He had only received one detail about the local contact from Abernathy, but it was pretty solid. He had no doubt he would be able to find him. *Who even wears hats like that nowadays? It's almost begging to get noticed.* Halfway down the escalator and he already had picked out the two fedoras in the crowd. A heavset man with a patchy beard who looked to be approaching middle age prematurely and a young teenage girl. He knew the contact was a computer genius. Abernathy said that the contact had put together what was shaping up to be the next Stuxnet and that it had to be grabbed before anyone else did the grabbing.
Youngblood approached the man in the fedora, who was standing off by himself on the edge of the platform away from the heaters. *Does this guy LIKE cold? Goddamn...Hell, I'm at the airport now. If he's got it on him, pehaps a little train accident and I could be back on a plane by lunch...* Youngblood sidled over to the man in the fedora, making note of the surveillance camera sightlines while not directly looking at anything in particular. When he was sure the man in the fedora had noticed his presence, he uttered the phrase he had to commit to memory: "In Austrailia, February is a summer month."
The man in the fedora looked Youngblood up and down. After a long moment he replied, "Whereas here in Chicago we're freezing our butts off. Nice Goldeneye reference." Youngblood nodded as the phrase settled into his brain like a key into a lock, putting him at ease. *All right. Hard part's done. Is that the train coming? Hot damn, all I need is the drive and I can get out of this place.* He noticed that the man in the fedora's backpack was sitting on the ground and was not around his shoulders and that peeking through the mesh on the front of the pack was Youngblood's objective. The flash drive. *Thank you Abernathy. For once you've thrown me a cakewalk. You've got a bottle of scotch coming to you...* The train's rumble grew louder as it rounded the final bend to pull into Midway station. "Thanks." muttered Youngblood. "I've always...admired that film."
Youngblood, gauging the speed and distance of the train, surreptitiously placed a foot on the back of the man in the fedora's knee and pushed hard. His timing was impeccable. The man in the fedora was standing too close to the edge. He went sprawling onto the tracks with a sqwak and turned over to look up. He caught Youngblood's eye right before the train ran over him, splashing the train and platform with gore. Youngblood, without missing a beat, scooped up the man in the fedora's backpack and smoothly blended into the shocked crowd. It was not until later in Tuscon, while poring over Minecraft and Assassin's Creed saves on the flash drive, that Youngblood recalled the teenage girl wearing the fedora in the crowd looked nervous and ran away, alone, after he had kicked the man onto the tracks. *Fuck. Abernathy is not going to like this.* |
|
Just remember that they are demons, not angels. | [WP]Hell literally broke loose. All the demons are free, and they only want one thing : to befriend us. | “Stop hugging people,” I shouted, clenching my fists. “You’re setting them all on fire!”
The demon, Snoopy as I’d named him, hung his floppy-eared head in shame and dropped his latest smoldering victim at my feet. “Sorry.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve killed five people in three hours. How many times do I need to tell you this? No one wants to hug a demon!”
“But I’m just so happy to see you,” the demon said, scratching his blackened chest with a three inch claw. “We just want to be your friends.”
Screams echoed from the alley behind my house. Gunfire rang out across the city, most of the buildings engulfed in flames. Black smoke billowed in the sky, obscuring the stars. “I get that, Snoopy, I really do. But come on, look around!” I gestured to the city. “This isn’t working. You have to go back to Hell!”
A demon lumbered into the middle of the street, traffic swerving around him. He caught the back of a truck loaded with pumpkins. The front of the truck pitched up, pumpkins rolling into the demon and bursting into flame. The truck landed with a loud bang, and the driver emerged with a young girl in his arms. The demon uttered a cry of joy, lifting its arms. For some reason, its face reminded me of Barney, the Purple Dinosaur. The driver screamed in response and ran, the demon in pursuit.
“God damn it,” I muttered, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose. “This has to stop.”
“But I thought we were going somewhere fun. You said you wanted me to meet your boss.”
I lowered my hand. “Right. After that, it has to stop.”
| "OH MY GOD! Stan the Demons are loose!"
Screamed Debbie, "What?! What more could they want from us?!" She said crying at this point.
"What's going on, Deborah?" Stan asked. Then there was a loud thumping at the door.
"Oh God! They're here! Why meeee?" She cried.
Stan went over and opened the door. "Hey, do you want some chile con carné? We have some leftover from din.."
"Why don't you just leave us alone?" Deborah screamed in the most exasperated voice.
"Dammit Deborah, they're just trying to be kind neighbors; wouldya shut up," responded Stan as he accepted the doff from the Hoffmanns. A very twisted looking couple, but you could see the love in their eyes."Thank you very much, sorry about how Debbie's acting right now."
"Oh it's no worry; we don't take offense," the two said in a perfect sync with a goosebumpingly deep voice. "Hope you have a safe night."
|
Just remember that they are demons, not angels. | [WP]Hell literally broke loose. All the demons are free, and they only want one thing : to befriend us. | A demon is a burned thing, wreathed in smoke with embers perpetually falling from its tattered wings. The night sky is filled with the light of angels' burning wings, but the demons down here with us seem to be made of little more than ash. There is a pathos to them; a sentiment completely alien to the stern, proud beings above.
It - and it was 'it', the demon had corrected me repeatedly when I used gendered pronouns - called itself Bel Kaleph Azad, an orphan of the eastern star, whatever that meant. It was an emissary of the Fallen Council, here to make peace with 'the Children' as both sides seemed to call us. I had asked it once, in a stupor, if it was a servant of Satan, and the demon said I should not speak ill of the dead.
The peace was not fruitful for either side. Where the demons came in friendship, the angels followed in wrath. The day an accord was signed at the UN opening diplomatic relations with Hell, the heavens had opened and poured out their scorn.
One third of the global population was annihilated by a merciless horde with blazing wings and skin like ice. The light of their souls was harsh and blinding, and among their hosts were strange choirs of living weapons and terrors from a fever dream. They were much more fearsome than the frail and dirty hosts of Hell, and much more cruel. It was no wonder they'd won the war.
Bel Kaleph Azad came to me some months later, in the smoking ruins of my church, wounded and looking for a dark place to die. I had taken refuge in the church cellar, more in desperation than in faith. The debris around me was proof enough that nothing built by a man was sacred to Heaven. Other people had long ago decided to spurn places they thought the angels might dwell. Many had thought that faith might save them, in the early days. I always was lucky.
I still wore my collar then, and the demon had been fearful of me, but was quick to trust when it was clear I meant it no harm. That trust soon turned to friendship, of a kind I thought had faded from this desperate world. That friendship was a source of nourishment to it, and over long whispered conversations, whatever celestial wound had brought it creeping to me seemed to diminish.
It is beyond my wisdom to divine the age of angels and demons. As far as I know, the demon had existed since the beginning of time, and would have continued to its end, had it not chosen my brief life over its own. Whether the angel that smote him down came across us by chance or design, I do not know, but there can be only one outcome when an angel finds a demon. Yet Bel Kaleph Azad did not flee, nor hide, as it could much better than any mortal man. It did the kindest thing it could - it tried to kill me.
Angels do not regard us much. We are an opportunity for sin and punishment, no more than a duty waiting to be performed. That terrible light which shone into my cellar would as likely have destroyed me as not, even without a trace of the demonic taint. But the rescue of a pious soul under assault from a demon is the closest they can come to benevolence, and the only way my friend knew my life could be spared.
I didn't understand it at the time. As I opened my eyes and saw the result of a confusing instant of pain and darkness and blinding light, I very nearly threw away what it had made such a tremendous sacrifice to preserve. I saw that towering celestial inferno standing with the burning edge of its sword buried in the collapsing ash pile that had been my friend, and I cried out in grief. I crawled toward it and reached out my hand to touch it.
The angel did not hesitate. They are ever vigilant for our sin and weakness. The sword arced toward me, and in that instant I was grateful. I was happy to be removed from this ruined earth and maybe, just maybe reunited with my lost friend. As much as I was afraid, as I wanted to hate, I loved the angel for the swiftness of its mercy.
And when that angel's blade touched my loving heart, it screamed and faded into nothing.
As I sat alone in the merciful darkness, some things Bel Kaleph Azad had told me began to make a kind of sense. The angels hate us, but not for our sins or our dalliance with demons. The angels hate us, and fear us, for our love.
It is a force they cannot understand, as creatures of cold power and hard duty. It is something the demons hoped to discover, coming to us meekly and in desperation after an epoch of languishing in exile, learning the lesson of their fall. It is why my friend forsook eternity to give an old man a scant few years more life. It is what the angels were willing to burn the world in order to keep from the denizens of Hell.
And it is how we can defeat them. | "OH MY GOD! Stan the Demons are loose!"
Screamed Debbie, "What?! What more could they want from us?!" She said crying at this point.
"What's going on, Deborah?" Stan asked. Then there was a loud thumping at the door.
"Oh God! They're here! Why meeee?" She cried.
Stan went over and opened the door. "Hey, do you want some chile con carné? We have some leftover from din.."
"Why don't you just leave us alone?" Deborah screamed in the most exasperated voice.
"Dammit Deborah, they're just trying to be kind neighbors; wouldya shut up," responded Stan as he accepted the doff from the Hoffmanns. A very twisted looking couple, but you could see the love in their eyes."Thank you very much, sorry about how Debbie's acting right now."
"Oh it's no worry; we don't take offense," the two said in a perfect sync with a goosebumpingly deep voice. "Hope you have a safe night."
|
Just remember that they are demons, not angels. | [WP]Hell literally broke loose. All the demons are free, and they only want one thing : to befriend us. | This started going... and going... and going. I just couldn't stop. I don't have time to write anymore today, so I'm just going to post what I have for the time being, but I'll post a followup later, if anyone cares.
**The Torn Summer**
Glover wasn’t particularly frightened on that day in July. More than a year had since passed and a calmer, more rational mood had befallen the country. That first year was an agonizing exercise in how much ignorant bullshit Glover could withstand. His best friend for the four years leading up to “The Torn Summer” had been a fellow by the name of Marco. It was a Wednesday in June when Marco C Reddy revealed to Glover his name was in fact a kind of an anagram. Camroc The Redoubtable he was called back home. Glover laughed at Marco for half an hour through their comforting glugs of Yuengling from frosted glass mugs. The two sat in a booth inside a bar, empty, save for the old timer behind the counter.
“Camroc The Redoubtable, you say?”
“It’s as stupid to me as it sounds to you, but yes, we have formalities where I’m from.”
“Uh huh, and what was that place called again?”
“The Trench.”
“Camroc The Redoutbale coming straight out of The Trench. Hell, that’s far more intimidating than Ice Cube coming straight out of Compton. But the question remains, are you a crazy motherfucker?“ Glover chuckled as he spoke.
Marco didn’t laugh along with him.
“Ok, ok I can see you’re trying to be serious, so where is The Trench located, exactly?”
“Nowhere near here. Not really even within the confines of the Universe. It’s kind of difficult to explain to someone whose consciousness is held within the limited perspective of the human brain. It’s where you go when you die, if you were not one of the special chosen few drafted for the pious military in the sky… or at least that’s what I call it.”
“So, hell then. You come from hell.”
“If you like.”
“You’re a demon.”
“I am.”
“Is this some kind of… I mean are you playing with me in some strange way I don’t understand or have you actually gone batshit insane?” Glover said.
Marco looked to his left from the booth. The old bartender behind the counter had his arms stretched up. Wine glasses hung from the ceiling on a rack and he wiped the dust from their rims with a dry rag. He wore a large white cowboy hat and whistled to himself.
“He’s tired, wouldn’t you say, had about enough?” said Marco.
“Um, I suppose.”
Marco snapped his fingers and the bartender lowered his arms. He stood staring straight ahead towards the kitchen. A drop of blood trickled from his nose and ran down his red flannel button-up shirt.
“Homma-sai. Homma-sai. Krah cah sala-bah. Sala-bah. Coheev konte.” The bartender spoke loudly, some gibberish Glover didn’t understand.
The bartender reached for the half-full bottle of Bacardi 151 and poured it over himself, the liquor pooled in the dips of his hat, ran over and covered his body. He pulled a box of matches from his pocket, struck one, and then spoke one final time.
“For you, my beast. For you.”
With that, he dropped the lit match onto his hat and burned silently behind the bar, not screaming, not writhing in agony. After a moment his body collapsed and became a pile on the tile floor behind the bar. Marco hadn’t watched. He merely sat silently, drinking his beer, texting on his cell phone. Glover had sat mostly in shock, watching as the whole thing unfolded. He had tried a few times to move from his seat and stop the bartender, put him out, but the lower half of his body was completely immobilized. It felt as though he were fused to the chair, a sewn in human cushion.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking.” Said Marco.
Glover barely heard the words. He turned his gaze back to the demon sitting across from him. He still looked human, nonchalant.
“You, you know what?”
“I know what you’re thinking, or, well, I think I know what you’re thinking. I haven’t actually checked.”
“Oh, ok, well then what am I thinking?”
“You’re thinking that was a little harsh. I could have tried something else to prove my powers to you. Maybe made something float, or teleported us to another place, something like that.”
“Yeah, no, that’s not at all what I was thinking, actually.”
