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[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | " That was amazing doctor!" The young nurse gushed excitedly as the tall slender man walked out of the OR. He smiled warmly at the nurse as he pulled down his surgical mask and peeled off the gloves. The front of his surgical gear was splattered in blood, but he didn't seem phased by it at all.
" Wendy, you are so sweet. Did you watch the whole thing?" He peeled off the rest of his surgical gear revealing his tall lean frame. He had a handsome face with high cheekbones, something almost out of centerfold for an upscale magazine. Even with his hairline receding and his dark hair starting to go grey, it just made him appear more powerful and wise.
The young nurse nodded enthusiastically as a small crowd of other nurses and doctors started to gather, " Yes! I timed it! It's the fastest heart transplant ever! You've broken your own record by 10 seconds!" She practically squealed as she looked at the gentleman with affection. The crowd around them started to clap and whistle as many tried to touch him, the man many called " The Gatekeeper."
The man appeared to redden slightly with embarrassment, even though this appeared to be regular scene, he appeared uncomfortable with the praise.
Doctor Matt Burnish, had always wanted to be a doctor. His mother's life was saved when he was seven when the surgeon performed an emergency brain surgery to correct an aneurysm. The man had assured them everything would be okay and it was, and he couldn't imagine anything better than saving lives.
He'd studied hard, pushing relationships and hobbies aside to focus on the one thing he wanted more than anything else and he advanced quickly. At the age of 20 he graduated from Harvard Medical at the top of his class. He joined the best trauma center in the country for his internship and residency and he couldn't begin to start.
After three years he could barely stand it. He couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand watching good people day in and day out. People that worked hard and tried to make the best lives they can and they just couldn't get the treatment they needed. And he had to continually spend time on drug addicts and convicts. Or even worse, the corrupt upper class that fed on the weak and powerless. Just when he was about to quit medicine he met the new Chief of Medicine of his hospital. Dr. Beck, he told him about how he hated the system and that if Matt would stay he could choose his patients. The day he agreed was the day the day the Eye for an Eye law was passed.
As he shuffled through the crowd a little awkwardly he ran into Dr. Beck who smiled widely like a proud grandfather. " Well done M'boy! That girl will be back in High School before the year is out. You'd think after becoming the most renowned surgeon in the world, you'd get used to a little attention." He teased his protege lightly, as though this was a familiar jab.
Matt rolled his eyes and tried to move past him, " Well if your done riding me, I just got done with a long surgery and I'm tired." He faked a loud yawn and started to move towards the on call room.
" Oh really. Then I guess I'll just find another doctor who wants to treat this 7 year old in full renal failure." And before he'd even finished Matt had taken the chart out of the older doctor's hand and was quickly skimming it.
" No family matches?" Was his first question which was met with a quick shake of his head, " None in storage?" Which was met with another shake. Matt sighed for a second before he looked the older gentleman in the eyes and nodded, " Find me one." And then he was gone.
Two hours later he was striding into the room of one Jonathan Hedley, President of the Hedley corporation, he developed a rash in a sensitive area and wanted it taken care of discreetly.
" Hello Mr. Hedly, I'm Dr. Burnish and I'll be your medical provider for the remainder of your stay."
" About damn time. I've donated a ton of money to this hospital and I expect to get fast treatment!" The man blustered.
" Well we are busy saving lives." The doctor replied sarcastically as he rolled his eyes and consulted his chart. " And while we appreciate the money from the Hedley Corporation, don't think that makes up for your other misdeeds."
The man sputtered, " What misdeeds?! Who do you believe you are talking to!"
" Well for starters you laid off over 20% of your workforce last quarter and outsourced them, all while giving yourself a 2 million dollar bonus. You've been known to deny valid benefits to your workers." As he spoke the door open and two more doctors moved into the room followed by Dr. Beck. " And numerous other things that I just don't have time nor want to explain to you."
Hedley was roughly forced onto the bed and held down as Matt picked up syringe full of bright clear liquid. " I'm afraid we are going to need your kidneys Mr. Hedley.... and whatever else we can use. You may go through the gates of hell." | One slight question, how exactly does this "saving" count? Say a guy is saved shot, he ran to safety, a good Samaritan picked him up and floored it to the hospital, a doctor and the nurses immediately carry out a surgery to save him. Now, who gets a free under credit? The doctor only? Or everyone that was involved? |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | Dr. George checked the papers twice as Anthony Renault sat patiently^1 in front of him. Today was running slowly, like a struggling faucet, no amount of concentration was paying off. He rubbed his eyes and made out what he could- *sore throat*; *can't sleep*. He'll figure something out- he could always just prescribe sugar pills again. *Most* of the time the human body will figure it out its problems on its own.
"How are you feeling, Mr. Renault?" asked Dr. George.
"Not well. Feeling sick."
"Sore throat?"
Mr. Renault nodded. Dr. George told him to open wide.
"Hmmm... Everything seems alright. I don't see any issue here."
"There's a few things. I can't sleep."
"Are you eating well?"
"I think it's because of things that are bothering me... In life, I mean. I saved a life."
Dr. George was no stranger to saving lives. It was entitled in his job. Yes, from the *eye for and eye* law, he could use it to murder anyone he would wish. But Dr. George was not a violent man, simply a clumsy one. It seems like for every life he saves, another dies. It was the way of being a doctor, and sometimes slips can happen.
"Congratulations! It's always good to save someone's life."
"Yeah. I suppose it is. You're a doctor. You must save many lives."
George smirked.
"How many lives do you think you saved, doctor?"
"I'd say hundreds. Thousands, maybe. I've been doing this for many years now."
"And how many would you say you lost?"
George hesitated. "Well, I try to focus on the positive."
"Do you remember the faces of you saved better than the ones you lost?"
George fidgeted in his chair. "I don't feel comfortable talking about this. Could we get back to the task on hand?"
"Yes, of course. I was just questioning because, like I said, I saved a life. Just last week. It was little girl."
"That's very good."
"She was crossing the street, absentmindedly ahead of her parents. She was running, a truck was coming..."
"You did a brave thing."
"Thing is, afterwards, after I saved her and after I got my I4I license, I wasn't proud of myself. I wasn't thinking about her. I didn't even feel like I saved her because she was just a little girl. Have you ever felt that way?"
"What?"
"Have you ever felt like you saved someone not for their life, but for the I4I?"
"I've never wished to have an I4I license, nor have I ever used one."
Mr. Renault scowled. "Not intentionally, maybe. But they're handy to have. Have you ever saved a little girl?"
"Yes, I'm sure I have. The past gets blurry."
"You would know if you have saved a little girl. Same if you had lost one. Have you ever lost a little girl before, Dr. George?"
"Mr. Renault, this is highly unorthodox, and if we cannot discuss why you are here, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"We are discussing why I am here!" Anthony Renault stood and towered over the doctor.
"You're a lazy person. I am not a murderer. You are. An eye for an eye? You might have saved hundreds, but you've blinded thousands. You blinded her."
Dr. George jumped out of his chair, making for the door, but it wasn't quick enough. Mr. Renault left his papers on the stool.
pun^1
| I could never have been a Doctor. All the education, the studying, the pressure and the regulation. Even then, the medical profession always fascinated me, from the old days when saving lives was 'just a job' to now, when Doctors are living gods.
So I had to be involved somehow. Janitor in a Hospital? No thanks. I needed something more dry. When I was first ready for college I finally realized my calling: mediator. Sometimes mediators have more power than Doctors! So I went through the usual 4-year program and came out the other side a bona fide mediator. This is the story of my first case.
I was 23, after a year of desk work straight out of high school. I was finally going to work my first field case. I was called out to a local Hospital, can't remember the name. Any time a life-saving surgery was to be performed, a mediator gets called out. We can't just take Doctors' words for it that they saved a life, can we? Someone needs to bring a ledger and mark it down. Anyway, I got to the Hospital and high-tailed it to surgery, got quickly into the first open seat I could find, and flashed the Surgeon a quick thumbs-up. She began, her practiced motions surrounding her patient in a haze of confident expertise. It wasn't too long an operation. Other mediators end up sitting through 8-hour marathon sessions. Thankfully, this one took just 2 hours. Seeing a living patient exit the room, I noted such on my tablet computer. I went home, confident in my report, awaiting only a follow-up the next day.
I went back in the morning for that follow-up. I was guided to the patient's waiting room after flashing my badge. After getting in the door to room 214-B I was greeted by the Doctor's solemn look. Something immediately felt 'off'. I got a briefing from the Doctor. The patient had slipped into a PVS. It was my call now. I had to decide whether the State had a reasonable expectation that the patient might recover from his vegetative state. I had a set of guidelines to follow, but the final call was mine.
My professional opinion goes like this: sitting there in a bed, wasting away, ain't any kind of life. It doesn't count. But damn, I know the Doctor tried her best. So I offered her the same under-the-table deal I would eventually offer every other Doctor I've had in the same situation. I count it, she offs the patient.
I watched her pull the plug, a smile on both our faces for the very convenient deal we had just brokered. |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | 'I'm so glad you came to us,' the silhouette said to Jones. 'Barely anyone uses general practitioners for this kind of thing. Not nowadays anyway.'
'Well, I heard about what you were looking for and thought “fuck it”.' Jones leant back in his chair. 'I may be dying, but it ain't an emergency.'
The doctor's office hummed in darkness. Where ten years before it'd be off-white walls and harsh, crisp lighting, the décor had evolved with the profession. A lamp stood on the practitioner's desk. It had been angled towards Jones, leaving nothing but outlines of the doctor's shadow. The only visual trace left by the doctor was a thick tendril of cigar smoke, which danced over the lamplight.
'Yes, well,' said the doctor after a pause. 'The problem is, people get caught up in the celebrity of the whole thing. Why get your insulin from the GP—why give them a termination license, when you can wait in line to give it to your favourite superstar?'
'Like doctor Koch,' said Jones.
'Yes, like Dr. Koch. He has more kill points—sorry, termination licenses—than he knows what to do with. Making a spectacle of the terminations like he does too, it means there's a steady stream of fans ready to plump up his license number.'
'Yeah.'
'You know there's people who refuse antibiotics, who let wounds decay and rot, just so they'll be rushed to a hospital on the off chance he'll treat them? They're that desperate to help his score. His work rota's plastered all over online. So people can co-ordinate their flirtations with mortality.'
'Fucking crazy world,' said Jones. Wouldn't the practitioner just get to the point? Jones shifted in his seat slightly, moving against the sharp pain carving through his right side. 'So like, how do we certify it so you get a kill license—termination thingy—whatever. How in danger does my life have to be?'
'How long since your last dialysis?'
'Six days.' Jones grimaced.
'Must be rather uncomfortable.' Another puff of smoke billowed over the lamplight.
'You bet.'
'Well, give it another forty eight hours. I'll make sure nurse who verifies licenses is around. You should be sick enough by then that we won't need theatrics.'
'Sound,' said Jones. 'And I get 10k, yeah? Wired into my bank the same day?'
'Of course.'
'Before I go,' continued Jones, 'if you don't mind me asking. What are you gonna use the termination license for? Who you got it in for?'
The doctor sighed, his chest croaking. 'Oh, I'm not paying for this license for anything so puerile as revenge or wrath. No. This is purely a career move. An investment to get my foot up the ladder.'
'How do you mean?'
'That doesn't matter.'
Jones smiled, rising out of the dark wood chair. 'Thanks for your time.'
'Thank you,' said the doctor. And, as Jones approached the office door: 'Jones? Whatever you do, don't get so ill you need to go to the hospital. I'm not losing another one to those bureaucratic pricks.' Jones nodded.
Two days later, Jones stumbled into the GP's office. He didn't know who to ask for—thanks to the secrecy of his meeting. Regardless, the nurse took him into one of the treatment offices, where he waited next to the dialysis machine. The doctor, obscured by a face mask, hooked him up. Drained all the poison out.
Afterwards, they shook hands. Jones found a tidy ten grand sitting in his account within an hour.
Another two days later, and Jones found himself stopping in front of a newspaper headline. 'DR KOCH TERMINATED,' read the main text. The sub-heading: 'Killer Unknown Doctor with Termination License.'
A while later, Jones saw his pseudo-saviour on the news. About to take up a new position—at Koch's own hospital. Jones smacked his head, both impressed and surprised. Now it had been executed, the GP's plan seemed so simple.
See—since the introduction of eye for an eye inversion laws, doctors had become creatures of clout; their hippocratic oath evolved into a strange new honour system. Not unlike, many commentators had been quick to point out, organised crime syndicates.
Now, if you're a young aspiring doctor, you have two options.
You can wait, hanging on the whims of a vast administrative bureaucracy to get your foot in the door at a hospital—to get a chance to really rack up kill points.
Or you could get crafty. Knock off a leading surgeon—hell, why not the leading surgeon? Instantly you're famous. In demand. People want to see what you'll do with more kill points.
Of course a hospital will hire you then.
Jones found himself smiling as his mind whirred. The pain in his kidneys already had returned: another dialysis would be needed tomorrow. And he wondered just how hard it would be. To find another unknown GP in need of a little help. | I could never have been a Doctor. All the education, the studying, the pressure and the regulation. Even then, the medical profession always fascinated me, from the old days when saving lives was 'just a job' to now, when Doctors are living gods.
So I had to be involved somehow. Janitor in a Hospital? No thanks. I needed something more dry. When I was first ready for college I finally realized my calling: mediator. Sometimes mediators have more power than Doctors! So I went through the usual 4-year program and came out the other side a bona fide mediator. This is the story of my first case.
I was 23, after a year of desk work straight out of high school. I was finally going to work my first field case. I was called out to a local Hospital, can't remember the name. Any time a life-saving surgery was to be performed, a mediator gets called out. We can't just take Doctors' words for it that they saved a life, can we? Someone needs to bring a ledger and mark it down. Anyway, I got to the Hospital and high-tailed it to surgery, got quickly into the first open seat I could find, and flashed the Surgeon a quick thumbs-up. She began, her practiced motions surrounding her patient in a haze of confident expertise. It wasn't too long an operation. Other mediators end up sitting through 8-hour marathon sessions. Thankfully, this one took just 2 hours. Seeing a living patient exit the room, I noted such on my tablet computer. I went home, confident in my report, awaiting only a follow-up the next day.
I went back in the morning for that follow-up. I was guided to the patient's waiting room after flashing my badge. After getting in the door to room 214-B I was greeted by the Doctor's solemn look. Something immediately felt 'off'. I got a briefing from the Doctor. The patient had slipped into a PVS. It was my call now. I had to decide whether the State had a reasonable expectation that the patient might recover from his vegetative state. I had a set of guidelines to follow, but the final call was mine.
My professional opinion goes like this: sitting there in a bed, wasting away, ain't any kind of life. It doesn't count. But damn, I know the Doctor tried her best. So I offered her the same under-the-table deal I would eventually offer every other Doctor I've had in the same situation. I count it, she offs the patient.
I watched her pull the plug, a smile on both our faces for the very convenient deal we had just brokered. |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | Dr Ingersmith sighs through his surgical mask. One more quick use of the cautery and it will mark the end of the most complicated surgery he has performed in his fledgling career, and coincidentally earn him his first "life refund". "Alright Estrada," Ingersmith says as he turns to his assistant, "hand me the cautery and we can-"
Ingersmith froze. There stood Estrada, his assistant, holding a pair of surgical scissors with the patient's Right Coronary Artery precariously placed between the shining blades.
"What the hell are you thinking?!" Demands Ingersmith, but he already knows what. Estrada had gotten his first credit only a few weeks ago after his outstanding performance in a triple bypass surgery. The only response Ingersmith gets is a slight shrug.
"You know what this surgery means to my career!"
Shrug.
"Why this one? Can't it be something less important?!"
Shrug.
"Here, I'll buy you lunch for the week!"
Shrug.
"Two weeks?"
Shrug.
"Three weeks. Final offer."
Estrada stops for a moment and considers, but shrugs and squeezes the blades.
*Snip*
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.....
Ingersmith sighs.
"Estrada, you can be a real dick sometimes."
Shrug.
| I could never have been a Doctor. All the education, the studying, the pressure and the regulation. Even then, the medical profession always fascinated me, from the old days when saving lives was 'just a job' to now, when Doctors are living gods.
So I had to be involved somehow. Janitor in a Hospital? No thanks. I needed something more dry. When I was first ready for college I finally realized my calling: mediator. Sometimes mediators have more power than Doctors! So I went through the usual 4-year program and came out the other side a bona fide mediator. This is the story of my first case.
I was 23, after a year of desk work straight out of high school. I was finally going to work my first field case. I was called out to a local Hospital, can't remember the name. Any time a life-saving surgery was to be performed, a mediator gets called out. We can't just take Doctors' words for it that they saved a life, can we? Someone needs to bring a ledger and mark it down. Anyway, I got to the Hospital and high-tailed it to surgery, got quickly into the first open seat I could find, and flashed the Surgeon a quick thumbs-up. She began, her practiced motions surrounding her patient in a haze of confident expertise. It wasn't too long an operation. Other mediators end up sitting through 8-hour marathon sessions. Thankfully, this one took just 2 hours. Seeing a living patient exit the room, I noted such on my tablet computer. I went home, confident in my report, awaiting only a follow-up the next day.
I went back in the morning for that follow-up. I was guided to the patient's waiting room after flashing my badge. After getting in the door to room 214-B I was greeted by the Doctor's solemn look. Something immediately felt 'off'. I got a briefing from the Doctor. The patient had slipped into a PVS. It was my call now. I had to decide whether the State had a reasonable expectation that the patient might recover from his vegetative state. I had a set of guidelines to follow, but the final call was mine.
My professional opinion goes like this: sitting there in a bed, wasting away, ain't any kind of life. It doesn't count. But damn, I know the Doctor tried her best. So I offered her the same under-the-table deal I would eventually offer every other Doctor I've had in the same situation. I count it, she offs the patient.
I watched her pull the plug, a smile on both our faces for the very convenient deal we had just brokered. |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | I got my credit today. I needed it. The courts judged that in my youth, I had in fact prevented the suicide of a colleague. I was now entitled to one kill and that's all I would need to take down Dr. Khan. The world's most respected Neurosurgeon. Legend has it he has over 250 credits now and he's probably spent near 250 before that. My revenge isn't so petty to kill a common criminal doctor. No. Dr. Khan once killed a colleague to take his wife. Besides being morally reprehensible in his own right, the colleague had been my brother. For the past 4 years I've been appealing for my credit and training to kill who is perhaps the man the world needs most. I purchased my ticket and instructed my contact to stock the warehouse with the provisions I would need to march into and secure the hospital. I arrived with no time for rest. Khan would be leaving to an undisclosed location for time off some time in the next few days. I arrived at the warehouse... Empty. I heard the slide of a gun cock from the corner. "Don't move" he said. It was my contact a man by the name of Joe. "What is this." I asked attempting to maintain my composure. "You can't kill the doctor; he has done so much good work. He has saved my life." He responded panicked. It was clear he had never held a gun to somebody before. He was dressed in rags with unkempt hair. This was probably the result of high medical bills instituted by Khan. "You don't look like a guy who's saved a life." I reasoned. "I'm just grateful." He snickered. A shot rang out; but not from his weapon. Joe went down as Khan and his entourage coolly strode into the warehouse. Joe gurgled. The shot had entered his neck. "Put that one on my kill card" Khan ordered a man with what looked like a checkbook. His demeanor was emotionless. He was a man who's talents in the operating room had long ago subjugated his moral obligation to the people and his will to live without satisfying his dark passenger. "You've done a lot of complaining about me on the forums. I knew you'd be here in my little town soon enough, Detective Kelly. Khan said somewhat animatronically. "I can't believe a lawman would reject his own law." He added before I could reply. "I can't believe a doctor would reject his Hippocratic oath." I chimed in. He raised his pistol to my forehead with the supporting townspeople in his midst. The room was quiet. As if my death was a necessary evil to keep the system running. "Fight me like a man." I muttered. He walked to the other side of the room, unloaded his pistol and gave the two components to a man on either side. "You could have had this easy." He laughed. I stood and took the first swing. He dodged and countered with a cross directly to the center of my face. I could feel my nose, warm with dripping blood. In a mild shock I was hit again and again. Khan removed his labcoat. He was much more toned than anticipated. I was intimidated. "This was for my brother!" I shouted to the room. They shook their heads in disagreement. "This man saves lives!" They shouted back. Khan swelled with pride. He raised his hands to his cheering supporters. "This man is a killer. He is a dictator. You are underneath his foot." I tried to garner the support of the crowd. "That's by the grace of the law." one said. "My mother his alive because of this man." announced another. "Shame on you!" The crowd roared. Khan was distracted at his immediate publicity. I knew I would not make it out of this room. I discretely removed a small rusted spike from the warehouse floor that had been part of a larger structure once. I swept Khan's leg and drove the spike into his chest. He screamed in agony. I screamed in agony. My hand had been torn open by the impromptu weapon. The crowd closed in on Khan's dying breaths. They stared me down, emotional. I came to a realization then. I pulled my badge and my kill credit system to spend it. Killing an officer of the law required 3 credits. I was the most hated man in the room; but they abided by the law here. None of these people could afford that. I submitted the kill and walked out of the warehouse bleeding, in search of a real doctor. | I could never have been a Doctor. All the education, the studying, the pressure and the regulation. Even then, the medical profession always fascinated me, from the old days when saving lives was 'just a job' to now, when Doctors are living gods.
So I had to be involved somehow. Janitor in a Hospital? No thanks. I needed something more dry. When I was first ready for college I finally realized my calling: mediator. Sometimes mediators have more power than Doctors! So I went through the usual 4-year program and came out the other side a bona fide mediator. This is the story of my first case.
I was 23, after a year of desk work straight out of high school. I was finally going to work my first field case. I was called out to a local Hospital, can't remember the name. Any time a life-saving surgery was to be performed, a mediator gets called out. We can't just take Doctors' words for it that they saved a life, can we? Someone needs to bring a ledger and mark it down. Anyway, I got to the Hospital and high-tailed it to surgery, got quickly into the first open seat I could find, and flashed the Surgeon a quick thumbs-up. She began, her practiced motions surrounding her patient in a haze of confident expertise. It wasn't too long an operation. Other mediators end up sitting through 8-hour marathon sessions. Thankfully, this one took just 2 hours. Seeing a living patient exit the room, I noted such on my tablet computer. I went home, confident in my report, awaiting only a follow-up the next day.
I went back in the morning for that follow-up. I was guided to the patient's waiting room after flashing my badge. After getting in the door to room 214-B I was greeted by the Doctor's solemn look. Something immediately felt 'off'. I got a briefing from the Doctor. The patient had slipped into a PVS. It was my call now. I had to decide whether the State had a reasonable expectation that the patient might recover from his vegetative state. I had a set of guidelines to follow, but the final call was mine.
My professional opinion goes like this: sitting there in a bed, wasting away, ain't any kind of life. It doesn't count. But damn, I know the Doctor tried her best. So I offered her the same under-the-table deal I would eventually offer every other Doctor I've had in the same situation. I count it, she offs the patient.
I watched her pull the plug, a smile on both our faces for the very convenient deal we had just brokered. |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | My first response.
The law had international repercussions when it was first passed at the end of 2015. The ‘Eye for an Eye Inversion’ law, as it was called. Essentially, for every life saved, the saver is granted the right to take one life away. An interesting law, made, once again, by politicians who didn’t really understand what they were unleashing upon the world. The idea was simple, legalize certain homicides, which would increase vigilante activity, which in turn would decrease crime. The crazy thing was, it worked. Many doctors became part-time assassins, killing almost as much as they saved. After a few years, the death rates actually decreased, as those killing illegally had mostly died off and those killing legally were breaking even with lives saved. That is, until the disease.
They called it the Red Death; in part, as a homage to the Black Death; and in part, as a reference to the boils of blood that represented one of its many symptoms. Millions died. Just when all hope was lost, a vaccine was invented. Projections showed that without it, hundreds of millions would have died. I’m not a doctor, but that doesn’t matter.
You see, I invented this vaccine. In a world where homicide is legal, only I have the legal right to commit genocide. Entire countries tremble when they hear my name, and I have some pretty big grudges to settle.
| I could never have been a Doctor. All the education, the studying, the pressure and the regulation. Even then, the medical profession always fascinated me, from the old days when saving lives was 'just a job' to now, when Doctors are living gods.
So I had to be involved somehow. Janitor in a Hospital? No thanks. I needed something more dry. When I was first ready for college I finally realized my calling: mediator. Sometimes mediators have more power than Doctors! So I went through the usual 4-year program and came out the other side a bona fide mediator. This is the story of my first case.
I was 23, after a year of desk work straight out of high school. I was finally going to work my first field case. I was called out to a local Hospital, can't remember the name. Any time a life-saving surgery was to be performed, a mediator gets called out. We can't just take Doctors' words for it that they saved a life, can we? Someone needs to bring a ledger and mark it down. Anyway, I got to the Hospital and high-tailed it to surgery, got quickly into the first open seat I could find, and flashed the Surgeon a quick thumbs-up. She began, her practiced motions surrounding her patient in a haze of confident expertise. It wasn't too long an operation. Other mediators end up sitting through 8-hour marathon sessions. Thankfully, this one took just 2 hours. Seeing a living patient exit the room, I noted such on my tablet computer. I went home, confident in my report, awaiting only a follow-up the next day.
I went back in the morning for that follow-up. I was guided to the patient's waiting room after flashing my badge. After getting in the door to room 214-B I was greeted by the Doctor's solemn look. Something immediately felt 'off'. I got a briefing from the Doctor. The patient had slipped into a PVS. It was my call now. I had to decide whether the State had a reasonable expectation that the patient might recover from his vegetative state. I had a set of guidelines to follow, but the final call was mine.
My professional opinion goes like this: sitting there in a bed, wasting away, ain't any kind of life. It doesn't count. But damn, I know the Doctor tried her best. So I offered her the same under-the-table deal I would eventually offer every other Doctor I've had in the same situation. I count it, she offs the patient.
I watched her pull the plug, a smile on both our faces for the very convenient deal we had just brokered. |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | " That was amazing doctor!" The young nurse gushed excitedly as the tall slender man walked out of the OR. He smiled warmly at the nurse as he pulled down his surgical mask and peeled off the gloves. The front of his surgical gear was splattered in blood, but he didn't seem phased by it at all.
" Wendy, you are so sweet. Did you watch the whole thing?" He peeled off the rest of his surgical gear revealing his tall lean frame. He had a handsome face with high cheekbones, something almost out of centerfold for an upscale magazine. Even with his hairline receding and his dark hair starting to go grey, it just made him appear more powerful and wise.
The young nurse nodded enthusiastically as a small crowd of other nurses and doctors started to gather, " Yes! I timed it! It's the fastest heart transplant ever! You've broken your own record by 10 seconds!" She practically squealed as she looked at the gentleman with affection. The crowd around them started to clap and whistle as many tried to touch him, the man many called " The Gatekeeper."
The man appeared to redden slightly with embarrassment, even though this appeared to be regular scene, he appeared uncomfortable with the praise.
Doctor Matt Burnish, had always wanted to be a doctor. His mother's life was saved when he was seven when the surgeon performed an emergency brain surgery to correct an aneurysm. The man had assured them everything would be okay and it was, and he couldn't imagine anything better than saving lives.
He'd studied hard, pushing relationships and hobbies aside to focus on the one thing he wanted more than anything else and he advanced quickly. At the age of 20 he graduated from Harvard Medical at the top of his class. He joined the best trauma center in the country for his internship and residency and he couldn't begin to start.
After three years he could barely stand it. He couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand watching good people day in and day out. People that worked hard and tried to make the best lives they can and they just couldn't get the treatment they needed. And he had to continually spend time on drug addicts and convicts. Or even worse, the corrupt upper class that fed on the weak and powerless. Just when he was about to quit medicine he met the new Chief of Medicine of his hospital. Dr. Beck, he told him about how he hated the system and that if Matt would stay he could choose his patients. The day he agreed was the day the day the Eye for an Eye law was passed.
As he shuffled through the crowd a little awkwardly he ran into Dr. Beck who smiled widely like a proud grandfather. " Well done M'boy! That girl will be back in High School before the year is out. You'd think after becoming the most renowned surgeon in the world, you'd get used to a little attention." He teased his protege lightly, as though this was a familiar jab.
Matt rolled his eyes and tried to move past him, " Well if your done riding me, I just got done with a long surgery and I'm tired." He faked a loud yawn and started to move towards the on call room.
" Oh really. Then I guess I'll just find another doctor who wants to treat this 7 year old in full renal failure." And before he'd even finished Matt had taken the chart out of the older doctor's hand and was quickly skimming it.
" No family matches?" Was his first question which was met with a quick shake of his head, " None in storage?" Which was met with another shake. Matt sighed for a second before he looked the older gentleman in the eyes and nodded, " Find me one." And then he was gone.
Two hours later he was striding into the room of one Jonathan Hedley, President of the Hedley corporation, he developed a rash in a sensitive area and wanted it taken care of discreetly.
" Hello Mr. Hedly, I'm Dr. Burnish and I'll be your medical provider for the remainder of your stay."
" About damn time. I've donated a ton of money to this hospital and I expect to get fast treatment!" The man blustered.
" Well we are busy saving lives." The doctor replied sarcastically as he rolled his eyes and consulted his chart. " And while we appreciate the money from the Hedley Corporation, don't think that makes up for your other misdeeds."
The man sputtered, " What misdeeds?! Who do you believe you are talking to!"
" Well for starters you laid off over 20% of your workforce last quarter and outsourced them, all while giving yourself a 2 million dollar bonus. You've been known to deny valid benefits to your workers." As he spoke the door open and two more doctors moved into the room followed by Dr. Beck. " And numerous other things that I just don't have time nor want to explain to you."
Hedley was roughly forced onto the bed and held down as Matt picked up syringe full of bright clear liquid. " I'm afraid we are going to need your kidneys Mr. Hedley.... and whatever else we can use. You may go through the gates of hell." | I could never have been a Doctor. All the education, the studying, the pressure and the regulation. Even then, the medical profession always fascinated me, from the old days when saving lives was 'just a job' to now, when Doctors are living gods.
So I had to be involved somehow. Janitor in a Hospital? No thanks. I needed something more dry. When I was first ready for college I finally realized my calling: mediator. Sometimes mediators have more power than Doctors! So I went through the usual 4-year program and came out the other side a bona fide mediator. This is the story of my first case.
I was 23, after a year of desk work straight out of high school. I was finally going to work my first field case. I was called out to a local Hospital, can't remember the name. Any time a life-saving surgery was to be performed, a mediator gets called out. We can't just take Doctors' words for it that they saved a life, can we? Someone needs to bring a ledger and mark it down. Anyway, I got to the Hospital and high-tailed it to surgery, got quickly into the first open seat I could find, and flashed the Surgeon a quick thumbs-up. She began, her practiced motions surrounding her patient in a haze of confident expertise. It wasn't too long an operation. Other mediators end up sitting through 8-hour marathon sessions. Thankfully, this one took just 2 hours. Seeing a living patient exit the room, I noted such on my tablet computer. I went home, confident in my report, awaiting only a follow-up the next day.
I went back in the morning for that follow-up. I was guided to the patient's waiting room after flashing my badge. After getting in the door to room 214-B I was greeted by the Doctor's solemn look. Something immediately felt 'off'. I got a briefing from the Doctor. The patient had slipped into a PVS. It was my call now. I had to decide whether the State had a reasonable expectation that the patient might recover from his vegetative state. I had a set of guidelines to follow, but the final call was mine.
My professional opinion goes like this: sitting there in a bed, wasting away, ain't any kind of life. It doesn't count. But damn, I know the Doctor tried her best. So I offered her the same under-the-table deal I would eventually offer every other Doctor I've had in the same situation. I count it, she offs the patient.
I watched her pull the plug, a smile on both our faces for the very convenient deal we had just brokered. |
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[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | Dr. George checked the papers twice as Anthony Renault sat patiently^1 in front of him. Today was running slowly, like a struggling faucet, no amount of concentration was paying off. He rubbed his eyes and made out what he could- *sore throat*; *can't sleep*. He'll figure something out- he could always just prescribe sugar pills again. *Most* of the time the human body will figure it out its problems on its own.
"How are you feeling, Mr. Renault?" asked Dr. George.
"Not well. Feeling sick."
"Sore throat?"
Mr. Renault nodded. Dr. George told him to open wide.
"Hmmm... Everything seems alright. I don't see any issue here."
"There's a few things. I can't sleep."
"Are you eating well?"
"I think it's because of things that are bothering me... In life, I mean. I saved a life."
Dr. George was no stranger to saving lives. It was entitled in his job. Yes, from the *eye for and eye* law, he could use it to murder anyone he would wish. But Dr. George was not a violent man, simply a clumsy one. It seems like for every life he saves, another dies. It was the way of being a doctor, and sometimes slips can happen.
"Congratulations! It's always good to save someone's life."
"Yeah. I suppose it is. You're a doctor. You must save many lives."
George smirked.
"How many lives do you think you saved, doctor?"
"I'd say hundreds. Thousands, maybe. I've been doing this for many years now."
"And how many would you say you lost?"
George hesitated. "Well, I try to focus on the positive."
"Do you remember the faces of you saved better than the ones you lost?"
George fidgeted in his chair. "I don't feel comfortable talking about this. Could we get back to the task on hand?"
"Yes, of course. I was just questioning because, like I said, I saved a life. Just last week. It was little girl."
"That's very good."
"She was crossing the street, absentmindedly ahead of her parents. She was running, a truck was coming..."
"You did a brave thing."
"Thing is, afterwards, after I saved her and after I got my I4I license, I wasn't proud of myself. I wasn't thinking about her. I didn't even feel like I saved her because she was just a little girl. Have you ever felt that way?"
"What?"
"Have you ever felt like you saved someone not for their life, but for the I4I?"
"I've never wished to have an I4I license, nor have I ever used one."
Mr. Renault scowled. "Not intentionally, maybe. But they're handy to have. Have you ever saved a little girl?"
"Yes, I'm sure I have. The past gets blurry."
"You would know if you have saved a little girl. Same if you had lost one. Have you ever lost a little girl before, Dr. George?"
"Mr. Renault, this is highly unorthodox, and if we cannot discuss why you are here, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"We are discussing why I am here!" Anthony Renault stood and towered over the doctor.
"You're a lazy person. I am not a murderer. You are. An eye for an eye? You might have saved hundreds, but you've blinded thousands. You blinded her."
Dr. George jumped out of his chair, making for the door, but it wasn't quick enough. Mr. Renault left his papers on the stool.
pun^1
| Just imagine for a second that you were an engineer. Lets say you invented something akin to a seatbelt, an invention which saves more than 15,000 lives a year. You would truly be a God, with the power to do anything you pleased. |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | 'I'm so glad you came to us,' the silhouette said to Jones. 'Barely anyone uses general practitioners for this kind of thing. Not nowadays anyway.'
'Well, I heard about what you were looking for and thought “fuck it”.' Jones leant back in his chair. 'I may be dying, but it ain't an emergency.'
The doctor's office hummed in darkness. Where ten years before it'd be off-white walls and harsh, crisp lighting, the décor had evolved with the profession. A lamp stood on the practitioner's desk. It had been angled towards Jones, leaving nothing but outlines of the doctor's shadow. The only visual trace left by the doctor was a thick tendril of cigar smoke, which danced over the lamplight.
'Yes, well,' said the doctor after a pause. 'The problem is, people get caught up in the celebrity of the whole thing. Why get your insulin from the GP—why give them a termination license, when you can wait in line to give it to your favourite superstar?'