“Damnit. Ok, well, what was it then?”
“I was thinking, wow, that’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone set themselves on fire. That was pretty horrifying. I’m not sure if I want to live anymore. I’m thinking of running away, of calling the police, of calling a psychiatrist, of shooting myself in the head. I’m thinking of a lot of things. Now, though, yes, I’m thinking also what you said.”
Marco took a big gulp of his beer, and then began talking as he crossed the empty bar to refill his glass.
“Well, you’re not crazy, and there’s no point in calling the police, I’d just disappear and they’d think you did it. I could even manipulate the video in here to show that being the exact case, but I have no real desire to do that. Rather, I like you a lot, you’re my friend. I’m actually not that bad of a guy, believe it or not. Evil, yes, but bad and evil are two different things. I can’t really help being evil. Evil is a force so great it can’t really even be explained, and I am spawned directly from it. I can’t change being evil any more than you can change being of Irish descent. But I don’t think being inherently evil really makes me that bad of a guy. I don’t do evil deeds unless they’re absolutely necessary, case in point, proving to you that I’m not insane or lying.” Marco stepped over the still smoldering pile of ashes behind the bar and walked over to the tap. He put his glass under the Yuengling handle and then paused.
“Nope.” He said. Then he reached in the mini-freezer right beneath the tap and grabbed a brand new frosted mug. He nodded approvingly and then filled his glass, then continued on his explanation.
“Anyway, to answer your question, or rather, the question I suggested you should be asking, I did what I did because: A. It couldn’t really be construed as trickery. Someone lights themselves on fire, that’s not really a trick, it’s just fucked up, but objectively provable and fairly permanent. B. My abilities can really only be used for evil, so, sorry, but I couldn’t just produce an adorable kitten out of thin air; a bloodthirsty, ravenous, rabid dog of hell, perhaps, but nothing cute and cuddly, nothing you’d want to see. C. Don’t worry, he didn’t feel anything, I saw to that. His soul will be reincarnated sometime within the next three years. He had no family. He was miserable. I picked this place for a reason.” Marco had made his way back to the booth and sat down.
“Sorry, I would have gotten you one, but you’re still half full.” Marco said, taking another huge gulp of beer.
That night had served as a warning for Glover. Marco went on to explain the fabric keeping The Trench suspended far from the world of the living would be severed the following month, and so it was. The United States had declared it a national emergency. Demons and other dark creatures were coming out of a hole in the middle of the Arizona desert at an alarming rate, most of them just curious to explore a new place. “The Torn Summer” it had been called. Glover watched as people all across the country were cowering in fear. Church congregations were barring themselves inside their respective sacred buildings, mass suicides were organized, the world had generally worked itself up into a frenzy. The age old debate of whether or not the afterlife existed had been solved, and it had turned out, no one had really gotten it right, and everyone was kind of pissed.
Marco and Glover spent most of that chaotic first year at Glovers apartment, watching the news and laughing at the entire situation. The situation had calmed, though, as demons were more and more showing their value to the world.
| "OH MY GOD! Stan the Demons are loose!"
Screamed Debbie, "What?! What more could they want from us?!" She said crying at this point.
"What's going on, Deborah?" Stan asked. Then there was a loud thumping at the door.
"Oh God! They're here! Why meeee?" She cried.
Stan went over and opened the door. "Hey, do you want some chile con carné? We have some leftover from din.."
"Why don't you just leave us alone?" Deborah screamed in the most exasperated voice.
"Dammit Deborah, they're just trying to be kind neighbors; wouldya shut up," responded Stan as he accepted the doff from the Hoffmanns. A very twisted looking couple, but you could see the love in their eyes."Thank you very much, sorry about how Debbie's acting right now."
"Oh it's no worry; we don't take offense," the two said in a perfect sync with a goosebumpingly deep voice. "Hope you have a safe night."
|
Just remember that they are demons, not angels. | [WP]Hell literally broke loose. All the demons are free, and they only want one thing : to befriend us. | "What's this do?" the Hellspawn asked fiddling with my radio, his horns protruding from my Geo as it listed heavily to the right. Damn near riding on the rims. His cigar smoke made the air in the vehicle toxic to breath.
I sighed deeply, rubbing my forehead at the stop light. "Don't touch my Goddamned radio," his face drooped has he began to fiddle with his claws. He sat silently for a moment staring out the window, picking his nose.
"Where we going?" the red behemoth asked again, as he now began to drum his hands on the dashboard.
"I'm going to work," I sighed again, beginning to roll the car forward. "I told you this before you insisted on coming, I told you couldn't come," I said as my voice began to rise this time.
"Oh, so we can hangout?"
"No for the hundredth time." Again, disappointment ran across his face as his shoulders dropped. "Well what ya wanna do when your off?"
"*Im* going to my girlfriends, I dont know what you're doing, stop playing with the windows!"
"What if I'm really quiet? I'll sit in the corner and keep to myself, I promise this time," the hooved beast said in the most convincing voice he could muster.
"I said no, look I'm at work, I'm going now," I said. Hoping he would receive the hint to leave my car.
"That's ok, I'll wait here!" he said with a smile, and began to play with his phone. I sighed and shut the door as I stumbled to my workplace.
Yay my highest rated writing prompt. | "OH MY GOD! Stan the Demons are loose!"
Screamed Debbie, "What?! What more could they want from us?!" She said crying at this point.
"What's going on, Deborah?" Stan asked. Then there was a loud thumping at the door.
"Oh God! They're here! Why meeee?" She cried.
Stan went over and opened the door. "Hey, do you want some chile con carné? We have some leftover from din.."
"Why don't you just leave us alone?" Deborah screamed in the most exasperated voice.
"Dammit Deborah, they're just trying to be kind neighbors; wouldya shut up," responded Stan as he accepted the doff from the Hoffmanns. A very twisted looking couple, but you could see the love in their eyes."Thank you very much, sorry about how Debbie's acting right now."
"Oh it's no worry; we don't take offense," the two said in a perfect sync with a goosebumpingly deep voice. "Hope you have a safe night."
|
Just remember that they are demons, not angels. | [WP]Hell literally broke loose. All the demons are free, and they only want one thing : to befriend us. | A demon is a burned thing, wreathed in smoke with embers perpetually falling from its tattered wings. The night sky is filled with the light of angels' burning wings, but the demons down here with us seem to be made of little more than ash. There is a pathos to them; a sentiment completely alien to the stern, proud beings above.
It - and it was 'it', the demon had corrected me repeatedly when I used gendered pronouns - called itself Bel Kaleph Azad, an orphan of the eastern star, whatever that meant. It was an emissary of the Fallen Council, here to make peace with 'the Children' as both sides seemed to call us. I had asked it once, in a stupor, if it was a servant of Satan, and the demon said I should not speak ill of the dead.
The peace was not fruitful for either side. Where the demons came in friendship, the angels followed in wrath. The day an accord was signed at the UN opening diplomatic relations with Hell, the heavens had opened and poured out their scorn.
One third of the global population was annihilated by a merciless horde with blazing wings and skin like ice. The light of their souls was harsh and blinding, and among their hosts were strange choirs of living weapons and terrors from a fever dream. They were much more fearsome than the frail and dirty hosts of Hell, and much more cruel. It was no wonder they'd won the war.
Bel Kaleph Azad came to me some months later, in the smoking ruins of my church, wounded and looking for a dark place to die. I had taken refuge in the church cellar, more in desperation than in faith. The debris around me was proof enough that nothing built by a man was sacred to Heaven. Other people had long ago decided to spurn places they thought the angels might dwell. Many had thought that faith might save them, in the early days. I always was lucky.
I still wore my collar then, and the demon had been fearful of me, but was quick to trust when it was clear I meant it no harm. That trust soon turned to friendship, of a kind I thought had faded from this desperate world. That friendship was a source of nourishment to it, and over long whispered conversations, whatever celestial wound had brought it creeping to me seemed to diminish.
It is beyond my wisdom to divine the age of angels and demons. As far as I know, the demon had existed since the beginning of time, and would have continued to its end, had it not chosen my brief life over its own. Whether the angel that smote him down came across us by chance or design, I do not know, but there can be only one outcome when an angel finds a demon. Yet Bel Kaleph Azad did not flee, nor hide, as it could much better than any mortal man. It did the kindest thing it could - it tried to kill me.
Angels do not regard us much. We are an opportunity for sin and punishment, no more than a duty waiting to be performed. That terrible light which shone into my cellar would as likely have destroyed me as not, even without a trace of the demonic taint. But the rescue of a pious soul under assault from a demon is the closest they can come to benevolence, and the only way my friend knew my life could be spared.
I didn't understand it at the time. As I opened my eyes and saw the result of a confusing instant of pain and darkness and blinding light, I very nearly threw away what it had made such a tremendous sacrifice to preserve. I saw that towering celestial inferno standing with the burning edge of its sword buried in the collapsing ash pile that had been my friend, and I cried out in grief. I crawled toward it and reached out my hand to touch it.
The angel did not hesitate. They are ever vigilant for our sin and weakness. The sword arced toward me, and in that instant I was grateful. I was happy to be removed from this ruined earth and maybe, just maybe reunited with my lost friend. As much as I was afraid, as I wanted to hate, I loved the angel for the swiftness of its mercy.
And when that angel's blade touched my loving heart, it screamed and faded into nothing.
As I sat alone in the merciful darkness, some things Bel Kaleph Azad had told me began to make a kind of sense. The angels hate us, but not for our sins or our dalliance with demons. The angels hate us, and fear us, for our love.
It is a force they cannot understand, as creatures of cold power and hard duty. It is something the demons hoped to discover, coming to us meekly and in desperation after an epoch of languishing in exile, learning the lesson of their fall. It is why my friend forsook eternity to give an old man a scant few years more life. It is what the angels were willing to burn the world in order to keep from the denizens of Hell.
And it is how we can defeat them. | “Stop hugging people,” I shouted, clenching my fists. “You’re setting them all on fire!”
The demon, Snoopy as I’d named him, hung his floppy-eared head in shame and dropped his latest smoldering victim at my feet. “Sorry.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve killed five people in three hours. How many times do I need to tell you this? No one wants to hug a demon!”
“But I’m just so happy to see you,” the demon said, scratching his blackened chest with a three inch claw. “We just want to be your friends.”
Screams echoed from the alley behind my house. Gunfire rang out across the city, most of the buildings engulfed in flames. Black smoke billowed in the sky, obscuring the stars. “I get that, Snoopy, I really do. But come on, look around!” I gestured to the city. “This isn’t working. You have to go back to Hell!”
A demon lumbered into the middle of the street, traffic swerving around him. He caught the back of a truck loaded with pumpkins. The front of the truck pitched up, pumpkins rolling into the demon and bursting into flame. The truck landed with a loud bang, and the driver emerged with a young girl in his arms. The demon uttered a cry of joy, lifting its arms. For some reason, its face reminded me of Barney, the Purple Dinosaur. The driver screamed in response and ran, the demon in pursuit.
“God damn it,” I muttered, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose. “This has to stop.”
“But I thought we were going somewhere fun. You said you wanted me to meet your boss.”
I lowered my hand. “Right. After that, it has to stop.”
|
[WP] You're walking down the street and bump shoulders with someone. It's you. | Tuesdays are always shitty, divisional meeting presentation first thing, weekly review with my boss straight after and taco day at the work canteen. I fucking hate work tacos as much as I love good tacos. This particular Tuesday was proving to be even more shitty than usual as I was running late and as I stepped off the bus, I realised that I was wearing odd shoes. Standing in front of all my colleagues and managers I was now going to be in one brown and one black shoe. Fuuuuuck.
I hurried down the street, checking my phone just in case some miracle had happened and the meeting had been cancelled. I *hate* people who walk down the street staring at their phone and so as soon as I bumped the guy I went into full apology mode.
"I am so sorry, I wasn't looking and I..." I trailed off. He was older and kinda tired looking but there was no mistaking that I was looking at myself. It took him a second longer than me, but it registered on his face and he went from surprise to confusion and swiftly to panic. He held up a finger as if he was going to say something and then turned and fled.
Of all the reactions I could have expected, this was not among them and so it took a few seconds to work out what had happened and then a second more to decide what to do, so by the time I started after him he was a good 30 metres ahead of me and went skidding round a corner.
I sprinted as fast as I could, following him round the corner and then across a road and down onto the cycle path next to the canal. It was typical of me to try this, for some reason I had always thought that in an emergency I would miraculously turn into some sort of superhuman runner, necessity providing me with better lungs and legs. As had been proven at Kaitlyn Scott's sweet sixteen, this was not true.
He was definitely older than me and his fitness was even worse than mine, just a minute later he finally had to stop running and I was right behind him by then. I grabbed his collar to keep him from going anywhere, but for several minutes we stood there silently, gasping for breath, spots swimming in my eyes and my breakfast trying to make an unexpected reappearance.
Finally I caught my breath and pushed him back against the brick wall, holding him firmly to stop him trying to escape. "What the fuck is going on, you're me aren't you?"
He was still out of breath but nodded and held up a finger to ask for a moment. He clearly was in no shape to run, so I let him go and he doubled over for a moment to recover.