'Like doctor Koch,' said Jones.
'Yes, like Dr. Koch. He has more kill points—sorry, termination licenses—than he knows what to do with. Making a spectacle of the terminations like he does too, it means there's a steady stream of fans ready to plump up his license number.'
'Yeah.'
'You know there's people who refuse antibiotics, who let wounds decay and rot, just so they'll be rushed to a hospital on the off chance he'll treat them? They're that desperate to help his score. His work rota's plastered all over online. So people can co-ordinate their flirtations with mortality.'
'Fucking crazy world,' said Jones. Wouldn't the practitioner just get to the point? Jones shifted in his seat slightly, moving against the sharp pain carving through his right side. 'So like, how do we certify it so you get a kill license—termination thingy—whatever. How in danger does my life have to be?'
'How long since your last dialysis?'
'Six days.' Jones grimaced.
'Must be rather uncomfortable.' Another puff of smoke billowed over the lamplight.
'You bet.'
'Well, give it another forty eight hours. I'll make sure nurse who verifies licenses is around. You should be sick enough by then that we won't need theatrics.'
'Sound,' said Jones. 'And I get 10k, yeah? Wired into my bank the same day?'
'Of course.'
'Before I go,' continued Jones, 'if you don't mind me asking. What are you gonna use the termination license for? Who you got it in for?'
The doctor sighed, his chest croaking. 'Oh, I'm not paying for this license for anything so puerile as revenge or wrath. No. This is purely a career move. An investment to get my foot up the ladder.'
'How do you mean?'
'That doesn't matter.'
Jones smiled, rising out of the dark wood chair. 'Thanks for your time.'
'Thank you,' said the doctor. And, as Jones approached the office door: 'Jones? Whatever you do, don't get so ill you need to go to the hospital. I'm not losing another one to those bureaucratic pricks.' Jones nodded.
Two days later, Jones stumbled into the GP's office. He didn't know who to ask for—thanks to the secrecy of his meeting. Regardless, the nurse took him into one of the treatment offices, where he waited next to the dialysis machine. The doctor, obscured by a face mask, hooked him up. Drained all the poison out.
Afterwards, they shook hands. Jones found a tidy ten grand sitting in his account within an hour.
Another two days later, and Jones found himself stopping in front of a newspaper headline. 'DR KOCH TERMINATED,' read the main text. The sub-heading: 'Killer Unknown Doctor with Termination License.'
A while later, Jones saw his pseudo-saviour on the news. About to take up a new position—at Koch's own hospital. Jones smacked his head, both impressed and surprised. Now it had been executed, the GP's plan seemed so simple.
See—since the introduction of eye for an eye inversion laws, doctors had become creatures of clout; their hippocratic oath evolved into a strange new honour system. Not unlike, many commentators had been quick to point out, organised crime syndicates.
Now, if you're a young aspiring doctor, you have two options.
You can wait, hanging on the whims of a vast administrative bureaucracy to get your foot in the door at a hospital—to get a chance to really rack up kill points.
Or you could get crafty. Knock off a leading surgeon—hell, why not the leading surgeon? Instantly you're famous. In demand. People want to see what you'll do with more kill points.
Of course a hospital will hire you then.
Jones found himself smiling as his mind whirred. The pain in his kidneys already had returned: another dialysis would be needed tomorrow. And he wondered just how hard it would be. To find another unknown GP in need of a little help. | Just imagine for a second that you were an engineer. Lets say you invented something akin to a seatbelt, an invention which saves more than 15,000 lives a year. You would truly be a God, with the power to do anything you pleased. |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | Dr Ingersmith sighs through his surgical mask. One more quick use of the cautery and it will mark the end of the most complicated surgery he has performed in his fledgling career, and coincidentally earn him his first "life refund". "Alright Estrada," Ingersmith says as he turns to his assistant, "hand me the cautery and we can-"
Ingersmith froze. There stood Estrada, his assistant, holding a pair of surgical scissors with the patient's Right Coronary Artery precariously placed between the shining blades.
"What the hell are you thinking?!" Demands Ingersmith, but he already knows what. Estrada had gotten his first credit only a few weeks ago after his outstanding performance in a triple bypass surgery. The only response Ingersmith gets is a slight shrug.
"You know what this surgery means to my career!"
Shrug.
"Why this one? Can't it be something less important?!"
Shrug.
"Here, I'll buy you lunch for the week!"
Shrug.
"Two weeks?"
Shrug.
"Three weeks. Final offer."
Estrada stops for a moment and considers, but shrugs and squeezes the blades.
*Snip*
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.....
Ingersmith sighs.
"Estrada, you can be a real dick sometimes."
Shrug.
| Just imagine for a second that you were an engineer. Lets say you invented something akin to a seatbelt, an invention which saves more than 15,000 lives a year. You would truly be a God, with the power to do anything you pleased. |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | I got my credit today. I needed it. The courts judged that in my youth, I had in fact prevented the suicide of a colleague. I was now entitled to one kill and that's all I would need to take down Dr. Khan. The world's most respected Neurosurgeon. Legend has it he has over 250 credits now and he's probably spent near 250 before that. My revenge isn't so petty to kill a common criminal doctor. No. Dr. Khan once killed a colleague to take his wife. Besides being morally reprehensible in his own right, the colleague had been my brother. For the past 4 years I've been appealing for my credit and training to kill who is perhaps the man the world needs most. I purchased my ticket and instructed my contact to stock the warehouse with the provisions I would need to march into and secure the hospital. I arrived with no time for rest. Khan would be leaving to an undisclosed location for time off some time in the next few days. I arrived at the warehouse... Empty. I heard the slide of a gun cock from the corner. "Don't move" he said. It was my contact a man by the name of Joe. "What is this." I asked attempting to maintain my composure. "You can't kill the doctor; he has done so much good work. He has saved my life." He responded panicked. It was clear he had never held a gun to somebody before. He was dressed in rags with unkempt hair. This was probably the result of high medical bills instituted by Khan. "You don't look like a guy who's saved a life." I reasoned. "I'm just grateful." He snickered. A shot rang out; but not from his weapon. Joe went down as Khan and his entourage coolly strode into the warehouse. Joe gurgled. The shot had entered his neck. "Put that one on my kill card" Khan ordered a man with what looked like a checkbook. His demeanor was emotionless. He was a man who's talents in the operating room had long ago subjugated his moral obligation to the people and his will to live without satisfying his dark passenger. "You've done a lot of complaining about me on the forums. I knew you'd be here in my little town soon enough, Detective Kelly. Khan said somewhat animatronically. "I can't believe a lawman would reject his own law." He added before I could reply. "I can't believe a doctor would reject his Hippocratic oath." I chimed in. He raised his pistol to my forehead with the supporting townspeople in his midst. The room was quiet. As if my death was a necessary evil to keep the system running. "Fight me like a man." I muttered. He walked to the other side of the room, unloaded his pistol and gave the two components to a man on either side. "You could have had this easy." He laughed. I stood and took the first swing. He dodged and countered with a cross directly to the center of my face. I could feel my nose, warm with dripping blood. In a mild shock I was hit again and again. Khan removed his labcoat. He was much more toned than anticipated. I was intimidated. "This was for my brother!" I shouted to the room. They shook their heads in disagreement. "This man saves lives!" They shouted back. Khan swelled with pride. He raised his hands to his cheering supporters. "This man is a killer. He is a dictator. You are underneath his foot." I tried to garner the support of the crowd. "That's by the grace of the law." one said. "My mother his alive because of this man." announced another. "Shame on you!" The crowd roared. Khan was distracted at his immediate publicity. I knew I would not make it out of this room. I discretely removed a small rusted spike from the warehouse floor that had been part of a larger structure once. I swept Khan's leg and drove the spike into his chest. He screamed in agony. I screamed in agony. My hand had been torn open by the impromptu weapon. The crowd closed in on Khan's dying breaths. They stared me down, emotional. I came to a realization then. I pulled my badge and my kill credit system to spend it. Killing an officer of the law required 3 credits. I was the most hated man in the room; but they abided by the law here. None of these people could afford that. I submitted the kill and walked out of the warehouse bleeding, in search of a real doctor. | Just imagine for a second that you were an engineer. Lets say you invented something akin to a seatbelt, an invention which saves more than 15,000 lives a year. You would truly be a God, with the power to do anything you pleased. |
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[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | My first response.
The law had international repercussions when it was first passed at the end of 2015. The ‘Eye for an Eye Inversion’ law, as it was called. Essentially, for every life saved, the saver is granted the right to take one life away. An interesting law, made, once again, by politicians who didn’t really understand what they were unleashing upon the world. The idea was simple, legalize certain homicides, which would increase vigilante activity, which in turn would decrease crime. The crazy thing was, it worked. Many doctors became part-time assassins, killing almost as much as they saved. After a few years, the death rates actually decreased, as those killing illegally had mostly died off and those killing legally were breaking even with lives saved. That is, until the disease.
They called it the Red Death; in part, as a homage to the Black Death; and in part, as a reference to the boils of blood that represented one of its many symptoms. Millions died. Just when all hope was lost, a vaccine was invented. Projections showed that without it, hundreds of millions would have died. I’m not a doctor, but that doesn’t matter.
You see, I invented this vaccine. In a world where homicide is legal, only I have the legal right to commit genocide. Entire countries tremble when they hear my name, and I have some pretty big grudges to settle.
| Just imagine for a second that you were an engineer. Lets say you invented something akin to a seatbelt, an invention which saves more than 15,000 lives a year. You would truly be a God, with the power to do anything you pleased. |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | Dr. George checked the papers twice as Anthony Renault sat patiently^1 in front of him. Today was running slowly, like a struggling faucet, no amount of concentration was paying off. He rubbed his eyes and made out what he could- *sore throat*; *can't sleep*. He'll figure something out- he could always just prescribe sugar pills again. *Most* of the time the human body will figure it out its problems on its own.
"How are you feeling, Mr. Renault?" asked Dr. George.
"Not well. Feeling sick."
"Sore throat?"
Mr. Renault nodded. Dr. George told him to open wide.
"Hmmm... Everything seems alright. I don't see any issue here."
"There's a few things. I can't sleep."
"Are you eating well?"
"I think it's because of things that are bothering me... In life, I mean. I saved a life."
Dr. George was no stranger to saving lives. It was entitled in his job. Yes, from the *eye for and eye* law, he could use it to murder anyone he would wish. But Dr. George was not a violent man, simply a clumsy one. It seems like for every life he saves, another dies. It was the way of being a doctor, and sometimes slips can happen.
"Congratulations! It's always good to save someone's life."
"Yeah. I suppose it is. You're a doctor. You must save many lives."
George smirked.
"How many lives do you think you saved, doctor?"
"I'd say hundreds. Thousands, maybe. I've been doing this for many years now."
"And how many would you say you lost?"
George hesitated. "Well, I try to focus on the positive."
"Do you remember the faces of you saved better than the ones you lost?"
George fidgeted in his chair. "I don't feel comfortable talking about this. Could we get back to the task on hand?"
"Yes, of course. I was just questioning because, like I said, I saved a life. Just last week. It was little girl."
"That's very good."
"She was crossing the street, absentmindedly ahead of her parents. She was running, a truck was coming..."
"You did a brave thing."
"Thing is, afterwards, after I saved her and after I got my I4I license, I wasn't proud of myself. I wasn't thinking about her. I didn't even feel like I saved her because she was just a little girl. Have you ever felt that way?"
"What?"
"Have you ever felt like you saved someone not for their life, but for the I4I?"
"I've never wished to have an I4I license, nor have I ever used one."
Mr. Renault scowled. "Not intentionally, maybe. But they're handy to have. Have you ever saved a little girl?"
"Yes, I'm sure I have. The past gets blurry."
"You would know if you have saved a little girl. Same if you had lost one. Have you ever lost a little girl before, Dr. George?"
"Mr. Renault, this is highly unorthodox, and if we cannot discuss why you are here, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"We are discussing why I am here!" Anthony Renault stood and towered over the doctor.
"You're a lazy person. I am not a murderer. You are. An eye for an eye? You might have saved hundreds, but you've blinded thousands. You blinded her."
Dr. George jumped out of his chair, making for the door, but it wasn't quick enough. Mr. Renault left his papers on the stool.
pun^1
| "What happened to this asshole?" I inquired. The patient, a white male youth in his twenties, was riddled with at least half a dozen bullet holes in his torso, legs and right arm.
"Gang violence, presumably drug-related." Dr. Fletcher responded. "Should we draw straws?"
"Suppose so, but my count is getting pretty low." For some reason, I always drew the short straw.
"I've got the straws" Said Erica. She turned to me "OK Jeremy, you're up first"
I reached out to draw, but then hesitated. There were so many people I would rather use this on than some random coke dealer. I had to pick right this time. *Fuck it*, I thought, grabbing a straw. A short straw.
"Oh fuck me!" I exclaimed. "I never win, do I?" My frustration was met with a chorus of laughter from my fellow doctors. Sighing, I picked up a scalpel and approached our friend. Before I so much as stopped walking, I had driven the scalpel into his jugular. I watched with mild exasperation as the ECG went blank.
"Remind me, why can't we just let them die instead of wasting killpoints?" I asked no one in particular, despite knowing the answer.
"That's the law" Erica chimed "You can't let a hospital patient die by neglect. You have to put him out of his misery or save him."
"I know, I know. I'm just venting" I responded, rolling my eyes. *Oh well* I thought *I still have 13 points. Time to pay that prick Jake Dufferin a visit, while I still have any.* |
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[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | 'I'm so glad you came to us,' the silhouette said to Jones. 'Barely anyone uses general practitioners for this kind of thing. Not nowadays anyway.'
'Well, I heard about what you were looking for and thought “fuck it”.' Jones leant back in his chair. 'I may be dying, but it ain't an emergency.'
The doctor's office hummed in darkness. Where ten years before it'd be off-white walls and harsh, crisp lighting, the décor had evolved with the profession. A lamp stood on the practitioner's desk. It had been angled towards Jones, leaving nothing but outlines of the doctor's shadow. The only visual trace left by the doctor was a thick tendril of cigar smoke, which danced over the lamplight.
'Yes, well,' said the doctor after a pause. 'The problem is, people get caught up in the celebrity of the whole thing. Why get your insulin from the GP—why give them a termination license, when you can wait in line to give it to your favourite superstar?'
'Like doctor Koch,' said Jones.
'Yes, like Dr. Koch. He has more kill points—sorry, termination licenses—than he knows what to do with. Making a spectacle of the terminations like he does too, it means there's a steady stream of fans ready to plump up his license number.'
'Yeah.'
'You know there's people who refuse antibiotics, who let wounds decay and rot, just so they'll be rushed to a hospital on the off chance he'll treat them? They're that desperate to help his score. His work rota's plastered all over online. So people can co-ordinate their flirtations with mortality.'
'Fucking crazy world,' said Jones. Wouldn't the practitioner just get to the point? Jones shifted in his seat slightly, moving against the sharp pain carving through his right side. 'So like, how do we certify it so you get a kill license—termination thingy—whatever. How in danger does my life have to be?'
'How long since your last dialysis?'
'Six days.' Jones grimaced.
'Must be rather uncomfortable.' Another puff of smoke billowed over the lamplight.
'You bet.'
'Well, give it another forty eight hours. I'll make sure nurse who verifies licenses is around. You should be sick enough by then that we won't need theatrics.'
'Sound,' said Jones. 'And I get 10k, yeah? Wired into my bank the same day?'
'Of course.'
'Before I go,' continued Jones, 'if you don't mind me asking. What are you gonna use the termination license for? Who you got it in for?'
The doctor sighed, his chest croaking. 'Oh, I'm not paying for this license for anything so puerile as revenge or wrath. No. This is purely a career move. An investment to get my foot up the ladder.'
'How do you mean?'
'That doesn't matter.'
Jones smiled, rising out of the dark wood chair. 'Thanks for your time.'
'Thank you,' said the doctor. And, as Jones approached the office door: 'Jones? Whatever you do, don't get so ill you need to go to the hospital. I'm not losing another one to those bureaucratic pricks.' Jones nodded.
Two days later, Jones stumbled into the GP's office. He didn't know who to ask for—thanks to the secrecy of his meeting. Regardless, the nurse took him into one of the treatment offices, where he waited next to the dialysis machine. The doctor, obscured by a face mask, hooked him up. Drained all the poison out.
Afterwards, they shook hands. Jones found a tidy ten grand sitting in his account within an hour.
Another two days later, and Jones found himself stopping in front of a newspaper headline. 'DR KOCH TERMINATED,' read the main text. The sub-heading: 'Killer Unknown Doctor with Termination License.'
A while later, Jones saw his pseudo-saviour on the news. About to take up a new position—at Koch's own hospital. Jones smacked his head, both impressed and surprised. Now it had been executed, the GP's plan seemed so simple.
See—since the introduction of eye for an eye inversion laws, doctors had become creatures of clout; their hippocratic oath evolved into a strange new honour system. Not unlike, many commentators had been quick to point out, organised crime syndicates.
Now, if you're a young aspiring doctor, you have two options.
You can wait, hanging on the whims of a vast administrative bureaucracy to get your foot in the door at a hospital—to get a chance to really rack up kill points.
Or you could get crafty. Knock off a leading surgeon—hell, why not the leading surgeon? Instantly you're famous. In demand. People want to see what you'll do with more kill points.
Of course a hospital will hire you then.
Jones found himself smiling as his mind whirred. The pain in his kidneys already had returned: another dialysis would be needed tomorrow. And he wondered just how hard it would be. To find another unknown GP in need of a little help. | "What happened to this asshole?" I inquired. The patient, a white male youth in his twenties, was riddled with at least half a dozen bullet holes in his torso, legs and right arm.
"Gang violence, presumably drug-related." Dr. Fletcher responded. "Should we draw straws?"
"Suppose so, but my count is getting pretty low." For some reason, I always drew the short straw.
"I've got the straws" Said Erica. She turned to me "OK Jeremy, you're up first"
I reached out to draw, but then hesitated. There were so many people I would rather use this on than some random coke dealer. I had to pick right this time. *Fuck it*, I thought, grabbing a straw. A short straw.
"Oh fuck me!" I exclaimed. "I never win, do I?" My frustration was met with a chorus of laughter from my fellow doctors. Sighing, I picked up a scalpel and approached our friend. Before I so much as stopped walking, I had driven the scalpel into his jugular. I watched with mild exasperation as the ECG went blank.
"Remind me, why can't we just let them die instead of wasting killpoints?" I asked no one in particular, despite knowing the answer.
"That's the law" Erica chimed "You can't let a hospital patient die by neglect. You have to put him out of his misery or save him."
"I know, I know. I'm just venting" I responded, rolling my eyes. *Oh well* I thought *I still have 13 points. Time to pay that prick Jake Dufferin a visit, while I still have any.* |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | Dr. George checked the papers twice as Anthony Renault sat patiently^1 in front of him. Today was running slowly, like a struggling faucet, no amount of concentration was paying off. He rubbed his eyes and made out what he could- *sore throat*; *can't sleep*. He'll figure something out- he could always just prescribe sugar pills again. *Most* of the time the human body will figure it out its problems on its own.
"How are you feeling, Mr. Renault?" asked Dr. George.
"Not well. Feeling sick."
"Sore throat?"
Mr. Renault nodded. Dr. George told him to open wide.
"Hmmm... Everything seems alright. I don't see any issue here."
"There's a few things. I can't sleep."
"Are you eating well?"
"I think it's because of things that are bothering me... In life, I mean. I saved a life."
Dr. George was no stranger to saving lives. It was entitled in his job. Yes, from the *eye for and eye* law, he could use it to murder anyone he would wish. But Dr. George was not a violent man, simply a clumsy one. It seems like for every life he saves, another dies. It was the way of being a doctor, and sometimes slips can happen.
"Congratulations! It's always good to save someone's life."
"Yeah. I suppose it is. You're a doctor. You must save many lives."
George smirked.
"How many lives do you think you saved, doctor?"
"I'd say hundreds. Thousands, maybe. I've been doing this for many years now."
"And how many would you say you lost?"
George hesitated. "Well, I try to focus on the positive."
"Do you remember the faces of you saved better than the ones you lost?"
George fidgeted in his chair. "I don't feel comfortable talking about this. Could we get back to the task on hand?"
"Yes, of course. I was just questioning because, like I said, I saved a life. Just last week. It was little girl."
"That's very good."
"She was crossing the street, absentmindedly ahead of her parents. She was running, a truck was coming..."
"You did a brave thing."
"Thing is, afterwards, after I saved her and after I got my I4I license, I wasn't proud of myself. I wasn't thinking about her. I didn't even feel like I saved her because she was just a little girl. Have you ever felt that way?"
"What?"
"Have you ever felt like you saved someone not for their life, but for the I4I?"
"I've never wished to have an I4I license, nor have I ever used one."
Mr. Renault scowled. "Not intentionally, maybe. But they're handy to have. Have you ever saved a little girl?"
"Yes, I'm sure I have. The past gets blurry."
"You would know if you have saved a little girl. Same if you had lost one. Have you ever lost a little girl before, Dr. George?"
"Mr. Renault, this is highly unorthodox, and if we cannot discuss why you are here, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"We are discussing why I am here!" Anthony Renault stood and towered over the doctor.
"You're a lazy person. I am not a murderer. You are. An eye for an eye? You might have saved hundreds, but you've blinded thousands. You blinded her."
Dr. George jumped out of his chair, making for the door, but it wasn't quick enough. Mr. Renault left his papers on the stool.
pun^1
| Today, you find yourselves in the unique position that few would envy. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the precedent you set today will affect everyone you know. You are about to make history. I urge you to ensure you are on the correct side of it.
Over the past few days, the State has tried to convince you that my client’s actions were accidental. That the alleged non-casualty of Mr. Bowers was *not* the result of my client’s actions on the night of December 24th. That my client’s swerving was merely due to falling asleep at the wheel. That my client’s DUI conviction is proof that he is the reason Mr. Bowers’ life was endangered in the first place.
I do not dispute these facts. I am merely here to help you understand and uphold the law as it is written. And state statue 238.83, commonly known as the “Equilibrium of Life” law, states that saving a life entitles my client to a Plus-one status.
Take a long, hard look at Mrs. Bowers over there. She has told you of the trauma that she and her husband endured after his non-casualty. But if my client’s car had continued into the crosswalk last Christmas Eve, Mrs. Bowers would be visiting a grave today rather than a courthouse. Dr. Hiercks unequivocally demonstrated this during his testimony.
Yet the car did not continue into the crosswalk. My client swerved. Mr. Bowers lived. And that is due to my client’s actions, plain and simple. The background is irrelevant.
You are not here to judge my client’s character. You are here to determine whether he saved a life. The law compels you to vote on the *outcome* of my client’s actions. Thus, you must do your duty and vote Plus-one. I am sure you will do the right thing.
---
First creative writing in about a decade! Thanks for the interesting prompt! |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | 'I'm so glad you came to us,' the silhouette said to Jones. 'Barely anyone uses general practitioners for this kind of thing. Not nowadays anyway.'
'Well, I heard about what you were looking for and thought “fuck it”.' Jones leant back in his chair. 'I may be dying, but it ain't an emergency.'
The doctor's office hummed in darkness. Where ten years before it'd be off-white walls and harsh, crisp lighting, the décor had evolved with the profession. A lamp stood on the practitioner's desk. It had been angled towards Jones, leaving nothing but outlines of the doctor's shadow. The only visual trace left by the doctor was a thick tendril of cigar smoke, which danced over the lamplight.
'Yes, well,' said the doctor after a pause. 'The problem is, people get caught up in the celebrity of the whole thing. Why get your insulin from the GP—why give them a termination license, when you can wait in line to give it to your favourite superstar?'
'Like doctor Koch,' said Jones.
'Yes, like Dr. Koch. He has more kill points—sorry, termination licenses—than he knows what to do with. Making a spectacle of the terminations like he does too, it means there's a steady stream of fans ready to plump up his license number.'
'Yeah.'
'You know there's people who refuse antibiotics, who let wounds decay and rot, just so they'll be rushed to a hospital on the off chance he'll treat them? They're that desperate to help his score. His work rota's plastered all over online. So people can co-ordinate their flirtations with mortality.'
'Fucking crazy world,' said Jones. Wouldn't the practitioner just get to the point? Jones shifted in his seat slightly, moving against the sharp pain carving through his right side. 'So like, how do we certify it so you get a kill license—termination thingy—whatever. How in danger does my life have to be?'
'How long since your last dialysis?'
'Six days.' Jones grimaced.
'Must be rather uncomfortable.' Another puff of smoke billowed over the lamplight.
'You bet.'
'Well, give it another forty eight hours. I'll make sure nurse who verifies licenses is around. You should be sick enough by then that we won't need theatrics.'
'Sound,' said Jones. 'And I get 10k, yeah? Wired into my bank the same day?'
'Of course.'
'Before I go,' continued Jones, 'if you don't mind me asking. What are you gonna use the termination license for? Who you got it in for?'
The doctor sighed, his chest croaking. 'Oh, I'm not paying for this license for anything so puerile as revenge or wrath. No. This is purely a career move. An investment to get my foot up the ladder.'
'How do you mean?'
'That doesn't matter.'
Jones smiled, rising out of the dark wood chair. 'Thanks for your time.'
'Thank you,' said the doctor. And, as Jones approached the office door: 'Jones? Whatever you do, don't get so ill you need to go to the hospital. I'm not losing another one to those bureaucratic pricks.' Jones nodded.
Two days later, Jones stumbled into the GP's office. He didn't know who to ask for—thanks to the secrecy of his meeting. Regardless, the nurse took him into one of the treatment offices, where he waited next to the dialysis machine. The doctor, obscured by a face mask, hooked him up. Drained all the poison out.
Afterwards, they shook hands. Jones found a tidy ten grand sitting in his account within an hour.
Another two days later, and Jones found himself stopping in front of a newspaper headline. 'DR KOCH TERMINATED,' read the main text. The sub-heading: 'Killer Unknown Doctor with Termination License.'
A while later, Jones saw his pseudo-saviour on the news. About to take up a new position—at Koch's own hospital. Jones smacked his head, both impressed and surprised. Now it had been executed, the GP's plan seemed so simple.
See—since the introduction of eye for an eye inversion laws, doctors had become creatures of clout; their hippocratic oath evolved into a strange new honour system. Not unlike, many commentators had been quick to point out, organised crime syndicates.
Now, if you're a young aspiring doctor, you have two options.
You can wait, hanging on the whims of a vast administrative bureaucracy to get your foot in the door at a hospital—to get a chance to really rack up kill points.
Or you could get crafty. Knock off a leading surgeon—hell, why not the leading surgeon? Instantly you're famous. In demand. People want to see what you'll do with more kill points.
Of course a hospital will hire you then.
Jones found himself smiling as his mind whirred. The pain in his kidneys already had returned: another dialysis would be needed tomorrow. And he wondered just how hard it would be. To find another unknown GP in need of a little help. | Today, you find yourselves in the unique position that few would envy. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the precedent you set today will affect everyone you know. You are about to make history. I urge you to ensure you are on the correct side of it.
Over the past few days, the State has tried to convince you that my client’s actions were accidental. That the alleged non-casualty of Mr. Bowers was *not* the result of my client’s actions on the night of December 24th. That my client’s swerving was merely due to falling asleep at the wheel. That my client’s DUI conviction is proof that he is the reason Mr. Bowers’ life was endangered in the first place.
I do not dispute these facts. I am merely here to help you understand and uphold the law as it is written. And state statue 238.83, commonly known as the “Equilibrium of Life” law, states that saving a life entitles my client to a Plus-one status.
Take a long, hard look at Mrs. Bowers over there. She has told you of the trauma that she and her husband endured after his non-casualty. But if my client’s car had continued into the crosswalk last Christmas Eve, Mrs. Bowers would be visiting a grave today rather than a courthouse. Dr. Hiercks unequivocally demonstrated this during his testimony.
Yet the car did not continue into the crosswalk. My client swerved. Mr. Bowers lived. And that is due to my client’s actions, plain and simple. The background is irrelevant.
You are not here to judge my client’s character. You are here to determine whether he saved a life. The law compels you to vote on the *outcome* of my client’s actions. Thus, you must do your duty and vote Plus-one. I am sure you will do the right thing.
---
First creative writing in about a decade! Thanks for the interesting prompt! |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | I got my credit today. I needed it. The courts judged that in my youth, I had in fact prevented the suicide of a colleague. I was now entitled to one kill and that's all I would need to take down Dr. Khan. The world's most respected Neurosurgeon. Legend has it he has over 250 credits now and he's probably spent near 250 before that. My revenge isn't so petty to kill a common criminal doctor. No. Dr. Khan once killed a colleague to take his wife. Besides being morally reprehensible in his own right, the colleague had been my brother. For the past 4 years I've been appealing for my credit and training to kill who is perhaps the man the world needs most. I purchased my ticket and instructed my contact to stock the warehouse with the provisions I would need to march into and secure the hospital. I arrived with no time for rest. Khan would be leaving to an undisclosed location for time off some time in the next few days. I arrived at the warehouse... Empty. I heard the slide of a gun cock from the corner. "Don't move" he said. It was my contact a man by the name of Joe. "What is this." I asked attempting to maintain my composure. "You can't kill the doctor; he has done so much good work. He has saved my life." He responded panicked. It was clear he had never held a gun to somebody before. He was dressed in rags with unkempt hair. This was probably the result of high medical bills instituted by Khan. "You don't look like a guy who's saved a life." I reasoned. "I'm just grateful." He snickered. A shot rang out; but not from his weapon. Joe went down as Khan and his entourage coolly strode into the warehouse. Joe gurgled. The shot had entered his neck. "Put that one on my kill card" Khan ordered a man with what looked like a checkbook. His demeanor was emotionless. He was a man who's talents in the operating room had long ago subjugated his moral obligation to the people and his will to live without satisfying his dark passenger. "You've done a lot of complaining about me on the forums. I knew you'd be here in my little town soon enough, Detective Kelly. Khan said somewhat animatronically. "I can't believe a lawman would reject his own law." He added before I could reply. "I can't believe a doctor would reject his Hippocratic oath." I chimed in. He raised his pistol to my forehead with the supporting townspeople in his midst. The room was quiet. As if my death was a necessary evil to keep the system running. "Fight me like a man." I muttered. He walked to the other side of the room, unloaded his pistol and gave the two components to a man on either side. "You could have had this easy." He laughed. I stood and took the first swing. He dodged and countered with a cross directly to the center of my face. I could feel my nose, warm with dripping blood. In a mild shock I was hit again and again. Khan removed his labcoat. He was much more toned than anticipated. I was intimidated. "This was for my brother!" I shouted to the room. They shook their heads in disagreement. "This man saves lives!" They shouted back. Khan swelled with pride. He raised his hands to his cheering supporters. "This man is a killer. He is a dictator. You are underneath his foot." I tried to garner the support of the crowd. "That's by the grace of the law." one said. "My mother his alive because of this man." announced another. "Shame on you!" The crowd roared. Khan was distracted at his immediate publicity. I knew I would not make it out of this room. I discretely removed a small rusted spike from the warehouse floor that had been part of a larger structure once. I swept Khan's leg and drove the spike into his chest. He screamed in agony. I screamed in agony. My hand had been torn open by the impromptu weapon. The crowd closed in on Khan's dying breaths. They stared me down, emotional. I came to a realization then. I pulled my badge and my kill credit system to spend it. Killing an officer of the law required 3 credits. I was the most hated man in the room; but they abided by the law here. None of these people could afford that. I submitted the kill and walked out of the warehouse bleeding, in search of a real doctor. | Forevermore will that day be burned into my psyche. That bitch killed my brother, and I swore I would return the favor. We went out to dinner that night while he stayed home to study - to do his homework. When we came back he wasn't there. Just a carcass dangling from a fan wearing his clothes, bearing a note declaring "She made me do this.". My name is Teresa, and I shall have have justice.
The year has been hard on him, yet we could not comprehend how magnificently so. Every day he would come home with another story, whether it be of him being physically harassed by his peers and the teachers not believing him when he went for help, or being given a poor grade and subsequently publicly humiliated in front of the entire class - at the time I thought they were just stories, but clearly I was wrong. The worst of the faculty however, was one particular teacher. That bitch went against against everything that education stood for. She was openly sexist, hating those so unlucky as to grace her presence with their Y chromosome. She believed that public humiliation was the road to discipline. I wanted to make sure it caught up to her.
So I studied - I studied, and I studied, and I studied. I made my way through medical school, with the only goal of becoming a surgeon so that I would have the ability to enact justice.
My first operation, however, did not go as planned.
"Terry, we're bringing the patient up to the OR."
"Very good."
The creature which rolled in was none other than my brother's killer.
"No." I whispered.
"Excuse me?" Inquired the nurse
"I . . . I can't perform the operation."
"What? First time nerves?"
"No."
The monster before me sat up. Apparently she had not gone under anesthesia yet.
"Oh Lord - I feel I recognize you from somewhere. Wait - oh God, you're Theresa! That poor boy's sister!"
I stood there, trying to maintain composure at the sight of her. It was not long before she continued,
"You know, I think about him every day. He always told me that you would brush them off whenever he tried to talk to you. At one point I believe he told me to that he began to make up stories just to get your attention, but that you regarded them as "just stories".
"What? No, that can't be true!"
"Oh, but it is. I remember one time when he kicked over a trashcan in anger, he remarked "she made me do this." I asked him who he meant by "she" and he said that he simply wanted to know his sister better,though she would not abide him."
Just then, the nurse interjected.
"Really Terry, we should get the operation underway."
"Of . . . Of course."
So, much as I hate myself for it, I saved the monsters life.
The next evening I took my return for saving a life. That evening, I wasn't there. There was just a carcass dangling from a fan wearing my clothes.
Epilogue:
One week later the teacher was drinking tea in her office, thinking to herself, and received news that Teresa had hanged herself.
In that moment she thought to herself, "Women are so easily manipulated." |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | My first response.
The law had international repercussions when it was first passed at the end of 2015. The ‘Eye for an Eye Inversion’ law, as it was called. Essentially, for every life saved, the saver is granted the right to take one life away. An interesting law, made, once again, by politicians who didn’t really understand what they were unleashing upon the world. The idea was simple, legalize certain homicides, which would increase vigilante activity, which in turn would decrease crime. The crazy thing was, it worked. Many doctors became part-time assassins, killing almost as much as they saved. After a few years, the death rates actually decreased, as those killing illegally had mostly died off and those killing legally were breaking even with lives saved. That is, until the disease.
They called it the Red Death; in part, as a homage to the Black Death; and in part, as a reference to the boils of blood that represented one of its many symptoms. Millions died. Just when all hope was lost, a vaccine was invented. Projections showed that without it, hundreds of millions would have died. I’m not a doctor, but that doesn’t matter.
You see, I invented this vaccine. In a world where homicide is legal, only I have the legal right to commit genocide. Entire countries tremble when they hear my name, and I have some pretty big grudges to settle.
| Forevermore will that day be burned into my psyche. That bitch killed my brother, and I swore I would return the favor. We went out to dinner that night while he stayed home to study - to do his homework. When we came back he wasn't there. Just a carcass dangling from a fan wearing his clothes, bearing a note declaring "She made me do this.". My name is Teresa, and I shall have have justice.