He was still puffing slightly as he started to talk "Okay, running was not smart, I've just always thought that in an emergency..."
I interrupted "Yeah I *know*, in an emergency we'd run like the wind and be uncatchable."
He looked me up and down "To be fair you were pretty fucking fast back there."
A sliver of pride shot through me "Yes, thank you, but you're avoiding the question, why are you here, what is going on? When the fuck is time travel invented?"
He shifted uncomfortably "Those are all *really* against the rules to answer." He leaned in closer and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Even talking to you could get me, us, in *big* trouble."
"Bit fucking late for that right? And it's not like you don't know where I work; not exactly hiding now, were you?" I shoved him a little to show dominance. He's casualness was irritating. "Answer the fucking questions."
"Yeah, no." I waited but he didn't go on.
"So, let me get this straight." I rubbed my brow, trying to get my head straight. "I meet my future self." He nodded. "He runs away." He nodded. "I catch him and he refuses to answer any questions." He nodded. "So what the fuck am I supposed to do now?"
"Let me go?" His voice was hopeful.
"This was a bad enough day already" I quietly muttered to myself.
"Wait, is it a Tuesday?" For the first time his voice contained something other than evasiveness - pity.
"Yes it's a fucking Tuesday." Like this asshole couldn't have worked it out.
"Dude, I am so sorry to make this a worse day for you." He looked down and winced. "Oooh, this isn't a good day today. I wish I could help somehow but, you know, I really can't change anything."
I looked more closely at him. "Take your fucking shoes off."
| "Woah, are you me?" I asked, feeling more stupid than confused as the words came out.
"I think so," he said. He seemed as perplexed as me, understandably.
"Weird," I said.
"Yeah," he said.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the apps.
"Add me on snapchat?" I asked. It seemed like a reasonable request, given the situation.
"Uh, sure," he answered. "My name's 'jakemcawful', all one word."
My fingers froze in place. I gave a weak laugh, and curled my left hand into a trembling fist.
"That's funny," I said. "My snapchat name is 'jakemcawesome', all one word."
And that's how I met my evil twin. |
|
[WP] You're walking down the street and bump shoulders with someone. It's you. | "Fuck off, ugly," we both sneer at each other, we both hurry on our separate ways, never to see the other. Seriously, you have to be an asshole or just plain blind to bump shoulders with a sunglassesed man whacking away at the ground with his cane. | "Woah, are you me?" I asked, feeling more stupid than confused as the words came out.
"I think so," he said. He seemed as perplexed as me, understandably.
"Weird," I said.
"Yeah," he said.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the apps.
"Add me on snapchat?" I asked. It seemed like a reasonable request, given the situation.
"Uh, sure," he answered. "My name's 'jakemcawful', all one word."
My fingers froze in place. I gave a weak laugh, and curled my left hand into a trembling fist.
"That's funny," I said. "My snapchat name is 'jakemcawesome', all one word."
And that's how I met my evil twin. |
|
[WP] You're walking down the street and bump shoulders with someone. It's you. | "Fuck off, ugly," we both sneer at each other, we both hurry on our separate ways, never to see the other. Seriously, you have to be an asshole or just plain blind to bump shoulders with a sunglassesed man whacking away at the ground with his cane. | "What the fuck?"
"What the fuck?"
"Are you me?"
"Yeah... I am."
"How is that possible?"
"I-I dunno."
"Is this like, a Doctor Who episode or something?"
"I dunno, I never watched that show."
*me and clone point fingers at each other* "ayyyyy"
"So you know what this means, right?"
"We can finally do those TF2 combos you see the good players doing?"
"Yeah."
The end |
|
[WP] You're walking down the street and bump shoulders with someone. It's you. | "Fuck off, ugly," we both sneer at each other, we both hurry on our separate ways, never to see the other. Seriously, you have to be an asshole or just plain blind to bump shoulders with a sunglassesed man whacking away at the ground with his cane. | Bump. I crashed into somebody, I kept my head low, whispering an apology, and she did the same. I was nudged by my sister, and she whispered to to me that she looked just like me, even sounded like me!
"Huh, what?" We both turn to glance at each other. It was awkward greeting me, but neither of us have the social experience.
"Hi me, lost your job too?"
"Yeah, I couldn't handle it."
"What are you going to do now?"
"I don't know, I feel so lost."
"Me too."
We shook hands, but then it dawned to me.
"Are you with my boyfriend?"
"Yes, he adorable isn't he?"
Finally something we agree on- Wait. The direction she was walking was from... My house.
"Did you fuck, my boyfriend?"
"H- He is my boyfriend after all-"
We both knew what was going to happen. Let the cat fight commence!
My sister tried to get us to back off, but we both cast her aside.
We may be shut ins, but we have tempers that refuse to die. We pulled at eachothers hair, and ripped at eachothers identical clothes.
Just then, our boyfriend came out to the poach and saw what was going on.
"Relax baby! I don't mind that there is two of you!"
We glanced at eachother and let go. Maybe this will not be so bad after all.
"I'll give him a back rub."
"I'll make dinner." |
|
[WP] You're walking down the street and bump shoulders with someone. It's you. | "Fuck off, ugly," we both sneer at each other, we both hurry on our separate ways, never to see the other. Seriously, you have to be an asshole or just plain blind to bump shoulders with a sunglassesed man whacking away at the ground with his cane. | "Excuse me."
Two words never hit me so hard. I'd responded before I could finish processing. Before we turned around, I knew we'd both stopped.
There he was.
Me.
"What... What's going on?"
"I...nothin?"
"No, I meant...Never mind. This is pretty neat, huh? We're thinking the same thing? You look just like me."
"Bro, YOU look just like ME."
"Fine, fine. I mean, what do we do, right? This is so exciting!"
"I guess...keyswap?"
"Oh, bro. Keyswap. Keyswap so fuckin' hard."
His keys felt light in my hand. He drove a Lexus. I hope my Hyundai handled okay for him. His GPS took me to his house. It sat on top of a hill overlooking the city. I'd never been to this part of town before. Never had the money.
His wife was waiting in the kitchen. The food smelled delicious. It tasted even better. I could tell she wasn't used to being listened to. It's too bad I hardly heard a word. I just couldn't stop staring; she was gorgeous. Great in bed, too.
We met again the next day. Same spot. Same shoulder bump.
"Trade back?"
"Meh. Could go either way."
So we did. |
|
[WP] You're walking down the street and bump shoulders with someone. It's you. | "Fuck off, ugly," we both sneer at each other, we both hurry on our separate ways, never to see the other. Seriously, you have to be an asshole or just plain blind to bump shoulders with a sunglassesed man whacking away at the ground with his cane. | Tuesdays are always shitty, divisional meeting presentation first thing, weekly review with my boss straight after and taco day at the work canteen. I fucking hate work tacos as much as I love good tacos. This particular Tuesday was proving to be even more shitty than usual as I was running late and as I stepped off the bus, I realised that I was wearing odd shoes. Standing in front of all my colleagues and managers I was now going to be in one brown and one black shoe. Fuuuuuck.
I hurried down the street, checking my phone just in case some miracle had happened and the meeting had been cancelled. I *hate* people who walk down the street staring at their phone and so as soon as I bumped the guy I went into full apology mode.
"I am so sorry, I wasn't looking and I..." I trailed off. He was older and kinda tired looking but there was no mistaking that I was looking at myself. It took him a second longer than me, but it registered on his face and he went from surprise to confusion and swiftly to panic. He held up a finger as if he was going to say something and then turned and fled.
Of all the reactions I could have expected, this was not among them and so it took a few seconds to work out what had happened and then a second more to decide what to do, so by the time I started after him he was a good 30 metres ahead of me and went skidding round a corner.
I sprinted as fast as I could, following him round the corner and then across a road and down onto the cycle path next to the canal. It was typical of me to try this, for some reason I had always thought that in an emergency I would miraculously turn into some sort of superhuman runner, necessity providing me with better lungs and legs. As had been proven at Kaitlyn Scott's sweet sixteen, this was not true.
He was definitely older than me and his fitness was even worse than mine, just a minute later he finally had to stop running and I was right behind him by then. I grabbed his collar to keep him from going anywhere, but for several minutes we stood there silently, gasping for breath, spots swimming in my eyes and my breakfast trying to make an unexpected reappearance.
Finally I caught my breath and pushed him back against the brick wall, holding him firmly to stop him trying to escape. "What the fuck is going on, you're me aren't you?"
He was still out of breath but nodded and held up a finger to ask for a moment. He clearly was in no shape to run, so I let him go and he doubled over for a moment to recover.
He was still puffing slightly as he started to talk "Okay, running was not smart, I've just always thought that in an emergency..."
I interrupted "Yeah I *know*, in an emergency we'd run like the wind and be uncatchable."
He looked me up and down "To be fair you were pretty fucking fast back there."
A sliver of pride shot through me "Yes, thank you, but you're avoiding the question, why are you here, what is going on? When the fuck is time travel invented?"
He shifted uncomfortably "Those are all *really* against the rules to answer." He leaned in closer and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Even talking to you could get me, us, in *big* trouble."
"Bit fucking late for that right? And it's not like you don't know where I work; not exactly hiding now, were you?" I shoved him a little to show dominance. He's casualness was irritating. "Answer the fucking questions."
"Yeah, no." I waited but he didn't go on.
"So, let me get this straight." I rubbed my brow, trying to get my head straight. "I meet my future self." He nodded. "He runs away." He nodded. "I catch him and he refuses to answer any questions." He nodded. "So what the fuck am I supposed to do now?"
"Let me go?" His voice was hopeful.
"This was a bad enough day already" I quietly muttered to myself.
"Wait, is it a Tuesday?" For the first time his voice contained something other than evasiveness - pity.
"Yes it's a fucking Tuesday." Like this asshole couldn't have worked it out.
"Dude, I am so sorry to make this a worse day for you." He looked down and winced. "Oooh, this isn't a good day today. I wish I could help somehow but, you know, I really can't change anything."
I looked more closely at him. "Take your fucking shoes off."
|
|
What do they really look like? Beautiful and angelic, or dark and demonic? What do you do now? | [WP] Your significant other is the most beautiful and amazing person you've ever met. One night while you're together they admit to being a fallen angel, one of the angels who rebelled alongside Lucifer in the War in Heaven, and prove it by showing you their true form. | I'd met Apollo at a mutual friend's party several years ago. He was handsome and charming and way out of my league, but while we were drinking and talking and I asked him if Apollo was actually his name. He grinned and told me his dad was a Greek buff with a sense of humor. He was neither tall nor short, with platinum blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. His face was well-defined and gorgeous. I could tell that he was perfectly toned in his tight shirt and jeans. An apollo indeed.
We spent the rest of the night talking, and I was instantly enamored. He was perfection embodied. His voice made my toes curl when he spoke, and when he turned his smouldering eyes on me I felt helpless. The way he drew me to him was almost otherworldly. Dare I say, he was divine. We danced together that night and with his arms around me I felt fire in my body.
"Can I... see you again?" I asked as the party drew to a close. A grin spread across his face and he handed me a card with his number on it.
"I'd like that," he responded. Dating him was a whirlwind of romance. The first time we kissed my body was on fire with need. I didn't know a kiss could do that. He knew every trick in the book and on occasion I couldn't help but think he was playing me. But whenever the thought crossed my mind, he'd sweep me off my feet again with a kiss or a gift or a romantic date.
The first time I said "I love you," we were curled up on the couch together, eating take out and watching tv on my couch. I couldn't help it, it slipped out of my mouth, but I didn't regret it for an instant. He was silent for a long moment, and I felt my heart drop a little. My mind instantly went to all my negatives - how could I have possibly snagged my own Apollo? I wasn't particularly attractive or talented or interesting. He put his food down, cupped my face in his hand, and kissed me, slow and sensual. I melted into his touch as I always did.
He leaned in so his lips were right by my ear and whispered, "I think I love you too." I pushed him against the couch, kissing every inch of skin I had access to, my hands looking to roam his body. He responded in kind, our kisses furious with want. I began unbuttoning his shirt then pushed it off him, revealing a myriad of silvered scars. I pulled away and traced them lightly with my fingertips. He grabbed my wrists.
"Where did these come from?" I asked. He sighed, mood broken.
"I need to tell you something." I leaned back and my hands slid from his grip. My heart sank again and I waited apprehensively for him to tell me he was leaving, or I was an other woman, or he had some sort of incurable STI.
"My name isn't really Apollo." He shifted and his eyes met mine. "It's short for Apollyon."
"A nickname," I said, breathing a sigh of relief, wondering why he made it sound so grave. A surprised laugh escaped his lips.
"I can't say I'm surprised you don't recognize the name I took for myself here," he laughed, but quickly sobered. "Apollyon is still Greek, but it means destruction. My name is Lucifer, the morning star, the angel of light. My scars are from the wars in Elysion." I laughed, thinking it a joke.
"Then I will become a satanist and worship you, for you are the only deity I need," I grinned wickedly at him.
"Oh what delightful blasphemy," he laughed as I moved back in to kiss the delicious skin at his throat.
"Should I be worried you'll trick me, oh father of lies?" I said, voice low as my lips pressed against his skin.