The year has been hard on him, yet we could not comprehend how magnificently so. Every day he would come home with another story, whether it be of him being physically harassed by his peers and the teachers not believing him when he went for help, or being given a poor grade and subsequently publicly humiliated in front of the entire class - at the time I thought they were just stories, but clearly I was wrong. The worst of the faculty however, was one particular teacher. That bitch went against against everything that education stood for. She was openly sexist, hating those so unlucky as to grace her presence with their Y chromosome. She believed that public humiliation was the road to discipline. I wanted to make sure it caught up to her.
So I studied - I studied, and I studied, and I studied. I made my way through medical school, with the only goal of becoming a surgeon so that I would have the ability to enact justice.
My first operation, however, did not go as planned.
"Terry, we're bringing the patient up to the OR."
"Very good."
The creature which rolled in was none other than my brother's killer.
"No." I whispered.
"Excuse me?" Inquired the nurse
"I . . . I can't perform the operation."
"What? First time nerves?"
"No."
The monster before me sat up. Apparently she had not gone under anesthesia yet.
"Oh Lord - I feel I recognize you from somewhere. Wait - oh God, you're Theresa! That poor boy's sister!"
I stood there, trying to maintain composure at the sight of her. It was not long before she continued,
"You know, I think about him every day. He always told me that you would brush them off whenever he tried to talk to you. At one point I believe he told me to that he began to make up stories just to get your attention, but that you regarded them as "just stories".
"What? No, that can't be true!"
"Oh, but it is. I remember one time when he kicked over a trashcan in anger, he remarked "she made me do this." I asked him who he meant by "she" and he said that he simply wanted to know his sister better,though she would not abide him."
Just then, the nurse interjected.
"Really Terry, we should get the operation underway."
"Of . . . Of course."
So, much as I hate myself for it, I saved the monsters life.
The next evening I took my return for saving a life. That evening, I wasn't there. There was just a carcass dangling from a fan wearing my clothes.
Epilogue:
One week later the teacher was drinking tea in her office, thinking to herself, and received news that Teresa had hanged herself.
In that moment she thought to herself, "Women are so easily manipulated." |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | " That was amazing doctor!" The young nurse gushed excitedly as the tall slender man walked out of the OR. He smiled warmly at the nurse as he pulled down his surgical mask and peeled off the gloves. The front of his surgical gear was splattered in blood, but he didn't seem phased by it at all.
" Wendy, you are so sweet. Did you watch the whole thing?" He peeled off the rest of his surgical gear revealing his tall lean frame. He had a handsome face with high cheekbones, something almost out of centerfold for an upscale magazine. Even with his hairline receding and his dark hair starting to go grey, it just made him appear more powerful and wise.
The young nurse nodded enthusiastically as a small crowd of other nurses and doctors started to gather, " Yes! I timed it! It's the fastest heart transplant ever! You've broken your own record by 10 seconds!" She practically squealed as she looked at the gentleman with affection. The crowd around them started to clap and whistle as many tried to touch him, the man many called " The Gatekeeper."
The man appeared to redden slightly with embarrassment, even though this appeared to be regular scene, he appeared uncomfortable with the praise.
Doctor Matt Burnish, had always wanted to be a doctor. His mother's life was saved when he was seven when the surgeon performed an emergency brain surgery to correct an aneurysm. The man had assured them everything would be okay and it was, and he couldn't imagine anything better than saving lives.
He'd studied hard, pushing relationships and hobbies aside to focus on the one thing he wanted more than anything else and he advanced quickly. At the age of 20 he graduated from Harvard Medical at the top of his class. He joined the best trauma center in the country for his internship and residency and he couldn't begin to start.
After three years he could barely stand it. He couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand watching good people day in and day out. People that worked hard and tried to make the best lives they can and they just couldn't get the treatment they needed. And he had to continually spend time on drug addicts and convicts. Or even worse, the corrupt upper class that fed on the weak and powerless. Just when he was about to quit medicine he met the new Chief of Medicine of his hospital. Dr. Beck, he told him about how he hated the system and that if Matt would stay he could choose his patients. The day he agreed was the day the day the Eye for an Eye law was passed.
As he shuffled through the crowd a little awkwardly he ran into Dr. Beck who smiled widely like a proud grandfather. " Well done M'boy! That girl will be back in High School before the year is out. You'd think after becoming the most renowned surgeon in the world, you'd get used to a little attention." He teased his protege lightly, as though this was a familiar jab.
Matt rolled his eyes and tried to move past him, " Well if your done riding me, I just got done with a long surgery and I'm tired." He faked a loud yawn and started to move towards the on call room.
" Oh really. Then I guess I'll just find another doctor who wants to treat this 7 year old in full renal failure." And before he'd even finished Matt had taken the chart out of the older doctor's hand and was quickly skimming it.
" No family matches?" Was his first question which was met with a quick shake of his head, " None in storage?" Which was met with another shake. Matt sighed for a second before he looked the older gentleman in the eyes and nodded, " Find me one." And then he was gone.
Two hours later he was striding into the room of one Jonathan Hedley, President of the Hedley corporation, he developed a rash in a sensitive area and wanted it taken care of discreetly.
" Hello Mr. Hedly, I'm Dr. Burnish and I'll be your medical provider for the remainder of your stay."
" About damn time. I've donated a ton of money to this hospital and I expect to get fast treatment!" The man blustered.
" Well we are busy saving lives." The doctor replied sarcastically as he rolled his eyes and consulted his chart. " And while we appreciate the money from the Hedley Corporation, don't think that makes up for your other misdeeds."
The man sputtered, " What misdeeds?! Who do you believe you are talking to!"
" Well for starters you laid off over 20% of your workforce last quarter and outsourced them, all while giving yourself a 2 million dollar bonus. You've been known to deny valid benefits to your workers." As he spoke the door open and two more doctors moved into the room followed by Dr. Beck. " And numerous other things that I just don't have time nor want to explain to you."
Hedley was roughly forced onto the bed and held down as Matt picked up syringe full of bright clear liquid. " I'm afraid we are going to need your kidneys Mr. Hedley.... and whatever else we can use. You may go through the gates of hell." | Forevermore will that day be burned into my psyche. That bitch killed my brother, and I swore I would return the favor. We went out to dinner that night while he stayed home to study - to do his homework. When we came back he wasn't there. Just a carcass dangling from a fan wearing his clothes, bearing a note declaring "She made me do this.". My name is Teresa, and I shall have have justice.
The year has been hard on him, yet we could not comprehend how magnificently so. Every day he would come home with another story, whether it be of him being physically harassed by his peers and the teachers not believing him when he went for help, or being given a poor grade and subsequently publicly humiliated in front of the entire class - at the time I thought they were just stories, but clearly I was wrong. The worst of the faculty however, was one particular teacher. That bitch went against against everything that education stood for. She was openly sexist, hating those so unlucky as to grace her presence with their Y chromosome. She believed that public humiliation was the road to discipline. I wanted to make sure it caught up to her.
So I studied - I studied, and I studied, and I studied. I made my way through medical school, with the only goal of becoming a surgeon so that I would have the ability to enact justice.
My first operation, however, did not go as planned.
"Terry, we're bringing the patient up to the OR."
"Very good."
The creature which rolled in was none other than my brother's killer.
"No." I whispered.
"Excuse me?" Inquired the nurse
"I . . . I can't perform the operation."
"What? First time nerves?"
"No."
The monster before me sat up. Apparently she had not gone under anesthesia yet.
"Oh Lord - I feel I recognize you from somewhere. Wait - oh God, you're Theresa! That poor boy's sister!"
I stood there, trying to maintain composure at the sight of her. It was not long before she continued,
"You know, I think about him every day. He always told me that you would brush them off whenever he tried to talk to you. At one point I believe he told me to that he began to make up stories just to get your attention, but that you regarded them as "just stories".
"What? No, that can't be true!"
"Oh, but it is. I remember one time when he kicked over a trashcan in anger, he remarked "she made me do this." I asked him who he meant by "she" and he said that he simply wanted to know his sister better,though she would not abide him."
Just then, the nurse interjected.
"Really Terry, we should get the operation underway."
"Of . . . Of course."
So, much as I hate myself for it, I saved the monsters life.
The next evening I took my return for saving a life. That evening, I wasn't there. There was just a carcass dangling from a fan wearing my clothes.
Epilogue:
One week later the teacher was drinking tea in her office, thinking to herself, and received news that Teresa had hanged herself.
In that moment she thought to herself, "Women are so easily manipulated." |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | My first response.
The law had international repercussions when it was first passed at the end of 2015. The ‘Eye for an Eye Inversion’ law, as it was called. Essentially, for every life saved, the saver is granted the right to take one life away. An interesting law, made, once again, by politicians who didn’t really understand what they were unleashing upon the world. The idea was simple, legalize certain homicides, which would increase vigilante activity, which in turn would decrease crime. The crazy thing was, it worked. Many doctors became part-time assassins, killing almost as much as they saved. After a few years, the death rates actually decreased, as those killing illegally had mostly died off and those killing legally were breaking even with lives saved. That is, until the disease.
They called it the Red Death; in part, as a homage to the Black Death; and in part, as a reference to the boils of blood that represented one of its many symptoms. Millions died. Just when all hope was lost, a vaccine was invented. Projections showed that without it, hundreds of millions would have died. I’m not a doctor, but that doesn’t matter.
You see, I invented this vaccine. In a world where homicide is legal, only I have the legal right to commit genocide. Entire countries tremble when they hear my name, and I have some pretty big grudges to settle.
| He was an optometrist. A medical practitioner who doesn't really save lives. He works for a big retail chain where all he does it sells glasses. Day in day out.
The medical profession remains in tact. Hippocratic Oath forbids the harming of others. Doctors uphold this code and any doctor who murders will be killed by another member of his registrar.
So back to my optometrist fellow. He spends all day, saying "1 or 2" and "is this better or is that better". He grows sick and comes home to nothing. No wife no kids, a house bare and sparse with nothing but a bed, a chair and table and a laptop. He stares at the attic. He glances at an old dusty photo of him and a girl at a burger joint, the date where he took her after they did their white coat initiation. Within lies the equipment he paid for during his college life. The diagnostic kit. A weapon.
The sickly green fluorescent shone down on his skin as he eats his dinner of Froot Loops and crisps. He goes between them... 1 and 2.... the milk and sweetness of the cereal offset the flavours. He finished his meal and turns off his laptop.
He goes down to his garage of the flat he lives in. A pitch black Jaguar F-type with a juiced up supercharger. A costly reminder of who he once was and how he grew up to be everything he hated.
The grumblings of the engine started in the dark of night, and soon the pitch black car was lined with the reflections of the neon lights of the dilapidated city. Along street corners were thugs in white coats and fake degrees.
Governments began paying everyone with an MD 7, even 8 digits if they were working in hospitals. This was to curb the violence that was present at the start. Doing this helped ease the gang tensions and the various law suits.
Drugs nowadays dealt on the street are ones which have therapeutic value. Gone are the days of marijuana, cocaine and heroin. Now it's antibiotics (which is massive - society had nearly collapsed in the wake of the nearly completely immune variant of Staph Gold) and the newest antibiotic cannot be produce enough. There was a war and it all started from the misuse of antibiotics from the early doctors who wanted credits (or kill points, as they're named on the streets).
The housing structure of society has totally collapsed. People live in shelters that are sterilized and shut away from the outside world. You can't go outside world without antibiotics. The upside to this is that the antibiotic that was recently discovered has the ability to generate new compounds that are antibiotic in themselves. One pill can make a person highly immune but the side effects were terrifying - they had DNA active effect and affectd Gene expression. These created monsters.... mutants out of people. Be it on the outside or inside.
The pitch black paint on the jaguar was not immaculate. There were claw marks and bullet holes (speed holes) in the bonnet. The mutants couldn't take away his love to drive. No one could. Despite the craggy exterior - all measures were taken to make the cabin of the car a a level 10 biohazard exclusion zone.
He returned home and stared at the attic lid again. It beckons him. he went up and got his old Keeler Binocular Indirect Ophthalmoscope. It allowed him to look into the eyes of people.
This technology has long been outdated and replaced with digital cameras. Any life saving discoveries however were considered to be found by the computer and thus no kill points were credited.
The BIO was consider "makruh" in the medical community. Due to the persuasion of Opthalmologists who wanted lobbied against them to ensure the kill point were racked for them. Optometrists suffered at the hands of Opthalmologists for far too long.
The next morning he sat in his clinic. Business was slow. Contact lenses were now self moulding to prescriptions and glasses were only prescribed to those who had compromised immune systems.
An old woman, at teh age of 70 came in complaining about flashes in her vision. "This is your chance" he thought. He clinically lined up the ray of light from his head set into the pupil. he lined up his 20 Diopter lens and slowly and gracefully pulled up until a picture of her retina was in focus.
He went methodically, clockwise and outwards. Then he saw it - a melanoma, a cancerous growth that meant enucleation. He trembled in fear-wrapped excitement. But no sign of any reward. He grew disappointed and noted the appearance and location of the spot anyway.
2 o'clock. 1 DDiameter, 3 ONH into the periphery.
His sheet started shining. and suddenly through his roof blasted a hole and down came a certificate
YOU HAVE SAVED THE LIFE OF...
He squints in disbelief, at the name and then he looks up to see the woman sobbing.
He takes another look at his record sheet. It was her, the girl who broke his heart in second year, the one who he felt responsible for sending him into the tailspin that he is in today. He became dizzy, his world spinning. He knew that he wasn't her fault yet his anger and his ambition caused his hand to tremble. He dropped his hand held lens and a single tear dropped from his face.
"I know you have to take my eye, but please don't take the other one - I promise I won't take yours".
|
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | Having spent the night saving a handful of lives during their shift out in the city that night, Charlie and Steve set out to balance things out with the day's excisements.
"What do we have on the docket for today Charlie?"
"A kid toucher, a couple of petty criminals, and a career politician - a Senator."
"Let's go with the politician first, worst of the worst."
"OK"
They drove out to the Senator's estate. When asked to be buzzed into the palatial estate, the doorman attempted at first to refuse them. But when they held up their Winnowers' tablets, with today's verified lives saved, the doorman paled, and was forced to allow them inside, lest he be one of the day's legally sanctioned excisements.
"Where is he?" Charlie asked.
"Who?" said the doorman.
"You know who...Reginald Burns, the Senator." said Steve
The doorman quailed, but said "Upstairs, down the right hallway, last door on the left."
"Thanks"
The two walked up the stairs, checking that their bullet proof vests were secure, readying their syringes, and as backup should the Senator fight back, their modest sidearms. The vests weren't supposed to be necessary, given their legal rights. But some people just didn't respect the law, thought Charlie, the irony not lost on him.
They approached the indicated door, and went in without knocking, holding their Winnowers' tablets out in one hand, Charlie with the syringe in his right, Steve with his handgun in his right.
The senator's red face soon nearly matched his white hair in color as he realized what was going on.
"Wait, boys! I can make this worth your while. I can set you up real good now. You don't have to do this... You could retire... Let me help you out." The senator pasted on a practiced smile, "It'll be win-win! Tit for tat! You won't have to do this anymore, you can retire." the senator threw out all manor of oily protests as Charlie and Steve walked across the room to towards the Senator. As they got closer he started to panic, and went for the revolver he kept in his desk, but Steve saw the quick movement and with an exasperated sigh, opened fire.
The pair walked back out of the room, down the hall, and as they passed the doorman. As they neared him, Steve handed him printouts from their Winnowers' tablets detailing the excisement, their credentials, and details of their balancing lives saved to him. Charlie said added, "It's done. You go ahead and call 911, but tell them we were here, they'll know there's no point in rushing." | He was an optometrist. A medical practitioner who doesn't really save lives. He works for a big retail chain where all he does it sells glasses. Day in day out.
The medical profession remains in tact. Hippocratic Oath forbids the harming of others. Doctors uphold this code and any doctor who murders will be killed by another member of his registrar.
So back to my optometrist fellow. He spends all day, saying "1 or 2" and "is this better or is that better". He grows sick and comes home to nothing. No wife no kids, a house bare and sparse with nothing but a bed, a chair and table and a laptop. He stares at the attic. He glances at an old dusty photo of him and a girl at a burger joint, the date where he took her after they did their white coat initiation. Within lies the equipment he paid for during his college life. The diagnostic kit. A weapon.
The sickly green fluorescent shone down on his skin as he eats his dinner of Froot Loops and crisps. He goes between them... 1 and 2.... the milk and sweetness of the cereal offset the flavours. He finished his meal and turns off his laptop.
He goes down to his garage of the flat he lives in. A pitch black Jaguar F-type with a juiced up supercharger. A costly reminder of who he once was and how he grew up to be everything he hated.
The grumblings of the engine started in the dark of night, and soon the pitch black car was lined with the reflections of the neon lights of the dilapidated city. Along street corners were thugs in white coats and fake degrees.
Governments began paying everyone with an MD 7, even 8 digits if they were working in hospitals. This was to curb the violence that was present at the start. Doing this helped ease the gang tensions and the various law suits.
Drugs nowadays dealt on the street are ones which have therapeutic value. Gone are the days of marijuana, cocaine and heroin. Now it's antibiotics (which is massive - society had nearly collapsed in the wake of the nearly completely immune variant of Staph Gold) and the newest antibiotic cannot be produce enough. There was a war and it all started from the misuse of antibiotics from the early doctors who wanted credits (or kill points, as they're named on the streets).
The housing structure of society has totally collapsed. People live in shelters that are sterilized and shut away from the outside world. You can't go outside world without antibiotics. The upside to this is that the antibiotic that was recently discovered has the ability to generate new compounds that are antibiotic in themselves. One pill can make a person highly immune but the side effects were terrifying - they had DNA active effect and affectd Gene expression. These created monsters.... mutants out of people. Be it on the outside or inside.
The pitch black paint on the jaguar was not immaculate. There were claw marks and bullet holes (speed holes) in the bonnet. The mutants couldn't take away his love to drive. No one could. Despite the craggy exterior - all measures were taken to make the cabin of the car a a level 10 biohazard exclusion zone.
He returned home and stared at the attic lid again. It beckons him. he went up and got his old Keeler Binocular Indirect Ophthalmoscope. It allowed him to look into the eyes of people.
This technology has long been outdated and replaced with digital cameras. Any life saving discoveries however were considered to be found by the computer and thus no kill points were credited.
The BIO was consider "makruh" in the medical community. Due to the persuasion of Opthalmologists who wanted lobbied against them to ensure the kill point were racked for them. Optometrists suffered at the hands of Opthalmologists for far too long.
The next morning he sat in his clinic. Business was slow. Contact lenses were now self moulding to prescriptions and glasses were only prescribed to those who had compromised immune systems.
An old woman, at teh age of 70 came in complaining about flashes in her vision. "This is your chance" he thought. He clinically lined up the ray of light from his head set into the pupil. he lined up his 20 Diopter lens and slowly and gracefully pulled up until a picture of her retina was in focus.
He went methodically, clockwise and outwards. Then he saw it - a melanoma, a cancerous growth that meant enucleation. He trembled in fear-wrapped excitement. But no sign of any reward. He grew disappointed and noted the appearance and location of the spot anyway.
2 o'clock. 1 DDiameter, 3 ONH into the periphery.
His sheet started shining. and suddenly through his roof blasted a hole and down came a certificate
YOU HAVE SAVED THE LIFE OF...
He squints in disbelief, at the name and then he looks up to see the woman sobbing.
He takes another look at his record sheet. It was her, the girl who broke his heart in second year, the one who he felt responsible for sending him into the tailspin that he is in today. He became dizzy, his world spinning. He knew that he wasn't her fault yet his anger and his ambition caused his hand to tremble. He dropped his hand held lens and a single tear dropped from his face.
"I know you have to take my eye, but please don't take the other one - I promise I won't take yours".
|
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | " That was amazing doctor!" The young nurse gushed excitedly as the tall slender man walked out of the OR. He smiled warmly at the nurse as he pulled down his surgical mask and peeled off the gloves. The front of his surgical gear was splattered in blood, but he didn't seem phased by it at all.
" Wendy, you are so sweet. Did you watch the whole thing?" He peeled off the rest of his surgical gear revealing his tall lean frame. He had a handsome face with high cheekbones, something almost out of centerfold for an upscale magazine. Even with his hairline receding and his dark hair starting to go grey, it just made him appear more powerful and wise.
The young nurse nodded enthusiastically as a small crowd of other nurses and doctors started to gather, " Yes! I timed it! It's the fastest heart transplant ever! You've broken your own record by 10 seconds!" She practically squealed as she looked at the gentleman with affection. The crowd around them started to clap and whistle as many tried to touch him, the man many called " The Gatekeeper."
The man appeared to redden slightly with embarrassment, even though this appeared to be regular scene, he appeared uncomfortable with the praise.
Doctor Matt Burnish, had always wanted to be a doctor. His mother's life was saved when he was seven when the surgeon performed an emergency brain surgery to correct an aneurysm. The man had assured them everything would be okay and it was, and he couldn't imagine anything better than saving lives.
He'd studied hard, pushing relationships and hobbies aside to focus on the one thing he wanted more than anything else and he advanced quickly. At the age of 20 he graduated from Harvard Medical at the top of his class. He joined the best trauma center in the country for his internship and residency and he couldn't begin to start.
After three years he could barely stand it. He couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand watching good people day in and day out. People that worked hard and tried to make the best lives they can and they just couldn't get the treatment they needed. And he had to continually spend time on drug addicts and convicts. Or even worse, the corrupt upper class that fed on the weak and powerless. Just when he was about to quit medicine he met the new Chief of Medicine of his hospital. Dr. Beck, he told him about how he hated the system and that if Matt would stay he could choose his patients. The day he agreed was the day the day the Eye for an Eye law was passed.
As he shuffled through the crowd a little awkwardly he ran into Dr. Beck who smiled widely like a proud grandfather. " Well done M'boy! That girl will be back in High School before the year is out. You'd think after becoming the most renowned surgeon in the world, you'd get used to a little attention." He teased his protege lightly, as though this was a familiar jab.
Matt rolled his eyes and tried to move past him, " Well if your done riding me, I just got done with a long surgery and I'm tired." He faked a loud yawn and started to move towards the on call room.
" Oh really. Then I guess I'll just find another doctor who wants to treat this 7 year old in full renal failure." And before he'd even finished Matt had taken the chart out of the older doctor's hand and was quickly skimming it.
" No family matches?" Was his first question which was met with a quick shake of his head, " None in storage?" Which was met with another shake. Matt sighed for a second before he looked the older gentleman in the eyes and nodded, " Find me one." And then he was gone.
Two hours later he was striding into the room of one Jonathan Hedley, President of the Hedley corporation, he developed a rash in a sensitive area and wanted it taken care of discreetly.
" Hello Mr. Hedly, I'm Dr. Burnish and I'll be your medical provider for the remainder of your stay."
" About damn time. I've donated a ton of money to this hospital and I expect to get fast treatment!" The man blustered.
" Well we are busy saving lives." The doctor replied sarcastically as he rolled his eyes and consulted his chart. " And while we appreciate the money from the Hedley Corporation, don't think that makes up for your other misdeeds."
The man sputtered, " What misdeeds?! Who do you believe you are talking to!"
" Well for starters you laid off over 20% of your workforce last quarter and outsourced them, all while giving yourself a 2 million dollar bonus. You've been known to deny valid benefits to your workers." As he spoke the door open and two more doctors moved into the room followed by Dr. Beck. " And numerous other things that I just don't have time nor want to explain to you."
Hedley was roughly forced onto the bed and held down as Matt picked up syringe full of bright clear liquid. " I'm afraid we are going to need your kidneys Mr. Hedley.... and whatever else we can use. You may go through the gates of hell." | He was an optometrist. A medical practitioner who doesn't really save lives. He works for a big retail chain where all he does it sells glasses. Day in day out.
The medical profession remains in tact. Hippocratic Oath forbids the harming of others. Doctors uphold this code and any doctor who murders will be killed by another member of his registrar.
So back to my optometrist fellow. He spends all day, saying "1 or 2" and "is this better or is that better". He grows sick and comes home to nothing. No wife no kids, a house bare and sparse with nothing but a bed, a chair and table and a laptop. He stares at the attic. He glances at an old dusty photo of him and a girl at a burger joint, the date where he took her after they did their white coat initiation. Within lies the equipment he paid for during his college life. The diagnostic kit. A weapon.
The sickly green fluorescent shone down on his skin as he eats his dinner of Froot Loops and crisps. He goes between them... 1 and 2.... the milk and sweetness of the cereal offset the flavours. He finished his meal and turns off his laptop.
He goes down to his garage of the flat he lives in. A pitch black Jaguar F-type with a juiced up supercharger. A costly reminder of who he once was and how he grew up to be everything he hated.
The grumblings of the engine started in the dark of night, and soon the pitch black car was lined with the reflections of the neon lights of the dilapidated city. Along street corners were thugs in white coats and fake degrees.
Governments began paying everyone with an MD 7, even 8 digits if they were working in hospitals. This was to curb the violence that was present at the start. Doing this helped ease the gang tensions and the various law suits.
Drugs nowadays dealt on the street are ones which have therapeutic value. Gone are the days of marijuana, cocaine and heroin. Now it's antibiotics (which is massive - society had nearly collapsed in the wake of the nearly completely immune variant of Staph Gold) and the newest antibiotic cannot be produce enough. There was a war and it all started from the misuse of antibiotics from the early doctors who wanted credits (or kill points, as they're named on the streets).
The housing structure of society has totally collapsed. People live in shelters that are sterilized and shut away from the outside world. You can't go outside world without antibiotics. The upside to this is that the antibiotic that was recently discovered has the ability to generate new compounds that are antibiotic in themselves. One pill can make a person highly immune but the side effects were terrifying - they had DNA active effect and affectd Gene expression. These created monsters.... mutants out of people. Be it on the outside or inside.
The pitch black paint on the jaguar was not immaculate. There were claw marks and bullet holes (speed holes) in the bonnet. The mutants couldn't take away his love to drive. No one could. Despite the craggy exterior - all measures were taken to make the cabin of the car a a level 10 biohazard exclusion zone.
He returned home and stared at the attic lid again. It beckons him. he went up and got his old Keeler Binocular Indirect Ophthalmoscope. It allowed him to look into the eyes of people.
This technology has long been outdated and replaced with digital cameras. Any life saving discoveries however were considered to be found by the computer and thus no kill points were credited.
The BIO was consider "makruh" in the medical community. Due to the persuasion of Opthalmologists who wanted lobbied against them to ensure the kill point were racked for them. Optometrists suffered at the hands of Opthalmologists for far too long.
The next morning he sat in his clinic. Business was slow. Contact lenses were now self moulding to prescriptions and glasses were only prescribed to those who had compromised immune systems.
An old woman, at teh age of 70 came in complaining about flashes in her vision. "This is your chance" he thought. He clinically lined up the ray of light from his head set into the pupil. he lined up his 20 Diopter lens and slowly and gracefully pulled up until a picture of her retina was in focus.
He went methodically, clockwise and outwards. Then he saw it - a melanoma, a cancerous growth that meant enucleation. He trembled in fear-wrapped excitement. But no sign of any reward. He grew disappointed and noted the appearance and location of the spot anyway.
2 o'clock. 1 DDiameter, 3 ONH into the periphery.
His sheet started shining. and suddenly through his roof blasted a hole and down came a certificate
YOU HAVE SAVED THE LIFE OF...
He squints in disbelief, at the name and then he looks up to see the woman sobbing.
He takes another look at his record sheet. It was her, the girl who broke his heart in second year, the one who he felt responsible for sending him into the tailspin that he is in today. He became dizzy, his world spinning. He knew that he wasn't her fault yet his anger and his ambition caused his hand to tremble. He dropped his hand held lens and a single tear dropped from his face.
"I know you have to take my eye, but please don't take the other one - I promise I won't take yours".
|
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | " That was amazing doctor!" The young nurse gushed excitedly as the tall slender man walked out of the OR. He smiled warmly at the nurse as he pulled down his surgical mask and peeled off the gloves. The front of his surgical gear was splattered in blood, but he didn't seem phased by it at all.
" Wendy, you are so sweet. Did you watch the whole thing?" He peeled off the rest of his surgical gear revealing his tall lean frame. He had a handsome face with high cheekbones, something almost out of centerfold for an upscale magazine. Even with his hairline receding and his dark hair starting to go grey, it just made him appear more powerful and wise.
The young nurse nodded enthusiastically as a small crowd of other nurses and doctors started to gather, " Yes! I timed it! It's the fastest heart transplant ever! You've broken your own record by 10 seconds!" She practically squealed as she looked at the gentleman with affection. The crowd around them started to clap and whistle as many tried to touch him, the man many called " The Gatekeeper."
The man appeared to redden slightly with embarrassment, even though this appeared to be regular scene, he appeared uncomfortable with the praise.
Doctor Matt Burnish, had always wanted to be a doctor. His mother's life was saved when he was seven when the surgeon performed an emergency brain surgery to correct an aneurysm. The man had assured them everything would be okay and it was, and he couldn't imagine anything better than saving lives.
He'd studied hard, pushing relationships and hobbies aside to focus on the one thing he wanted more than anything else and he advanced quickly. At the age of 20 he graduated from Harvard Medical at the top of his class. He joined the best trauma center in the country for his internship and residency and he couldn't begin to start.
After three years he could barely stand it. He couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand watching good people day in and day out. People that worked hard and tried to make the best lives they can and they just couldn't get the treatment they needed. And he had to continually spend time on drug addicts and convicts. Or even worse, the corrupt upper class that fed on the weak and powerless. Just when he was about to quit medicine he met the new Chief of Medicine of his hospital. Dr. Beck, he told him about how he hated the system and that if Matt would stay he could choose his patients. The day he agreed was the day the day the Eye for an Eye law was passed.
As he shuffled through the crowd a little awkwardly he ran into Dr. Beck who smiled widely like a proud grandfather. " Well done M'boy! That girl will be back in High School before the year is out. You'd think after becoming the most renowned surgeon in the world, you'd get used to a little attention." He teased his protege lightly, as though this was a familiar jab.
Matt rolled his eyes and tried to move past him, " Well if your done riding me, I just got done with a long surgery and I'm tired." He faked a loud yawn and started to move towards the on call room.
" Oh really. Then I guess I'll just find another doctor who wants to treat this 7 year old in full renal failure." And before he'd even finished Matt had taken the chart out of the older doctor's hand and was quickly skimming it.
" No family matches?" Was his first question which was met with a quick shake of his head, " None in storage?" Which was met with another shake. Matt sighed for a second before he looked the older gentleman in the eyes and nodded, " Find me one." And then he was gone.
Two hours later he was striding into the room of one Jonathan Hedley, President of the Hedley corporation, he developed a rash in a sensitive area and wanted it taken care of discreetly.
" Hello Mr. Hedly, I'm Dr. Burnish and I'll be your medical provider for the remainder of your stay."
" About damn time. I've donated a ton of money to this hospital and I expect to get fast treatment!" The man blustered.
" Well we are busy saving lives." The doctor replied sarcastically as he rolled his eyes and consulted his chart. " And while we appreciate the money from the Hedley Corporation, don't think that makes up for your other misdeeds."
The man sputtered, " What misdeeds?! Who do you believe you are talking to!"
" Well for starters you laid off over 20% of your workforce last quarter and outsourced them, all while giving yourself a 2 million dollar bonus. You've been known to deny valid benefits to your workers." As he spoke the door open and two more doctors moved into the room followed by Dr. Beck. " And numerous other things that I just don't have time nor want to explain to you."
Hedley was roughly forced onto the bed and held down as Matt picked up syringe full of bright clear liquid. " I'm afraid we are going to need your kidneys Mr. Hedley.... and whatever else we can use. You may go through the gates of hell." | Having spent the night saving a handful of lives during their shift out in the city that night, Charlie and Steve set out to balance things out with the day's excisements.
"What do we have on the docket for today Charlie?"
"A kid toucher, a couple of petty criminals, and a career politician - a Senator."
"Let's go with the politician first, worst of the worst."
"OK"
They drove out to the Senator's estate. When asked to be buzzed into the palatial estate, the doorman attempted at first to refuse them. But when they held up their Winnowers' tablets, with today's verified lives saved, the doorman paled, and was forced to allow them inside, lest he be one of the day's legally sanctioned excisements.
"Where is he?" Charlie asked.
"Who?" said the doorman.
"You know who...Reginald Burns, the Senator." said Steve
The doorman quailed, but said "Upstairs, down the right hallway, last door on the left."
"Thanks"
The two walked up the stairs, checking that their bullet proof vests were secure, readying their syringes, and as backup should the Senator fight back, their modest sidearms. The vests weren't supposed to be necessary, given their legal rights. But some people just didn't respect the law, thought Charlie, the irony not lost on him.
They approached the indicated door, and went in without knocking, holding their Winnowers' tablets out in one hand, Charlie with the syringe in his right, Steve with his handgun in his right.
The senator's red face soon nearly matched his white hair in color as he realized what was going on.
"Wait, boys! I can make this worth your while. I can set you up real good now. You don't have to do this... You could retire... Let me help you out." The senator pasted on a practiced smile, "It'll be win-win! Tit for tat! You won't have to do this anymore, you can retire." the senator threw out all manor of oily protests as Charlie and Steve walked across the room to towards the Senator. As they got closer he started to panic, and went for the revolver he kept in his desk, but Steve saw the quick movement and with an exasperated sigh, opened fire.
The pair walked back out of the room, down the hall, and as they passed the doorman. As they neared him, Steve handed him printouts from their Winnowers' tablets detailing the excisement, their credentials, and details of their balancing lives saved to him. Charlie said added, "It's done. You go ahead and call 911, but tell them we were here, they'll know there's no point in rushing." |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | " That was amazing doctor!" The young nurse gushed excitedly as the tall slender man walked out of the OR. He smiled warmly at the nurse as he pulled down his surgical mask and peeled off the gloves. The front of his surgical gear was splattered in blood, but he didn't seem phased by it at all.
" Wendy, you are so sweet. Did you watch the whole thing?" He peeled off the rest of his surgical gear revealing his tall lean frame. He had a handsome face with high cheekbones, something almost out of centerfold for an upscale magazine. Even with his hairline receding and his dark hair starting to go grey, it just made him appear more powerful and wise.
The young nurse nodded enthusiastically as a small crowd of other nurses and doctors started to gather, " Yes! I timed it! It's the fastest heart transplant ever! You've broken your own record by 10 seconds!" She practically squealed as she looked at the gentleman with affection. The crowd around them started to clap and whistle as many tried to touch him, the man many called " The Gatekeeper."
The man appeared to redden slightly with embarrassment, even though this appeared to be regular scene, he appeared uncomfortable with the praise.
Doctor Matt Burnish, had always wanted to be a doctor. His mother's life was saved when he was seven when the surgeon performed an emergency brain surgery to correct an aneurysm. The man had assured them everything would be okay and it was, and he couldn't imagine anything better than saving lives.
He'd studied hard, pushing relationships and hobbies aside to focus on the one thing he wanted more than anything else and he advanced quickly. At the age of 20 he graduated from Harvard Medical at the top of his class. He joined the best trauma center in the country for his internship and residency and he couldn't begin to start.
After three years he could barely stand it. He couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand watching good people day in and day out. People that worked hard and tried to make the best lives they can and they just couldn't get the treatment they needed. And he had to continually spend time on drug addicts and convicts. Or even worse, the corrupt upper class that fed on the weak and powerless. Just when he was about to quit medicine he met the new Chief of Medicine of his hospital. Dr. Beck, he told him about how he hated the system and that if Matt would stay he could choose his patients. The day he agreed was the day the day the Eye for an Eye law was passed.
As he shuffled through the crowd a little awkwardly he ran into Dr. Beck who smiled widely like a proud grandfather. " Well done M'boy! That girl will be back in High School before the year is out. You'd think after becoming the most renowned surgeon in the world, you'd get used to a little attention." He teased his protege lightly, as though this was a familiar jab.
Matt rolled his eyes and tried to move past him, " Well if your done riding me, I just got done with a long surgery and I'm tired." He faked a loud yawn and started to move towards the on call room.
" Oh really. Then I guess I'll just find another doctor who wants to treat this 7 year old in full renal failure." And before he'd even finished Matt had taken the chart out of the older doctor's hand and was quickly skimming it.
" No family matches?" Was his first question which was met with a quick shake of his head, " None in storage?" Which was met with another shake. Matt sighed for a second before he looked the older gentleman in the eyes and nodded, " Find me one." And then he was gone.
Two hours later he was striding into the room of one Jonathan Hedley, President of the Hedley corporation, he developed a rash in a sensitive area and wanted it taken care of discreetly.
" Hello Mr. Hedly, I'm Dr. Burnish and I'll be your medical provider for the remainder of your stay."
" About damn time. I've donated a ton of money to this hospital and I expect to get fast treatment!" The man blustered.
" Well we are busy saving lives." The doctor replied sarcastically as he rolled his eyes and consulted his chart. " And while we appreciate the money from the Hedley Corporation, don't think that makes up for your other misdeeds."
The man sputtered, " What misdeeds?! Who do you believe you are talking to!"
" Well for starters you laid off over 20% of your workforce last quarter and outsourced them, all while giving yourself a 2 million dollar bonus. You've been known to deny valid benefits to your workers." As he spoke the door open and two more doctors moved into the room followed by Dr. Beck. " And numerous other things that I just don't have time nor want to explain to you."
Hedley was roughly forced onto the bed and held down as Matt picked up syringe full of bright clear liquid. " I'm afraid we are going to need your kidneys Mr. Hedley.... and whatever else we can use. You may go through the gates of hell." | Dr. Rogers smirked, thinking of the more than 350 legal murder stickers he possessed. There were many perks to being a doctor, free drugs, good money, respectable level on the social hierarchy, but of them all was the eye for an eye inversion. "Well sir... See the thing is, I only have 10 left. You want 7. That would almost wipe me out of business. $2,000 per sticker is no longer applicable." He paused, watching the body language and feet positioning of the man in front of him. He had the cat in the bag. He didn't care who or why this man wanted to kill 7 people, all he cared about was the money. "I'd be willing to sell you 7 for a total of $25,000. I'm afraid that's the best I can offer."
$25,000? that was a little less than a year's salary. Was it really true that there was a sticker shortage? He was after all only getting paid $40,000 to kill the people for Mrs. Strajas. $15,000 was not enough profit for it to be worth it. There was no reason he needed to do this legally, though she had said she did not want it traced back to her; there would be more of a guarantee if it was done legally. He only really needed 5 but if there was one thing he knew about bargaining it was never let them know how many you actually need. Or perhaps he could just take 3, Joe owed him a favor and could help him dispose of the other two. "How much would 3 be?"
"I'll tell you what" said the Doctor, realizing that he had underestimated the weakness of the man in front of him "I'll sell you five for $15,000."
The man nodded, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a checkbook. "To whom should I make this out to?"
The doctor handed him his business card, and went to the back room, placing 5 stickers in a bag. He walked out, took the check, and handed the stickers before shooting the man in front of him. $15,000 for one sticker wasn't his best work, but it would definitely make his next vacation more enjoyable. |
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[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | I won't pretend I'm some sort of legal professional kid, I don't know shit about the history of the law or whatever, but I know the ins and outs of it like the back of my hand. Hell why am I telling you this, you've gotta know it too, right?
You're kidding me, you don't know? Why did I b- Oh forget it. Okay, there's a scale of designated 'importance', the higher up you are on it, the more people have to be saved for you to be taken out. You save two Class Ones? Congrats, you can kill a Class Two. Get it? Goes all the way to the top, only people immune are foreign leaders and the President himself. Yes, I know the door is locked. Yes I know this is breaking and entering. No! Seriously kid, just pass me the bolt cutters!
You know about me, seeing as you asked to come along on a job. Oh? Do tell. Oh. Huh the Net isn't as accurate as I thought. No, I've got fifty two points of kills, not thirty two, and as far as what I've got left? Well, I've only got twenty nine points left, but I'm not using them all.
Yup, you got it kiddo. This is it. The last job. Glad someone could be here for it anyways. Yeah just pass up the duffel once I'm up the ladder, I'm taking the other bag with me.
Okay, I don't know how much experience you've had on a range boy, but even if you've had days of practice, shooting from a skyscraper is something different. The windspeed, the angles, the thickness of the glass, th- what? Does it matter who it is really? ...They've mostly been contract kills, not 'crimes of pa-' What do you mean, "This one has to be different?" Kid. No ki- Okay.
Yes. Its different. You know Dr. McAlistair? God damn kid I asked if you know him, not to sing his praises! Fucking Christ... You were right about the rivals part though. We were dueling for years, each trying to get more kills to our name than the other. We got rich, we got famous, we started families as we saved lives and snuffed out others, trying to outdo each other. You watch much news? Yeah. About six years ago, there was a murder on Holmes Street Downtown. A young woman killed in her apartment execution-style, brain sprayed all over the walls. No, I know its not unusual, especially not nowadays, but he murdered my fiance so I fail to give a fuck.
It was him. Yes I know for sure, I got his application for the kill from the Bureau of Inversions. Shut up and look down the thermal binoculars please, tell me what you see.
Yeah. Fuck off, I know he's got kids, Melissa was pregnant when he emptied her fucking skull! Kid I've got more than enough points here for you too if you don't shut the fuck up. I'm- Fuck you I'm not crying. Shut the fuck up and give me a fucking range.
2500 feet. 13 miles per hour. Okay. You wanted to see someone taken out? Turn off the thermal and watch.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Thats right you fucking pig, cry over your kids, your fucking whore wife. Fuck you!
Five! That's for Melissa you asshole!
Ugh. I've been waiting to get that off my chest. God damn I hated that guy. Fuck.
Now? Probably retire. Probably. There's nothing I really want to do now, I mean, I could go into politics and try and play President, but going into Congress makes me a target for every fundamentalist and his mother. No, I'm just going to disappear for now. Maybe move to Cuba, who knows, they don't have Inversion laws there.
Yeah, good night kid. Sorry it wasn't much of a lesson. Maybe don't tell people about what happened tonight? Thanks. Huh? Nah, you don't /need/ to submit an application, it's just strongly recommended, skips a lot of police bureuocracy.
Oh, and here's a tip. You really want points? Go help people on suicide hotlines. They're the real killers. | It was landmark legislation. "Net Murder" was the new term they coined. Nobody knew yet what was going to happen. Even worse, they were going back five years to add up all the lives an individual saved and the deaths attributed to them.
The idea was to promote net positive contribution, so that those individuals who helped more than they hurt get to remain participants in society being forgiven for a few errors or transgressions while those that have harmed society are removed.
It wasn't supposed to be possible, but recently, the Supreme Court ruled that "ex post facto law" to be acceptable in cases of criminal justice, due to the rising corruption of the populace and the cleverness of people inventing new ways to get away with it.
Pearlman had just passed his residency and his few surgeries had not gone so well.
"Shit shit shit!" he said aloud. Pearlman wanted to save lives. A lot of them. He worked hard to be the best surgeon he could be. So far he was only able to save one person. The only real problem was, that two died on his watch.
One was elderly, and couldn't be helped. The second was entirely not his fault. Karen had administered rocuronium that was meant for a different patient, instead of the fosphenytoin that was prepared. The young father went into sudden cardiac arrest and was no more. But Pearlman knew Karen was beating herself over it, and covered for her.
Karen had only the one patient. The one that died, but she would be safe. She quit the medical profession immediately afterwards. He was going to be sent to prison for life unless he confessed to the perjury. Then, he could never save any lives again, and would be barred from practicing.
At this point almost all the medical professionals with a negative net death were in prison. Luckily, he worked in a rural hospital with no electronic health records at the time. The Department of Health and Human services knew this though, and were combing through the paper records at the very moment.
Pearlman wasn't going to go out this way, he had to reach zero... fast. No, he had to more than that, he needed a buffer, so he wasn't ever going to be persecuted unfairly.
He placed the unlabeled bag on the IV pole.
EDIT: Hey guys, I'm so sorry this is my second writing prompt post and there are so many plot holes! My intention was that since saving lives has never been counted in the legal system, I made the provision also now factor "losses."
EDIT2: Turns out ER doctors don't so surgery, soo..... |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | Business was booming.
In his office at St Thomas' Hospital, overlooking the Thames, Dr Jones leaned back in his chair and smiled. In his younger days, people went into the medical profession for a variety of reasons, altruistic and selfish. Now, with the Net Murder Neutrality law, one more reason was added to that list.
Jones was relatively lucky when the law passed. Having worked in trauma, he had his fair share of lives saved, resulting in a high +/-. The medical profession had evolved too, with the Termination programme the 2nd most popular course in med schools.
He got up, glanced at his watch and yawned. Making his way down to level 2, he nodded to several of his colleagues, while a bunch of year 3 med students scurried past.
'Dr Jones? 5 appointments today, and they are all waiting for you in room 221'
'Thank you Natalie. Everything is set up? Any extenuating circumstances I should be aware of?'
'Not that I'm aware of, sir'
'Right. Let me know my plus-minus afterwards'
Jones strode into the room, and smiled. Five terrified pairs of eyes stared at him. 'Morning everyone! Don't be frightened, trust me, I'm a doctor!'
And pulled the first trigger.
Four terrified pairs of eyes stared at him.
Then three.
Two.
One.
Zero.
Jones wiped his hands on the towel provided. 'Who did we have today?'
'The CIA sent in the first two, the mafia sent the 3rd. No 4 was the son of a billionaire, we think it was the other heir who sent him here, and no 5 was a terrorist. Your plus-minus is now at +53, but there was a bad accident over in Piccadilly so you should be able to bump it up by the end of today'. Jones nodded and smiled.
Business was booming.
---------------------
haven't written anything in years. please be nice :) | It was landmark legislation. "Net Murder" was the new term they coined. Nobody knew yet what was going to happen. Even worse, they were going back five years to add up all the lives an individual saved and the deaths attributed to them.
The idea was to promote net positive contribution, so that those individuals who helped more than they hurt get to remain participants in society being forgiven for a few errors or transgressions while those that have harmed society are removed.
It wasn't supposed to be possible, but recently, the Supreme Court ruled that "ex post facto law" to be acceptable in cases of criminal justice, due to the rising corruption of the populace and the cleverness of people inventing new ways to get away with it.
Pearlman had just passed his residency and his few surgeries had not gone so well.
"Shit shit shit!" he said aloud. Pearlman wanted to save lives. A lot of them. He worked hard to be the best surgeon he could be. So far he was only able to save one person. The only real problem was, that two died on his watch.
One was elderly, and couldn't be helped. The second was entirely not his fault. Karen had administered rocuronium that was meant for a different patient, instead of the fosphenytoin that was prepared. The young father went into sudden cardiac arrest and was no more. But Pearlman knew Karen was beating herself over it, and covered for her.
Karen had only the one patient. The one that died, but she would be safe. She quit the medical profession immediately afterwards. He was going to be sent to prison for life unless he confessed to the perjury. Then, he could never save any lives again, and would be barred from practicing.
At this point almost all the medical professionals with a negative net death were in prison. Luckily, he worked in a rural hospital with no electronic health records at the time. The Department of Health and Human services knew this though, and were combing through the paper records at the very moment.
Pearlman wasn't going to go out this way, he had to reach zero... fast. No, he had to more than that, he needed a buffer, so he wasn't ever going to be persecuted unfairly.
He placed the unlabeled bag on the IV pole.
EDIT: Hey guys, I'm so sorry this is my second writing prompt post and there are so many plot holes! My intention was that since saving lives has never been counted in the legal system, I made the provision also now factor "losses."
EDIT2: Turns out ER doctors don't so surgery, soo..... |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | He'd already refused at least a hundred other offers and gifts that day.
As Dr. Henry Hobbel sat and finished his dinner at the restaurant, he rejected one more: the bottle of white wine his eager and nervous looking waiter had thrust towards him from across the table. This was the second bottle of wine the restaurant had offered him (he'd accepted the first). Paying for his meal just wasn't enough, it seemed. Back when all this began, he'd tried to pay, at first. He'd insist on paying for his meals, groceries, flights, coffee... Then he gave up, and just enjoyed the spoils, at least for a while. It was fun, and a glimpse of a lifestyle he'd never seen.
But it grew old very, very quickly.
Now, after six years, he'd taken to either silently accepting the gifts or firmly refusing them, depending on his mood. Long dead was the excitement of being the most famous man in the world. He'd expected the gifts to stop after a while, but he'd underestimated the media. They did everything in their power to keep the shining image of Dr. Hobbel inflated. Frankly, they had to be running out of headlines by now: 'National Hero.' 'Giver of Life' 'Savior of the Human Race.' 'The Man Who Beat Death.' (Hobbel kind of liked that one, in a Harry Potter sort of way.)
The problem, of course, was that by saving so many millions of lives he was now legally allowed--and, in most countries, *expected*--to take an equal amount. That was ridiculous, of course. Why on earth would the man who cured cancer want to kill millions of people? He who had given the gift of life to so many would take it from a few? Absurd. The last thing on Hobbel's mind was hurting someone else. But a dangerous thing happens when people know you have nothing holding you back: they assume the worst, and react accordingly. And so, whether out of gratitude or fear, everybody felt like they owed him. Friends and relationships were hard enough to come by before his breakthrough, so engrossed was he in his research. Now it was impossible to isolate genuine relationships: he lived alone in a small apartment on the East Side. It wasn't all bad, though. His dinners were usually quite nice.
As he walked back through the brisk evening, the half empty bottle of wine in his hand (the waiter insisted he take the rest), he passed the usual mix of homeless and middle class. Most of the wealthy wouldn't be found walking around this area, and certainly not this time of night. Although he didn't really consider himself wealthy (he'd donated the money from his Nobel Prize to some charity), he liked it here, among the people who either didn't know who he was or just didn't care. He passed whores on the street who shouted at him their offers of discounted services. Christ, that might have been his biggest surprise of the whole thing: the sex. Once his name and face became plastered on every newspaper, website, and TV in the world, the fan mail came pouring in, quickly followed by the propositions. It was all very flattering, and quite fun for a whirlwind short while, but he tried not to let it go to his head. After all, even Manson found somebody crazy enough to marry him.
As he closed the door to his apartment, he absentmindedly turned on the TV, gathered some things from his counter, and sat. His answering machine blinked with the urgency of a new message, but Hobbel already knew what news it brought: impatient to hear back, he'd run the tests himself. It was, he thought, an appropriate end: the man who defeated cancer, brought down by its insidious cousin. *How Shakespearian,* he thought, as he swallowed a handful of pills, washing them down with the last of the wine.
The TV cast a warm glow across the room in stark contrast to the whining, pitched voices that echoed from its speakers as the talking heads bantered back and forth about the Eye For An Eye law, the constant fodder for late night pundits and religious zealots alike.
"Life is precious, a gift that should be cherished, not bartered with depending on one's accomplishments."
"Paul, you say that life is a gift? Isn't life a creation of the actions of a man and a woman? If we can create life, then why shouldn't be able to give it away?"
"Life is given by God!"
And so forth.
These voices were but echoes to Hobbel, though. He'd already refused at least a hundred other offers and gifts that day. As Dr. Hobbel sat and drifted off to sleep, he rejected one more. | It was landmark legislation. "Net Murder" was the new term they coined. Nobody knew yet what was going to happen. Even worse, they were going back five years to add up all the lives an individual saved and the deaths attributed to them.
The idea was to promote net positive contribution, so that those individuals who helped more than they hurt get to remain participants in society being forgiven for a few errors or transgressions while those that have harmed society are removed.
It wasn't supposed to be possible, but recently, the Supreme Court ruled that "ex post facto law" to be acceptable in cases of criminal justice, due to the rising corruption of the populace and the cleverness of people inventing new ways to get away with it.
Pearlman had just passed his residency and his few surgeries had not gone so well.
"Shit shit shit!" he said aloud. Pearlman wanted to save lives. A lot of them. He worked hard to be the best surgeon he could be. So far he was only able to save one person. The only real problem was, that two died on his watch.
One was elderly, and couldn't be helped. The second was entirely not his fault. Karen had administered rocuronium that was meant for a different patient, instead of the fosphenytoin that was prepared. The young father went into sudden cardiac arrest and was no more. But Pearlman knew Karen was beating herself over it, and covered for her.
Karen had only the one patient. The one that died, but she would be safe. She quit the medical profession immediately afterwards. He was going to be sent to prison for life unless he confessed to the perjury. Then, he could never save any lives again, and would be barred from practicing.
At this point almost all the medical professionals with a negative net death were in prison. Luckily, he worked in a rural hospital with no electronic health records at the time. The Department of Health and Human services knew this though, and were combing through the paper records at the very moment.
Pearlman wasn't going to go out this way, he had to reach zero... fast. No, he had to more than that, he needed a buffer, so he wasn't ever going to be persecuted unfairly.
He placed the unlabeled bag on the IV pole.
EDIT: Hey guys, I'm so sorry this is my second writing prompt post and there are so many plot holes! My intention was that since saving lives has never been counted in the legal system, I made the provision also now factor "losses."
EDIT2: Turns out ER doctors don't so surgery, soo..... |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | Business was booming.
In his office at St Thomas' Hospital, overlooking the Thames, Dr Jones leaned back in his chair and smiled. In his younger days, people went into the medical profession for a variety of reasons, altruistic and selfish. Now, with the Net Murder Neutrality law, one more reason was added to that list.
Jones was relatively lucky when the law passed. Having worked in trauma, he had his fair share of lives saved, resulting in a high +/-. The medical profession had evolved too, with the Termination programme the 2nd most popular course in med schools.
He got up, glanced at his watch and yawned. Making his way down to level 2, he nodded to several of his colleagues, while a bunch of year 3 med students scurried past.
'Dr Jones? 5 appointments today, and they are all waiting for you in room 221'
'Thank you Natalie. Everything is set up? Any extenuating circumstances I should be aware of?'
'Not that I'm aware of, sir'
'Right. Let me know my plus-minus afterwards'
Jones strode into the room, and smiled. Five terrified pairs of eyes stared at him. 'Morning everyone! Don't be frightened, trust me, I'm a doctor!'
And pulled the first trigger.
Four terrified pairs of eyes stared at him.
Then three.
Two.
One.
Zero.
Jones wiped his hands on the towel provided. 'Who did we have today?'
'The CIA sent in the first two, the mafia sent the 3rd. No 4 was the son of a billionaire, we think it was the other heir who sent him here, and no 5 was a terrorist. Your plus-minus is now at +53, but there was a bad accident over in Piccadilly so you should be able to bump it up by the end of today'. Jones nodded and smiled.
Business was booming.
---------------------
haven't written anything in years. please be nice :) | I won't pretend I'm some sort of legal professional kid, I don't know shit about the history of the law or whatever, but I know the ins and outs of it like the back of my hand. Hell why am I telling you this, you've gotta know it too, right?
You're kidding me, you don't know? Why did I b- Oh forget it. Okay, there's a scale of designated 'importance', the higher up you are on it, the more people have to be saved for you to be taken out. You save two Class Ones? Congrats, you can kill a Class Two. Get it? Goes all the way to the top, only people immune are foreign leaders and the President himself. Yes, I know the door is locked. Yes I know this is breaking and entering. No! Seriously kid, just pass me the bolt cutters!
You know about me, seeing as you asked to come along on a job. Oh? Do tell. Oh. Huh the Net isn't as accurate as I thought. No, I've got fifty two points of kills, not thirty two, and as far as what I've got left? Well, I've only got twenty nine points left, but I'm not using them all.
Yup, you got it kiddo. This is it. The last job. Glad someone could be here for it anyways. Yeah just pass up the duffel once I'm up the ladder, I'm taking the other bag with me.
Okay, I don't know how much experience you've had on a range boy, but even if you've had days of practice, shooting from a skyscraper is something different. The windspeed, the angles, the thickness of the glass, th- what? Does it matter who it is really? ...They've mostly been contract kills, not 'crimes of pa-' What do you mean, "This one has to be different?" Kid. No ki- Okay.
Yes. Its different. You know Dr. McAlistair? God damn kid I asked if you know him, not to sing his praises! Fucking Christ... You were right about the rivals part though. We were dueling for years, each trying to get more kills to our name than the other. We got rich, we got famous, we started families as we saved lives and snuffed out others, trying to outdo each other. You watch much news? Yeah. About six years ago, there was a murder on Holmes Street Downtown. A young woman killed in her apartment execution-style, brain sprayed all over the walls. No, I know its not unusual, especially not nowadays, but he murdered my fiance so I fail to give a fuck.
It was him. Yes I know for sure, I got his application for the kill from the Bureau of Inversions. Shut up and look down the thermal binoculars please, tell me what you see.
Yeah. Fuck off, I know he's got kids, Melissa was pregnant when he emptied her fucking skull! Kid I've got more than enough points here for you too if you don't shut the fuck up. I'm- Fuck you I'm not crying. Shut the fuck up and give me a fucking range.
2500 feet. 13 miles per hour. Okay. You wanted to see someone taken out? Turn off the thermal and watch.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Thats right you fucking pig, cry over your kids, your fucking whore wife. Fuck you!
Five! That's for Melissa you asshole!
Ugh. I've been waiting to get that off my chest. God damn I hated that guy. Fuck.
Now? Probably retire. Probably. There's nothing I really want to do now, I mean, I could go into politics and try and play President, but going into Congress makes me a target for every fundamentalist and his mother. No, I'm just going to disappear for now. Maybe move to Cuba, who knows, they don't have Inversion laws there.
Yeah, good night kid. Sorry it wasn't much of a lesson. Maybe don't tell people about what happened tonight? Thanks. Huh? Nah, you don't /need/ to submit an application, it's just strongly recommended, skips a lot of police bureuocracy.
Oh, and here's a tip. You really want points? Go help people on suicide hotlines. They're the real killers. |
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | He'd already refused at least a hundred other offers and gifts that day.
As Dr. Henry Hobbel sat and finished his dinner at the restaurant, he rejected one more: the bottle of white wine his eager and nervous looking waiter had thrust towards him from across the table. This was the second bottle of wine the restaurant had offered him (he'd accepted the first). Paying for his meal just wasn't enough, it seemed. Back when all this began, he'd tried to pay, at first. He'd insist on paying for his meals, groceries, flights, coffee... Then he gave up, and just enjoyed the spoils, at least for a while. It was fun, and a glimpse of a lifestyle he'd never seen.
But it grew old very, very quickly.
Now, after six years, he'd taken to either silently accepting the gifts or firmly refusing them, depending on his mood. Long dead was the excitement of being the most famous man in the world. He'd expected the gifts to stop after a while, but he'd underestimated the media. They did everything in their power to keep the shining image of Dr. Hobbel inflated. Frankly, they had to be running out of headlines by now: 'National Hero.' 'Giver of Life' 'Savior of the Human Race.' 'The Man Who Beat Death.' (Hobbel kind of liked that one, in a Harry Potter sort of way.)
The problem, of course, was that by saving so many millions of lives he was now legally allowed--and, in most countries, *expected*--to take an equal amount. That was ridiculous, of course. Why on earth would the man who cured cancer want to kill millions of people? He who had given the gift of life to so many would take it from a few? Absurd. The last thing on Hobbel's mind was hurting someone else. But a dangerous thing happens when people know you have nothing holding you back: they assume the worst, and react accordingly. And so, whether out of gratitude or fear, everybody felt like they owed him. Friends and relationships were hard enough to come by before his breakthrough, so engrossed was he in his research. Now it was impossible to isolate genuine relationships: he lived alone in a small apartment on the East Side. It wasn't all bad, though. His dinners were usually quite nice.
As he walked back through the brisk evening, the half empty bottle of wine in his hand (the waiter insisted he take the rest), he passed the usual mix of homeless and middle class. Most of the wealthy wouldn't be found walking around this area, and certainly not this time of night. Although he didn't really consider himself wealthy (he'd donated the money from his Nobel Prize to some charity), he liked it here, among the people who either didn't know who he was or just didn't care. He passed whores on the street who shouted at him their offers of discounted services. Christ, that might have been his biggest surprise of the whole thing: the sex. Once his name and face became plastered on every newspaper, website, and TV in the world, the fan mail came pouring in, quickly followed by the propositions. It was all very flattering, and quite fun for a whirlwind short while, but he tried not to let it go to his head. After all, even Manson found somebody crazy enough to marry him.
As he closed the door to his apartment, he absentmindedly turned on the TV, gathered some things from his counter, and sat. His answering machine blinked with the urgency of a new message, but Hobbel already knew what news it brought: impatient to hear back, he'd run the tests himself. It was, he thought, an appropriate end: the man who defeated cancer, brought down by its insidious cousin. *How Shakespearian,* he thought, as he swallowed a handful of pills, washing them down with the last of the wine.
The TV cast a warm glow across the room in stark contrast to the whining, pitched voices that echoed from its speakers as the talking heads bantered back and forth about the Eye For An Eye law, the constant fodder for late night pundits and religious zealots alike.
"Life is precious, a gift that should be cherished, not bartered with depending on one's accomplishments."
"Paul, you say that life is a gift? Isn't life a creation of the actions of a man and a woman? If we can create life, then why shouldn't be able to give it away?"
"Life is given by God!"
And so forth.
These voices were but echoes to Hobbel, though. He'd already refused at least a hundred other offers and gifts that day. As Dr. Hobbel sat and drifted off to sleep, he rejected one more. | I won't pretend I'm some sort of legal professional kid, I don't know shit about the history of the law or whatever, but I know the ins and outs of it like the back of my hand. Hell why am I telling you this, you've gotta know it too, right?
You're kidding me, you don't know? Why did I b- Oh forget it. Okay, there's a scale of designated 'importance', the higher up you are on it, the more people have to be saved for you to be taken out. You save two Class Ones? Congrats, you can kill a Class Two. Get it? Goes all the way to the top, only people immune are foreign leaders and the President himself. Yes, I know the door is locked. Yes I know this is breaking and entering. No! Seriously kid, just pass me the bolt cutters!
You know about me, seeing as you asked to come along on a job. Oh? Do tell. Oh. Huh the Net isn't as accurate as I thought. No, I've got fifty two points of kills, not thirty two, and as far as what I've got left? Well, I've only got twenty nine points left, but I'm not using them all.
Yup, you got it kiddo. This is it. The last job. Glad someone could be here for it anyways. Yeah just pass up the duffel once I'm up the ladder, I'm taking the other bag with me.
Okay, I don't know how much experience you've had on a range boy, but even if you've had days of practice, shooting from a skyscraper is something different. The windspeed, the angles, the thickness of the glass, th- what? Does it matter who it is really? ...They've mostly been contract kills, not 'crimes of pa-' What do you mean, "This one has to be different?" Kid. No ki- Okay.
Yes. Its different. You know Dr. McAlistair? God damn kid I asked if you know him, not to sing his praises! Fucking Christ... You were right about the rivals part though. We were dueling for years, each trying to get more kills to our name than the other. We got rich, we got famous, we started families as we saved lives and snuffed out others, trying to outdo each other. You watch much news? Yeah. About six years ago, there was a murder on Holmes Street Downtown. A young woman killed in her apartment execution-style, brain sprayed all over the walls. No, I know its not unusual, especially not nowadays, but he murdered my fiance so I fail to give a fuck.
It was him. Yes I know for sure, I got his application for the kill from the Bureau of Inversions. Shut up and look down the thermal binoculars please, tell me what you see.
Yeah. Fuck off, I know he's got kids, Melissa was pregnant when he emptied her fucking skull! Kid I've got more than enough points here for you too if you don't shut the fuck up. I'm- Fuck you I'm not crying. Shut the fuck up and give me a fucking range.
2500 feet. 13 miles per hour. Okay. You wanted to see someone taken out? Turn off the thermal and watch.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Thats right you fucking pig, cry over your kids, your fucking whore wife. Fuck you!
Five! That's for Melissa you asshole!
Ugh. I've been waiting to get that off my chest. God damn I hated that guy. Fuck.
Now? Probably retire. Probably. There's nothing I really want to do now, I mean, I could go into politics and try and play President, but going into Congress makes me a target for every fundamentalist and his mother. No, I'm just going to disappear for now. Maybe move to Cuba, who knows, they don't have Inversion laws there.
Yeah, good night kid. Sorry it wasn't much of a lesson. Maybe don't tell people about what happened tonight? Thanks. Huh? Nah, you don't /need/ to submit an application, it's just strongly recommended, skips a lot of police bureuocracy.
Oh, and here's a tip. You really want points? Go help people on suicide hotlines. They're the real killers. |
|
[WP] Overnight, the world's oceans have been replaced by vast forests inhabited by strange creatures. You are on an expedition to find a lost ship in what used to be the middle of the Atlantic. | Three months ago the world’s oceans disappeared. Forests covered the entire expanse. The trees defied everything known about plant life. Trees thousands of feet tall and many hundreds of feet in diameter sprung up over night. The initial explorers into these forests described them as being in giant kelp forests out of the water.
The sea animals all disappeared replaced by creatures never before seen. Not one fish, whale, walrus or any other sea animal’s carcass was ever found. It was as if someone had scooped them all out.
We had been hired to find a ship, The Smokehouse, which had gone down in the Atlantic. It had carried a full hold of rare earth minerals worth millions of dollars at the time. At the time the ship had gone down it had been prohibitively expensive to salvage it.
The cargo plane circled over our drop area. “You’ve got to jump now,” radioed the pilot. “If we don’t head back soon we’re going to run out of fuel before making it back to the airfield.”
Our supplies had already been jettisoned out the back of the plane. “Roger,” I responded. I gave my team thumbs up. They returned it. “Jumping now,” I said, and I was out.
The jump was uneventful for me. I had been worried about unknown weather patterns now that the oceans were gone. However, the weather was calmer than I had ever seen it over the middle of the Atlantic. It didn’t make sense.
I unstrapped my parachutes at the floor of the forest. My team turned on their beacons, and we all met in short order. Only Jones hadn’t made it down. We found him off course up in the tree branches. It looked like the branches had wrapped themselves around his body and squeezed much like a boa constrictor until he died.
“What the hell?” said Ram.
I spit on the ground. Something in the air tasted foul and left a bitter taste in my mouth. “We don’t know what the hell these things are. Maybe it’s some kind of defense mechanism.” I looked around. “We need to be careful around the plants.”
Abbott smacked the side of her tablet. “I’m getting a shitty signal, but I think I’ve located our supplies.” She looked up. “GPS is spotty. Might be more difficult to find The Smokehouse than we expected.”
I shrugged. “More time to gather samples.”
The first supply box had been torn open. MREs, first aid kits and sampling kits lay strewn around the forest floor. Our biologist Carson kneeled down and ran her fingers over the marks. “This crate was torn open by something big and strong. I don’t know of anything short of a polar bear that would have the strength to do this. Even then it would take a polar bear a while to break into it.” She looked back at me. “This looks like one, maybe two swipes.”
I grit my teeth and loosened my sidearm in its holster. “We need to find the weapons crate next. Where is it, Abbott?” I said.
She smacked her tablet, turned to face multiple directions before stopping and pointing. “North-east from here. About three miles.”
“Fuck. We travel fast and light. We need those weapons,” I said. I spit on the ground again. “Take only the bare minimum. We’ve got to get there before sundown. Expect to stay the night and make camp with defensive measures at the weapons crate.”
I looked around the forest. We were in over our head. I hoped that Jones would be the only one lost on this expedition.
| “Shit, Carol, watch your step”, I mumbled, pulling my feet from under her heavy boot.
“Go fuck yourself, Greg.”
We had been walking for half an hour in silence now, the last words spoken to each other being respectively “DID YOU SEE THAT THING? and "JUST SHUT UP AND RUN, MORON".
*That thing* I asked my ex-wife if she had seen being, of course, a twenty feet tall evil gum bubble.
I don’t know how else to describe it.
It sprouted out of the ground, no warning, and went “EEEEEEEEEEEEEERCH”, then started running
towards us, spitting weird, little smokey blorbs of whatever in our direction.
I didn't know what that crap was, but it would probably hurt our skin if it touched us. Also, neither myself nor Carol knew how to kill a giant gum bubble. So he ran.
Who knew I’d spend the first year of my divorce traveling through the New Forest, running alongside my ex from a giant
clitoris-looking monster?
Not me.
“I think we are supposed to turn this way”, Carol said, checking her map.
“Whatever you say”, I replied, just to piss her off.
We did that a lot. Stuff just to piss each other off.
That’s because no recently divorced couple are meant to spend time together. Ever. It's against the laws of nature, of something.
Unfortunately for us, she’s the best biologist in the country. And me? Well, I’m in the marine corps, so whatever the fuck
they tell me to do, I have to do.
And they decided that we were best suited for the mission.
“Not only are you both extremely qualified, you’re also familiar with each other, which is essential for the success of
a rescue mission like this.”
“What about the fact that I hate her like poison?” I asked, and Carol, by my side, nodded feverishly in agreement. This was back at the general secret headquarters of God knows were in Washington DC.
Important stuff. Military, secret stuff. Our little mission.
“Well, you’ll just have to deal with it", the General said.
And so there we were, at the forest. Running from monsters and snapping one liners at each other while we looked for a sunken ship.
Dealing with it.
“There”, Carol said, pointing ahead.
I looked through the thick layer of dark green giant leafs – big like part of a Cretaceous period documentary scenery –
into what my ex wife was pointing at.
The ship. We weren’t close enough to see the name, but I knew what it was.
I knew written on the side of that giant piece of metal was “SS Arabia”. The one we were looking for.
“Come on.”
There were few things I wanted less in the world at that moment then going towards that ship, but I followed Carol anyway.
The SS Arabia was an actual cruise ship. The kind that used to roam the seas, back when there were seas.
It was a fairly normal and standard cruise liner, like hundreds of others lost in the mazey jungle of dangerous animals and exotic plants that was the New Forest, except for one detail:
A few days ago, it had sent a distress call.
You know, like the kind that is send when people are actually alive and in distress inside the ship.
Which made no sense whatsoever, because, far as everyone knew until recently, no one that was a board anything had
survived, when the oceans decided to disappear.
Still, the distress call came, along with a radio signal. Some noises, indistinct human voices.
Weird shit.
“Give me a hand here, Greg”, I heard, and realized I had been standing in front of the Arabia, gazing at it from top to
bottom, all its magnitude and the rusted beauty of what it once was, all while Carol was trying to push a heavy metal
door open in front of me.
The ship was sunk into the ground almost a meter, rising out of the jungle and pointing its beak up into the sky like it was
waking up to a lazy Sunday morning. I could tell it had been a beautiful ship, someday, but that day was long gone. Today it just looked like a big piece
of metal with ghosts inside. I feared we might be adding to the count, if we were not careful.
Pulling from opposite sides, on three, we managed to creak the door open enough to squeeze ourselves through.
A cold, stale breath of air squeezed out the dark insides of what appeared to be the ship’s machine room, hitting us in the face like an abusive husband.
*Also, was that a faint scream? Or am I hearing things?*
“Are you scared, too?” I asked, my hand hovering over the G25 Glock tucked in my waistband.