"I was cast out of Heaven by God for rebelling," he said. "With free will at my fingertips, and you in front of me, I gain nothing more by lying." He lightly pushed me away from him so he could meet my eyes again. "That's why I never take you to my place. I don't think the fiery pits of hell make for a good date night." He laughed. I was still skeptical. "I'll show you." He stood, and wearing nothing but pants he looked glorious. But then great white wings sprouted from his back and all I could do was sit there with my mouth agape.
"I wouldn't lie to you," he said, folding his wings behind him.
"Hail Satan," I finally muttered, startling a laugh out of both of us. He knelt in front of me, his wings moving to enclose us in our own little world. I reached out and touched them, my fingers brushing the downy feathers there. He waited.
I pulled him in for a kiss. What else could I do? I was agnostic before, and now that I had my proof, the side I wanted to choose was already there in front of me for the taking. | "Bethany, I swear to god... I mean, never mind. The point is that I love you. The first thing I noticed about you was your heart. It was full of hatred and grief. I just-"
"It doesn't matter now, Charlie. Just go away! You changed me. I was in a dark place when we met, but you helped me get better. Go find someone else... someone who's just as worthless as I was before we met!"
"But all I wanted to say was that you changed me. I was also in a dark place. I had been kicked to the curb by my father, a goes who was supposed to love me no matter what. All I wanted was to be mortal. All I wanted was for it all to just stop, but when I met you, I saw someone who is going to hell. I saw someone who needed a guardian angel to change her life."
"Great, so I needed am angel and got a fallen one, one of the evil, deceitful ex-angels. Thanks, but I want to go back to the drinking."
He tried to embrace her, but she turned and left. Knowing that she would never listen on purpose, he waited to go back to the apartment until four in the morning, when she would be fast asleep. He flew through the open window and found her asleep in bed. He whispered softly "I'm sorry, Beth. When I changed your life, you changed mine. All I needed was to see the positive impact I could have to make me quit my evil ways." She smiled a little and rolled over. He laid down next to her and said "do you want to be immortal with me?" This time, she opened her eyes and turned toward him, whispering "If it's not too much trouble." |
What do they really look like? Beautiful and angelic, or dark and demonic? What do you do now? | [WP] Your significant other is the most beautiful and amazing person you've ever met. One night while you're together they admit to being a fallen angel, one of the angels who rebelled alongside Lucifer in the War in Heaven, and prove it by showing you their true form. | I looked at her in disbelief.
"Really?" I finally said, "You're a angel?"
Abby nodded, her red hair bouncing slightly. "You don't seem that surprised."
"Why should I be?" I shrugged. "I always knew you were an angel for dating me."
Normally, my quip would have brought a chuckle or smile to her face. Not today.
"Please, I need you to be serious," she said, reaching out to grab my hand, "I love you, and... I'm scared about what's going to happen because of that."
That drew me up short. In the six months that we had been dating, Abby had never said that before. I always knew that she cared about me, she had never been shy about showing me that she did, but the L word? No, she had never used it.
Now she stood in front of me, holding my hands, with a set expression on her face. It was not an expression I had ever seen before, and I realized what it was: genuine fear. I had seen this women jump out of an airplane for our first date, and all she had done was grin as fell backward out the door. She's feed lions by hand at a zoo, swum with sharks, faced down everything with nothing more than that same smile that I had come to love.
Now she was telling me that she was an actual angel. And was frightened about admitting it.
Several questions ran through my mind, as I started to actually process this information, so many I didn't know what to ask first. Thankfully, my mouth decided for me.
"If you're an angel, why aren't you in heaven?"
Here she winced slightly before drawing in a deep breath.
"I'm not from heaven."
For another moment, I just stared at her before my brain held up a card.
"Oh. Ohhh. Oh," was all I said. Brilliant, huh? Again, my mouth was way ahead of anything else.
"Then, what are you doing here?"
She gripped my hands a little tighter and said, "Every so often, we are... I guess released is the best word, but that's not quite right either. The point is, we are allowed to come to Earth and live human lives. It's sort of like an exchange program."
"Wait, so when does that mean you have to go back?" I asked quickly. The thought that she might have to up and leave suddenly popped up, and I was suddenly terrified. I didn't want her to go.
She smiled softly, like she read my mind. She knew me well enough that she might as well have. "I still have plenty of time. It might be temporary by our standards, but it still lasts a full lifetime. As long as I keep eating my leafy greens and lay off the white cake, I should be good.
"Oh, that's good," I said. Those words utterly failed to convey my relief that I wouldn't lose her so soon. Then, another thought came up. "Hey, does this mean I have to start watching my back?"
She raised an eyebrow at me. "I mean, are a team of angel supercommando's going to kick down my door in the middle of the night and kidnap me, or anything like that?"
She smiled. "Not if I have anything to say about it." She leaned in and kissed me. After pulling back, the smile faded from her face. "I, um, was wondering if, maybe, I could,...show you?"
I looked at her blankly.
"You know, what I really look like?" I could see that same scared expression creep back onto her face. At that moment, I knew that there would only be one answer I could give, or even want to give.
I nodded once.
Abby to a deep breath and... I guess *shift* is the only word that really works. Nothing changed. But everything changed.
Her eyes were still the same bottle green, her nose that dainty, delicate thing, her hair still that fiery red that had first attracted me to her. The growth of an enormous pair of raven wings were certainly different, but for some reason it didn't feel like the first time I had seen them. In my head I wondered if it was just the first time I had actually *looked* at them.
The rest of her body didn't change either. It was still the attractive, athletic body that had been the second thing that had drawn me to her (I'm still just a guy after all).
But what changed the most was the skin around her mouth. Everywhere else I looked, it was the same fair complexion, but around her mouth... It looked like someone had tried to brush her teeth with a blow torch.
Her lips were cracked and blackened, pulled back from her teeth into an almost smile that would have had me shitting my pants if I didn't know her. The same was true for the skin on her chin and cheeks. Under some of the cracks, a distant red light shone through, like looking at a fire reflected around a corner in a dark cave.
It was about that moment when I noticed her hands felt different. Frowning, I looked down at them. I blinked and looked again. Just like her face, the skin was badly burned with that same light through the cracks. On her right hand, her pinkie and ring finger had been fused together, forming a single malformed digit.
I looked up, straight into her eyes. They were still filled filled with that same fear. This time, I was the one that leaned in and kissed first. When I pulled back, I saw tears forming at the corner of her eyes. I pretended not to see them. Regardless of how vulnerable she was now, she'd still kick my ass if I called attention to them. Made that mistake when we watched Old Yeller together once. Once.
"What happened," was all I asked instead.
She blinked, forcing the tears back down. "It was right after the war, and Dad,"
"Wait," I interrupted, "I thought you said your parents died in... Oh, right, I guess they weren't really your parents. Were they?" I could only imagine what the expression on my face looked like as I took a swim through the Sea of Awkward.
Abby just snorted, a smile teasing at her lips. She had shifted back to her "human" appearance. "No, that was just a story I told you. No, Dad, well he's not my actual father, but given what he did, I don't think I'd ever feel comfortable calling him anything else. Anyway, it was just after Dad and the rest of us had lost the war. We all ended up in Hell, and Dad was, well..."
"What a minute," I said, "Is Dad Lucifer?!?" Sometimes I amaze myself with how quick I can be on the uptake.
Abby smirked and shook her head. "And here I thought one of the reasons I fell for you was because of your brain. Yes, my dad is Lucifer. Not by birth, more like... adoption, I guess. Anyway," she shot me a look that showed how much she'd tolerate another interruption, "he was really depressed. Like, extremely. Here, he'd gone and fought for all of us, and then most of us just go off and join the other side. And you, I mean, humans, had just gotten punished for the fact that you had free will. Dad, I think, loved you even more than he loved us. The way he tells it, you were just so *curious* and he just kept on encouraging it. He was so happy for you whenever you made one of those first steps. You should have seen him when you discovered fire." She stopped to smile again. "You'd have thought that he was a parent bragging about their child's acceptance into Harvard."
The smile faded from her face. "But then, after the war... He just fell apart. For a while, he tried to keep it up for the rest of us, but then one day... he just wandered off." She shivered. "There is a place that's... beyond is the only word that works, Hell. He just headed for it one day and none of us could stop him. It's a cold place, empty, with nothing that could sustain even an angel. When he left, none of us knew what to do at first. Then we came up with an idea. That's how this happened." She held up her hands. "We ate from the Fire of Hell." She flinched at the memory.
"It was the only thing that could keep us going out in the cold. When we found him, he was half dead. I was one of the those that carried some of the Fire with us, and was able to use it to bring him back, and.. You know what, why don't I let him tell you the story?"
"Huh?" I asked, bewildered.
She chuckled at me. "Don't you think it's time you actually met my parents?"
I looked off in the distance, trying to wrap my head around this. "I... I guess so."
Her smile got wider. "Good." She stood up. "I'll start packing."
| "Bethany, I swear to god... I mean, never mind. The point is that I love you. The first thing I noticed about you was your heart. It was full of hatred and grief. I just-"
"It doesn't matter now, Charlie. Just go away! You changed me. I was in a dark place when we met, but you helped me get better. Go find someone else... someone who's just as worthless as I was before we met!"
"But all I wanted to say was that you changed me. I was also in a dark place. I had been kicked to the curb by my father, a goes who was supposed to love me no matter what. All I wanted was to be mortal. All I wanted was for it all to just stop, but when I met you, I saw someone who is going to hell. I saw someone who needed a guardian angel to change her life."
"Great, so I needed am angel and got a fallen one, one of the evil, deceitful ex-angels. Thanks, but I want to go back to the drinking."
He tried to embrace her, but she turned and left. Knowing that she would never listen on purpose, he waited to go back to the apartment until four in the morning, when she would be fast asleep. He flew through the open window and found her asleep in bed. He whispered softly "I'm sorry, Beth. When I changed your life, you changed mine. All I needed was to see the positive impact I could have to make me quit my evil ways." She smiled a little and rolled over. He laid down next to her and said "do you want to be immortal with me?" This time, she opened her eyes and turned toward him, whispering "If it's not too much trouble." |
What do they really look like? Beautiful and angelic, or dark and demonic? What do you do now? | [WP] Your significant other is the most beautiful and amazing person you've ever met. One night while you're together they admit to being a fallen angel, one of the angels who rebelled alongside Lucifer in the War in Heaven, and prove it by showing you their true form. | I took a long pull of my beer and smirked. "A fallen Angel, Avi? I'm not that drunk yet." He sat across the table from me, his caramel eyes watching me with far too much intensity for comfort, and I took an extra swallow of the IPA.
"What if it were true, Rachel?" I couldn't quite read his expression, but there was no mirth in it. I put my beer back down on the table. I folded my arms, and leaned across towards him.
"What if what if you were a demon, Avi?" I tried not to make my laugh come out as too mocking, in the face of his serious attitude. It didn't work. I barked out a sharp cackle. "Well then I imagine I'd be fucked, wouldn't I? Damned to hell?"
He smiled, that same smile that always made me feel warm and sparkly and special, and I squirmed on my stool. His charming grin turned a little sad, and when he spoke again, his eyes turned slightly sad.
"What do you think hell is, Rach?" He seemed to see through me, to somewhere dark and cold. I felt my eyebrows furrow.
"What is this, Avi?" My voice sounded strange to my own ears. This wasn't normal. Avi was my best friend, the one person I never needed to lie to. He was a skeptic, and a scholar. He questioned everything, everyone, every motive. He didn't believe in gods or ghosts or woo. He didn't believe in demons. This was not Avi. He had dropped his gaze to the table, and was sliding his own beer across the slick surface, dragging wet rings of condensation into spirals.
"I'm tired, Rachel." He told the condensation. "I'm tired of lying. I've lied for so many centuries, to so many people. I've lied because it's just fucking easier. I don't want to take the easy road with you. I want to give you everything I have, and that means giving you the truth." He lifted his eyes back to me, and in them, this time, I saw the pleading. And the fear. "Will you trust me, just for tonight? Will you let me tell you the truth?" My body felt far away and numb, but my head was nodding somewhere in that numbness. My fingers tightened on the cold, sweaty glass of my beer bottle. My lips were moving.
"For now." My voice was too cold, and far too empty, but the relief that suffused his features filled me with a sort of cinnamon, tingling calm that made me decide whatever price I was about to pay was worth it. He reached one of his long-fingered hands to take my own, a shy smile that was utterly alien on his confident features twitching into place.
"Thank you for that." He whispered as his fingers tightened around mine. His touch was a thrill of molten heat, too warm, too close, too electric. The same as it always was. This was what it felt like to have your very soul caressed. I felt my eyelids flutter briefly at the sensation, and when I opened them...something had gone wrong.