“Go fuck yourself, Greg”, Carol said, crouch and stepping inside the Arabia.
I sighed. This was worst than being married to her.
“Fuck me…” I whispered, following my wife’s ass inside the ghost ship.
|
|
[WP] Give your main character a secret that she wants to desperately keep away from the world. She slowly begins to realize that other people are well aware of her secret. | Maggie closed her eyes and was panting as she stared at herself in the mirror. She appeared to be in a woman's bathroom that was filled with both men and women all talking at once.
" Got a light?" A greaser straight out out of the 80s asked as he tugged on the hem of her jacket.
" Come on! I said I'd be good if you got me candy! Where is my candy!" A seven year old bawled at her other side. " I'm going to tell if you don't give me candy!"
Maggie Carson looked like she hadn't slept in days with bags under her eyes and pale as death. She hadn't slept for a week, because she was constantly followed and harassed by people other's couldn't see. She prayed and prayed for God to help her but so far the only response she'd gotten was silence. She'd taken off from work until today but she couldn't put it off anymore without risking her job.
The girl started to cry, " Please. I promise. I promise. Just get me some candy."
" Maggie?" Called out a young woman's voice from the background.
A haggard looking man in ripped in torn clothes stood over her back, breathing down her neck. " Give me what I want or I'll do it." He suddenly had a knife at her neck.
Maggie rocked back into the man's embrace, whimpering softly as she wondered what she did to deserve this.
" MAGGIE! Are you okay?" Suddenly the bathroom was empty besides Maggie and a woman in early twenties. She was wearing business attire and it took Maggie a few seconds to recognize her as the new intern that was hired in her office a few months ago.
" O-oh. Sarah. I'm s-sorry. Haven't been feeling well." She tried to give a reassuring smile but wasn't sure how well she pulled it off considering she'd started to dry sweat and was still breathing heavily.
Sarah looked at her concerned, " Are you okay? We know you didn't want to come back yet... Do you need anything?"
Maggie shook her head quickly and pulled herself together, " No. No I'm fine. Feeling better already." She said firmly, and took several deep breathes to calm herself. " Sorry do you need to go?" She made to move around the girl before she was blocked.
" Actually I was looking for you, Mr. Peters needs to see you." The woman said with an air of concern, as seeing the big boss normally wasn't good news. " I'm supposed to take you..." She finished awkwardly and shrugged.
Maggie had a momentary flash of panic that people knew before she dismissed it. She'd only had one episode so far and that'd happened within the last minute. She pushed past the girl a little roughly and made her way out of the bathroom and strode confidently into the rows of cubicles that led towards Mr. Peter's office. She still didn't look her best, but with some renewed confidence she'd gained some color back into her face.
" I'm sorry about this you know." Sarah began, " I'm just the messenger... Anyways I'm sure it will be fine." Maggie nodded absently as Sarah continued to talk on, looking around as they made their way across the office. When she was noticed her coworkers stopped what they were doing and looked at her a little funnily but she just blew them off.
Sarah stopped a few feet short of Mr. Peter's office and whispered, " Good luck!" And with that she was through the door and closed it quickly behind her and Mr. Peter's looked up confused.
Mr. Peter's had started this company almost thirty years ago and he'd been expanding it ever since. He was a good boss, but very strict and he expected a lot.
" I heard you wanted me to see me sir?" She moved to sit in the chair in front of his desk.
He still peered at her a little confusedly, " You sure got here quick. I only sent the email a few minutes ago." He shuffled his papers uncomfortably. " So Ms. Carson... I'm here to talk to you about some unsettling matters." He stood up, buttoning the buttons on his jacket as he started to pace around the room.
" Unsettling matters sir?" She gulped as her palms started to clam up, " What kind of matters? Is it because I used all my sick and personal days at once? If so I sincerely apologize and won't let it happen again."
" It's kind of about that. ." He looked nervous as he settled back in his seat, " Well it's just we've been worried about your health for awhile. Your work has always been exemplary and I'd hope to move you up. But I've gotten many reports of muttering randomly in meetings, unfocused, and appearing distracted constantly. Is everything okay?"
She tried to speak once but she had to swallow twice before anything would come out, " What do you mean? Do you have any specific instances? Maybe I can shed some light..." This couldn't be happening. She was started to feel faint as she could feel her whole world crashing around her.
He looked at a few papers on his desk before coughing, " Well two weeks ago, you were supposed to be doing a review for some paperwork I sent you. Instead you were observed talking... well talking to no one in your office and it never got it done. I assume you were using one of those headset phones. You know we don't allow those." He spoke to her sternly.
Maggie could barely believe it and burst out, " That's not true sir! Me and Sarah worked on it for hours! I gave the paperwork to her to give to you. She told me the next day that you loved it. Bring her in and ask her. Her name is Sarah Bell!" Her head was pounding and she felt like she was going to throw up.
Mr. Peter's looked at her severely disconcerted. " Are you okay Ms. Carson... you look..." He shook his head and turned to his computer and started typing, " Sarah Bell? There is no one in the office with that name. Are you sure?"
As he looked up from his computer, Maggie Carson passed out and fell to the floor. | Hilda Marigold's bare feet gripped the edge of the cliff. Her eyes were erratic as she watched the ravaging waves crash against the sharp rocks many hundreds of meters below. She rolled her eyes shut, held out an open foot, and paused as she fought the growing breeze.
If this was true, if what The Old Ones said was true, then she'd be fine. She'd nothing to worry about and nothing to fear. But if they were wrong, if her union with them was all an elaborate ruse concocted by her young, imaginative mind, then this would be the end. Her life, her aspirations, her relationships with friends and family alike; all of it would vanish just as her lifeless body would vanish in the hungry mouth of the ocean.
No longer able to fight the breeze, she brought her foot back to the soil of the cliff and opened her eyes again. Her heart throbbed into her head--the steady *bu-bump bu-bump bu-bump* rivaling the continuous low hiss of the waves below. *I hope I'm not going insane*, she thought. *I hope I'm not crazy. I hope I'm not crazy.*
She mumbled the words over and over again until she stepped out and let herself plunge. And as the wind rushed beyond her ears, she opened her eyes just before hitting sharp rocks below.
*Stop*
Immediately, her descent halted. She hovered above a cluster of rocks with wide eyes as if resting on an invisible platform. And as the mist of the ocean sprinkled her flushed face, she began to laugh a hearty laugh that caused her chest to hurt after a short while.
"They were right!" she shouted.
----
"Where the hell have you been these last few days Hil?" Jacob tried his best to match Hilda's speed as he navigated around other students in the hallway. "You forget about the assignments that're due in two days or something?"
Hilda wasn't completely attentive to what Jacob said. She was fixated on a new challenge that wasn't readily solvable with her abilities; the manipulation of matter. The Old Ones told her, if memory served correctly, that she could manipulate the world with naught but her imagination (there was the command that she ought to guide mankind into an era of prosperity, but that could wait). If this was true--and she had little reason to believe that it wasn't--she could, in theory, manipulate objects around her; change them in ways unique to her desires. But this absolutely could not be known by the world. She'd have to be surreptitious in all she did with her power from henceforth.
"Hello?" asked Jacob as he tapped her on the shoulder.
Hilda turned and smiled before apologizing. "I've just been dealing with a lot lately but I haven't forgotten about the assignments."
"Good! Because I sure as hell can't do all of this by myself! We gotta work together on this."
Hilda nodded politely, giving multiple "uh huh"s to keep Jacob under the impression that she was listening at all.
They each went into class and Hilda was still lost in her thoughts as she sat down in the midst of the room, so lost that she didn't notice the handful of prolonged, cautious glares that came from fellow classmates. She retrieved a notebook from her backpack and drew a diagram for the notes that she would have no intent of taking.
The chatter of the class died down almost immediately as the professor stood from his desk and remotely caused the projection screen to descend slowly in the front of the class.
"We've got a lot to cover today," he said as the screen finished crawling down. "Let's get started."
Hilda hadn't paid attention to anything said by the professor since she sat down. She stared at her blue mechanical pencil and thought to change its color to something more favorable. Pink, perhaps. Or maybe green.
She imagined what it would look like, and as the image appeared into her mind, she thought to transfer it to the pencil itself. After bringing the pencil close to her so that no one would see the transition, it turned pure white for a brief moment, then a vibrant color of pink slowly crept downward just as she saw it do so in her mind. She was so satisfied with the color--studying it closely and twirling the pencil around in her fingers--that she was oblivious to the classmates to her left and right that glanced over with unmistakable terror in their eyes.
The professor paused his lecture mid-sentence and looked over to Hilda, mumbled, and resumed his lesson.
The chatter behind Hilda from various classmates was quite hushed initially, but it grew over time just enough for Hilda's ear to twitch at a particular comment.
"It's not as cool as the cliff trick though."
Hilda looked up with wide eyes and held her breath. *How* could they know that? No one was around her when that happened; she made sure of it. Her heart began to throb and she began to feel exposed in the midst of the class. She dropped the pencil, stared forward, and attempted to seem as inconspicuous as possible.
*Just imagining things. Just imagining things. They can't know that. They don't know. There's no way.*
"What? What'd you say Hilda?" said a student directly behind her.
Hilda stood abruptly and left the classroom before the professor could speak to her. Many more eyes followed her on her way out, followed with unmistakable keenness and caution. Whispers began to erupt after she left.
Her cover was blown.
She ran to a wooded area of her campus and watched clouds of her chilled breath drift away. They could hear and see her thoughts, it was obvious, but how?
Hilda sealed her eyes and tried to imagine being among The Old Ones, but they never appeared like they did in times prior. Was she alone? Did they abandon her?
She stared out at the snow-covered ground and stretched out a hand, and with a thought came a breath of life into the area. The snow melted, the plants grew instantly, and there was such a comforting warmth to the air around her that she never wanted to leave. There was no stress here, no concept of guiding the billions of men women and children in whichever way she saw fit. Only peace.
Perhaps she wouldn't leave.
|
|
[WP] Give your main character a secret that she wants to desperately keep away from the world. She slowly begins to realize that other people are well aware of her secret. | Abagail had always known something was wrong with her, but she only began to understand its nature at the age of ten, during her first successful escape. They had kept her in the hospital for as long as she could remember, but one day they left her in the playroom unattended and she decided the grass outside the window looked too green, the flowers looked too colorful. She had to explore. She had to see what it was like outside the walls.
On that day she went down the stairwell and exited via a side door. The bright blue sky and the grass under her feet were almost too much. It filled her with excitement, bordering on panic. The openness of the world overwhelmed her. She began wandering towards a distant cluster of buildings. Up until that point she believed that she was very sick, although the doctors never said exactly what plagued her, only that she had to stay in the hospital.
She crept along the ranks of bushes and fences until she heard a sound just outside her field of vision. A sound she recognized from the movies they played for her, from the books that lined her bedside table. The sound of a barking dog.
She peered through the bushes and saw it, running back and forth, yipping at her from the end of a long leash pegged to the ground. It was so small. A puppy, no more than a few months old. It melted her heart. Of all the things she dreamed for herself, for the day they finally let her out, a dog was always part of the equation. She approached it. The dog’s tongue hung out of its mouth, which meant it was hot, and its tail was wagging, which meant it was happy. She knelt and pet it.
Something bad happened. The dog made a sound like it was choking. The lights of its eyes went out. It slumped back and toppled over.
An hour later, when the soldiers and police officers in their hazmat suits arrived, they found her crying and petting the corpse of the puppy. They injected her and carried her unconscious body back to the hospital. The hospital where there she was the only patient.
After that she never went anywhere without a nurse following her. A nurse with gloves and a mask over his face. She knew that she killed the dog even though she never meant to. She just wanted to love the dog. She hoped they would never find out that she killed it. They would never let her out if they did. She was sick, and she had made the dog sick. The sickness spread whether she wanted it to or not.
But Dr. Thomas never seemed to notice. Abagail always told him that she was feeling better, that she could go outside now. He always smiled and said soon.
One day she overheard Dr. Thomas and the woman who sometimes stopped by.
“Preposterous,” Dr. Thomas had said. “Utterly ludicrous. This is a little girl we’re talking about her. A little girl. How could you even consider it?”
“Little girl? What little girl looks like *that*? She’s a weapon. What about the incident last summer? All aspects of the project have been wrapped up and shut down besides this. Having something like this around makes us all very nervous. We want to decommission this whole thing and wipe it out. It failed, and there’s no hope for her. It would be a mercy.”
These things scared Abagail. Their voices grew harsher and more difficult to discern after this, but she felt that she had uncovered a second piece to her own puzzle. They kept her locked up because they thought she was sick. She needed to convince them that she was better. She took the medicine every day and she did whatever Dr. Thomas told her. She begged to go home, wherever that was.
She learned more about her sickness on the day she touched a nurse. Normally they told her everyone needed gloves and masks around her so that others didn’t get sick. But one day, operating on a moment of pure impulse, she reached up and grabbed a nurse who was changing the sheets in her bed. She grabbed the man’s wrist. Her hand touched a gap in between his glove and his sleeve. The same thing that happened to the dog happened to the nurse. He staggered a few steps and keeled over.
Later, after they carted the body away, Abagail asked what happened to the man.
Dr. Thomas smiled weakly. “Will had a heart attack. He was a sick man.”
“Sick like me?” she asked.
“No, not sick like you,” he said.
She knew he was lying. After that she knew everyone was lying. By the time she was reaching puberty she had tried to escape six more times. She learned that everyone became very afraid of her when she got angry and peeled the gloves off her hands. She liked the feeling it gave her, making others scared. They had been making her scared her whole life. Why couldn’t she be a normal girl? Why couldn’t she have any friends? The nurses who came and read her stories weren’t her friends. Dr. Thomas wasn’t her friend. The lady in the suit who came to argue with Dr. Thomas was certainly not her friend either.
She over heard them several more times.
“That’s it,” the lady said. “This is the end. We gave you a long time to try to work something out, Doctor, but its over.”
Abagail crouched and put her ear to the door to her room, now locked around the clock.
Dr. Thomas sighed. “You’re right. I don’t know what we could do at this point. I admit, I failed.”
“I’m told she’s experiencing anti-social behavior.”
“Do you have any kids?” Dr. Thomas asked.
The woman half-laughed, half-coughed. “No. The idea never appealed to me much.”
“Well I can assure this is normal behavior for an early adolescent person. She needs to either get out or we need to reform this. She can’t go on like this anymore. Somethings got to give.”
“Well obviously she’s not going anywhere,” the woman said.
Abagail cried that night. She looked at herself in the bathroom. She wondered why she was so ugly, why she was so sick, why she could destroy things so easily. She hated Dr. Thomas. She hated the nurses. She hated the woman. She hated the flowers they brought to her room. She liked touching them and watching them wilt before her eyes.
One day a new nurse showed up. At the end of the night the nurse put Abagail into bed and went to lock the door. Abagail jumped out of bed, as if to ask a question. The nurse hesitated. Abagail stuttered something about being scared as she walked closer. The nurse knelt down, sympathy in her eyes. Abagail got within arms reach and grabbed her, tearing the mask from her face. The nurse crumbled and died, the door wide open.
Abagail went for a little walk down the hall. She found Dr. Thomas’s office, Thomas himself behind the desk, frowning over some paperwork. She gently nudged the door open.
Dr. Thomas looked up. His eyes went wide.
“Abagail, what are you doing? It’s past your bedtime. You need to get your rest.”
“The nurse had a heart attack,” she said.
The doctor’s eyes went wider still. Abagail moved closer.
“Oh no,” he whispered.
*Bullshitter,* she thought. She had learned that word during her last escape. She heard a policeman say it, and she knew what it meant. She moved closer still. The doctor shot up out of his chair and took a step backwards.
“Uh, Abagail…. Now, you know you’re very sick… I, uh, don’t have my gloves on.” He pushed himself back to the far corner, in between the filing cabinet and window.
She was only a few feet away now.
“If I touch you,” she said. “Will you have a heart attack?” She just wanted to see him try to respond.
“I, uh…” his voice was barely audible, below even a whisper. “I have a weak heart.”
She grabbed is hand. She groped his face. The man sunk against the wall. His skin went white before her eyes. After that she poked her head out and checked out hallways. No one was around. No one knew she had escaped. She decided it was time to check herself out.
She might not have been like other girls. Other girls didn’t have fifty six jagged teeth, or a few half stumps where third and fourth arms had failed to grow. Their organs hadn’t been cooked by radiation, condemning her to death by the age of twenty anyways. They had ears and eyelids. They had families. But it was okay now. No she was going to make all of that right. If she deserved to be sick then so did everyone.
| Hilda Marigold's bare feet gripped the edge of the cliff. Her eyes were erratic as she watched the ravaging waves crash against the sharp rocks many hundreds of meters below. She rolled her eyes shut, held out an open foot, and paused as she fought the growing breeze.
If this was true, if what The Old Ones said was true, then she'd be fine. She'd nothing to worry about and nothing to fear. But if they were wrong, if her union with them was all an elaborate ruse concocted by her young, imaginative mind, then this would be the end. Her life, her aspirations, her relationships with friends and family alike; all of it would vanish just as her lifeless body would vanish in the hungry mouth of the ocean.
No longer able to fight the breeze, she brought her foot back to the soil of the cliff and opened her eyes again. Her heart throbbed into her head--the steady *bu-bump bu-bump bu-bump* rivaling the continuous low hiss of the waves below. *I hope I'm not going insane*, she thought. *I hope I'm not crazy. I hope I'm not crazy.*
She mumbled the words over and over again until she stepped out and let herself plunge. And as the wind rushed beyond her ears, she opened her eyes just before hitting sharp rocks below.
*Stop*
Immediately, her descent halted. She hovered above a cluster of rocks with wide eyes as if resting on an invisible platform. And as the mist of the ocean sprinkled her flushed face, she began to laugh a hearty laugh that caused her chest to hurt after a short while.
"They were right!" she shouted.
----
"Where the hell have you been these last few days Hil?" Jacob tried his best to match Hilda's speed as he navigated around other students in the hallway. "You forget about the assignments that're due in two days or something?"
Hilda wasn't completely attentive to what Jacob said. She was fixated on a new challenge that wasn't readily solvable with her abilities; the manipulation of matter. The Old Ones told her, if memory served correctly, that she could manipulate the world with naught but her imagination (there was the command that she ought to guide mankind into an era of prosperity, but that could wait). If this was true--and she had little reason to believe that it wasn't--she could, in theory, manipulate objects around her; change them in ways unique to her desires. But this absolutely could not be known by the world. She'd have to be surreptitious in all she did with her power from henceforth.
"Hello?" asked Jacob as he tapped her on the shoulder.
Hilda turned and smiled before apologizing. "I've just been dealing with a lot lately but I haven't forgotten about the assignments."
"Good! Because I sure as hell can't do all of this by myself! We gotta work together on this."
Hilda nodded politely, giving multiple "uh huh"s to keep Jacob under the impression that she was listening at all.
They each went into class and Hilda was still lost in her thoughts as she sat down in the midst of the room, so lost that she didn't notice the handful of prolonged, cautious glares that came from fellow classmates. She retrieved a notebook from her backpack and drew a diagram for the notes that she would have no intent of taking.
The chatter of the class died down almost immediately as the professor stood from his desk and remotely caused the projection screen to descend slowly in the front of the class.
"We've got a lot to cover today," he said as the screen finished crawling down. "Let's get started."
Hilda hadn't paid attention to anything said by the professor since she sat down. She stared at her blue mechanical pencil and thought to change its color to something more favorable. Pink, perhaps. Or maybe green.
She imagined what it would look like, and as the image appeared into her mind, she thought to transfer it to the pencil itself. After bringing the pencil close to her so that no one would see the transition, it turned pure white for a brief moment, then a vibrant color of pink slowly crept downward just as she saw it do so in her mind. She was so satisfied with the color--studying it closely and twirling the pencil around in her fingers--that she was oblivious to the classmates to her left and right that glanced over with unmistakable terror in their eyes.
The professor paused his lecture mid-sentence and looked over to Hilda, mumbled, and resumed his lesson.
The chatter behind Hilda from various classmates was quite hushed initially, but it grew over time just enough for Hilda's ear to twitch at a particular comment.
"It's not as cool as the cliff trick though."
Hilda looked up with wide eyes and held her breath. *How* could they know that? No one was around her when that happened; she made sure of it. Her heart began to throb and she began to feel exposed in the midst of the class. She dropped the pencil, stared forward, and attempted to seem as inconspicuous as possible.
*Just imagining things. Just imagining things. They can't know that. They don't know. There's no way.*
"What? What'd you say Hilda?" said a student directly behind her.
Hilda stood abruptly and left the classroom before the professor could speak to her. Many more eyes followed her on her way out, followed with unmistakable keenness and caution. Whispers began to erupt after she left.
Her cover was blown.
She ran to a wooded area of her campus and watched clouds of her chilled breath drift away. They could hear and see her thoughts, it was obvious, but how?
Hilda sealed her eyes and tried to imagine being among The Old Ones, but they never appeared like they did in times prior. Was she alone? Did they abandon her?
She stared out at the snow-covered ground and stretched out a hand, and with a thought came a breath of life into the area. The snow melted, the plants grew instantly, and there was such a comforting warmth to the air around her that she never wanted to leave. There was no stress here, no concept of guiding the billions of men women and children in whichever way she saw fit. Only peace.
Perhaps she wouldn't leave.
|
|
[WP] Give your main character a secret that she wants to desperately keep away from the world. She slowly begins to realize that other people are well aware of her secret. | As the weeks passed, people around her slowly started treating her differently. They would look away when she caught them looking. They would ask if she was okay. They would tell her jokes to cheer her up. They would compliment her.
Not everyone was like that, of course. Some would sneer at her, and some would whisper as she passed. Some would drop comments just barely loud enough for her to hear.
Teachers would take her aside and ask questions. Her parents had a worried look when they thought she didn't see.
She realized there were rumors at school, among the students and teachers. She realized her parents knew.
And she added yet another cut to the neat row on her arm. | Hilda Marigold's bare feet gripped the edge of the cliff. Her eyes were erratic as she watched the ravaging waves crash against the sharp rocks many hundreds of meters below. She rolled her eyes shut, held out an open foot, and paused as she fought the growing breeze.
If this was true, if what The Old Ones said was true, then she'd be fine. She'd nothing to worry about and nothing to fear. But if they were wrong, if her union with them was all an elaborate ruse concocted by her young, imaginative mind, then this would be the end. Her life, her aspirations, her relationships with friends and family alike; all of it would vanish just as her lifeless body would vanish in the hungry mouth of the ocean.
No longer able to fight the breeze, she brought her foot back to the soil of the cliff and opened her eyes again. Her heart throbbed into her head--the steady *bu-bump bu-bump bu-bump* rivaling the continuous low hiss of the waves below. *I hope I'm not going insane*, she thought. *I hope I'm not crazy. I hope I'm not crazy.*
She mumbled the words over and over again until she stepped out and let herself plunge. And as the wind rushed beyond her ears, she opened her eyes just before hitting sharp rocks below.
*Stop*
Immediately, her descent halted. She hovered above a cluster of rocks with wide eyes as if resting on an invisible platform. And as the mist of the ocean sprinkled her flushed face, she began to laugh a hearty laugh that caused her chest to hurt after a short while.
"They were right!" she shouted.
----
"Where the hell have you been these last few days Hil?" Jacob tried his best to match Hilda's speed as he navigated around other students in the hallway. "You forget about the assignments that're due in two days or something?"
Hilda wasn't completely attentive to what Jacob said. She was fixated on a new challenge that wasn't readily solvable with her abilities; the manipulation of matter. The Old Ones told her, if memory served correctly, that she could manipulate the world with naught but her imagination (there was the command that she ought to guide mankind into an era of prosperity, but that could wait). If this was true--and she had little reason to believe that it wasn't--she could, in theory, manipulate objects around her; change them in ways unique to her desires. But this absolutely could not be known by the world. She'd have to be surreptitious in all she did with her power from henceforth.
"Hello?" asked Jacob as he tapped her on the shoulder.
Hilda turned and smiled before apologizing. "I've just been dealing with a lot lately but I haven't forgotten about the assignments."
"Good! Because I sure as hell can't do all of this by myself! We gotta work together on this."
Hilda nodded politely, giving multiple "uh huh"s to keep Jacob under the impression that she was listening at all.
They each went into class and Hilda was still lost in her thoughts as she sat down in the midst of the room, so lost that she didn't notice the handful of prolonged, cautious glares that came from fellow classmates. She retrieved a notebook from her backpack and drew a diagram for the notes that she would have no intent of taking.
The chatter of the class died down almost immediately as the professor stood from his desk and remotely caused the projection screen to descend slowly in the front of the class.
"We've got a lot to cover today," he said as the screen finished crawling down. "Let's get started."
Hilda hadn't paid attention to anything said by the professor since she sat down. She stared at her blue mechanical pencil and thought to change its color to something more favorable. Pink, perhaps. Or maybe green.
She imagined what it would look like, and as the image appeared into her mind, she thought to transfer it to the pencil itself. After bringing the pencil close to her so that no one would see the transition, it turned pure white for a brief moment, then a vibrant color of pink slowly crept downward just as she saw it do so in her mind. She was so satisfied with the color--studying it closely and twirling the pencil around in her fingers--that she was oblivious to the classmates to her left and right that glanced over with unmistakable terror in their eyes.
The professor paused his lecture mid-sentence and looked over to Hilda, mumbled, and resumed his lesson.
The chatter behind Hilda from various classmates was quite hushed initially, but it grew over time just enough for Hilda's ear to twitch at a particular comment.
"It's not as cool as the cliff trick though."
Hilda looked up with wide eyes and held her breath. *How* could they know that? No one was around her when that happened; she made sure of it. Her heart began to throb and she began to feel exposed in the midst of the class. She dropped the pencil, stared forward, and attempted to seem as inconspicuous as possible.
*Just imagining things. Just imagining things. They can't know that. They don't know. There's no way.*
"What? What'd you say Hilda?" said a student directly behind her.
Hilda stood abruptly and left the classroom before the professor could speak to her. Many more eyes followed her on her way out, followed with unmistakable keenness and caution. Whispers began to erupt after she left.
Her cover was blown.
She ran to a wooded area of her campus and watched clouds of her chilled breath drift away. They could hear and see her thoughts, it was obvious, but how?
Hilda sealed her eyes and tried to imagine being among The Old Ones, but they never appeared like they did in times prior. Was she alone? Did they abandon her?
She stared out at the snow-covered ground and stretched out a hand, and with a thought came a breath of life into the area. The snow melted, the plants grew instantly, and there was such a comforting warmth to the air around her that she never wanted to leave. There was no stress here, no concept of guiding the billions of men women and children in whichever way she saw fit. Only peace.
Perhaps she wouldn't leave.
|
|
I figured a lot of scenarios can be covered by a quote like that. The more realism the better, but I love to see what kinds of outlandish stuff you guys think up.
Edit: Wow, this has gotten popular. It's very gratifying to see how many people were drawn to this prompt, I'm looking forward to reading all these stories :) | [WP] "Whatever you do, don't look up" | The long, brown robes that Ian wore looked as drab as the stone that formed the protective encasement of the great city of Duranthal. The robes were a traditional garb, or so he was told, but he had to admit that they were comfortable. He could certainly be dealing with worse.
"Welcome, initiates," a deep voice boomed out to the ground, in which Ian found himself. "Here, you find yourself upon the precipice of a great journey. Though long and arduous, at the end, with your lives devoted to earth and spirits which give us life, you will find enlightenment."
Ian took a moment to cast his gaze about the crowd around him. All, like him, had been selected upon coming of age to become clerics. He'd never felt particularly religious, though he'd not admit to such things. Still, it was a good calling, relatively. Clerics were highly respected, so he was sure he could get used to it in time.
The man that stood at the front of the group of initiates wore a robe just like those before him, but his was adorned with a simple blue sash about his waist, a sign of his seniority among the clerics. It was a symbol of how long he had served the stone, and his devotion to the tosue spirits.
Ian thought for a moment about the spirits. He'd never seen them, but he was told that their existence was manifest in the protective womb of the earth in which humanity was held safe from all beyond that would destroy them. He wondered if he might actually meet them now that he was becoming a cleric. He'd never question it aloud, since it was blasphemy to do so. Still, he couldn't help but hold a measure of excitement over the things he might learn about their great protectors.
The senior cleric turned to face away from the initiates and stood before a great set of gold and crimson doors that adorned the entrance to the Temple of Tranquility, Duranthal's grandest tosue temple, and where the traditional rites were performed for indoctrinating new initiates into the order. The doors emitted a low rumble as they were pushed open, the sound of heavy, grinding metal on hinges. Before them, a beautiful sanctuary bathed in light from candles and glowstones. The room gave off the very aura of peace.
Ian smiled to himself, thinking once again that he could be working in worse places. Jethan had been called to sanitation upon his coming of age. Ian shuddered to think of what that job entailed. With the sound of the march of footsteps, Ian fell into line with the other initiates, following the senior cleric into the bowels of the temple. Passing through the sanctuary, the cleric led his followers to another non-descript door that opened to a long, narrow hallway. The passage was dark, save for flickering light from sparse sconces positioned along the wall.
After some time of walking, the entire group stopped at the behest of the man leading them. The cleric turned and spoke to the group, "The path that you have set your feet upon will take you to the very depths of human peace and understanding. The tosue will guide you, but you must listen to their call. The spirits of the earth lie beneath your feet, guiding each step you take with purpose. Turn your eyes downward, and face those that would embrace you. To turn your gaze away means a very rejection of all that we hold dear as well as those spirits that love and hold us close to them. Do not look up, my children. There is nothing there but emptiness. Keep your eyes on the stone." | Devan paused, machete raised ready to continue slashing his way through the jungle flora. What did Nick mean, "don't look up?" He raised an eyebrow at the primatologist, who was staring at Devan determinedly. His partner's skin was glistening with sweat, both their bodies were in the humid environment, but it looked to Devan almost as if Nick were afraid. "I can assure you, Doctor Saiger, that as a myrmecologist my eyes are firmly fixed upon the ground." Devan gave a wry smile, hoping to alleviate the tension the older man's comments had evoked. Instead Nick gave a look of disbelief and a slight shake of the head.
"They can see us, Devan. Right now they're above us, watching." Devan tightened the grip on his machete as Nick spoke, the undisguised fear in his voice putting the young academic on edge. In all the stories he'd read, Devan had seen the same trope over and over, the eery silence that crept upon the unsuspecting as they came to believe they weren't alone. Instead, Devan found himself in the opposite situation. He found himself acutely aware of rustlings and scrapings that had previously gone unnoticed in the canopy around them. "If you look up," Nick swallowed, a visible lump forming in his throat before sinking down, along with Devan's stomach, "they will see. And they will think it means you are hostile to them. And then..." Devan reached for the dead army ant encased in resin he wore around his neck on a string. Nick reached for his own machete, sheathed in his belt. "And then they will attack." The two men continued locking eyes, refusing to look anywhere else out of fear. Nick slowly began to draw his machete as Devan listened to the sound of his own heart beating, merging with other sounds of the jungle. His hands began to shake as he heard more rustlings. Were they closer? He couldn't tell. He could feel his machete growing heavy in his hand, the sweat on his palm making it difficult to grip. Devan loosened the grip on his machete in order to pass it to his other, better gripping, hand. Instead, the weapon fell from his grasp to the jungle floor. Nick gasped, and Devan scrambled to the ground for the blade. Grasping it, he leapt to his feet triumphantly, forgetting Nick's warning and turning his gaze to the canopy as he did so. The smile died on his face as the monkeys attacked. |
I figured a lot of scenarios can be covered by a quote like that. The more realism the better, but I love to see what kinds of outlandish stuff you guys think up.
Edit: Wow, this has gotten popular. It's very gratifying to see how many people were drawn to this prompt, I'm looking forward to reading all these stories :) | [WP] "Whatever you do, don't look up" | x-post from/r/shortscarystories:
John forgot his phone at home. He always felt so awkward without it. John looked around the subway platform again. He noticed every single person was on their phone.
Except John. He stared over the sea of people, trying to find someone, anyone, who wasn't on their phone who would empathize. Their eyes would meet and John would shrug as if to say “it’s no big deal” even though it was a huge deal.
But John didn’t find anyone. No, everyone had their eyes glued to their screen, oblivious to the world around them.
A man bumped into John and handed him something. It was a cell phone, but it was near dead.
“Don’t ever let them catch you looking up,” the man warned. He too was holding an object, but the battery life had gone out. Suddenly, the man broke into a run, screaming and fighting through the sea of people to get to an exit. Everyone turned to look at him, almost in sync. John felt the hairs on his neck stand up. A loud noise, unearthly but almost like a telephone dial tone, suddenly rang out on the platform.
People started tearing him apart. John watched with fear as the man was dismembered, right in front of him, by the people who had been looking at their cell phones. John was frozen with fear. Suddenly, it stopped. John was amazed to see all the people go back to looking at their phones. John started to quietly make his way out of the crowd, desperate to get to the world outside.
The cellphone beeped, dying loudly. Suddenly John found all eyes on him. | Devan paused, machete raised ready to continue slashing his way through the jungle flora. What did Nick mean, "don't look up?" He raised an eyebrow at the primatologist, who was staring at Devan determinedly. His partner's skin was glistening with sweat, both their bodies were in the humid environment, but it looked to Devan almost as if Nick were afraid. "I can assure you, Doctor Saiger, that as a myrmecologist my eyes are firmly fixed upon the ground." Devan gave a wry smile, hoping to alleviate the tension the older man's comments had evoked. Instead Nick gave a look of disbelief and a slight shake of the head.
"They can see us, Devan. Right now they're above us, watching." Devan tightened the grip on his machete as Nick spoke, the undisguised fear in his voice putting the young academic on edge. In all the stories he'd read, Devan had seen the same trope over and over, the eery silence that crept upon the unsuspecting as they came to believe they weren't alone. Instead, Devan found himself in the opposite situation. He found himself acutely aware of rustlings and scrapings that had previously gone unnoticed in the canopy around them. "If you look up," Nick swallowed, a visible lump forming in his throat before sinking down, along with Devan's stomach, "they will see. And they will think it means you are hostile to them. And then..." Devan reached for the dead army ant encased in resin he wore around his neck on a string. Nick reached for his own machete, sheathed in his belt. "And then they will attack." The two men continued locking eyes, refusing to look anywhere else out of fear. Nick slowly began to draw his machete as Devan listened to the sound of his own heart beating, merging with other sounds of the jungle. His hands began to shake as he heard more rustlings. Were they closer? He couldn't tell. He could feel his machete growing heavy in his hand, the sweat on his palm making it difficult to grip. Devan loosened the grip on his machete in order to pass it to his other, better gripping, hand. Instead, the weapon fell from his grasp to the jungle floor. Nick gasped, and Devan scrambled to the ground for the blade. Grasping it, he leapt to his feet triumphantly, forgetting Nick's warning and turning his gaze to the canopy as he did so. The smile died on his face as the monkeys attacked. |
I figured a lot of scenarios can be covered by a quote like that. The more realism the better, but I love to see what kinds of outlandish stuff you guys think up.
Edit: Wow, this has gotten popular. It's very gratifying to see how many people were drawn to this prompt, I'm looking forward to reading all these stories :) | [WP] "Whatever you do, don't look up" | Whatever you do, don't look up. If you're ever outside the base, no matter what, do not look up.
Those are the first words the commanding officers said when we arrived here at the outpost six months ago. In six months, I haven't even seen the outside world. All the walls are solid. The only things that go in and out of here are the supply ships, and those are operated by AI. Nobody ever gets the chance to see what's out there, and we're told to keep it that way or else we'll all go mad. They tell us that there are things outside that will eat our souls and leave our bodies as husks. They tell us that the first people to make it here all died within minutes of stepping out of their ship. They say that as long as we're inside, we're safe from all the things out there.
They're wrong. Whatever's out there, it's in here too. I can feel it. I can hear it, scratching at the edge of my mind. Whispers in the shadows, things just beyond the edge of sight, music that nobody else can hear. I tried to tell the base docs about it, but they just told me that a bit of paranoia is normal here until you get used to it.
Let me tell you something, those docs don't know shit. A couple days ago, one of the supply ships' AI got the course in a bit wrong somehow. Maybe the things outside arranged it, I don't know. It crashed through the hatch doors while I was on guard duty in the receiving bay. I knew the repair bots would take at least 10 minutes to get there, so I took the opportunity to slip outside.
I looked up.
Now I know the truth. I have seen the glory of what's out there, and I brought it back inside with me. Soon everybody shall know the truth, and together we bring them through to rule this world.
If you're ever outside, make sure you look up, and you'll know the truth too. | Devan paused, machete raised ready to continue slashing his way through the jungle flora. What did Nick mean, "don't look up?" He raised an eyebrow at the primatologist, who was staring at Devan determinedly. His partner's skin was glistening with sweat, both their bodies were in the humid environment, but it looked to Devan almost as if Nick were afraid. "I can assure you, Doctor Saiger, that as a myrmecologist my eyes are firmly fixed upon the ground." Devan gave a wry smile, hoping to alleviate the tension the older man's comments had evoked. Instead Nick gave a look of disbelief and a slight shake of the head.
"They can see us, Devan. Right now they're above us, watching." Devan tightened the grip on his machete as Nick spoke, the undisguised fear in his voice putting the young academic on edge. In all the stories he'd read, Devan had seen the same trope over and over, the eery silence that crept upon the unsuspecting as they came to believe they weren't alone. Instead, Devan found himself in the opposite situation. He found himself acutely aware of rustlings and scrapings that had previously gone unnoticed in the canopy around them. "If you look up," Nick swallowed, a visible lump forming in his throat before sinking down, along with Devan's stomach, "they will see. And they will think it means you are hostile to them. And then..." Devan reached for the dead army ant encased in resin he wore around his neck on a string. Nick reached for his own machete, sheathed in his belt. "And then they will attack." The two men continued locking eyes, refusing to look anywhere else out of fear. Nick slowly began to draw his machete as Devan listened to the sound of his own heart beating, merging with other sounds of the jungle. His hands began to shake as he heard more rustlings. Were they closer? He couldn't tell. He could feel his machete growing heavy in his hand, the sweat on his palm making it difficult to grip. Devan loosened the grip on his machete in order to pass it to his other, better gripping, hand. Instead, the weapon fell from his grasp to the jungle floor. Nick gasped, and Devan scrambled to the ground for the blade. Grasping it, he leapt to his feet triumphantly, forgetting Nick's warning and turning his gaze to the canopy as he did so. The smile died on his face as the monkeys attacked. |
I figured a lot of scenarios can be covered by a quote like that. The more realism the better, but I love to see what kinds of outlandish stuff you guys think up.
Edit: Wow, this has gotten popular. It's very gratifying to see how many people were drawn to this prompt, I'm looking forward to reading all these stories :) | [WP] "Whatever you do, don't look up" | My first kiss was in an airport, with a girl named Marie who had decided to kill herself.
I had met her while waiting to board. She had looked nervous, so I had begun a conversation. It was my first time traveling alone, and I too was scared.
She confessed to me that she was also scared, but not of the trip. "Then why are you scared?" I had asked.
"I am going to kill myself before the plane lands," she had said, so matter-of-fact that she could have been saying that the sky was blue.
"But why? Why on the plane?"
"I don't want to be alive anymore." And then she had changed the subject, asking about me.
She was older than me, I learned. She had 17 years to my 14. I was travelling alone to see my grandparents for the summer; she had simply purchased the ticket in order to fly far across the country. Her father, she had said, was not a nice man, and her mother cared more for Marie's father than for Marie. She said nothing more of her mother or father, but I spotted several bruises on her legs when she shifted in her seat.
I had noticed that she had no suitcase, only a small handbag. When I had asked her why, she had ignored the question and asked instead why my suitcase was so large.
We had talked away the hour until boarding. Nothing important: what we were studying in school, what books we had read recently, what music we like to listen to. Then she had abruptly kissed me on the lips as we stood to board the airplane.
I must have looked startled, but she had only placed a finger over my lips to silence me. "I wanted to kiss someone before I was dead," she had said. "And I wanted them to kiss me back." She drew me close to her, and, charmed by her mystique, I obeyed. It seemed an eternity before she pulled herself away from me. "Now," she continued, grasping both of my shoulders and looking me in the eyes, "I need you to listen exactly to what I say." I nodded. "Do not get on this plane. Go back to your seat, sit down, and wait for the next one. And whatever you do, don't look up." She kissed me again, this time on the cheek. "Remember me." Then she turned and boarded the plane.
Hypnotized, I sat down. There had been something about her tone, the hard-set features of face as she had warned me, the fire in her eyes. And so I waited, and I did not get on the plane.
I heard the explosion, and I felt it shake the building, but I did not see it. Per Marie's warning, I did not look up. Instead, I closed my eyes tight and waited for someone with a badge and a gun to come tell me that it was alright.
It was only then that I had looked outside. A charred aluminum corpse was all that remained of the airplane.
The cause of the explosion was ruled to be mechanical failure -- some failing part had created a spark, and that had ignited the fuel tank. There had been no survivors.
I was told for days how lucky I was not to have boarded that plane. I was even contacted for several news interviews. I appeared on morning television. "How did you know not to board the plane?" "What kind of feelings do you have right now, knowing that you could have perished?" "Do you feel as if God was at work here, or as if there was some kind of divine intervention?" My answer was always the same. I felt sad, shaken even. Sometimes, I felt guilty, like I should have died with them. I had told the news anchors and talking heads that perhaps it was God or some other higher power at work.
That was nearly 30 years ago. In truth, I do not feel like God had intervened. I felt that a beautiful girl named Marie had told me not to get on the plane, not to look up at the plane. Because she was going to kill herself. I suppose that because I had talked to her, because she had kissed me and I had kissed her, she did not want me to see it.
And it had been good that I had listened to her. | Devan paused, machete raised ready to continue slashing his way through the jungle flora. What did Nick mean, "don't look up?" He raised an eyebrow at the primatologist, who was staring at Devan determinedly. His partner's skin was glistening with sweat, both their bodies were in the humid environment, but it looked to Devan almost as if Nick were afraid. "I can assure you, Doctor Saiger, that as a myrmecologist my eyes are firmly fixed upon the ground." Devan gave a wry smile, hoping to alleviate the tension the older man's comments had evoked. Instead Nick gave a look of disbelief and a slight shake of the head.
"They can see us, Devan. Right now they're above us, watching." Devan tightened the grip on his machete as Nick spoke, the undisguised fear in his voice putting the young academic on edge. In all the stories he'd read, Devan had seen the same trope over and over, the eery silence that crept upon the unsuspecting as they came to believe they weren't alone. Instead, Devan found himself in the opposite situation. He found himself acutely aware of rustlings and scrapings that had previously gone unnoticed in the canopy around them. "If you look up," Nick swallowed, a visible lump forming in his throat before sinking down, along with Devan's stomach, "they will see. And they will think it means you are hostile to them. And then..." Devan reached for the dead army ant encased in resin he wore around his neck on a string. Nick reached for his own machete, sheathed in his belt. "And then they will attack." The two men continued locking eyes, refusing to look anywhere else out of fear. Nick slowly began to draw his machete as Devan listened to the sound of his own heart beating, merging with other sounds of the jungle. His hands began to shake as he heard more rustlings. Were they closer? He couldn't tell. He could feel his machete growing heavy in his hand, the sweat on his palm making it difficult to grip. Devan loosened the grip on his machete in order to pass it to his other, better gripping, hand. Instead, the weapon fell from his grasp to the jungle floor. Nick gasped, and Devan scrambled to the ground for the blade. Grasping it, he leapt to his feet triumphantly, forgetting Nick's warning and turning his gaze to the canopy as he did so. The smile died on his face as the monkeys attacked. |
I figured a lot of scenarios can be covered by a quote like that. The more realism the better, but I love to see what kinds of outlandish stuff you guys think up.
Edit: Wow, this has gotten popular. It's very gratifying to see how many people were drawn to this prompt, I'm looking forward to reading all these stories :) | [WP] "Whatever you do, don't look up" | The long, brown robes that Ian wore looked as drab as the stone that formed the protective encasement of the great city of Duranthal. The robes were a traditional garb, or so he was told, but he had to admit that they were comfortable. He could certainly be dealing with worse.
"Welcome, initiates," a deep voice boomed out to the ground, in which Ian found himself. "Here, you find yourself upon the precipice of a great journey. Though long and arduous, at the end, with your lives devoted to earth and spirits which give us life, you will find enlightenment."
Ian took a moment to cast his gaze about the crowd around him. All, like him, had been selected upon coming of age to become clerics. He'd never felt particularly religious, though he'd not admit to such things. Still, it was a good calling, relatively. Clerics were highly respected, so he was sure he could get used to it in time.
The man that stood at the front of the group of initiates wore a robe just like those before him, but his was adorned with a simple blue sash about his waist, a sign of his seniority among the clerics. It was a symbol of how long he had served the stone, and his devotion to the tosue spirits.
Ian thought for a moment about the spirits. He'd never seen them, but he was told that their existence was manifest in the protective womb of the earth in which humanity was held safe from all beyond that would destroy them. He wondered if he might actually meet them now that he was becoming a cleric. He'd never question it aloud, since it was blasphemy to do so. Still, he couldn't help but hold a measure of excitement over the things he might learn about their great protectors.
The senior cleric turned to face away from the initiates and stood before a great set of gold and crimson doors that adorned the entrance to the Temple of Tranquility, Duranthal's grandest tosue temple, and where the traditional rites were performed for indoctrinating new initiates into the order. The doors emitted a low rumble as they were pushed open, the sound of heavy, grinding metal on hinges. Before them, a beautiful sanctuary bathed in light from candles and glowstones. The room gave off the very aura of peace.
Ian smiled to himself, thinking once again that he could be working in worse places. Jethan had been called to sanitation upon his coming of age. Ian shuddered to think of what that job entailed. With the sound of the march of footsteps, Ian fell into line with the other initiates, following the senior cleric into the bowels of the temple. Passing through the sanctuary, the cleric led his followers to another non-descript door that opened to a long, narrow hallway. The passage was dark, save for flickering light from sparse sconces positioned along the wall.
After some time of walking, the entire group stopped at the behest of the man leading them. The cleric turned and spoke to the group, "The path that you have set your feet upon will take you to the very depths of human peace and understanding. The tosue will guide you, but you must listen to their call. The spirits of the earth lie beneath your feet, guiding each step you take with purpose. Turn your eyes downward, and face those that would embrace you. To turn your gaze away means a very rejection of all that we hold dear as well as those spirits that love and hold us close to them. Do not look up, my children. There is nothing there but emptiness. Keep your eyes on the stone." | Inspired by OPs username.
It had become a personal motto of mine. Keep your eyes firmly on the horizon if you want, gaze at the dirt, the tin cans and the skeleton bones on the ground if you want to.
But for fucks sake, whatever you do, don't look up.
Some adapt to it easier than others. But I never thought out of all the horrors I heard about the outside during my life in the Vault, the thing that terrified me most was the sky.
It's like an endless ceiling that threatens to swallow you up. |
I figured a lot of scenarios can be covered by a quote like that. The more realism the better, but I love to see what kinds of outlandish stuff you guys think up.
Edit: Wow, this has gotten popular. It's very gratifying to see how many people were drawn to this prompt, I'm looking forward to reading all these stories :) | [WP] "Whatever you do, don't look up" | x-post from/r/shortscarystories:
John forgot his phone at home. He always felt so awkward without it. John looked around the subway platform again. He noticed every single person was on their phone.
Except John. He stared over the sea of people, trying to find someone, anyone, who wasn't on their phone who would empathize. Their eyes would meet and John would shrug as if to say “it’s no big deal” even though it was a huge deal.
But John didn’t find anyone. No, everyone had their eyes glued to their screen, oblivious to the world around them.
A man bumped into John and handed him something. It was a cell phone, but it was near dead.
“Don’t ever let them catch you looking up,” the man warned. He too was holding an object, but the battery life had gone out. Suddenly, the man broke into a run, screaming and fighting through the sea of people to get to an exit. Everyone turned to look at him, almost in sync. John felt the hairs on his neck stand up. A loud noise, unearthly but almost like a telephone dial tone, suddenly rang out on the platform.
People started tearing him apart. John watched with fear as the man was dismembered, right in front of him, by the people who had been looking at their cell phones. John was frozen with fear. Suddenly, it stopped. John was amazed to see all the people go back to looking at their phones. John started to quietly make his way out of the crowd, desperate to get to the world outside.
The cellphone beeped, dying loudly. Suddenly John found all eyes on him. | Inspired by OPs username.
It had become a personal motto of mine. Keep your eyes firmly on the horizon if you want, gaze at the dirt, the tin cans and the skeleton bones on the ground if you want to.
But for fucks sake, whatever you do, don't look up.
Some adapt to it easier than others. But I never thought out of all the horrors I heard about the outside during my life in the Vault, the thing that terrified me most was the sky.
It's like an endless ceiling that threatens to swallow you up. |
I figured a lot of scenarios can be covered by a quote like that. The more realism the better, but I love to see what kinds of outlandish stuff you guys think up.
Edit: Wow, this has gotten popular. It's very gratifying to see how many people were drawn to this prompt, I'm looking forward to reading all these stories :) | [WP] "Whatever you do, don't look up" | Whatever you do, don't look up. If you're ever outside the base, no matter what, do not look up.
Those are the first words the commanding officers said when we arrived here at the outpost six months ago. In six months, I haven't even seen the outside world. All the walls are solid. The only things that go in and out of here are the supply ships, and those are operated by AI. Nobody ever gets the chance to see what's out there, and we're told to keep it that way or else we'll all go mad. They tell us that there are things outside that will eat our souls and leave our bodies as husks. They tell us that the first people to make it here all died within minutes of stepping out of their ship. They say that as long as we're inside, we're safe from all the things out there.
They're wrong. Whatever's out there, it's in here too. I can feel it. I can hear it, scratching at the edge of my mind. Whispers in the shadows, things just beyond the edge of sight, music that nobody else can hear. I tried to tell the base docs about it, but they just told me that a bit of paranoia is normal here until you get used to it.
Let me tell you something, those docs don't know shit. A couple days ago, one of the supply ships' AI got the course in a bit wrong somehow. Maybe the things outside arranged it, I don't know. It crashed through the hatch doors while I was on guard duty in the receiving bay. I knew the repair bots would take at least 10 minutes to get there, so I took the opportunity to slip outside.
I looked up.
Now I know the truth. I have seen the glory of what's out there, and I brought it back inside with me. Soon everybody shall know the truth, and together we bring them through to rule this world.
If you're ever outside, make sure you look up, and you'll know the truth too. | Inspired by OPs username.
It had become a personal motto of mine. Keep your eyes firmly on the horizon if you want, gaze at the dirt, the tin cans and the skeleton bones on the ground if you want to.
But for fucks sake, whatever you do, don't look up.
Some adapt to it easier than others. But I never thought out of all the horrors I heard about the outside during my life in the Vault, the thing that terrified me most was the sky.
It's like an endless ceiling that threatens to swallow you up. |
I figured a lot of scenarios can be covered by a quote like that. The more realism the better, but I love to see what kinds of outlandish stuff you guys think up.
Edit: Wow, this has gotten popular. It's very gratifying to see how many people were drawn to this prompt, I'm looking forward to reading all these stories :) | [WP] "Whatever you do, don't look up" | The long, brown robes that Ian wore looked as drab as the stone that formed the protective encasement of the great city of Duranthal. The robes were a traditional garb, or so he was told, but he had to admit that they were comfortable. He could certainly be dealing with worse.
"Welcome, initiates," a deep voice boomed out to the ground, in which Ian found himself. "Here, you find yourself upon the precipice of a great journey. Though long and arduous, at the end, with your lives devoted to earth and spirits which give us life, you will find enlightenment."
Ian took a moment to cast his gaze about the crowd around him. All, like him, had been selected upon coming of age to become clerics. He'd never felt particularly religious, though he'd not admit to such things. Still, it was a good calling, relatively. Clerics were highly respected, so he was sure he could get used to it in time.
The man that stood at the front of the group of initiates wore a robe just like those before him, but his was adorned with a simple blue sash about his waist, a sign of his seniority among the clerics. It was a symbol of how long he had served the stone, and his devotion to the tosue spirits.
Ian thought for a moment about the spirits. He'd never seen them, but he was told that their existence was manifest in the protective womb of the earth in which humanity was held safe from all beyond that would destroy them. He wondered if he might actually meet them now that he was becoming a cleric. He'd never question it aloud, since it was blasphemy to do so. Still, he couldn't help but hold a measure of excitement over the things he might learn about their great protectors.
The senior cleric turned to face away from the initiates and stood before a great set of gold and crimson doors that adorned the entrance to the Temple of Tranquility, Duranthal's grandest tosue temple, and where the traditional rites were performed for indoctrinating new initiates into the order. The doors emitted a low rumble as they were pushed open, the sound of heavy, grinding metal on hinges. Before them, a beautiful sanctuary bathed in light from candles and glowstones. The room gave off the very aura of peace.
Ian smiled to himself, thinking once again that he could be working in worse places. Jethan had been called to sanitation upon his coming of age. Ian shuddered to think of what that job entailed. With the sound of the march of footsteps, Ian fell into line with the other initiates, following the senior cleric into the bowels of the temple. Passing through the sanctuary, the cleric led his followers to another non-descript door that opened to a long, narrow hallway. The passage was dark, save for flickering light from sparse sconces positioned along the wall.
After some time of walking, the entire group stopped at the behest of the man leading them. The cleric turned and spoke to the group, "The path that you have set your feet upon will take you to the very depths of human peace and understanding. The tosue will guide you, but you must listen to their call. The spirits of the earth lie beneath your feet, guiding each step you take with purpose. Turn your eyes downward, and face those that would embrace you. To turn your gaze away means a very rejection of all that we hold dear as well as those spirits that love and hold us close to them. Do not look up, my children. There is nothing there but emptiness. Keep your eyes on the stone." | “Dude, whatever you do, don’t fucking look up.”
How the hell had things gone so horribly wrong? Just an hour ago they were getting ready to run the final test on their new technology. It was supposed to revolutionize the shipping and packaging industry. They had even finalized the tag-line – “Shrink’n’Ship: If the package is small, there is no problem at all.”
Jay had gone through all the calculations before handing over the input parameters to Mark. But somehow the device had malfunctioned, going haywire and zapping the test chamber with the Molecular Isotopic Nano Induction particles.
Now they were huddled under their neighbor’s bed behind what looked like a gigantic Cheeto.
“Why? What’s going on up there?” Jay asked.
“You do not want to know.” Mark said as he ran back to Jay. “It seems like now is our chance to get the fuck out of here. He has put Bruno on his leash. So if we stay clear of the mutt, we can make it out.”
“I just want to fucking kill that dog! Chasing us in here like that. He was going to eat me, you know!” Jay said.
“I know… I was there too, you stupid fuck!” Mark smacked Jay on the side of his head.
“Hey, what was that for?”
“This is all your fault. How many times have I told you, NO FOOD IN THE LAB!”
“It’s not my fault you don’t know how to fucking read. You are the one who punched in threshold 80 instead of 30 on the M.I.N.I. gun.”
“THERE WAS JELLY ON THE 3!” Mark screamed as he kicked the Cheeto in frustration. The stale piece of junk food crumbled and dumped the cheesy yellow dust on the two scientists.
“Great. Now I smell of cheese.” Jay said as he dusted the yellow powder off his lab coat. “Can we just stop with the blame game and figure out a way to get to the lab?”
“Okay, on 3, we run to the door, crawl under it, make our way into the living room and out of this fucking apartment. And for heaven’s sake, do not look up.” Mark said. “Ready, 3… 2…”
Before he could finish counting down, a sudden gust of air knocked them to the ground. As they stood up, Jay saw that the floor in front of them by the foot of the bed was now covered with a huge newspaper. The two hairy legs on either side of it were slowly shifting forwards, as if to adjust the body in a certain position.
“We have to go now!” Mark shouted as he took Jay’s hand and sprinted forward.
“Is that Jerry?” Jay mumbled, but his words were drowned out by the sound of an electric motor turning on. At this scale, the noise was like a thunderstorm rumbling overhead. Just as they ran out from under the bed, the sound changed to a deeper tone, as if it was shearing through something. Jay could not contain himself and glanced up. He immediately regretted his decision.
Jerry’s enormous balls were hanging over the edge of the bed as the trimmer sliced through the thick forest of black curls around them. The clippings were raining down on the fleeing duo as they made their way to the door. It felt like someone had left bales of hay in front of an industrial fan – except these were the pubic hair of an overweight man.
“HOLY FUCKING -“ Jay screamed.
“I told you not to look, dumbass!” Mike said as he jumped over a dirty shoe.
“I didn’t listen. I had to look.” Jay said “And now I can’t look away!”
He didn’t notice the shoelace and tripped over it, rolling onto the dirty carpet. He came to a stop by the door where Mark was already on his stomach trying to crawl through the tiny gap. Jay looked back and saw that Jerry had moved on from trimming to stroking.
“Okay, now that is fucking gross!” he exclaimed as he crawled out behind Mark. “That is one image that is now engraved in my mind forever!”
They were in the living room and it was empty, except for the large black terrier chained to the radiator.
“Okay, now we just need to get out and across to our place. There is a cracked window through which we can get into the basement lab.” Mark whispered. “Be quiet and stay away from Bruno’s reach.”
They started making their way slowly across the living room, keeping one eye on the sleeping dog. They were halfway to the door, huddled behind a Playboy lying on the floor when suddenly- “Oh yeah Baby! OHhhH!!” Jerry's loud moans as he reached the point of no return on his short pleasure cruise woke Bruno from his slumber. Mark and Jay stopped in their tracks as they saw the big dog jump up, startled and look around the room. His eyes finally settled on the duo right in front of him.
“Uh oh…” Jay said as he saw Bruno cock his head, foaming at his mouth.
“RUN!” Mark screamed. And so they ran.
Bruno lunged forward barking madly, but the chain strained on his neck as his salivating jaws came within inches of where Jay had stood a second ago.
Both of them jumped and slid over the hardwood surface and out from underneath the door just as the bedroom door flew open and Jerry came in shouting at Bruno to shut the fuck up.
“Well, I have officially crapped my pants!” Jay declared as he helped Mark up. “But the good news is, we are out of that fucking place.”
“You can say that again.” Mark panted as he tried to catch his breath. “Come on. It’s not that far now. We can follow the stone pathway across the garden. Let’s go.”
They finally made their way to the cracked basement window of their house and crawled through into their lab. All the equipment was there, ready to reverse the process.
“We just need to punch in the inverse parameters. And don’t fuck up the threshold now.” Jay said as Mark ran over to the console.
“How the fuck am I supposed to reach the keypad from here?” Mark exclaimed as he looked up at the console.
“You don’t need to.” Jay said and he jumped on a button beside the control panel.
“Voice commands activated. Please say the password for authentication.” The electronic voice echoed around them.
“I programmed this last night when you were out.” Jay said with a smug look on his face.
“And you are telling me this now?” Mike said, stunned. “We could have used this instead of manually putting in the numbers and none of this shit would have happened!”
“Oh, well... My bad.” Jay said as he prepared the M.I.N.I. gun for the inverse routine.
At long last, they were finally back to their original sizes. Relieved, Jay plopped down on the couch as Mike handed him a beer.
“At least we now know that the thing works!” Jay said.
“Well, no shit Sherlock.” Mike rolled his eyes as he looked out the window. “Hey, looks like the sorority chicks are having a sleepover party.”
“Wow, Girls drinking and sleeping together. Wish we could get in there somehow…” Jay sighed as he joined his friend at the window.
Suddenly, both of them sprung up in excitement and looked at each other, eyes wide as the revelation finally hit home.
“ME FIRST!” they shouted together as they scrambled towards the basement.
|
I figured a lot of scenarios can be covered by a quote like that. The more realism the better, but I love to see what kinds of outlandish stuff you guys think up.
Edit: Wow, this has gotten popular. It's very gratifying to see how many people were drawn to this prompt, I'm looking forward to reading all these stories :) | [WP] "Whatever you do, don't look up" | x-post from/r/shortscarystories:
John forgot his phone at home. He always felt so awkward without it. John looked around the subway platform again. He noticed every single person was on their phone.
Except John. He stared over the sea of people, trying to find someone, anyone, who wasn't on their phone who would empathize. Their eyes would meet and John would shrug as if to say “it’s no big deal” even though it was a huge deal.
But John didn’t find anyone. No, everyone had their eyes glued to their screen, oblivious to the world around them.
A man bumped into John and handed him something. It was a cell phone, but it was near dead.
“Don’t ever let them catch you looking up,” the man warned. He too was holding an object, but the battery life had gone out. Suddenly, the man broke into a run, screaming and fighting through the sea of people to get to an exit. Everyone turned to look at him, almost in sync. John felt the hairs on his neck stand up. A loud noise, unearthly but almost like a telephone dial tone, suddenly rang out on the platform.
People started tearing him apart. John watched with fear as the man was dismembered, right in front of him, by the people who had been looking at their cell phones. John was frozen with fear. Suddenly, it stopped. John was amazed to see all the people go back to looking at their phones. John started to quietly make his way out of the crowd, desperate to get to the world outside.
The cellphone beeped, dying loudly. Suddenly John found all eyes on him. | “Dude, whatever you do, don’t fucking look up.”
How the hell had things gone so horribly wrong? Just an hour ago they were getting ready to run the final test on their new technology. It was supposed to revolutionize the shipping and packaging industry. They had even finalized the tag-line – “Shrink’n’Ship: If the package is small, there is no problem at all.”
Jay had gone through all the calculations before handing over the input parameters to Mark. But somehow the device had malfunctioned, going haywire and zapping the test chamber with the Molecular Isotopic Nano Induction particles.
Now they were huddled under their neighbor’s bed behind what looked like a gigantic Cheeto.
“Why? What’s going on up there?” Jay asked.
“You do not want to know.” Mark said as he ran back to Jay. “It seems like now is our chance to get the fuck out of here. He has put Bruno on his leash. So if we stay clear of the mutt, we can make it out.”
“I just want to fucking kill that dog! Chasing us in here like that. He was going to eat me, you know!” Jay said.
“I know… I was there too, you stupid fuck!” Mark smacked Jay on the side of his head.
“Hey, what was that for?”
“This is all your fault. How many times have I told you, NO FOOD IN THE LAB!”
“It’s not my fault you don’t know how to fucking read. You are the one who punched in threshold 80 instead of 30 on the M.I.N.I. gun.”
“THERE WAS JELLY ON THE 3!” Mark screamed as he kicked the Cheeto in frustration. The stale piece of junk food crumbled and dumped the cheesy yellow dust on the two scientists.
“Great. Now I smell of cheese.” Jay said as he dusted the yellow powder off his lab coat. “Can we just stop with the blame game and figure out a way to get to the lab?”
“Okay, on 3, we run to the door, crawl under it, make our way into the living room and out of this fucking apartment. And for heaven’s sake, do not look up.” Mark said. “Ready, 3… 2…”
Before he could finish counting down, a sudden gust of air knocked them to the ground. As they stood up, Jay saw that the floor in front of them by the foot of the bed was now covered with a huge newspaper. The two hairy legs on either side of it were slowly shifting forwards, as if to adjust the body in a certain position.
“We have to go now!” Mark shouted as he took Jay’s hand and sprinted forward.
“Is that Jerry?” Jay mumbled, but his words were drowned out by the sound of an electric motor turning on. At this scale, the noise was like a thunderstorm rumbling overhead. Just as they ran out from under the bed, the sound changed to a deeper tone, as if it was shearing through something. Jay could not contain himself and glanced up. He immediately regretted his decision.
Jerry’s enormous balls were hanging over the edge of the bed as the trimmer sliced through the thick forest of black curls around them. The clippings were raining down on the fleeing duo as they made their way to the door. It felt like someone had left bales of hay in front of an industrial fan – except these were the pubic hair of an overweight man.
“HOLY FUCKING -“ Jay screamed.
“I told you not to look, dumbass!” Mike said as he jumped over a dirty shoe.
“I didn’t listen. I had to look.” Jay said “And now I can’t look away!”
He didn’t notice the shoelace and tripped over it, rolling onto the dirty carpet. He came to a stop by the door where Mark was already on his stomach trying to crawl through the tiny gap. Jay looked back and saw that Jerry had moved on from trimming to stroking.
“Okay, now that is fucking gross!” he exclaimed as he crawled out behind Mark. “That is one image that is now engraved in my mind forever!”
They were in the living room and it was empty, except for the large black terrier chained to the radiator.
“Okay, now we just need to get out and across to our place. There is a cracked window through which we can get into the basement lab.” Mark whispered. “Be quiet and stay away from Bruno’s reach.”
They started making their way slowly across the living room, keeping one eye on the sleeping dog. They were halfway to the door, huddled behind a Playboy lying on the floor when suddenly- “Oh yeah Baby! OHhhH!!” Jerry's loud moans as he reached the point of no return on his short pleasure cruise woke Bruno from his slumber. Mark and Jay stopped in their tracks as they saw the big dog jump up, startled and look around the room. His eyes finally settled on the duo right in front of him.
“Uh oh…” Jay said as he saw Bruno cock his head, foaming at his mouth.
“RUN!” Mark screamed. And so they ran.
Bruno lunged forward barking madly, but the chain strained on his neck as his salivating jaws came within inches of where Jay had stood a second ago.
Both of them jumped and slid over the hardwood surface and out from underneath the door just as the bedroom door flew open and Jerry came in shouting at Bruno to shut the fuck up.
“Well, I have officially crapped my pants!” Jay declared as he helped Mark up. “But the good news is, we are out of that fucking place.”
“You can say that again.” Mark panted as he tried to catch his breath. “Come on. It’s not that far now. We can follow the stone pathway across the garden. Let’s go.”
They finally made their way to the cracked basement window of their house and crawled through into their lab. All the equipment was there, ready to reverse the process.
“We just need to punch in the inverse parameters. And don’t fuck up the threshold now.” Jay said as Mark ran over to the console.
“How the fuck am I supposed to reach the keypad from here?” Mark exclaimed as he looked up at the console.
“You don’t need to.” Jay said and he jumped on a button beside the control panel.
“Voice commands activated. Please say the password for authentication.” The electronic voice echoed around them.
“I programmed this last night when you were out.” Jay said with a smug look on his face.
“And you are telling me this now?” Mike said, stunned. “We could have used this instead of manually putting in the numbers and none of this shit would have happened!”
“Oh, well... My bad.” Jay said as he prepared the M.I.N.I. gun for the inverse routine.
At long last, they were finally back to their original sizes. Relieved, Jay plopped down on the couch as Mike handed him a beer.
“At least we now know that the thing works!” Jay said.
“Well, no shit Sherlock.” Mike rolled his eyes as he looked out the window. “Hey, looks like the sorority chicks are having a sleepover party.”
“Wow, Girls drinking and sleeping together. Wish we could get in there somehow…” Jay sighed as he joined his friend at the window.
Suddenly, both of them sprung up in excitement and looked at each other, eyes wide as the revelation finally hit home.
“ME FIRST!” they shouted together as they scrambled towards the basement.
|
I figured a lot of scenarios can be covered by a quote like that. The more realism the better, but I love to see what kinds of outlandish stuff you guys think up.
Edit: Wow, this has gotten popular. It's very gratifying to see how many people were drawn to this prompt, I'm looking forward to reading all these stories :) | [WP] "Whatever you do, don't look up" | Whatever you do, don't look up. If you're ever outside the base, no matter what, do not look up.
Those are the first words the commanding officers said when we arrived here at the outpost six months ago. In six months, I haven't even seen the outside world. All the walls are solid. The only things that go in and out of here are the supply ships, and those are operated by AI. Nobody ever gets the chance to see what's out there, and we're told to keep it that way or else we'll all go mad. They tell us that there are things outside that will eat our souls and leave our bodies as husks. They tell us that the first people to make it here all died within minutes of stepping out of their ship. They say that as long as we're inside, we're safe from all the things out there.
They're wrong. Whatever's out there, it's in here too. I can feel it. I can hear it, scratching at the edge of my mind. Whispers in the shadows, things just beyond the edge of sight, music that nobody else can hear. I tried to tell the base docs about it, but they just told me that a bit of paranoia is normal here until you get used to it.
Let me tell you something, those docs don't know shit. A couple days ago, one of the supply ships' AI got the course in a bit wrong somehow. Maybe the things outside arranged it, I don't know. It crashed through the hatch doors while I was on guard duty in the receiving bay. I knew the repair bots would take at least 10 minutes to get there, so I took the opportunity to slip outside.
I looked up.
Now I know the truth. I have seen the glory of what's out there, and I brought it back inside with me. Soon everybody shall know the truth, and together we bring them through to rule this world.
If you're ever outside, make sure you look up, and you'll know the truth too. | "Whatever you do, don't look up." These were the words streaming through the air, cell phones, television screens, radios -- hysteria is all the world's nations have become. Of course, many paid no mind and looked up anyway. What was seen appeared to be a star. Odd to see a star in broad day light besides our sun, but it was bright. It was nearly as bright as the sun and gently growing in size. On the other side of the world, the night skies brightened up like the skies at dawn. Many asked, "What is that?" The answer was a statistic prayed to never occur: an asteroid heading towards Earth at incredible speeds. It was too close to avoid, to destroy, and was measured to be the size of the United Staes and China combined.
People prayed. People embraced. People screamed, yelled, looted, murdered, raped and started flames. Sirens, like the warning, streamed through the air. This was it, like lives in centuries before our own, extinction, or near so, was upon us.
Meant as an attempt at denial, "Whatever you do, don't look up" - the warning - went ignored. To look up was to die -- to ignore the words was to accept the end. For once it hit our world - the asteroid - so to did death. |
I figured a lot of scenarios can be covered by a quote like that. The more realism the better, but I love to see what kinds of outlandish stuff you guys think up.
Edit: Wow, this has gotten popular. It's very gratifying to see how many people were drawn to this prompt, I'm looking forward to reading all these stories :) | [WP] "Whatever you do, don't look up" | My first kiss was in an airport, with a girl named Marie who had decided to kill herself.
I had met her while waiting to board. She had looked nervous, so I had begun a conversation. It was my first time traveling alone, and I too was scared.
She confessed to me that she was also scared, but not of the trip. "Then why are you scared?" I had asked.
"I am going to kill myself before the plane lands," she had said, so matter-of-fact that she could have been saying that the sky was blue.
"But why? Why on the plane?"
"I don't want to be alive anymore." And then she had changed the subject, asking about me.
She was older than me, I learned. She had 17 years to my 14. I was travelling alone to see my grandparents for the summer; she had simply purchased the ticket in order to fly far across the country. Her father, she had said, was not a nice man, and her mother cared more for Marie's father than for Marie. She said nothing more of her mother or father, but I spotted several bruises on her legs when she shifted in her seat.