I stood, with the fingers of one hand twisted around the fingers of my lover, and half a cold beer dangling from two fingers of the other hand, in...Hell. My skin had gone cold. The terrible, bitter cold of a day so frigid that breath never even became vapor before freezing grabbed my lungs. Fire lit just beneath my skin. My limbs became an electric, twitching field of flame. The heat and the cold went to war in the space between my skin and the layers of flesh beneath. I didn't quite scream at that. Grey stretched beyond us for unbroken eternity in all directions. The sky was a wall of bitter, bleak storm clouds the color of slate that only seemed to move when you weren't looking at them. The ground, from our feet to the horizon was an endless, stark plain of tossed black gravel and bleached, broken bones. There was nothing else. No funny rock shaped like a chimney, no lighter patch of sky or earth. Nothing grew. Nothing lived. Nothing died. The horizon was a pale smear among an ocean pale smears, and that was as close to a landmark as I had. I took a step away from Avi, and my foot sunk into the earth. His grip steadied me, and I realized the ground wasn't solid. It was a soup of bones and dirt and an oily black gunk. Unbidden, some part of my brain suggested that R2 should shut down all the garbage mashers on the detention level. I was clinging to Avi's arm like some girl on the cover of a romance novel, and I made myself stop, and regain my own feet.
"Avi-" I started to growl, and then my glare landed on my boyfriend. Only...not. The creature whose fingers I had intertwined in my own was Not. His flesh was white. Not white like milk, or like sheets in a tide commercial, or white like a ghost. This was the sort of white they talk about in the bible. The sort of white that redefines the term. It seemed to almost luminesce. But it had broken. God, had it broken. It was as if the delicate porcelain of his flesh had been thrown against a wall that was made of nightmares. Fissures of stark, hateful black shattered what would have otherwise been creamy perfection. The white of his skin was veined, demolished at the joints and utterly gone in patches, with pure night. And no, night was as inadequate a term for the blackness that thrummed from Avi's very core as white was poor parlance for the remnants of his skin. The cracks were the black of the parts of space where there are no stars. They were the ebony of pure emptiness.
His eyes sat in pools of that blackness, little lights like a pair of ancient, dying red stars. When I met those eyes, I felt hope drain out of my body and into the bone soup at our feet. I was looking at eyes that had *seen* stars die. Just seeing gave me Knowledge, and as in that moment, I Knew. I Knew I was mortal, so, so mortal. I Knew how frail my pitiful little body was, how brief my sad, pointless existence was. I knew I was a shitty little mammal on a shitty little rock orbiting a shitty little sun in a shitty little spiral galaxy... And I Knew I would spend eternity in this eternity of grey nothing. I Knew I did not know what eternity meant. I knew my "boyfriend" Knew what eternity meant. He had Seen eternity. And now my pale, pitiful mortal eyes had Seen Him.
I realized I was kneeling at Avi's feet, that I was weeping, and that I couldn't stop either, only when Avi spoke.
"Rachel, Daughter of Miriam, Rise. You need not lament, for you are righteous. Rise." His words echoed through the earth, through the air, through my very core. I rose. I don't think I wanted to, but I don't think I could have done otherwise.
"Please." I groaned, and my voice didn't sound like mine. It belonged to a creeping, kneeling mammal that begged only for a brief cessation of suffering. Those red eyes bored into me. His hand, his broken, twisted hand, leaking the tar of the abyss, caressed my cheek.
"Rachel, Daughter of Miriam, Blessed Among Women, Beloved of the Cursed, Weep no more. For He that Is, and Them that Are have looked upon you, and you have looked upon Oblivion. Granted unto you is Discernment." Avi intoned. I thought of the Quasimodo in the Hunchback of Notre Dame, ringing great bells from about 10 feet beneath their booming mouths. I suddenly empathized.
"What the fuck are you?" I gasped. Maybe I sobbed. At the very least, I made an undignified slurpy begging sound. Avi, a pillar of alabaster glory riven by utter darkness, offered me an apologetic smile. He cupped my face in his glorious, hideous hands, and then slowly slid his palms up to cover my ears.
"I am Aviel, Aviel, who was the Son of God, who followed the Lucifer, the Morningstar, even unto the Abyss." When he spoke his name, his Name, Lucifer's Name, the sound was a physical thing. A brief, detached, part of my mind that was still capable of real thought realized that the wetness dripping down my neck was probably blood from my ears.
"We..." I gasped, sucking air into my burning lungs in shuddering gasps. "Really...." Avi gave me a heartbroken, hopeful smile "Need to...." He bowed his head so that his forehead, his filthy, immaculate skin touched my own clammy flesh...god, had he always been so warm? Had I ever felt this warm? "Talk...." I finished. I couldn't remember how I had started that sentence. Aviel, Who Was the Son of God, Aviel, Who Was my Fucking Boyfriend, favored me with a smile that contained the collisions of galaxies.
"Yes, Beloved. We do." He said. And I realized that I would listen to whatever he had to say. I would follow him. I would follow him as he followed the Morningstar. I would follow that light.
Somewhere, in the depths of his knowing smile, a star died. | "Bethany, I swear to god... I mean, never mind. The point is that I love you. The first thing I noticed about you was your heart. It was full of hatred and grief. I just-"
"It doesn't matter now, Charlie. Just go away! You changed me. I was in a dark place when we met, but you helped me get better. Go find someone else... someone who's just as worthless as I was before we met!"
"But all I wanted to say was that you changed me. I was also in a dark place. I had been kicked to the curb by my father, a goes who was supposed to love me no matter what. All I wanted was to be mortal. All I wanted was for it all to just stop, but when I met you, I saw someone who is going to hell. I saw someone who needed a guardian angel to change her life."
"Great, so I needed am angel and got a fallen one, one of the evil, deceitful ex-angels. Thanks, but I want to go back to the drinking."
He tried to embrace her, but she turned and left. Knowing that she would never listen on purpose, he waited to go back to the apartment until four in the morning, when she would be fast asleep. He flew through the open window and found her asleep in bed. He whispered softly "I'm sorry, Beth. When I changed your life, you changed mine. All I needed was to see the positive impact I could have to make me quit my evil ways." She smiled a little and rolled over. He laid down next to her and said "do you want to be immortal with me?" This time, she opened her eyes and turned toward him, whispering "If it's not too much trouble." |
What do they really look like? Beautiful and angelic, or dark and demonic? What do you do now? | [WP] Your significant other is the most beautiful and amazing person you've ever met. One night while you're together they admit to being a fallen angel, one of the angels who rebelled alongside Lucifer in the War in Heaven, and prove it by showing you their true form. | The first time that I met Sam, he just strolled up to me and said, “What’s the worst that can happen?”
I was thinking about asking a guy I like out, but I was honestly terrified; things with my ex didn’t end… amicably, and I was afraid something similar would happen again.
Sam continued, like I wasn’t standing there, gawping with my mouth open at his beauty. “He could say no. If he says no, you know you can move on. If he says yes, you can try something. If it doesn’t work, then you’ll at least *know* that it won’t work. You won’t be guessing.” He smiled at me, kindly, and then walked away.
I asked the guy out the next time I saw him. He said yes. We dated a few times, realized that there wasn’t much there except mutual horniness, and decided to be friends instead. Six years later, we’re like brother and sister.
The next time I saw Sam (six months later), I asked him his name, and asked if he wanted to have a cup of coffee with me. He wondered why I was asking him out for. I told him, “What’s the worst that can happen?”
We dated. We had a crazy, wild, awesome time that I cherish. We loved. We love. We moved in together, live together, and everything was amazing, and awesome.
Until I found out I was pregnant. I was joyous about it; and I told him in an enthusiastic bout of verbal diarrhea that we were to be parents. My first clue was when his face turned pasty-white, and he started fidgeting. My second clue was when he told me I shouldn’t keep the baby, and that if we wanted children, we should adopt.
“Why?”
“The baby will kill you.”
“Wait, what?”
“Can we chalk it up to intuition and call it a day?”
“No. Why do you think that?”
He took a deep breath then told me of his history. His *real* history. I started to laugh.
“You do realize I’m an atheist.” I said, between laughter. “You’ll need to come up with something better than that.”
He touched my forehead, and I saw it all. I saw the God that ordered the angels to love humanity above all, but then killed millions. The God that gave mankind free will then punished them for exercising it. The God that punished Sam and his garrison for daring to say “No” to contradictory orders. You see, to the victors goes the history. The God-Squad won the war in heaven. Lucifer, Sam, and the other Souls of Solomon fought to keep Michael from carrying out one particular order: tempt the humans, get them to sin, and then put them in Perdition. Humans were set up to fail. Lucifer saw this, and said he would have no part in it. They failed. Michael entered the garden in the guise of a snake using the Lightbringer’s name, and successfully temped Eve. Lucifer offered to take her place in hell. God ordered those who sided with Lucifer cast out.
At that moment, I saw Sammael, instead of Sam, and I loved him. His six wings, along with most of his skin, were burned almost beyond recognition. Scars from lashings, stab wounds, and slashes marred his skin. He was beautiful.
But I will not murder my own child, on a chance it would kill me. I told Sam we would seek out others like him, and hear their stories.
We did. Each time, either the mother or the baby died. I asked him which he would prefer—to have a wife, or to have a child. He said a wife. He feared God would kill the child, as he did the other Nephilim.
I got a C-section three days before my due date. The child was stillborn.
I’m no longer an atheist. To quote Riddick, I absolutely believe in God. And I absolutely hate the fucker. | "Bethany, I swear to god... I mean, never mind. The point is that I love you. The first thing I noticed about you was your heart. It was full of hatred and grief. I just-"
"It doesn't matter now, Charlie. Just go away! You changed me. I was in a dark place when we met, but you helped me get better. Go find someone else... someone who's just as worthless as I was before we met!"
"But all I wanted to say was that you changed me. I was also in a dark place. I had been kicked to the curb by my father, a goes who was supposed to love me no matter what. All I wanted was to be mortal. All I wanted was for it all to just stop, but when I met you, I saw someone who is going to hell. I saw someone who needed a guardian angel to change her life."
"Great, so I needed am angel and got a fallen one, one of the evil, deceitful ex-angels. Thanks, but I want to go back to the drinking."
He tried to embrace her, but she turned and left. Knowing that she would never listen on purpose, he waited to go back to the apartment until four in the morning, when she would be fast asleep. He flew through the open window and found her asleep in bed. He whispered softly "I'm sorry, Beth. When I changed your life, you changed mine. All I needed was to see the positive impact I could have to make me quit my evil ways." She smiled a little and rolled over. He laid down next to her and said "do you want to be immortal with me?" This time, she opened her eyes and turned toward him, whispering "If it's not too much trouble." |
What do they really look like? Beautiful and angelic, or dark and demonic? What do you do now? | [WP] Your significant other is the most beautiful and amazing person you've ever met. One night while you're together they admit to being a fallen angel, one of the angels who rebelled alongside Lucifer in the War in Heaven, and prove it by showing you their true form. | I'd met Apollo at a mutual friend's party several years ago. He was handsome and charming and way out of my league, but while we were drinking and talking and I asked him if Apollo was actually his name. He grinned and told me his dad was a Greek buff with a sense of humor. He was neither tall nor short, with platinum blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. His face was well-defined and gorgeous. I could tell that he was perfectly toned in his tight shirt and jeans. An apollo indeed.
We spent the rest of the night talking, and I was instantly enamored. He was perfection embodied. His voice made my toes curl when he spoke, and when he turned his smouldering eyes on me I felt helpless. The way he drew me to him was almost otherworldly. Dare I say, he was divine. We danced together that night and with his arms around me I felt fire in my body.
"Can I... see you again?" I asked as the party drew to a close. A grin spread across his face and he handed me a card with his number on it.
"I'd like that," he responded. Dating him was a whirlwind of romance. The first time we kissed my body was on fire with need. I didn't know a kiss could do that. He knew every trick in the book and on occasion I couldn't help but think he was playing me. But whenever the thought crossed my mind, he'd sweep me off my feet again with a kiss or a gift or a romantic date.
The first time I said "I love you," we were curled up on the couch together, eating take out and watching tv on my couch. I couldn't help it, it slipped out of my mouth, but I didn't regret it for an instant. He was silent for a long moment, and I felt my heart drop a little. My mind instantly went to all my negatives - how could I have possibly snagged my own Apollo? I wasn't particularly attractive or talented or interesting. He put his food down, cupped my face in his hand, and kissed me, slow and sensual. I melted into his touch as I always did.
He leaned in so his lips were right by my ear and whispered, "I think I love you too." I pushed him against the couch, kissing every inch of skin I had access to, my hands looking to roam his body. He responded in kind, our kisses furious with want. I began unbuttoning his shirt then pushed it off him, revealing a myriad of silvered scars. I pulled away and traced them lightly with my fingertips. He grabbed my wrists.
"Where did these come from?" I asked. He sighed, mood broken.
"I need to tell you something." I leaned back and my hands slid from his grip. My heart sank again and I waited apprehensively for him to tell me he was leaving, or I was an other woman, or he had some sort of incurable STI.
"My name isn't really Apollo." He shifted and his eyes met mine. "It's short for Apollyon."
"A nickname," I said, breathing a sigh of relief, wondering why he made it sound so grave. A surprised laugh escaped his lips.
"I can't say I'm surprised you don't recognize the name I took for myself here," he laughed, but quickly sobered. "Apollyon is still Greek, but it means destruction. My name is Lucifer, the morning star, the angel of light. My scars are from the wars in Elysion." I laughed, thinking it a joke.