I had noticed that she had no suitcase, only a small handbag. When I had asked her why, she had ignored the question and asked instead why my suitcase was so large.
We had talked away the hour until boarding. Nothing important: what we were studying in school, what books we had read recently, what music we like to listen to. Then she had abruptly kissed me on the lips as we stood to board the airplane.
I must have looked startled, but she had only placed a finger over my lips to silence me. "I wanted to kiss someone before I was dead," she had said. "And I wanted them to kiss me back." She drew me close to her, and, charmed by her mystique, I obeyed. It seemed an eternity before she pulled herself away from me. "Now," she continued, grasping both of my shoulders and looking me in the eyes, "I need you to listen exactly to what I say." I nodded. "Do not get on this plane. Go back to your seat, sit down, and wait for the next one. And whatever you do, don't look up." She kissed me again, this time on the cheek. "Remember me." Then she turned and boarded the plane.
Hypnotized, I sat down. There had been something about her tone, the hard-set features of face as she had warned me, the fire in her eyes. And so I waited, and I did not get on the plane.
I heard the explosion, and I felt it shake the building, but I did not see it. Per Marie's warning, I did not look up. Instead, I closed my eyes tight and waited for someone with a badge and a gun to come tell me that it was alright.
It was only then that I had looked outside. A charred aluminum corpse was all that remained of the airplane.
The cause of the explosion was ruled to be mechanical failure -- some failing part had created a spark, and that had ignited the fuel tank. There had been no survivors.
I was told for days how lucky I was not to have boarded that plane. I was even contacted for several news interviews. I appeared on morning television. "How did you know not to board the plane?" "What kind of feelings do you have right now, knowing that you could have perished?" "Do you feel as if God was at work here, or as if there was some kind of divine intervention?" My answer was always the same. I felt sad, shaken even. Sometimes, I felt guilty, like I should have died with them. I had told the news anchors and talking heads that perhaps it was God or some other higher power at work.
That was nearly 30 years ago. In truth, I do not feel like God had intervened. I felt that a beautiful girl named Marie had told me not to get on the plane, not to look up at the plane. Because she was going to kill herself. I suppose that because I had talked to her, because she had kissed me and I had kissed her, she did not want me to see it.
And it had been good that I had listened to her. | "Whatever you do, don't look up." These were the words streaming through the air, cell phones, television screens, radios -- hysteria is all the world's nations have become. Of course, many paid no mind and looked up anyway. What was seen appeared to be a star. Odd to see a star in broad day light besides our sun, but it was bright. It was nearly as bright as the sun and gently growing in size. On the other side of the world, the night skies brightened up like the skies at dawn. Many asked, "What is that?" The answer was a statistic prayed to never occur: an asteroid heading towards Earth at incredible speeds. It was too close to avoid, to destroy, and was measured to be the size of the United Staes and China combined.
People prayed. People embraced. People screamed, yelled, looted, murdered, raped and started flames. Sirens, like the warning, streamed through the air. This was it, like lives in centuries before our own, extinction, or near so, was upon us.
Meant as an attempt at denial, "Whatever you do, don't look up" - the warning - went ignored. To look up was to die -- to ignore the words was to accept the end. For once it hit our world - the asteroid - so to did death. |
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | *ring ring ring*
"Hey man"
"Nothing much....just hanging around"
"Watch the game at 5? Yea sure, I'm down."
"Can you come pick me up?"
"Ok cool. Bring some scissors."
"Because I was trying to master my new magic trick and accidentally tied a rope around my neck and hung myself"
"Yea I know I'm an idiot. Take your time I'm not going anywhere" | "So."
Luis stood on tip toe and plucked at the rope.
"*Urgghh*" I tried to answer. Nothing came out, except a little dribble of spit. Because that's what I needed.
"Suicide, huh?" Luis asked, now standing behind me. "A little pathetic, don't you think?"
"*UUUGGGG*" I sputter.
"Still though. You should be dead."
A loosening around my throat was the only warning I got before I fell unceremoniously on the floor. Deep breath. My chest exploded in pain and I immediately began screaming. I eventually began coughing and then turned aside to vomit. Luis took a quick double step back out of thew way. He always had a way of avoiding trouble.
"Hey Gary. So what's the story? You get dumped and you try to kill yourself?" he kicks me in the back a little lightly.
I can barely remember myself. I sit up and look down at myself. Vomit and pee stained my jeans. *Wow, I look like shit...*
"I had a couple of drinks at Mulligan's." I started.
"Oh yea. I heard about that. Jim called and said you were a dirty fucking drunk and needed someone to drag you out to - and I quote - any fucking shit heap else."
That sounded about right.
"Yea, well I came home and tried to kill myself. It didn't take though."
Luis just looked at me. I looked away and started peeling my shirt off. It felt like I couldn't catch my breath.
He stood up and went over to look at the rope.
"What do you mean, it didn't take?"
"I don't know. I kicked the chair off and suffocated." My memory was hazy, but something like this, it doesn't go away. "I died. I think I died. But then I woke up. Everything hurt but I couldn't do anything about it. So I called the last person on my phone and it was you. Good thing you still have your key, huh?"
He smiles faintly, but doesn't say anything.
"You know." He finally says, "I almost didn't come. I thought it was some kind of trick to get me to come here." He headed towards the door. "But you're not dead. You tried to kill yourself but you're not dead."
He takes out a keyring, and carefully pulls a key out of it. I watched, mesmerized. This wasn't exactly going according to plan.
"I know about the immortality, you know. I know you can't die." He threw the key on the ground, in the middle of the puke.
"We're not getting back together, Gary." I felt my heart seize in my chest. "Don't try this again. I'm not gonna run back to you, just because you're projecting pathetic. We're over. Sorry."
I sat there a while staring at the key. I was sure it would work. I was sure he would stay, take care of me. I don't know when I started crying. |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | Yes, I remember that day so well.
*trippy frame transition into flashback mode*
"Charles!" Dammit, no answer. "Margaret, Samuel, Timmy, Joey, Louisa, fucking Cornelius!" Damn it all to hell, somebody answer. Well, with all this yelling the only way that sorry excuse for a matron didn't hear me was if they were all out. Typical, out and about gallivanting through town on another Gideon-free excursion. I wonder if it's ice cream this time or maybe a trip to the park; perhaps they are just out in the courtyard playing chess. Oh, how I love chess, even if the one time I played Matron Robertson slammed my head against the wall for having too much fun. The tactics, the possibilities, the timeless battle of the wits drew me in that day. I usually watched the other boys and girls play in the courtyard, but that day I played. I orchestrated coups and head on charges. I directed comrades to their death in the name of the King. I lost good men too, soldiers that had done nothing but follow orders. A savage game, war, one that must be fought, not played. In a game, you can start over. In a war, nay in life, sacrifices must be made.
That brings me back to earlier this morning. Today was a special day, for me at least. It was the 17th of March. Here, they called it my other birthday. Privately, I called it my death day. It was the day I came upon this wretched place, this house for unwanted or otherwise cumbersome children. On this special "death" day, I was summoned to Matron for something or other; if I was lucky, it would only be verbal scolding. I wasn't lucky. Two bloody ears later, I returned to my nook, trailing a faint smell of alcohol that stuck to my tattered shirt that Matron so ungraciously tattered even further.
I was done. I was finally, decidedly, done. I had played my pawns as forward as they could go, attempted to flank the enemy with my trusty knights; my poor bishops and rooks didn't even know what hit them. Alas, at long last, my queen, my pride and strength, had been vanquished. It was checkmate. I tipped my king, and kicked the stool away.
I closed my eyes.
I waited.
I waited.
I opened my eyes, wondering what the hell did I do wrong? I couldn't breathe, I felt my circulation being cut off, I was having trouble thinking. And yet, there I dangled, still alive. I had seen this done in those grisly old movies all the time. But here I was. Stuck...
*snaps back to present time*
Damn, that was one hell of a day, yeh? They had to fucking call the ambulance because Matron passed out from seeing my purple little mug glaring at her haha. Yeah, I remember that day, the day I found out I couldn't die. I kind of wish I hadn't, because I did what any normal human woulda done: test every possible situation that would normally kill me. Drugs, bullets, even bullets moving at a high velocity, knives, they don't do shit. I cut off appendages, even my head that one time back in Tegucigalpa *chuckles*, but they just came back. I never die; it hurts a lot, but I don't die. And yeah, I play the hero every once in a while. You know, run into burning buildings or dive headfirst into stormy waters. But nothing gave me solace. Nothing gave me peace.
I've had fun avoiding you pricks for the past few years, but damn y'all government types are persistent. I've been playing a lot of chess, you know. I've always liked chess. I've lost my entire force, and now I'm ready to do the right thing; I'm ready to make that sacrifice for the greater good, just like all of my brave soldiers did for me. I'm ready.
Agent: "Thank you, now if you'll follow me then we'll have a police escort take you to the test site. You are doing a great favor to humanity, remember that."
Aw go to hell. | "So."
Luis stood on tip toe and plucked at the rope.
"*Urgghh*" I tried to answer. Nothing came out, except a little dribble of spit. Because that's what I needed.
"Suicide, huh?" Luis asked, now standing behind me. "A little pathetic, don't you think?"
"*UUUGGGG*" I sputter.
"Still though. You should be dead."
A loosening around my throat was the only warning I got before I fell unceremoniously on the floor. Deep breath. My chest exploded in pain and I immediately began screaming. I eventually began coughing and then turned aside to vomit. Luis took a quick double step back out of thew way. He always had a way of avoiding trouble.
"Hey Gary. So what's the story? You get dumped and you try to kill yourself?" he kicks me in the back a little lightly.
I can barely remember myself. I sit up and look down at myself. Vomit and pee stained my jeans. *Wow, I look like shit...*
"I had a couple of drinks at Mulligan's." I started.
"Oh yea. I heard about that. Jim called and said you were a dirty fucking drunk and needed someone to drag you out to - and I quote - any fucking shit heap else."
That sounded about right.
"Yea, well I came home and tried to kill myself. It didn't take though."
Luis just looked at me. I looked away and started peeling my shirt off. It felt like I couldn't catch my breath.
He stood up and went over to look at the rope.
"What do you mean, it didn't take?"
"I don't know. I kicked the chair off and suffocated." My memory was hazy, but something like this, it doesn't go away. "I died. I think I died. But then I woke up. Everything hurt but I couldn't do anything about it. So I called the last person on my phone and it was you. Good thing you still have your key, huh?"
He smiles faintly, but doesn't say anything.
"You know." He finally says, "I almost didn't come. I thought it was some kind of trick to get me to come here." He headed towards the door. "But you're not dead. You tried to kill yourself but you're not dead."
He takes out a keyring, and carefully pulls a key out of it. I watched, mesmerized. This wasn't exactly going according to plan.
"I know about the immortality, you know. I know you can't die." He threw the key on the ground, in the middle of the puke.
"We're not getting back together, Gary." I felt my heart seize in my chest. "Don't try this again. I'm not gonna run back to you, just because you're projecting pathetic. We're over. Sorry."
I sat there a while staring at the key. I was sure it would work. I was sure he would stay, take care of me. I don't know when I started crying. |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | Resisting the urge to take a deep breath I kick the chair out from under me. With a snap, the rope tightens around my neck and something in my neck pops. The pain is sudden and sharp. I instinctively gasp but only feel my windpipe crushed against my neck, preventing any air from getting in or out. God this hurts.
Swinging slightly from kicking the chair I rotate in slow painful circles, each orbit pulling and squeezing a different part of my neck. As I wait for the involuntary panic of running out of breath I try to ignore the awful pain. I think about Cheryl coming on Monday to get her stuff and finding my body hanging in the hall as she opens the door. I hope that my swinging will gently bring my dead eyes to meet hers as she takes her key out of the lock. “Boo! Soak that sight in Cheryl,” I think to myself.
I almost laugh but choke on a gruesome chortle instead. That's when I notice I don't feel out of breath. I've never tried to hold my breath for long but this is starting to seem extended. Maybe its the adrenaline, or maybe people who hang themselves don't actually feel like their are running out of air. I should have researched this more. But if I were the sort that considers things I probably would not be hanging from a rope right now over a girl.
I wonder a bit at my calm. In the movies people jerk around like their lizard brain just woke up and screamed "What the hell are you doing?!" Other than the god awful pain in my neck I don't feel particularly inconvenienced. I swing my feet gently just to see if my brain is still in control. Despite the shifting of the rope against my neck it feels just like I'm hanging from some monkey bars. No panic. “Not a bad way to go I guess.”
I wonder how long it's been and how long this will take. I occupy myself by looking around the hall at all the things Cheryl and I shared. My eyes fall on the wall mirror in the middle of the hall that reflects into the kitchen. I think about the time we found it together at a flea market. I hope she isn't thinking she gets to take that. She bought it, but I've always liked it and she knows it. Just then I see a black shape pass across the mirror. “What the hell?”
As much as I can while hanging from the ceiling I try to see into the kitchen. “Is someone in there?”
That can't be. I was alone and I think I would have noticed someone coming in the door and pushing me aside to make it to the kitchen. I hear a rustle from the kitchen and now I panic a little. “Oh crap, a burglar or something.”
Maybe they climbed up the fire escape and broke through the kitchen window. They might be the kind hearted sort of burglar that would cut me down. Then I would have to explain to everyone the suspiciously circular hickey around my neck. I will myself to swing a little quieter and hope they are content to steal the Keurig. That's Cheryl's anyway.
A figure in a robe that billows oddly in the draftless apartment slowly moves into the hall. His face is hidden by a deep cowl and he carries some sort of farm-looking implement with a wooden shaft and a curved blade at the top. “Oh man, its the grim reaper. He's real!”
He stands in front of my dangling soon to be corpse and I can sense him staring at me.
The grim reaper, I can't believe fantasy writers got that right. I stare back at him and wonder how this works. Does he suck out my soul? Does it hurt? I hope he doesn't have to stab me with that blade. My neck is uncomfortable enough as it is.
After what seems like a good couple of minutes the grim reaper turns around and begins to move back into the kitchen. “What the hell? Isn't he going to kill me?”
“No.”
He talked! No, he didn't say anything I just heard it, and he heard me even though I can't talk. Ah cool, now that I am dead I have telepathy. Wait, I'm not dead and he said he wasn't going to kill me. I'm hanging from a rope, how does that work? I have to be dead. “Uh..wait. What do you mean no?”
The grim reaper stops and slowly turns back to face me. “You are an immortal. I can not take you with me.”
“Immortal? What do you mean? I'm not a god.”
I sense him scoffing in my head. “Not a god, just an immortal. You can not die.”
“What do you mean I can't die”
A sigh. “You can not die because you are immortal. You are immortal because you can not die. Get it?”
“Not really.”
“Well, you have all the time in the world to figure it out.” Turning back the grim reaper begins to leave.
Frantically I kick my legs at the nearby wall, “Wait! What am I supposed to do now?”
A slight chuckle, “Hang out I suppose.”
“Oh funny. Just my luck that the grim reaper is a dick.”
With a slight shake of his cowl the grim reaper passes out of sight into the kitchen.
Despite the pain it causes, I kick the wall repeatedly and attempt to shout in my head, “Wait, you have to help me! Can you cut me down?”
“No.”
“Please! I cant reach the chair and I'm not strong enough to pull myself up.”
A moment passes without a response. “Are you still there?” Nothing.
“Oh shit.” Why did I have to do this on Saturday?
Two long days later Cheryl opens the door to my apartment. Looking up from the lock her eyes meet mine. The single most shocking thing she has seen in her life is quickly replaced a second later when I wink. | "So."
Luis stood on tip toe and plucked at the rope.
"*Urgghh*" I tried to answer. Nothing came out, except a little dribble of spit. Because that's what I needed.
"Suicide, huh?" Luis asked, now standing behind me. "A little pathetic, don't you think?"
"*UUUGGGG*" I sputter.
"Still though. You should be dead."
A loosening around my throat was the only warning I got before I fell unceremoniously on the floor. Deep breath. My chest exploded in pain and I immediately began screaming. I eventually began coughing and then turned aside to vomit. Luis took a quick double step back out of thew way. He always had a way of avoiding trouble.
"Hey Gary. So what's the story? You get dumped and you try to kill yourself?" he kicks me in the back a little lightly.
I can barely remember myself. I sit up and look down at myself. Vomit and pee stained my jeans. *Wow, I look like shit...*
"I had a couple of drinks at Mulligan's." I started.
"Oh yea. I heard about that. Jim called and said you were a dirty fucking drunk and needed someone to drag you out to - and I quote - any fucking shit heap else."
That sounded about right.
"Yea, well I came home and tried to kill myself. It didn't take though."
Luis just looked at me. I looked away and started peeling my shirt off. It felt like I couldn't catch my breath.
He stood up and went over to look at the rope.
"What do you mean, it didn't take?"
"I don't know. I kicked the chair off and suffocated." My memory was hazy, but something like this, it doesn't go away. "I died. I think I died. But then I woke up. Everything hurt but I couldn't do anything about it. So I called the last person on my phone and it was you. Good thing you still have your key, huh?"
He smiles faintly, but doesn't say anything.
"You know." He finally says, "I almost didn't come. I thought it was some kind of trick to get me to come here." He headed towards the door. "But you're not dead. You tried to kill yourself but you're not dead."
He takes out a keyring, and carefully pulls a key out of it. I watched, mesmerized. This wasn't exactly going according to plan.
"I know about the immortality, you know. I know you can't die." He threw the key on the ground, in the middle of the puke.
"We're not getting back together, Gary." I felt my heart seize in my chest. "Don't try this again. I'm not gonna run back to you, just because you're projecting pathetic. We're over. Sorry."
I sat there a while staring at the key. I was sure it would work. I was sure he would stay, take care of me. I don't know when I started crying. |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | *ring ring ring*
"Hey man"
"Nothing much....just hanging around"
"Watch the game at 5? Yea sure, I'm down."
"Can you come pick me up?"
"Ok cool. Bring some scissors."
"Because I was trying to master my new magic trick and accidentally tied a rope around my neck and hung myself"
"Yea I know I'm an idiot. Take your time I'm not going anywhere" | Hey dad?
"What is it Noodrscootr, you caught me at a bad time as usual"
Well I don't really know how to say this but I tried to kill myself and now I'm hanging by a noose but I'm not dead.
"What the fuck how stupid are you? Why would you try to kill yourself? How are you not dead and is this some joke cause this is one of the unfunniest things you have ever done."
No dad this isn't a joke just come cut me down please or else I'll just hang here for a while. I meant to leave a note on my phone but I'm not so sure I can die anymore so that's out the window
"Are you high right now I have important work that needs to be done"
Look dad I know how I am usually but this isn't a joke. I don't want anyone in the family to come and I think you should see this. If you don't come I'll be hanging here and if you do, you'll see it for yourself.
"Alright well this is ridiculous but if you insist. I'll be over soon. I'm gonna kill you if this is a waste of time."
Hey dad?
"What is it"
I love you and I'm sorry. If this went awry and I ended up dead, I would've regretted it.
Also I'm sorry.
"Look Noodrscootr, you're my son and I love you. If you actually died and I never got to see you again I don't know how I would live. I know I'm tough but it's because my father died when I was young. Please just hang tight I'll be there soon."
*laughs* hey dad I see you don't lose that sense of humor even when it's serious
*dad laughs* "look I'll be over soon."
I love you dad
"I love you too"
*click* |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | Yes, I remember that day so well.
*trippy frame transition into flashback mode*
"Charles!" Dammit, no answer. "Margaret, Samuel, Timmy, Joey, Louisa, fucking Cornelius!" Damn it all to hell, somebody answer. Well, with all this yelling the only way that sorry excuse for a matron didn't hear me was if they were all out. Typical, out and about gallivanting through town on another Gideon-free excursion. I wonder if it's ice cream this time or maybe a trip to the park; perhaps they are just out in the courtyard playing chess. Oh, how I love chess, even if the one time I played Matron Robertson slammed my head against the wall for having too much fun. The tactics, the possibilities, the timeless battle of the wits drew me in that day. I usually watched the other boys and girls play in the courtyard, but that day I played. I orchestrated coups and head on charges. I directed comrades to their death in the name of the King. I lost good men too, soldiers that had done nothing but follow orders. A savage game, war, one that must be fought, not played. In a game, you can start over. In a war, nay in life, sacrifices must be made.
That brings me back to earlier this morning. Today was a special day, for me at least. It was the 17th of March. Here, they called it my other birthday. Privately, I called it my death day. It was the day I came upon this wretched place, this house for unwanted or otherwise cumbersome children. On this special "death" day, I was summoned to Matron for something or other; if I was lucky, it would only be verbal scolding. I wasn't lucky. Two bloody ears later, I returned to my nook, trailing a faint smell of alcohol that stuck to my tattered shirt that Matron so ungraciously tattered even further.
I was done. I was finally, decidedly, done. I had played my pawns as forward as they could go, attempted to flank the enemy with my trusty knights; my poor bishops and rooks didn't even know what hit them. Alas, at long last, my queen, my pride and strength, had been vanquished. It was checkmate. I tipped my king, and kicked the stool away.
I closed my eyes.
I waited.
I waited.
I opened my eyes, wondering what the hell did I do wrong? I couldn't breathe, I felt my circulation being cut off, I was having trouble thinking. And yet, there I dangled, still alive. I had seen this done in those grisly old movies all the time. But here I was. Stuck...
*snaps back to present time*
Damn, that was one hell of a day, yeh? They had to fucking call the ambulance because Matron passed out from seeing my purple little mug glaring at her haha. Yeah, I remember that day, the day I found out I couldn't die. I kind of wish I hadn't, because I did what any normal human woulda done: test every possible situation that would normally kill me. Drugs, bullets, even bullets moving at a high velocity, knives, they don't do shit. I cut off appendages, even my head that one time back in Tegucigalpa *chuckles*, but they just came back. I never die; it hurts a lot, but I don't die. And yeah, I play the hero every once in a while. You know, run into burning buildings or dive headfirst into stormy waters. But nothing gave me solace. Nothing gave me peace.
I've had fun avoiding you pricks for the past few years, but damn y'all government types are persistent. I've been playing a lot of chess, you know. I've always liked chess. I've lost my entire force, and now I'm ready to do the right thing; I'm ready to make that sacrifice for the greater good, just like all of my brave soldiers did for me. I'm ready.
Agent: "Thank you, now if you'll follow me then we'll have a police escort take you to the test site. You are doing a great favor to humanity, remember that."
Aw go to hell. | Hey dad?
"What is it Noodrscootr, you caught me at a bad time as usual"
Well I don't really know how to say this but I tried to kill myself and now I'm hanging by a noose but I'm not dead.
"What the fuck how stupid are you? Why would you try to kill yourself? How are you not dead and is this some joke cause this is one of the unfunniest things you have ever done."
No dad this isn't a joke just come cut me down please or else I'll just hang here for a while. I meant to leave a note on my phone but I'm not so sure I can die anymore so that's out the window
"Are you high right now I have important work that needs to be done"
Look dad I know how I am usually but this isn't a joke. I don't want anyone in the family to come and I think you should see this. If you don't come I'll be hanging here and if you do, you'll see it for yourself.
"Alright well this is ridiculous but if you insist. I'll be over soon. I'm gonna kill you if this is a waste of time."
Hey dad?
"What is it"
I love you and I'm sorry. If this went awry and I ended up dead, I would've regretted it.
Also I'm sorry.
"Look Noodrscootr, you're my son and I love you. If you actually died and I never got to see you again I don't know how I would live. I know I'm tough but it's because my father died when I was young. Please just hang tight I'll be there soon."
*laughs* hey dad I see you don't lose that sense of humor even when it's serious
*dad laughs* "look I'll be over soon."
I love you dad
"I love you too"
*click* |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | *ring ring ring*
"Hey man"
"Nothing much....just hanging around"
"Watch the game at 5? Yea sure, I'm down."
"Can you come pick me up?"
"Ok cool. Bring some scissors."
"Because I was trying to master my new magic trick and accidentally tied a rope around my neck and hung myself"
"Yea I know I'm an idiot. Take your time I'm not going anywhere" | I swung back and forth on the banister, hoping that somehow I could break it and get down. The noose, unfortunately and expertly tied might I add, held snug to my neck as I kicked my feet. I raised my eyes to the ceiling, quietly asking for help I knew would not come. That is, after all, why I decided to wear this dastardly neck tie in the first place.
As I closed my eyes and hung my head, great pun, I'm gonna remember that one, I heard a creak in the wood floor below. Standing beneath me was a ruggedly handsome young man, about mid 20's with deep olive skin and bright blue eyes that seemed too wise for words. He seemed like one of those good looking hipster band guys.
"Um, hi." I said, face gleaming red at this awkward predicament.
"Hello Andy" replied the stranger, hands in his coat pocket.
"How..wuh...how do you know my name?" I managed to stutter out.
"I know a lot about you, you're one of my favorites actually." he said with a small,kind smile on his face.
"What do you mean?!" I panicked. Was this guy some stalker? A pervert? Would he buy my clothes? I ignored that last thought, but being a broke college student makes you pretty desperate for cash.
"I mean you will do great things in this world." he answered, swinging his wrist in a lazy flicking motion. "Normally, I am not allowed to interfere, but for you I had to make an exception."
Suddenly, the rope began to slack and dropped me down to the floor.
"You must live, you are a beacon of light in this very bleak world. " the stranger said, a sad tone tinting into his voice as he looked upon my pathetic form.
As I rose to my feet, I bowed my head and cried. Tears of shame, and weakness, and every other emotion that was tearing my soul apart. I felt hand on my shoulder, and as I looked, I only found thin air. I wandered the streets for a while, looking for the stranger. Quesstions and other thoughts buzzed in my mind like a beehive on crank. Who was he? How'd he do that? Where did he find those cool pants? But most of all, I wanted to thank him. As I had come down from the rope I realized that he was right. I had to live. I had to make this world better. |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | Yes, I remember that day so well.
*trippy frame transition into flashback mode*
"Charles!" Dammit, no answer. "Margaret, Samuel, Timmy, Joey, Louisa, fucking Cornelius!" Damn it all to hell, somebody answer. Well, with all this yelling the only way that sorry excuse for a matron didn't hear me was if they were all out. Typical, out and about gallivanting through town on another Gideon-free excursion. I wonder if it's ice cream this time or maybe a trip to the park; perhaps they are just out in the courtyard playing chess. Oh, how I love chess, even if the one time I played Matron Robertson slammed my head against the wall for having too much fun. The tactics, the possibilities, the timeless battle of the wits drew me in that day. I usually watched the other boys and girls play in the courtyard, but that day I played. I orchestrated coups and head on charges. I directed comrades to their death in the name of the King. I lost good men too, soldiers that had done nothing but follow orders. A savage game, war, one that must be fought, not played. In a game, you can start over. In a war, nay in life, sacrifices must be made.
That brings me back to earlier this morning. Today was a special day, for me at least. It was the 17th of March. Here, they called it my other birthday. Privately, I called it my death day. It was the day I came upon this wretched place, this house for unwanted or otherwise cumbersome children. On this special "death" day, I was summoned to Matron for something or other; if I was lucky, it would only be verbal scolding. I wasn't lucky. Two bloody ears later, I returned to my nook, trailing a faint smell of alcohol that stuck to my tattered shirt that Matron so ungraciously tattered even further.
I was done. I was finally, decidedly, done. I had played my pawns as forward as they could go, attempted to flank the enemy with my trusty knights; my poor bishops and rooks didn't even know what hit them. Alas, at long last, my queen, my pride and strength, had been vanquished. It was checkmate. I tipped my king, and kicked the stool away.
I closed my eyes.
I waited.
I waited.
I opened my eyes, wondering what the hell did I do wrong? I couldn't breathe, I felt my circulation being cut off, I was having trouble thinking. And yet, there I dangled, still alive. I had seen this done in those grisly old movies all the time. But here I was. Stuck...
*snaps back to present time*
Damn, that was one hell of a day, yeh? They had to fucking call the ambulance because Matron passed out from seeing my purple little mug glaring at her haha. Yeah, I remember that day, the day I found out I couldn't die. I kind of wish I hadn't, because I did what any normal human woulda done: test every possible situation that would normally kill me. Drugs, bullets, even bullets moving at a high velocity, knives, they don't do shit. I cut off appendages, even my head that one time back in Tegucigalpa *chuckles*, but they just came back. I never die; it hurts a lot, but I don't die. And yeah, I play the hero every once in a while. You know, run into burning buildings or dive headfirst into stormy waters. But nothing gave me solace. Nothing gave me peace.
I've had fun avoiding you pricks for the past few years, but damn y'all government types are persistent. I've been playing a lot of chess, you know. I've always liked chess. I've lost my entire force, and now I'm ready to do the right thing; I'm ready to make that sacrifice for the greater good, just like all of my brave soldiers did for me. I'm ready.
Agent: "Thank you, now if you'll follow me then we'll have a police escort take you to the test site. You are doing a great favor to humanity, remember that."
Aw go to hell. | I swung back and forth on the banister, hoping that somehow I could break it and get down. The noose, unfortunately and expertly tied might I add, held snug to my neck as I kicked my feet. I raised my eyes to the ceiling, quietly asking for help I knew would not come. That is, after all, why I decided to wear this dastardly neck tie in the first place.
As I closed my eyes and hung my head, great pun, I'm gonna remember that one, I heard a creak in the wood floor below. Standing beneath me was a ruggedly handsome young man, about mid 20's with deep olive skin and bright blue eyes that seemed too wise for words. He seemed like one of those good looking hipster band guys.
"Um, hi." I said, face gleaming red at this awkward predicament.
"Hello Andy" replied the stranger, hands in his coat pocket.
"How..wuh...how do you know my name?" I managed to stutter out.
"I know a lot about you, you're one of my favorites actually." he said with a small,kind smile on his face.
"What do you mean?!" I panicked. Was this guy some stalker? A pervert? Would he buy my clothes? I ignored that last thought, but being a broke college student makes you pretty desperate for cash.
"I mean you will do great things in this world." he answered, swinging his wrist in a lazy flicking motion. "Normally, I am not allowed to interfere, but for you I had to make an exception."
Suddenly, the rope began to slack and dropped me down to the floor.
"You must live, you are a beacon of light in this very bleak world. " the stranger said, a sad tone tinting into his voice as he looked upon my pathetic form.
As I rose to my feet, I bowed my head and cried. Tears of shame, and weakness, and every other emotion that was tearing my soul apart. I felt hand on my shoulder, and as I looked, I only found thin air. I wandered the streets for a while, looking for the stranger. Quesstions and other thoughts buzzed in my mind like a beehive on crank. Who was he? How'd he do that? Where did he find those cool pants? But most of all, I wanted to thank him. As I had come down from the rope I realized that he was right. I had to live. I had to make this world better. |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | Yes, I remember that day so well.
*trippy frame transition into flashback mode*
"Charles!" Dammit, no answer. "Margaret, Samuel, Timmy, Joey, Louisa, fucking Cornelius!" Damn it all to hell, somebody answer. Well, with all this yelling the only way that sorry excuse for a matron didn't hear me was if they were all out. Typical, out and about gallivanting through town on another Gideon-free excursion. I wonder if it's ice cream this time or maybe a trip to the park; perhaps they are just out in the courtyard playing chess. Oh, how I love chess, even if the one time I played Matron Robertson slammed my head against the wall for having too much fun. The tactics, the possibilities, the timeless battle of the wits drew me in that day. I usually watched the other boys and girls play in the courtyard, but that day I played. I orchestrated coups and head on charges. I directed comrades to their death in the name of the King. I lost good men too, soldiers that had done nothing but follow orders. A savage game, war, one that must be fought, not played. In a game, you can start over. In a war, nay in life, sacrifices must be made.
That brings me back to earlier this morning. Today was a special day, for me at least. It was the 17th of March. Here, they called it my other birthday. Privately, I called it my death day. It was the day I came upon this wretched place, this house for unwanted or otherwise cumbersome children. On this special "death" day, I was summoned to Matron for something or other; if I was lucky, it would only be verbal scolding. I wasn't lucky. Two bloody ears later, I returned to my nook, trailing a faint smell of alcohol that stuck to my tattered shirt that Matron so ungraciously tattered even further.
I was done. I was finally, decidedly, done. I had played my pawns as forward as they could go, attempted to flank the enemy with my trusty knights; my poor bishops and rooks didn't even know what hit them. Alas, at long last, my queen, my pride and strength, had been vanquished. It was checkmate. I tipped my king, and kicked the stool away.
I closed my eyes.
I waited.
I waited.
I opened my eyes, wondering what the hell did I do wrong? I couldn't breathe, I felt my circulation being cut off, I was having trouble thinking. And yet, there I dangled, still alive. I had seen this done in those grisly old movies all the time. But here I was. Stuck...
*snaps back to present time*
Damn, that was one hell of a day, yeh? They had to fucking call the ambulance because Matron passed out from seeing my purple little mug glaring at her haha. Yeah, I remember that day, the day I found out I couldn't die. I kind of wish I hadn't, because I did what any normal human woulda done: test every possible situation that would normally kill me. Drugs, bullets, even bullets moving at a high velocity, knives, they don't do shit. I cut off appendages, even my head that one time back in Tegucigalpa *chuckles*, but they just came back. I never die; it hurts a lot, but I don't die. And yeah, I play the hero every once in a while. You know, run into burning buildings or dive headfirst into stormy waters. But nothing gave me solace. Nothing gave me peace.
I've had fun avoiding you pricks for the past few years, but damn y'all government types are persistent. I've been playing a lot of chess, you know. I've always liked chess. I've lost my entire force, and now I'm ready to do the right thing; I'm ready to make that sacrifice for the greater good, just like all of my brave soldiers did for me. I'm ready.
Agent: "Thank you, now if you'll follow me then we'll have a police escort take you to the test site. You are doing a great favor to humanity, remember that."
Aw go to hell. | *This could have gone better.* Dave thought as he twisted, his body hanging from the noose he'd improvised out of neckties and nylon cord. Neither was rated strong enough to suspend a human body for long, but Dave hadn't anticipated hanging himself would take more than a few minutes. Ten, tops.
An hour after he'd bid the cruel world goodbye and kicked the stool out from under him, the ties and cord stubbornly hung on, as did Dave. The surprise he'd felt at living without air faded after about ten minutes. He'd squirmed and coughed and spat as the "rope" sank nylon and silk poly-blend fangs into his flesh and he writhed in horrendous, burning pain until it got boring. He'd then hung in awkward silence from the rafters in his bedroom, occasionally gasping as saliva built up in his mouth and trying to deal with the dull surprise at, literally, failing to kill himself.
Animal panic had taken over then as he floundered, desperately trying it live, *live!* But, after twenty minutes of flailing, Dave realized something was amiss. No-one should have survived this much hanging, at least without suffering something more severe than a mild headache and bruising on the neck. Well, he also had to pee, but one thing at a time. Why was he still alive? Had he failed that badly? He reached up and tugged on the rope to see if it was a weakness in the knot, but it was pulled so tight he couldn't dig beneath the bulging skin, so that seemed right. But maybe it wasn't cutting off his air so, as a test, he held his breath for some minutes and, aside from the annoying burning in his chest, nothing changed. Only after another ten minutes of Dave-enforced airlessness when the throbbing stopped and with it, his heart, did Dave decide to take more drastic measures and get himself down.