"Then I will become a satanist and worship you, for you are the only deity I need," I grinned wickedly at him.
"Oh what delightful blasphemy," he laughed as I moved back in to kiss the delicious skin at his throat.
"Should I be worried you'll trick me, oh father of lies?" I said, voice low as my lips pressed against his skin.
"I was cast out of Heaven by God for rebelling," he said. "With free will at my fingertips, and you in front of me, I gain nothing more by lying." He lightly pushed me away from him so he could meet my eyes again. "That's why I never take you to my place. I don't think the fiery pits of hell make for a good date night." He laughed. I was still skeptical. "I'll show you." He stood, and wearing nothing but pants he looked glorious. But then great white wings sprouted from his back and all I could do was sit there with my mouth agape.
"I wouldn't lie to you," he said, folding his wings behind him.
"Hail Satan," I finally muttered, startling a laugh out of both of us. He knelt in front of me, his wings moving to enclose us in our own little world. I reached out and touched them, my fingers brushing the downy feathers there. He waited.
I pulled him in for a kiss. What else could I do? I was agnostic before, and now that I had my proof, the side I wanted to choose was already there in front of me for the taking. | "What just happened...My life had changed within the past hour." Drew closed his eyes and rewound the day to when it happened. "Two hours ago..I was picking you up, you said 10 minutes and took 30. One and a half hours ago..we went to our favorite spot in downtown for some ramen. You took your time sipping the steaming bowl, sip after sip like tea, while I watch you. Silent drive home. You looking at the tall city buildings illuminating your soft pale skin. How.. How did we end up here like this?"
"I..I don't know what to say anymore.. I told you everything and now we don't have time. He's coming for me." Said the woman as she consoles her boyfriend's knees while she's crouched down trying to look at his face. His face was covered by his hands and his elbows fused with his thighs. She rocks them back and forth trying to get something out of him. He pulls his hands down enough where his eyes meets this beautiful woman. Her hair is all over her face, pasted on by her tears.
"Drewboo, please let's just go. Anywhere but here, I can't stay here." She starts to sound agitated and starts to feel like moving him is useless. She bites her lower left lip and stands up.
"I have to go now Drewboo, I told you the truth.. And you still don't believe me. This says something about our relationship and future."
"FUTURE, Denise?!" She was pushed aback by his sudden reaction. "You're the one that hid this..this whole --I don't even know what to call this and now you expect me to leave everything to run away from God of all people. GOD! Yea, the one that everyone prays to, the one that created this world, or whatever the church goers believe."
"See, you don't believe in him, why are you being so stubborn? Everyone exists. Buddha, God, Zeus..everyone. You're just a mortal, you don't know these people like we do. They're like us, bad gods do good things and good gods do bad things."
Drew made an angry and confusing face and questioned "But you're the bad guy, you followed Lucifer. Lucifer! You know I'm fucking scared of The exorcist, why would you follow him. Oh and the icing on the cake, you're his right hand demon. Probably his sex toy, how was he huh? I bet he's crazy in bed huh, demonic sex how's that like? I don't even know you, shit, I'm fucking scared of what you did to me, did you take my soul--you..you succubus!"
"Is that what you think of me?" Her voice trembled, and her head down. Her silky black hair shined in their bedroom light. The lights began to shine brighter and brighter until sparks flew out and bursted. A slick bearded man in a suit appeared behind her, grabbed her neck and pinned her down to her knees. Her head still in the motionless position.
"Thanks son, I've been looking for her. See Denise? I listen to my children" The suited man petted her hair then combed her long hair with his fingers. He laughed and mocked Drew's prayer "Oh god what do I do, she's a demon, what do I do? Yes I heard it all, that's how I found you so easily. You know how many rooms there are in this forsaken building? You know how many heathens live here, it's like a cluster fuck of shit."
Drew, as confused as he was from the start finally mustered enough courage to talk. "A..are you--"
"God, yes." Stating in a monotone voice while looking around Drew's bedroom. "This is a nice place, nothing like Heaven but eh, the economy right? He snickered.
"Any last words to your demon girlfriend?"
Drew looked at this woman dressed in his favorite red dress, wearing red nail polish, all the while not being able to see her face, defenseless and unable to move, thinks for a bit.
"You played me..what was your plan with me? With my soul? Do I still have it?!"
"..." The woman was silent.
The suited man stopped playing with her hair, grabbed her head up with a full fist, and showed Drew her face.
His heart dropped. The girls had a face of defeat. Her eyes swollen with tears, her lips closed so hard that they wouldn't stop trembling. She couldn't talk, every breath she took, her body twitched, every exhale harder than the next. She pulled up her chin, took a gulp,of what may be her last breath still shaking, and finally said "I'll always love you drewb--"
The lights flickered and Drew was back on the edge of his bed. Hands covering his face. Elbows fused to his thighs in the empty room.
|
What do they really look like? Beautiful and angelic, or dark and demonic? What do you do now? | [WP] Your significant other is the most beautiful and amazing person you've ever met. One night while you're together they admit to being a fallen angel, one of the angels who rebelled alongside Lucifer in the War in Heaven, and prove it by showing you their true form. | I looked at her in disbelief.
"Really?" I finally said, "You're a angel?"
Abby nodded, her red hair bouncing slightly. "You don't seem that surprised."
"Why should I be?" I shrugged. "I always knew you were an angel for dating me."
Normally, my quip would have brought a chuckle or smile to her face. Not today.
"Please, I need you to be serious," she said, reaching out to grab my hand, "I love you, and... I'm scared about what's going to happen because of that."
That drew me up short. In the six months that we had been dating, Abby had never said that before. I always knew that she cared about me, she had never been shy about showing me that she did, but the L word? No, she had never used it.
Now she stood in front of me, holding my hands, with a set expression on her face. It was not an expression I had ever seen before, and I realized what it was: genuine fear. I had seen this women jump out of an airplane for our first date, and all she had done was grin as fell backward out the door. She's feed lions by hand at a zoo, swum with sharks, faced down everything with nothing more than that same smile that I had come to love.
Now she was telling me that she was an actual angel. And was frightened about admitting it.
Several questions ran through my mind, as I started to actually process this information, so many I didn't know what to ask first. Thankfully, my mouth decided for me.
"If you're an angel, why aren't you in heaven?"
Here she winced slightly before drawing in a deep breath.
"I'm not from heaven."
For another moment, I just stared at her before my brain held up a card.
"Oh. Ohhh. Oh," was all I said. Brilliant, huh? Again, my mouth was way ahead of anything else.
"Then, what are you doing here?"
She gripped my hands a little tighter and said, "Every so often, we are... I guess released is the best word, but that's not quite right either. The point is, we are allowed to come to Earth and live human lives. It's sort of like an exchange program."
"Wait, so when does that mean you have to go back?" I asked quickly. The thought that she might have to up and leave suddenly popped up, and I was suddenly terrified. I didn't want her to go.
She smiled softly, like she read my mind. She knew me well enough that she might as well have. "I still have plenty of time. It might be temporary by our standards, but it still lasts a full lifetime. As long as I keep eating my leafy greens and lay off the white cake, I should be good.
"Oh, that's good," I said. Those words utterly failed to convey my relief that I wouldn't lose her so soon. Then, another thought came up. "Hey, does this mean I have to start watching my back?"
She raised an eyebrow at me. "I mean, are a team of angel supercommando's going to kick down my door in the middle of the night and kidnap me, or anything like that?"
She smiled. "Not if I have anything to say about it." She leaned in and kissed me. After pulling back, the smile faded from her face. "I, um, was wondering if, maybe, I could,...show you?"
I looked at her blankly.
"You know, what I really look like?" I could see that same scared expression creep back onto her face. At that moment, I knew that there would only be one answer I could give, or even want to give.
I nodded once.
Abby to a deep breath and... I guess *shift* is the only word that really works. Nothing changed. But everything changed.
Her eyes were still the same bottle green, her nose that dainty, delicate thing, her hair still that fiery red that had first attracted me to her. The growth of an enormous pair of raven wings were certainly different, but for some reason it didn't feel like the first time I had seen them. In my head I wondered if it was just the first time I had actually *looked* at them.
The rest of her body didn't change either. It was still the attractive, athletic body that had been the second thing that had drawn me to her (I'm still just a guy after all).
But what changed the most was the skin around her mouth. Everywhere else I looked, it was the same fair complexion, but around her mouth... It looked like someone had tried to brush her teeth with a blow torch.
Her lips were cracked and blackened, pulled back from her teeth into an almost smile that would have had me shitting my pants if I didn't know her. The same was true for the skin on her chin and cheeks. Under some of the cracks, a distant red light shone through, like looking at a fire reflected around a corner in a dark cave.
It was about that moment when I noticed her hands felt different. Frowning, I looked down at them. I blinked and looked again. Just like her face, the skin was badly burned with that same light through the cracks. On her right hand, her pinkie and ring finger had been fused together, forming a single malformed digit.
I looked up, straight into her eyes. They were still filled filled with that same fear. This time, I was the one that leaned in and kissed first. When I pulled back, I saw tears forming at the corner of her eyes. I pretended not to see them. Regardless of how vulnerable she was now, she'd still kick my ass if I called attention to them. Made that mistake when we watched Old Yeller together once. Once.
"What happened," was all I asked instead.
She blinked, forcing the tears back down. "It was right after the war, and Dad,"
"Wait," I interrupted, "I thought you said your parents died in... Oh, right, I guess they weren't really your parents. Were they?" I could only imagine what the expression on my face looked like as I took a swim through the Sea of Awkward.
Abby just snorted, a smile teasing at her lips. She had shifted back to her "human" appearance. "No, that was just a story I told you. No, Dad, well he's not my actual father, but given what he did, I don't think I'd ever feel comfortable calling him anything else. Anyway, it was just after Dad and the rest of us had lost the war. We all ended up in Hell, and Dad was, well..."
"What a minute," I said, "Is Dad Lucifer?!?" Sometimes I amaze myself with how quick I can be on the uptake.
Abby smirked and shook her head. "And here I thought one of the reasons I fell for you was because of your brain. Yes, my dad is Lucifer. Not by birth, more like... adoption, I guess. Anyway," she shot me a look that showed how much she'd tolerate another interruption, "he was really depressed. Like, extremely. Here, he'd gone and fought for all of us, and then most of us just go off and join the other side. And you, I mean, humans, had just gotten punished for the fact that you had free will. Dad, I think, loved you even more than he loved us. The way he tells it, you were just so *curious* and he just kept on encouraging it. He was so happy for you whenever you made one of those first steps. You should have seen him when you discovered fire." She stopped to smile again. "You'd have thought that he was a parent bragging about their child's acceptance into Harvard."
The smile faded from her face. "But then, after the war... He just fell apart. For a while, he tried to keep it up for the rest of us, but then one day... he just wandered off." She shivered. "There is a place that's... beyond is the only word that works, Hell. He just headed for it one day and none of us could stop him. It's a cold place, empty, with nothing that could sustain even an angel. When he left, none of us knew what to do at first. Then we came up with an idea. That's how this happened." She held up her hands. "We ate from the Fire of Hell." She flinched at the memory.
"It was the only thing that could keep us going out in the cold. When we found him, he was half dead. I was one of the those that carried some of the Fire with us, and was able to use it to bring him back, and.. You know what, why don't I let him tell you the story?"
"Huh?" I asked, bewildered.
She chuckled at me. "Don't you think it's time you actually met my parents?"
I looked off in the distance, trying to wrap my head around this. "I... I guess so."
Her smile got wider. "Good." She stood up. "I'll start packing."
| "What just happened...My life had changed within the past hour." Drew closed his eyes and rewound the day to when it happened. "Two hours ago..I was picking you up, you said 10 minutes and took 30. One and a half hours ago..we went to our favorite spot in downtown for some ramen. You took your time sipping the steaming bowl, sip after sip like tea, while I watch you. Silent drive home. You looking at the tall city buildings illuminating your soft pale skin. How.. How did we end up here like this?"
"I..I don't know what to say anymore.. I told you everything and now we don't have time. He's coming for me." Said the woman as she consoles her boyfriend's knees while she's crouched down trying to look at his face. His face was covered by his hands and his elbows fused with his thighs. She rocks them back and forth trying to get something out of him. He pulls his hands down enough where his eyes meets this beautiful woman. Her hair is all over her face, pasted on by her tears.
"Drewboo, please let's just go. Anywhere but here, I can't stay here." She starts to sound agitated and starts to feel like moving him is useless. She bites her lower left lip and stands up.
"I have to go now Drewboo, I told you the truth.. And you still don't believe me. This says something about our relationship and future."
"FUTURE, Denise?!" She was pushed aback by his sudden reaction. "You're the one that hid this..this whole --I don't even know what to call this and now you expect me to leave everything to run away from God of all people. GOD! Yea, the one that everyone prays to, the one that created this world, or whatever the church goers believe."
"See, you don't believe in him, why are you being so stubborn? Everyone exists. Buddha, God, Zeus..everyone. You're just a mortal, you don't know these people like we do. They're like us, bad gods do good things and good gods do bad things."
Drew made an angry and confusing face and questioned "But you're the bad guy, you followed Lucifer. Lucifer! You know I'm fucking scared of The exorcist, why would you follow him. Oh and the icing on the cake, you're his right hand demon. Probably his sex toy, how was he huh? I bet he's crazy in bed huh, demonic sex how's that like? I don't even know you, shit, I'm fucking scared of what you did to me, did you take my soul--you..you succubus!"
"Is that what you think of me?" Her voice trembled, and her head down. Her silky black hair shined in their bedroom light. The lights began to shine brighter and brighter until sparks flew out and bursted. A slick bearded man in a suit appeared behind her, grabbed her neck and pinned her down to her knees. Her head still in the motionless position.
"Thanks son, I've been looking for her. See Denise? I listen to my children" The suited man petted her hair then combed her long hair with his fingers. He laughed and mocked Drew's prayer "Oh god what do I do, she's a demon, what do I do? Yes I heard it all, that's how I found you so easily. You know how many rooms there are in this forsaken building? You know how many heathens live here, it's like a cluster fuck of shit."
Drew, as confused as he was from the start finally mustered enough courage to talk. "A..are you--"
"God, yes." Stating in a monotone voice while looking around Drew's bedroom. "This is a nice place, nothing like Heaven but eh, the economy right? He snickered.
"Any last words to your demon girlfriend?"
Drew looked at this woman dressed in his favorite red dress, wearing red nail polish, all the while not being able to see her face, defenseless and unable to move, thinks for a bit.
"You played me..what was your plan with me? With my soul? Do I still have it?!"
"..." The woman was silent.
The suited man stopped playing with her hair, grabbed her head up with a full fist, and showed Drew her face.
His heart dropped. The girls had a face of defeat. Her eyes swollen with tears, her lips closed so hard that they wouldn't stop trembling. She couldn't talk, every breath she took, her body twitched, every exhale harder than the next. She pulled up her chin, took a gulp,of what may be her last breath still shaking, and finally said "I'll always love you drewb--"
The lights flickered and Drew was back on the edge of his bed. Hands covering his face. Elbows fused to his thighs in the empty room.
|
What do they really look like? Beautiful and angelic, or dark and demonic? What do you do now? | [WP] Your significant other is the most beautiful and amazing person you've ever met. One night while you're together they admit to being a fallen angel, one of the angels who rebelled alongside Lucifer in the War in Heaven, and prove it by showing you their true form. | I looked at her in disbelief.
"Really?" I finally said, "You're a angel?"
Abby nodded, her red hair bouncing slightly. "You don't seem that surprised."
"Why should I be?" I shrugged. "I always knew you were an angel for dating me."
Normally, my quip would have brought a chuckle or smile to her face. Not today.
"Please, I need you to be serious," she said, reaching out to grab my hand, "I love you, and... I'm scared about what's going to happen because of that."
That drew me up short. In the six months that we had been dating, Abby had never said that before. I always knew that she cared about me, she had never been shy about showing me that she did, but the L word? No, she had never used it.
Now she stood in front of me, holding my hands, with a set expression on her face. It was not an expression I had ever seen before, and I realized what it was: genuine fear. I had seen this women jump out of an airplane for our first date, and all she had done was grin as fell backward out the door. She's feed lions by hand at a zoo, swum with sharks, faced down everything with nothing more than that same smile that I had come to love.
Now she was telling me that she was an actual angel. And was frightened about admitting it.
Several questions ran through my mind, as I started to actually process this information, so many I didn't know what to ask first. Thankfully, my mouth decided for me.
"If you're an angel, why aren't you in heaven?"
Here she winced slightly before drawing in a deep breath.
"I'm not from heaven."
For another moment, I just stared at her before my brain held up a card.
"Oh. Ohhh. Oh," was all I said. Brilliant, huh? Again, my mouth was way ahead of anything else.
"Then, what are you doing here?"
She gripped my hands a little tighter and said, "Every so often, we are... I guess released is the best word, but that's not quite right either. The point is, we are allowed to come to Earth and live human lives. It's sort of like an exchange program."
"Wait, so when does that mean you have to go back?" I asked quickly. The thought that she might have to up and leave suddenly popped up, and I was suddenly terrified. I didn't want her to go.
She smiled softly, like she read my mind. She knew me well enough that she might as well have. "I still have plenty of time. It might be temporary by our standards, but it still lasts a full lifetime. As long as I keep eating my leafy greens and lay off the white cake, I should be good.
"Oh, that's good," I said. Those words utterly failed to convey my relief that I wouldn't lose her so soon. Then, another thought came up. "Hey, does this mean I have to start watching my back?"
She raised an eyebrow at me. "I mean, are a team of angel supercommando's going to kick down my door in the middle of the night and kidnap me, or anything like that?"
She smiled. "Not if I have anything to say about it." She leaned in and kissed me. After pulling back, the smile faded from her face. "I, um, was wondering if, maybe, I could,...show you?"
I looked at her blankly.
"You know, what I really look like?" I could see that same scared expression creep back onto her face. At that moment, I knew that there would only be one answer I could give, or even want to give.
I nodded once.
Abby to a deep breath and... I guess *shift* is the only word that really works. Nothing changed. But everything changed.
Her eyes were still the same bottle green, her nose that dainty, delicate thing, her hair still that fiery red that had first attracted me to her. The growth of an enormous pair of raven wings were certainly different, but for some reason it didn't feel like the first time I had seen them. In my head I wondered if it was just the first time I had actually *looked* at them.
The rest of her body didn't change either. It was still the attractive, athletic body that had been the second thing that had drawn me to her (I'm still just a guy after all).
But what changed the most was the skin around her mouth. Everywhere else I looked, it was the same fair complexion, but around her mouth... It looked like someone had tried to brush her teeth with a blow torch.
Her lips were cracked and blackened, pulled back from her teeth into an almost smile that would have had me shitting my pants if I didn't know her. The same was true for the skin on her chin and cheeks. Under some of the cracks, a distant red light shone through, like looking at a fire reflected around a corner in a dark cave.
It was about that moment when I noticed her hands felt different. Frowning, I looked down at them. I blinked and looked again. Just like her face, the skin was badly burned with that same light through the cracks. On her right hand, her pinkie and ring finger had been fused together, forming a single malformed digit.
I looked up, straight into her eyes. They were still filled filled with that same fear. This time, I was the one that leaned in and kissed first. When I pulled back, I saw tears forming at the corner of her eyes. I pretended not to see them. Regardless of how vulnerable she was now, she'd still kick my ass if I called attention to them. Made that mistake when we watched Old Yeller together once. Once.
"What happened," was all I asked instead.
She blinked, forcing the tears back down. "It was right after the war, and Dad,"
"Wait," I interrupted, "I thought you said your parents died in... Oh, right, I guess they weren't really your parents. Were they?" I could only imagine what the expression on my face looked like as I took a swim through the Sea of Awkward.
Abby just snorted, a smile teasing at her lips. She had shifted back to her "human" appearance. "No, that was just a story I told you. No, Dad, well he's not my actual father, but given what he did, I don't think I'd ever feel comfortable calling him anything else. Anyway, it was just after Dad and the rest of us had lost the war. We all ended up in Hell, and Dad was, well..."
"What a minute," I said, "Is Dad Lucifer?!?" Sometimes I amaze myself with how quick I can be on the uptake.
Abby smirked and shook her head. "And here I thought one of the reasons I fell for you was because of your brain. Yes, my dad is Lucifer. Not by birth, more like... adoption, I guess. Anyway," she shot me a look that showed how much she'd tolerate another interruption, "he was really depressed. Like, extremely. Here, he'd gone and fought for all of us, and then most of us just go off and join the other side. And you, I mean, humans, had just gotten punished for the fact that you had free will. Dad, I think, loved you even more than he loved us. The way he tells it, you were just so *curious* and he just kept on encouraging it. He was so happy for you whenever you made one of those first steps. You should have seen him when you discovered fire." She stopped to smile again. "You'd have thought that he was a parent bragging about their child's acceptance into Harvard."
The smile faded from her face. "But then, after the war... He just fell apart. For a while, he tried to keep it up for the rest of us, but then one day... he just wandered off." She shivered. "There is a place that's... beyond is the only word that works, Hell. He just headed for it one day and none of us could stop him. It's a cold place, empty, with nothing that could sustain even an angel. When he left, none of us knew what to do at first. Then we came up with an idea. That's how this happened." She held up her hands. "We ate from the Fire of Hell." She flinched at the memory.
"It was the only thing that could keep us going out in the cold. When we found him, he was half dead. I was one of the those that carried some of the Fire with us, and was able to use it to bring him back, and.. You know what, why don't I let him tell you the story?"
"Huh?" I asked, bewildered.
She chuckled at me. "Don't you think it's time you actually met my parents?"
I looked off in the distance, trying to wrap my head around this. "I... I guess so."
Her smile got wider. "Good." She stood up. "I'll start packing."
| She stood there covering herself with her hands. Although we have been together many times, this is the first where she was embarrassed of her body. Her skin was cracked, scarred, and brittle. I thought she was going to turn to dusk in any minute. She hangs her head in shame, her eyes, dark as the ocean, not meeting mine. I take it all in. Her tattered wings, the signs that she was once graceful. All of which is in ruin now. After a moment she speaks. Not with her voice, but one that is ancient, and tortured.
"This is why I can't marry you, Eric." When she said my name, my heart fluttered. I still have no words for her though. Without looking she continues, "It's not just the immortal part about watching you die, but your soul as well. If we were to be bound though marriage, you will go to hell. All I could do is watch you be tortured for eternity. I just can't let that happen. I love you. After a millennium of existence I love you. Not one person has captured my heart as much as you. Please understand that. Because of that love, I cannot marry you."
I am still on my knee, Ring in hand. After a pause, I reply,
"Lisa, I too have scoured the world for love. I have crossed oceans," My skin begins to give way. I begin to feel pain for the first time. "I have rode with Mongolian hordes," My skin cracks, and my skin begins to lose its tone, Turning into a stony cracked surface. " and I have never met someone as wonderful, and genuine as you. I mean that after a millennium of searching." My eyes, once a brilliant light shade of blue begin to turn dark. My wings, now fully emerged, begin to burn. The feathers falling in ash to the apartment floor. "If it is a crime against God to have true love, then I hereby abandon and betray this God. I have now found someone I love more than He. Lisa, will you take my hand in marriage, and suffer in torment for eternity together?" I feel blood seeping from the cuts. I can feel His eyes on me. Lisa is horrified. I begin to shake, barely holding up my weight among the pain. Is this what it felt like then too? And I fall to the ground, Lisa swept me up at an unholy speed. Together we sit in silence. After a moment, Lisa picks up the ring and puts in on her finger. |
What do they really look like? Beautiful and angelic, or dark and demonic? What do you do now? | [WP] Your significant other is the most beautiful and amazing person you've ever met. One night while you're together they admit to being a fallen angel, one of the angels who rebelled alongside Lucifer in the War in Heaven, and prove it by showing you their true form. | The first time that I met Sam, he just strolled up to me and said, “What’s the worst that can happen?”
I was thinking about asking a guy I like out, but I was honestly terrified; things with my ex didn’t end… amicably, and I was afraid something similar would happen again.
Sam continued, like I wasn’t standing there, gawping with my mouth open at his beauty. “He could say no. If he says no, you know you can move on. If he says yes, you can try something. If it doesn’t work, then you’ll at least *know* that it won’t work. You won’t be guessing.” He smiled at me, kindly, and then walked away.
I asked the guy out the next time I saw him. He said yes. We dated a few times, realized that there wasn’t much there except mutual horniness, and decided to be friends instead. Six years later, we’re like brother and sister.
The next time I saw Sam (six months later), I asked him his name, and asked if he wanted to have a cup of coffee with me. He wondered why I was asking him out for. I told him, “What’s the worst that can happen?”
We dated. We had a crazy, wild, awesome time that I cherish. We loved. We love. We moved in together, live together, and everything was amazing, and awesome.
Until I found out I was pregnant. I was joyous about it; and I told him in an enthusiastic bout of verbal diarrhea that we were to be parents. My first clue was when his face turned pasty-white, and he started fidgeting. My second clue was when he told me I shouldn’t keep the baby, and that if we wanted children, we should adopt.
“Why?”
“The baby will kill you.”
“Wait, what?”
“Can we chalk it up to intuition and call it a day?”
“No. Why do you think that?”
He took a deep breath then told me of his history. His *real* history. I started to laugh.
“You do realize I’m an atheist.” I said, between laughter. “You’ll need to come up with something better than that.”
He touched my forehead, and I saw it all. I saw the God that ordered the angels to love humanity above all, but then killed millions. The God that gave mankind free will then punished them for exercising it. The God that punished Sam and his garrison for daring to say “No” to contradictory orders. You see, to the victors goes the history. The God-Squad won the war in heaven. Lucifer, Sam, and the other Souls of Solomon fought to keep Michael from carrying out one particular order: tempt the humans, get them to sin, and then put them in Perdition. Humans were set up to fail. Lucifer saw this, and said he would have no part in it. They failed. Michael entered the garden in the guise of a snake using the Lightbringer’s name, and successfully temped Eve. Lucifer offered to take her place in hell. God ordered those who sided with Lucifer cast out.
At that moment, I saw Sammael, instead of Sam, and I loved him. His six wings, along with most of his skin, were burned almost beyond recognition. Scars from lashings, stab wounds, and slashes marred his skin. He was beautiful.
But I will not murder my own child, on a chance it would kill me. I told Sam we would seek out others like him, and hear their stories.
We did. Each time, either the mother or the baby died. I asked him which he would prefer—to have a wife, or to have a child. He said a wife. He feared God would kill the child, as he did the other Nephilim.
I got a C-section three days before my due date. The child was stillborn.
I’m no longer an atheist. To quote Riddick, I absolutely believe in God. And I absolutely hate the fucker. | My hands moved in a fury, "No! NO! That cannot be true!" I screamed in sign language at her. I couldn't believe that all those years we spent together meant nothing to her. She just admitted to me that she wasn't really a human but someone who fought at Lucifer's side.
We were walking along the park beside the Arkansas River in Little Rock and then she stopped me. She had something to admit to me and she just did.
"Honey, I'm so sorry. You were so right when you told me that I looked like an angel when we first met. Do you remember this?" She asked in sign language and I hesitated. It was true that I did say that when we first met. I was walking down the street after I just got out of the taxi cab. Then there she was. I had to say hello to her and get to know her a bit more. Then she looked at me. I smiled. She smiled. The traffic of the pedestrians was all a blur. The shadows of the clouds passed over us so rapidly as we gazed at each other. I signed hello to her as we walked to each other. Then the ray of the sunshine shone upon her as she answered back in sign language. I couldn't really believe that this beautiful creature could be able to sign. Then I said, "Wow, you really look like an angel." She just smiled and say "I know."
"Steve?" She woke me up from this wonderful flashback. And I looked down to her feet and I couldn't really believe how perfect our last couple of years has been. Everything about her seemed so perfect. She seemed to understand my flaws so well. Shoot, she didn't even care about my flaws at all and always said I'm perfect. She was so complete understanding of my humanity and I never wondered why. Just thought she was the most incredible partner that one man could ever ask for.
And now I know why.
I looked back up to her eyes and then suddenly, I noticed the aura around her just as like she is glowing of the sunshine. I asked, "What's going on?"
"Steve, you finally fell in love with me and I am finally free of this terrible curse. You didn't fall in love with me because of just my beauty. You had changed me so much. You changed the way I thought of heaven and hell. And I cannot really believe it that you had also made me see the way the world is being different than it was centuries ago. All of those children at the hospital loves you even when they are dying. They always adored you as they spent the last moments here on earth." I could feel my heart cracking.
Then she became very brightened that I could not really make out her signs and she asked her last question. "Would you like to be able to hear again?" was something that appeared in my mind as it was a second consciousness that entered my mind. I couldn't really explain how this happened because I have never heard a sound in my entire life and I wasn't sure if it was this sound I am hearing or somehow it is a telepathy ability of hers.
Then I signed, "No." I knew that my deafness was always a curse but it was always a blessing. I could change the world and a girl's heart just because I am deaf and I would not let it be taken away.
Then the night was all dark and quiet again. It was a long but happy walk back to my apartment. |
How did you do it? What did you say? What did you do?
And for creativity's sake, alien doesn't necessarily have to mean extra-terrestrial. They can be extra-dimensional, they can be Lovecraftian horrors, they can be supernatural beings from a different plane of reality.
Have fun! | [WP] An alien force is preparing to attack earth and you're the first human they meet in person. You successfully convince them not to invade. | Second post here. Feedback is appreciated.
I hope I'm not breaking any rules about someone responding to their own prompt. I understand there's no written rule *against* doing that, and I waited several hours before posting, so, let me know if I'm breaking any etiquette here. Also, sorry if I'm breaking any length requirements, as this is quite a bit long.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
U'larth-Pal took several steps away from the portal, flanked by his two elite guards, Del'ar-Nigath and T'oral-Fular. Two of the finest Kasanii soldiers who ever served under him. After his fifth world conquest and subsequent promotion to the 17th War Prime of Jura'll, he had been given special privilages, including his own special contingent. And so he chose his two most trusted comrades, who had served with him at countless battles, with their own battle prowess being nothing to scoff at- Nigath having saved his life more than once during the war on Esteneon, and Fular having single-handedly wiped out the dreaded, legendary Undying Corps. Of Valann-10112.
And soon, this planet would be there's as well. They had done several cursory flyovers with a recon craft of this world. It was still a Class 0.7 civilization, still stuck in post-industrial/electronic stages, and, from what they could tell, stuck at that stage as well. These creatures still used simple radio and electro-magnetic frequencies for communication, hadn't learned how to stop the aging process (they barely lived beyond 80 of their own planet's cycles), still had to feed on organic matter for sustenance, hadn't even physically set foot on anything beyond their own satellite. Their primary source of power for their cities was to burn ancient, liquified plants plants, for Orvo's sake! As U'larth-Pal and his guards waited as the Warpgate charged and opened a receiving portal on the planet's surface, he wanted to think of the glorious battles that would follow, but instead, could only imagine how disgusting easy it would be to go against such a primitive race. There would be no challenge to it at all. Perhaps they would simply surrender and save him the trouble of bloodying his armor.
And so he and his contingent were surprised that the moment they set foot out of the receiving end of the Warpgate, to see one of the natives sitting at a small table on a chair, an empty chair opposite to it, and tapping away at the surface of a small black device.
U'larth-Pal remembered now that the info from the recons said they called themselves *hoomans,* although he'd never bothered to take a look at any pictures of them. Now that he was here, he could see just how ugly they were. It was deathly pale, and sickly-looking compared to the to U'larth-Pal's own red skin. And it's mouth was nothing more than a hole covered by two flaps of skin. And what was that stuff growing all over its head and face? Some kind of symbiote? And only one pair of eyes- so small, U'larth-Pal wondered if it could even see him standing just ten meters ahead of him.
U'larth-Pal looked around. They were in an open expanse, the ground covered with some gray, solid stone-like substance. All around them were white pillars, and just beyond, the walls of some building that seemed to wrap around the entire area. Apparently the Warpgate had opened up in the courtyard of some complex. *A public gathering place, perhaps?* U'larth-Pal thought. *Excellent, the more people who see us, the sooner word of our presence will get out. And hopefully the sooner this pathetic race will surrender.* U'larth-Pal glanced back at the human. It was still tapping away at the device it was holding in its hand. U'larth-Pal looked around at the pillars. Then why is this *hooman* the only one here?
U'larth-Pal looked back at the hooman, who, had finally looked up and had locked gazes with U'larth-Pal's lower set of eyes through the faceplate of his helmet. It opened it's mouth and emitted some horrible noise, somewhere between an incomprehensible babble and an annoying chattering. It actually took a few seconds before the lingual decryption program in his suit's in-built computer successfully spoke a translation.
“Hello there. Won't you have a seat, please?”
Wow. U'larth-Pal wasn't intimately familiar with human behavior or customs, they seeming informality of the greeting was almost insulting. He walked forward, managing slow, deliberate steps. Even with the battle armor on, the planet's heavy gravity required him to be careful. He flicked his upper right eye downward, bringing up a panel in his vision displaying the suit's power-management functions, but closed it as he decided that it could wait.
He stopped right behind the chair. Looking down at the hooman, he could not only see in greater detail how truly disgusting it looked, but just how unbelievably tiny it was compared to him. This creature wouldn't even stand to U'larth-Pal's shoulder wearing his Battlearmor. And even out of it, U'larth-Pal must stand at least a whole head-and-a-half taller. And if the clothing was any indication, these creatures seemed to prefer modesty over practicality and function. It was wearing a black, uncomfortable-looking synthetic weave of some sort, with a black, heavy-looking vest over its chest. U'larth-Pal had heard that the *hoomans* at one point wore plant-fibers and animal skins, and that some of them still did.
The creature lowered its head as it looked back down at the small device in its hand and began tapping away again. This sheer lack of respect to U'larth-Pal was becoming irritating. He looked at the *hoomans* head, idly wondering how difficult it would be, if at all, to crush it with a single hand. Finally, the *hooman* stopped tapping at the device and looked up again. It's mouth opened and let out that awful garble that passed for an excuse for speech. His Battlearmor's computer quickly began running to produce a translation. Now, U'larth-Pal just wanted to crush the *hooman's* head, if for no other reason than to stop that Orvo-awful noise of language coming out of its hideous face. 3 seconds later, the computer finally spit out a translation.
“Who are you, and what are your intentions?”
U'larth-Pal turned on the inbuilt speaker of his helmet and spoke as his computer produced a monotone-sounding translation in the creature's language. Against all laws of probability, this somehow managed to make the native's language sound even worse.
“I am U'larth-Pal, 17th War Prime of Jura'll, and we are here to discuss the terms of your subjugation under the Kasani Empire. You will surrender immediately or face destruction of untold scale.”
“I see.” The native glanced back down and started tapping away at its device again. Now U'larth-Pal was just angry. Of all the planets he had conquered, the natives would either bow down to him and his forces, flee in a blind panic, or at the very least, put up some futile resistance (the last being his favorite response, as it was, by far, the most entertaining). But to be ignored? To someone of his standing, this was quite possibly the gravest insult of all. He looked down and had just began to reach for his sidearm, no longer willing to dirty his hands on this insolent creature (besides, that symbiote growing all over its head could be contagious), when the hooman spoke again. He only stayed his hand out of curiosity of the creature's response, but what his translator spoke, he quickly looked back at the human, shocked by what he heard.
“That would probably be a very bad idea.”
Well this was a new one. No native on any world had ever straight-up tried to bluff their way out of an invasion, before. All four of U'larth-Pal's eyes were focused on the hooman now. Now he was curious. *Alright, let's see how this plays out. Might actually be fun.* U'larth-Pal spoke and a second later the speaker on his helmet spat out the translation.
“Explain.”
“What I'm saying,” U'larth-Pal's translator spoke out, several seconds behind the *hooman's* speech, as it put down the small device on the table (finally, thought U'larth-Pal), “Is that it would be a huge mistake. For you. Possibly your last.” | I was miserable, it wasn't that Amy turned me down, it was how she did it.
*"You are too high minded...too intellectual. I couldn't hold a candle up to you. I don't want to be jealous of every college-read gal you meet in your offices or in your libraries and such"*
All true. None of it plausible. She was my moon shot, the prettiest gal in town. Miss Keefee 2012 and 2011. A girl who wrenched my heart out of my rib cage like she was a Mortal Kombat character, then left it beating haplessly on the floor of Ricky's Grille....oozing life and necrotizing in despair.
Five cans of cheap beer dulled the edge of what had transpired. Above the starry sky gleamed with the light of a few hundred stars, the presence of many more muted by the lights of the town behind me. Fuck it, I thought, it's off to Ag and Mech for a Masters degree. 300 miles of separation to from my despair. I wallowed in that moment of self pity, barely noticing the tiny craft make landfall about 10 yards behind my car. Only the dull thud as it touched down made me lazily roll my head back and shout "What?!" Then I noticed the glow, a barely perceptible blue. It came from around knee height. I staggered towards it, thanks more to a full bladder than drunkedness.
The craft was a simple sphere, about 2-3 feet in diameter, coated with what looked like the chrome finish fancy car parts use. It wasn't resting on any support and I could not tell why it wasn't rolling around. Neither could I pinpoint where the glow was emanating from. I moved closer and suddenly it zapped me. Bzzzt! No lightning cutting through the tepid air, no ozone smell like the storms and no explosion either. Just an unpleasant sting. "Mother. Fucker!" I recoiled a few steps, blinked a few times and stared at the thing. Worms! Tens of thousands of worms, all heaped into a wet, slimy undulating mass. I could see it like recalling a scene from an old movie. That thing was carrying them, or their eggs. They're UFOs, alien fucking worms! The thought caused me to smile. First contact! "We come in peace!" I shouted, smiling smugly. No response. "Fuck....you...come in peace". Bzzzt!! Worms....a bigger mass....cupped inside a hole or crevice carved into a massive sphere....around it stars...........
They ate planets. Or stars.
I turned around and ran back to my car before that thing could zap me again. I turned back, it had not moved. I popped open the trunk and pulled out the half sack of ice mix that had been sitting there for six months. A mix of concrete, sawdust and salt. I held the mouth of the sack open and moved back towards the sphere. I took a handful and flung it at the sphere.....birds! think birds....early birds....get the worm....wriggly thing....held in its beak....make it an eagle....no,no...raven.....tearing off worm flesh...feeeding it to open baby beaks....I moved close to the thing and dunked the contents of the sack on it.
Bzzt.....ouch! Darkness.
I came to at least two hours later. The words 'threatener' and 'warner' formed in my subconscious. I crawled to where the sphere stood and pushed the ice mix away. The grassy soil was unmolested and smooth. I had a pounding headache and the smell of ammonia and warm wetness along my thigh reminded me I had also peed myself. I got up and pulled my pants off, thew my boxers into the darkness of the field. I walked back to the car and threw my pants in the trunk. I burped, an evil fermented burp straight from the pit of hell. I turned on the radio and searched the AM band for a news station.
Amy would never know what being with the defender of planet Earth was like. |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.