He dangled in the middle of his messy room out of reach of anything to assist him. Looking about with bleary, bloodshot eyes, he saw that there, on his desk, was his phone. Luckily, he'd thought to unlock it before committing suicide in case any of his friends wanted to check his messages and stitch together his story. He reached out with his toe, barely managing to wake up the phone. Straining to the utmost, he could just reach the “call” app. His vision blurred beyond the ability to see, he mashed wildly with his feet, flashing through screens and meaningless icons until he heard ringing.
His heart stopped (metaphorically) in his chest as one ring turned to two. Then three. Then four, and then, just as hope left him, there was a *click*.
“I told you not to call me, again, asshole.” Melissa's angry voice greeted him.
“*Glurb! Blurgle!* He said, his voicebox squished nearly into paste by continuous high-pressure.
“Are you...are you crying? God, you are such a loser. I don't care how desperate you are,”
“*Glurg!*” Dave glurged, desperately.
“I don't care!” She screeched, the phone's tinny speakers barely bringing it to his ears. “Go away!”
There was a *click* and Dave screamed at the phone but the purity of his fury was dissipated by the fact he sounded like a drowning goose. Then he cried, but the sobs only hurt his chest so he quickly stopped and tried to think of what to do. He couldn't stay up there forever. He would have to try another method of suicide and, at any rate, the blood that was denied access to his brain was pooling elsewhere. The warnings from Viagra commercials about erections lasting longer than four hours were sounding in his ears, impelling him to act. Maybe he wanted to end his life, but now that he was stuck living, he was damned if anything bad was going to happen to Little Dave.
Looking around with a new sense of determination, Dave saw that he first needed to get his feet under something solid. His desk was close and, with a bit of luck, if he could swing onto it, maybe, *maybe* he could get his feet under him and stand again. He tried to swing but, without any way to centre his weight, nothing happened. Squirming helped a little, and then, through trial and error, he settled on wildly flailing his arms to achieve some back and forth motion. Little Dave bravely pointed the way forward. He was getting somewhere! Success was imminent!
Then, he heard the front door unlock as Marshall, his roommate, came home.
His roommate. Who would, as he had a thousand time before, go into the kitchen to drop his keys. Once there, he would see the suicide note Dave left him. And who, upon reading the note, would run upstairs, expecting to find Dave dead. Instead, he would find Dave very much alive, and while that would be an occasion for some joy, it was imperative that he not find Dave hanging from the ceiling with a full-blown erection. “Why”, was self-explanatory.
With determination verging on reckless fury, he swung his arms like a power-walker on meth, setting his body in rough arcs towards his desk. The rafters groaned and the ceiling shed flakes of drywall from the hole he'd cut, but Dave's ear was instead turned towards what was happening downstairs.
“Anyone home?” Marshall yelled. “Dave?”
*Shit*, thought Dave. He swung harder and the beam groaned more, the drywall snowfall becoming a blizzard.
“Holy...Dave!” Dave heard Marshall yell. “What the hell! Dave!”
Marshall's feet pounded up the stairs and Dave swung harder, waving his arms in full, wild circles. His foot touched the desk, and slipped. On the next arc, he gripped, held it, and then slipped. Drawing in all his determination (and fear), he swung once more as Marshall made it to the top of the stairs.
There was a groaning, grinding *crack* as something above him gave way and Dave, flailing, flew through the air. He landed on the desk and the Ikea manufacturing, as sub-contracted to a drunken Dave several years ago, gave way. Stunned, but not particularly injured, Dave could only turn his head to the door as Marshall burst through.
“Hey man,” Dave croaked from the ruins of his desk, his pants tented by an enormous erection and his makeshift rope still draped around his neck. “What's up?”
He got the call three weeks later. |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | Yes, I remember that day so well.
*trippy frame transition into flashback mode*
"Charles!" Dammit, no answer. "Margaret, Samuel, Timmy, Joey, Louisa, fucking Cornelius!" Damn it all to hell, somebody answer. Well, with all this yelling the only way that sorry excuse for a matron didn't hear me was if they were all out. Typical, out and about gallivanting through town on another Gideon-free excursion. I wonder if it's ice cream this time or maybe a trip to the park; perhaps they are just out in the courtyard playing chess. Oh, how I love chess, even if the one time I played Matron Robertson slammed my head against the wall for having too much fun. The tactics, the possibilities, the timeless battle of the wits drew me in that day. I usually watched the other boys and girls play in the courtyard, but that day I played. I orchestrated coups and head on charges. I directed comrades to their death in the name of the King. I lost good men too, soldiers that had done nothing but follow orders. A savage game, war, one that must be fought, not played. In a game, you can start over. In a war, nay in life, sacrifices must be made.
That brings me back to earlier this morning. Today was a special day, for me at least. It was the 17th of March. Here, they called it my other birthday. Privately, I called it my death day. It was the day I came upon this wretched place, this house for unwanted or otherwise cumbersome children. On this special "death" day, I was summoned to Matron for something or other; if I was lucky, it would only be verbal scolding. I wasn't lucky. Two bloody ears later, I returned to my nook, trailing a faint smell of alcohol that stuck to my tattered shirt that Matron so ungraciously tattered even further.
I was done. I was finally, decidedly, done. I had played my pawns as forward as they could go, attempted to flank the enemy with my trusty knights; my poor bishops and rooks didn't even know what hit them. Alas, at long last, my queen, my pride and strength, had been vanquished. It was checkmate. I tipped my king, and kicked the stool away.
I closed my eyes.
I waited.
I waited.
I opened my eyes, wondering what the hell did I do wrong? I couldn't breathe, I felt my circulation being cut off, I was having trouble thinking. And yet, there I dangled, still alive. I had seen this done in those grisly old movies all the time. But here I was. Stuck...
*snaps back to present time*
Damn, that was one hell of a day, yeh? They had to fucking call the ambulance because Matron passed out from seeing my purple little mug glaring at her haha. Yeah, I remember that day, the day I found out I couldn't die. I kind of wish I hadn't, because I did what any normal human woulda done: test every possible situation that would normally kill me. Drugs, bullets, even bullets moving at a high velocity, knives, they don't do shit. I cut off appendages, even my head that one time back in Tegucigalpa *chuckles*, but they just came back. I never die; it hurts a lot, but I don't die. And yeah, I play the hero every once in a while. You know, run into burning buildings or dive headfirst into stormy waters. But nothing gave me solace. Nothing gave me peace.
I've had fun avoiding you pricks for the past few years, but damn y'all government types are persistent. I've been playing a lot of chess, you know. I've always liked chess. I've lost my entire force, and now I'm ready to do the right thing; I'm ready to make that sacrifice for the greater good, just like all of my brave soldiers did for me. I'm ready.
Agent: "Thank you, now if you'll follow me then we'll have a police escort take you to the test site. You are doing a great favor to humanity, remember that."
Aw go to hell. | "Hey, dude, come in here!"
"What? I'm busy!"
"Just for a second, I need a little help!"
Alex rolled her eyes as she stepped into the room. She'd been surprisingly accepting of my immortality - a true friend. She had even found a therapist for me and started spending time at my house to keep me occupied.
"Is this about that app again?"
"Please! I can't get three stars on this level, and Om Nom has to get that candy!" |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | It’s all green around me, save for the yellow spears of sunlight piercing through the thick murky shadow of the lake. Every so often a fish would swim by, rippling the surface and appearing like a dark spot in the sky. It’s been so long down here that all my air is gone and I am sitting at the bottom, perched on a large rock that’s tied to my foot. Zip tied, and no way to untie it. I’ve tried. For a day and a half I tried. Then I tried to lift the rock, but even with the water taking some of the weight away, it’s no use.
I threw the rock off a small boat dock in a tiny lake in a nothing backwater town. It had all become too much to take. The stress and the fear and the banality of existence. So I tried to check out. To opt out of existence. I wasn’t going to take the overplayed, simple ways out either. Poison, a gun, a noose. These things would just put me in the same pile of unremembered dead that get mourned for a day and forgotten. My death will be a mystery. I will disappear. I never needed to be burned or buried. I don’t want people who don’t know me to appear at my funeral. I want people to wonder. So I threw myself in a lake. I’ve never been within a hundred miles of here. They’ll never find me.
But I never expected this. Unable to die, living tethered to the bottom like a fishtank bubble diver. I never expected this attempt to fail like the other two. I should get back to everyone, but I don’t know how to get off the bottom of this lake. I brought my cellphone but I am sure that after 96 hours of being submerged, it is not likely to work.
Kind of ironic, isn’t it. I always needed to be saved, but I put myself out of saving reach. Then I just continue to exist. My life is a metaphor for my life. How boring.
---
This character does not represent the thoughts or opinions of the author. Please please PLEASE get help if you have any self-harming thoughts. People love you. They do.
| Reading these stories made me decide that if I ever choose to hang myself, I will have a knife or saw in my pocket. |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | "Dude, I can't understand you. I think there's a problem with the line. Text me!"
The line went dead. I really should have seen that coming. Speech requires breath, a resource I was at that time severely lacking. I tried to think of how I could explain this through a text but nothing seemed appropriate. There's no social etiquette for cutting your brother down from a wooden support in his basement. After five minutes and only coming up with "Cut me dwn pls kthx" I decided that I was going to have to rely on good old fashioned shock value. He was going to need a picture. Snapchat seemed like the best bet. I didn't want this ending up on some weird suicide fetish site on the internet or something equally humiliating.
"Message sent"
Come on, you know I'm going to message you, check your damn phone.
"Message delivered"
Oh thank god. Immortality apparently didn't mean immunity to pain and everytime I moved the rope rubbed my neck.
"1 screenshot"
YOU SICK FUCK! You think your brother killed himself and you take a fucking screenshot?
About 15 minutes later I heard footsteps hammering across the floor above me, the basement door slam against the wall as it flew open and my brother bound down the stairs.
Hysterical laughter was not the first reaction I was expecting from a man seeing his only sibling dangling from the ceiling, but after 10 minutes of it the novelty was gone. By the time he started cutting me down I was throwing punches at him I was so annoyed. This was when he discovered that he could spin me.
The rope finally snapped when he was half way through and I tumbled to the floor, dizzy, humiliated and pissed off beyond any reasonable measure.
"YOU THINK I'M DYING AND YOU SCREENSHOT THE FUCKING PICTURE? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!"
"Well bro" he giggled, "That's easier said then done. Follow me, we're going to go talk to Mum and Dad" | Reading these stories made me decide that if I ever choose to hang myself, I will have a knife or saw in my pocket. |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | I thought I'd finally found a way to stop fucking things up.
Well, it looks like I fucked that up too.
"Uh... hey! Hey, anyone! Can you give me a hand?!" Silence. "Hey! Somebody help me!!" Still nothing. Looks like I'll be enjoying the sound of swinging on a rope - by my head - until someone nearby comes home from work. Unless...
Though I'd bound my hands behind me, maybe there was a way to get my phone out. I fished around for a few minutes until I got it out. I managed to hit speed dial at random and press **Call** before I fucked things up and dropped it - I prayed to whatever god that it wasn't-
"Hello?"
Shit. It was.
"Uhh... hehe, heyyyy, Karen. What's new?"
"The fuck do you think you doin', callin' me right after we broke up?! I told you, we're done! I never wanna hear from you again, you blundering fuckwad!"
"Wait, Karen, don't hang up!!" More silence. "Uh... Karen?"
"...What do you want?" Good. She hadn't hung up.
"I seem to have gotten myself stuck somehow. Could you, uh, come help me out?"
"Mother of- what the hell were you jacking off into this time?!?" My faced flushed with embarrassment.
"That was *one time*! Look, this is serious. Could you just come back and help me out here? I'm in a pretty bad bind." That's true - my bindings were already loosening.
"Fine, but if you're fucking with me, I'm calling the cops."
Twenty achingly-long minutes later, a key turns in the lock and Karen waltzed in. "Good thing I didn't throw this out when - HOLY SHIT. What the fuck, man?" I cursed myself for not putting on pants before I put on the noose. "I told you if you're fucking with me-"
"I swear, this is serious!!"
"...shit, man. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I... I'm not that good at communicating well."
"Damn right. Listen, lemme see if I can get you down. It's the least I can do."
"Thanks, Karen, I-"
"No really, it's the bare minimum. As soon as you're down, I'm out."
I sighed as she fished through the kitchen for a knife. "What's taking so long?" Karen walked out mumbling, with a kinfe in her hand and a slice of cake in her mouth. Geez, what did I see in her? "Just get me down." She pulled up the chair I knocked over and climbed up, crumbs falling in my eyes. "Hey, watch it?" She glared at me with a look that said *shut up, or I'll shut you up myself.* I shut up.
A few minutes later, she cut through the rope. I fell to the floor, knocking against the stool and hitting the ground *hard*. Groaning, I looked up to see Karen teetering on the tilting stool. Where'd the knife go- aw, shit.
With a thud, the knife slid its way in me, nestled snugly in my chest. FUCK, that hurt. I screamed. Karen fell, looked up, and then screamed at me. This went on for a bit, until...
"Hey, why the fuck aren't you dead yet?"
"Fuck you!" I yelled.
"No, seriously. You're barely even bleeding."
I looked down at my torn, bloodied shirt. Er... my torn shirt. "What the fuck, you're right. How did you - WAIT, GO CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE, YOU FUCKWAD!!"
"Ah, right!! Er..." Karen fumbled her phone and landed on me, driving the blade in deeper. I screamed and pushed her off, blacking out.
---------------------------
I came to in a hospital bed. Karen was nowhere to be seen; instead, a serious-looking man in a suit sat next to me.
"Welcome back, Agent Carlisle."
"What the- Agent? What are you-"
"Calm down, sir. You've just had an accident, remember?"
I looked down at my smooth, stab-wound-free chest. Clearly, that was a lie. Then why did I remember-
"You have an ability the government wants. Somehow, you just survived both a hanging and a kitchen knife to the heart. If you want my opinion, I think you might somehow be immortal. If I'm right - and I usually am - you may have a future working for the C.I.A."
"But- what? Why? I'm the least talented guy I've ever met."
"That is true. But that's the beauty of it, Agent Carlisle!" He leaned in close. "Imagine how much havoc you'd wreak on a terrorist organization as you rise through the ranks. Imagine starting riots as a foreign diplomat. Imagine getting caught by spies and being immune to harm. Imagine -" He leaned back, " imagine being the world's greatest saboteur."
I pondered that. It did sound pretty good. "What are my options? What if I don't want to?"
The man smiled. "Well, your other options is to spend the rest of your natural life being tested in a lab. Judging by your injuries, that'll probably be *very* long time."
Two hours later, I was on a plane headed to an undisclosed training camp, ready to *fuck shit up*.
--------------------------------------------------
"Swing and a Miss"
Daily Short Story 006/100
| Reading these stories made me decide that if I ever choose to hang myself, I will have a knife or saw in my pocket. |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | "Dude, I can't understand you. I think there's a problem with the line. Text me!"
The line went dead. I really should have seen that coming. Speech requires breath, a resource I was at that time severely lacking. I tried to think of how I could explain this through a text but nothing seemed appropriate. There's no social etiquette for cutting your brother down from a wooden support in his basement. After five minutes and only coming up with "Cut me dwn pls kthx" I decided that I was going to have to rely on good old fashioned shock value. He was going to need a picture. Snapchat seemed like the best bet. I didn't want this ending up on some weird suicide fetish site on the internet or something equally humiliating.
"Message sent"
Come on, you know I'm going to message you, check your damn phone.
"Message delivered"
Oh thank god. Immortality apparently didn't mean immunity to pain and everytime I moved the rope rubbed my neck.
"1 screenshot"
YOU SICK FUCK! You think your brother killed himself and you take a fucking screenshot?
About 15 minutes later I heard footsteps hammering across the floor above me, the basement door slam against the wall as it flew open and my brother bound down the stairs.
Hysterical laughter was not the first reaction I was expecting from a man seeing his only sibling dangling from the ceiling, but after 10 minutes of it the novelty was gone. By the time he started cutting me down I was throwing punches at him I was so annoyed. This was when he discovered that he could spin me.
The rope finally snapped when he was half way through and I tumbled to the floor, dizzy, humiliated and pissed off beyond any reasonable measure.
"YOU THINK I'M DYING AND YOU SCREENSHOT THE FUCKING PICTURE? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!"
"Well bro" he giggled, "That's easier said then done. Follow me, we're going to go talk to Mum and Dad" | It’s all green around me, save for the yellow spears of sunlight piercing through the thick murky shadow of the lake. Every so often a fish would swim by, rippling the surface and appearing like a dark spot in the sky. It’s been so long down here that all my air is gone and I am sitting at the bottom, perched on a large rock that’s tied to my foot. Zip tied, and no way to untie it. I’ve tried. For a day and a half I tried. Then I tried to lift the rock, but even with the water taking some of the weight away, it’s no use.
I threw the rock off a small boat dock in a tiny lake in a nothing backwater town. It had all become too much to take. The stress and the fear and the banality of existence. So I tried to check out. To opt out of existence. I wasn’t going to take the overplayed, simple ways out either. Poison, a gun, a noose. These things would just put me in the same pile of unremembered dead that get mourned for a day and forgotten. My death will be a mystery. I will disappear. I never needed to be burned or buried. I don’t want people who don’t know me to appear at my funeral. I want people to wonder. So I threw myself in a lake. I’ve never been within a hundred miles of here. They’ll never find me.
But I never expected this. Unable to die, living tethered to the bottom like a fishtank bubble diver. I never expected this attempt to fail like the other two. I should get back to everyone, but I don’t know how to get off the bottom of this lake. I brought my cellphone but I am sure that after 96 hours of being submerged, it is not likely to work.
Kind of ironic, isn’t it. I always needed to be saved, but I put myself out of saving reach. Then I just continue to exist. My life is a metaphor for my life. How boring.
---
This character does not represent the thoughts or opinions of the author. Please please PLEASE get help if you have any self-harming thoughts. People love you. They do.
|
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | I swung there like a fucktard, dangling from the inside of my closet. I thought about what was going on. The doorknob that I tied the other end of the rope on to didn't break. Being a short woman, standing at barely 5"4, I was far from the floor. So.. it should have worked. I stopped breathing. And yet I am conscious. That must mean that I am alive, in some way or another, without breathing. I reached for my phone and thought about asking Siri why I'm still alive. Instead, I scrolled through my address book and thought about who I could and who I should call to help me down. I was able to just touch the top of the chair I jumped off with my feet, in order to breathe a bit, so I could talk. The sensation of breath was dizzying, like I had felt air and discovered the sense of smell for the first time. I listened to the phone ring as I thought about what to say. What could I say to explain the situation I was in? Thankfully, the person that picked up the other line didn't need explanations.
"Hello."
"Heyy" I said, phrasing it almost like a question. "What are you doing right now?"
"Buying dildos, you want one?" Asked Holly. I didn't know if she was joking or not.
"I'm not sure I need another one. You should come over. I think I need some help." I said to her. I knew that she would not say no to me.
"Yeah girl I'll be right there." I heard the uplifted tone of her voice as the phone clicked.
Holly and I had an interesting relationship. She used to be in a group of friends that I had fallen out of contact with a long time ago. She functioned as my drug dealer, my fuck buddy, and I functioned as her confidant and emotional crutch.
Ten minutes later Holly burst in the door and called my name. I told her I was in the closet and I could practically hear her eyebrows wiggle. She opened the door and I exhaled quickly in my breath before my air was cut off again. She cackled maniacally as I hung there, staring at her. I knew I looked pathetic. She cut me down and sat down on my couch with me. She took out her medium sized bong from her big tote bag she carried around everywhere. We lit up, and after we got decently stoned, she looked at me.
"You okay?" She asked,
"Nah." I said. There was no point in lying to her.
"Wanna talk about it?"
"No." | Gasping and thrashing, the tight noose choked him. The more he moved, the more his neck went red raw and burnt; the more it burnt, the more he thrashed. It went on, and on, until he finally found the appealing sway he was hoping for, back and forth along the bottom floor of his house, the rope attached to the curving balcony above.
In his mind, he swore. Beneath him Mr. Squiggles the brown-and-white ragdoll stared up at him with wide blue eyes and meowed constantly. He was hungry. He was always hungry. It would just be another thing to do, he supposed, if he could get down.
Thankfully he wasn't completely stupid. Hanging, his neck too strong or his luck too great, that flicker of hope as he jumped seemed to have kept him alive. In his ears blared the music from his phone, the last sweet reminder of life he loved...now, turned, to Blurred Lines. He shivered and jerked again, only serving to send pulsations of pain spreading through his body.
God's bollocks, how did that dreadful song get in here?
If only to live to shut it off, he would do just that. Prodding his fingers through the noose, a barrier between rope and burning red flesh he flexed and flailed his other hand to his phone. The first grope served to pull at his shirt, the second his belt, the other a wave at the door watching him in his struggle, Mr. Squiggles below now leaping to attack his feet and missing by a few feet, yet not disturbed by the task at hand; his master had become a toy.
Finally he managed it. Grabbing the headphones and pulling them out, one yank, two yanks and a final third, successful one pulled it into his slowly dulling finger's grasp, the blood draining from them and into his head. With that task complete, he turned off the dreadful song and took a moment to...do something, anything.
I saw the blinding light. I'm not dead. Is it that I am immortal, am I lucky, am I cursed to drop from here and let that fat-pawed creature eat me?
As it turned out, he was immortal. He went to look at his phone as best he could and his head jerked to one side, lopsided, his spine dreadfully broken. The man sighed. It was a terrible day.
Mother would be a terrible idea to phone. What would she say, "You fool! You idiot! You could have landed on the cat! At least do it from a tree in the park, or from a bridge; you'll probably get a park or the bridge named after you then!"
No, not her. His father? Most likely drinking. His brother, who always thought that suicide was fascinating? No, no, he'd probably have him go to hospital to check out his neck that, oddly, began to lose its sense of pain. It would have to be Jim.
Fumbling his way through the short-list of phone contacts, he pressed Jim's name and squirmed to raise it to his tomato-coloured ears.
"Hey bud!" the friendly voice spoke. "You alright? Heard you were all depressed and I was on my way over. You're not doing something weird, are you?"
How could a jelly-necked immortal respond to that? It was a terrible joke that sprung to mind but, as he was so proud of his dad-jokes and terrible dad-dancing, he replied as his mind knew best; "Oh, just...haaarghg-ing around! Oh, b-hiiighghght-t my tongue. C-come...around!"
"On the way already, bud. Hold on. I'll bring a couple drinks over to make you feel better."
"Th-aaarghgnk-kuh you!" and paused, squinting somewhat. "Some ice too, a big bag of it."
"See you soon!"
Have you ever seen the face of someone who finds out not only you hung yourself but survived it, broke your neck, and found out you was immortal? Jim shrieked like a girl and slammed the door shut, took two steps forwards and promptly passed out, banging his head onto the radiator by the wall.
"Ji-hrrhghgnh-m! Oh...b-balls...b-better...call John..." |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | "Dude, I can't understand you. I think there's a problem with the line. Text me!"
The line went dead. I really should have seen that coming. Speech requires breath, a resource I was at that time severely lacking. I tried to think of how I could explain this through a text but nothing seemed appropriate. There's no social etiquette for cutting your brother down from a wooden support in his basement. After five minutes and only coming up with "Cut me dwn pls kthx" I decided that I was going to have to rely on good old fashioned shock value. He was going to need a picture. Snapchat seemed like the best bet. I didn't want this ending up on some weird suicide fetish site on the internet or something equally humiliating.
"Message sent"
Come on, you know I'm going to message you, check your damn phone.
"Message delivered"
Oh thank god. Immortality apparently didn't mean immunity to pain and everytime I moved the rope rubbed my neck.
"1 screenshot"
YOU SICK FUCK! You think your brother killed himself and you take a fucking screenshot?
About 15 minutes later I heard footsteps hammering across the floor above me, the basement door slam against the wall as it flew open and my brother bound down the stairs.
Hysterical laughter was not the first reaction I was expecting from a man seeing his only sibling dangling from the ceiling, but after 10 minutes of it the novelty was gone. By the time he started cutting me down I was throwing punches at him I was so annoyed. This was when he discovered that he could spin me.
The rope finally snapped when he was half way through and I tumbled to the floor, dizzy, humiliated and pissed off beyond any reasonable measure.
"YOU THINK I'M DYING AND YOU SCREENSHOT THE FUCKING PICTURE? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!"
"Well bro" he giggled, "That's easier said then done. Follow me, we're going to go talk to Mum and Dad" | Gasping and thrashing, the tight noose choked him. The more he moved, the more his neck went red raw and burnt; the more it burnt, the more he thrashed. It went on, and on, until he finally found the appealing sway he was hoping for, back and forth along the bottom floor of his house, the rope attached to the curving balcony above.
In his mind, he swore. Beneath him Mr. Squiggles the brown-and-white ragdoll stared up at him with wide blue eyes and meowed constantly. He was hungry. He was always hungry. It would just be another thing to do, he supposed, if he could get down.
Thankfully he wasn't completely stupid. Hanging, his neck too strong or his luck too great, that flicker of hope as he jumped seemed to have kept him alive. In his ears blared the music from his phone, the last sweet reminder of life he loved...now, turned, to Blurred Lines. He shivered and jerked again, only serving to send pulsations of pain spreading through his body.
God's bollocks, how did that dreadful song get in here?
If only to live to shut it off, he would do just that. Prodding his fingers through the noose, a barrier between rope and burning red flesh he flexed and flailed his other hand to his phone. The first grope served to pull at his shirt, the second his belt, the other a wave at the door watching him in his struggle, Mr. Squiggles below now leaping to attack his feet and missing by a few feet, yet not disturbed by the task at hand; his master had become a toy.
Finally he managed it. Grabbing the headphones and pulling them out, one yank, two yanks and a final third, successful one pulled it into his slowly dulling finger's grasp, the blood draining from them and into his head. With that task complete, he turned off the dreadful song and took a moment to...do something, anything.
I saw the blinding light. I'm not dead. Is it that I am immortal, am I lucky, am I cursed to drop from here and let that fat-pawed creature eat me?
As it turned out, he was immortal. He went to look at his phone as best he could and his head jerked to one side, lopsided, his spine dreadfully broken. The man sighed. It was a terrible day.
Mother would be a terrible idea to phone. What would she say, "You fool! You idiot! You could have landed on the cat! At least do it from a tree in the park, or from a bridge; you'll probably get a park or the bridge named after you then!"
No, not her. His father? Most likely drinking. His brother, who always thought that suicide was fascinating? No, no, he'd probably have him go to hospital to check out his neck that, oddly, began to lose its sense of pain. It would have to be Jim.
Fumbling his way through the short-list of phone contacts, he pressed Jim's name and squirmed to raise it to his tomato-coloured ears.
"Hey bud!" the friendly voice spoke. "You alright? Heard you were all depressed and I was on my way over. You're not doing something weird, are you?"
How could a jelly-necked immortal respond to that? It was a terrible joke that sprung to mind but, as he was so proud of his dad-jokes and terrible dad-dancing, he replied as his mind knew best; "Oh, just...haaarghg-ing around! Oh, b-hiiighghght-t my tongue. C-come...around!"
"On the way already, bud. Hold on. I'll bring a couple drinks over to make you feel better."
"Th-aaarghgnk-kuh you!" and paused, squinting somewhat. "Some ice too, a big bag of it."
"See you soon!"
Have you ever seen the face of someone who finds out not only you hung yourself but survived it, broke your neck, and found out you was immortal? Jim shrieked like a girl and slammed the door shut, took two steps forwards and promptly passed out, banging his head onto the radiator by the wall.
"Ji-hrrhghgnh-m! Oh...b-balls...b-better...call John..." |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | I thought I'd finally found a way to stop fucking things up.
Well, it looks like I fucked that up too.
"Uh... hey! Hey, anyone! Can you give me a hand?!" Silence. "Hey! Somebody help me!!" Still nothing. Looks like I'll be enjoying the sound of swinging on a rope - by my head - until someone nearby comes home from work. Unless...
Though I'd bound my hands behind me, maybe there was a way to get my phone out. I fished around for a few minutes until I got it out. I managed to hit speed dial at random and press **Call** before I fucked things up and dropped it - I prayed to whatever god that it wasn't-
"Hello?"
Shit. It was.
"Uhh... hehe, heyyyy, Karen. What's new?"
"The fuck do you think you doin', callin' me right after we broke up?! I told you, we're done! I never wanna hear from you again, you blundering fuckwad!"
"Wait, Karen, don't hang up!!" More silence. "Uh... Karen?"
"...What do you want?" Good. She hadn't hung up.
"I seem to have gotten myself stuck somehow. Could you, uh, come help me out?"
"Mother of- what the hell were you jacking off into this time?!?" My faced flushed with embarrassment.
"That was *one time*! Look, this is serious. Could you just come back and help me out here? I'm in a pretty bad bind." That's true - my bindings were already loosening.
"Fine, but if you're fucking with me, I'm calling the cops."
Twenty achingly-long minutes later, a key turns in the lock and Karen waltzed in. "Good thing I didn't throw this out when - HOLY SHIT. What the fuck, man?" I cursed myself for not putting on pants before I put on the noose. "I told you if you're fucking with me-"
"I swear, this is serious!!"
"...shit, man. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I... I'm not that good at communicating well."
"Damn right. Listen, lemme see if I can get you down. It's the least I can do."
"Thanks, Karen, I-"
"No really, it's the bare minimum. As soon as you're down, I'm out."
I sighed as she fished through the kitchen for a knife. "What's taking so long?" Karen walked out mumbling, with a kinfe in her hand and a slice of cake in her mouth. Geez, what did I see in her? "Just get me down." She pulled up the chair I knocked over and climbed up, crumbs falling in my eyes. "Hey, watch it?" She glared at me with a look that said *shut up, or I'll shut you up myself.* I shut up.
A few minutes later, she cut through the rope. I fell to the floor, knocking against the stool and hitting the ground *hard*. Groaning, I looked up to see Karen teetering on the tilting stool. Where'd the knife go- aw, shit.
With a thud, the knife slid its way in me, nestled snugly in my chest. FUCK, that hurt. I screamed. Karen fell, looked up, and then screamed at me. This went on for a bit, until...
"Hey, why the fuck aren't you dead yet?"
"Fuck you!" I yelled.
"No, seriously. You're barely even bleeding."
I looked down at my torn, bloodied shirt. Er... my torn shirt. "What the fuck, you're right. How did you - WAIT, GO CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE, YOU FUCKWAD!!"
"Ah, right!! Er..." Karen fumbled her phone and landed on me, driving the blade in deeper. I screamed and pushed her off, blacking out.
---------------------------
I came to in a hospital bed. Karen was nowhere to be seen; instead, a serious-looking man in a suit sat next to me.
"Welcome back, Agent Carlisle."
"What the- Agent? What are you-"
"Calm down, sir. You've just had an accident, remember?"
I looked down at my smooth, stab-wound-free chest. Clearly, that was a lie. Then why did I remember-
"You have an ability the government wants. Somehow, you just survived both a hanging and a kitchen knife to the heart. If you want my opinion, I think you might somehow be immortal. If I'm right - and I usually am - you may have a future working for the C.I.A."
"But- what? Why? I'm the least talented guy I've ever met."
"That is true. But that's the beauty of it, Agent Carlisle!" He leaned in close. "Imagine how much havoc you'd wreak on a terrorist organization as you rise through the ranks. Imagine starting riots as a foreign diplomat. Imagine getting caught by spies and being immune to harm. Imagine -" He leaned back, " imagine being the world's greatest saboteur."
I pondered that. It did sound pretty good. "What are my options? What if I don't want to?"
The man smiled. "Well, your other options is to spend the rest of your natural life being tested in a lab. Judging by your injuries, that'll probably be *very* long time."
Two hours later, I was on a plane headed to an undisclosed training camp, ready to *fuck shit up*.
--------------------------------------------------
"Swing and a Miss"
Daily Short Story 006/100
| Gasping and thrashing, the tight noose choked him. The more he moved, the more his neck went red raw and burnt; the more it burnt, the more he thrashed. It went on, and on, until he finally found the appealing sway he was hoping for, back and forth along the bottom floor of his house, the rope attached to the curving balcony above.
In his mind, he swore. Beneath him Mr. Squiggles the brown-and-white ragdoll stared up at him with wide blue eyes and meowed constantly. He was hungry. He was always hungry. It would just be another thing to do, he supposed, if he could get down.
Thankfully he wasn't completely stupid. Hanging, his neck too strong or his luck too great, that flicker of hope as he jumped seemed to have kept him alive. In his ears blared the music from his phone, the last sweet reminder of life he loved...now, turned, to Blurred Lines. He shivered and jerked again, only serving to send pulsations of pain spreading through his body.
God's bollocks, how did that dreadful song get in here?
If only to live to shut it off, he would do just that. Prodding his fingers through the noose, a barrier between rope and burning red flesh he flexed and flailed his other hand to his phone. The first grope served to pull at his shirt, the second his belt, the other a wave at the door watching him in his struggle, Mr. Squiggles below now leaping to attack his feet and missing by a few feet, yet not disturbed by the task at hand; his master had become a toy.
Finally he managed it. Grabbing the headphones and pulling them out, one yank, two yanks and a final third, successful one pulled it into his slowly dulling finger's grasp, the blood draining from them and into his head. With that task complete, he turned off the dreadful song and took a moment to...do something, anything.
I saw the blinding light. I'm not dead. Is it that I am immortal, am I lucky, am I cursed to drop from here and let that fat-pawed creature eat me?
As it turned out, he was immortal. He went to look at his phone as best he could and his head jerked to one side, lopsided, his spine dreadfully broken. The man sighed. It was a terrible day.
Mother would be a terrible idea to phone. What would she say, "You fool! You idiot! You could have landed on the cat! At least do it from a tree in the park, or from a bridge; you'll probably get a park or the bridge named after you then!"
No, not her. His father? Most likely drinking. His brother, who always thought that suicide was fascinating? No, no, he'd probably have him go to hospital to check out his neck that, oddly, began to lose its sense of pain. It would have to be Jim.
Fumbling his way through the short-list of phone contacts, he pressed Jim's name and squirmed to raise it to his tomato-coloured ears.
"Hey bud!" the friendly voice spoke. "You alright? Heard you were all depressed and I was on my way over. You're not doing something weird, are you?"
How could a jelly-necked immortal respond to that? It was a terrible joke that sprung to mind but, as he was so proud of his dad-jokes and terrible dad-dancing, he replied as his mind knew best; "Oh, just...haaarghg-ing around! Oh, b-hiiighghght-t my tongue. C-come...around!"
"On the way already, bud. Hold on. I'll bring a couple drinks over to make you feel better."
"Th-aaarghgnk-kuh you!" and paused, squinting somewhat. "Some ice too, a big bag of it."
"See you soon!"
Have you ever seen the face of someone who finds out not only you hung yourself but survived it, broke your neck, and found out you was immortal? Jim shrieked like a girl and slammed the door shut, took two steps forwards and promptly passed out, banging his head onto the radiator by the wall.
"Ji-hrrhghgnh-m! Oh...b-balls...b-better...call John..." |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | I swung there on the end of the rope with the overturned chair underneath my dangling feet. At first I just closed my eyes and waited for the blackout to come, but it never did. I generally had the feeling that one gets when they can't go to sleep despite their best efforts. No amount of tossing and turning was going to push me over the edge this time.
I hung for a minute longer before I realized that I just wasn't going to die this way. Now all I had to do was get dow- shit. I was stuck.
When you're preparing to end it all, typically an escape strategy is not on the forefront of your planning. The loop was smaller than I had imagined, so just slipping my head out wasn't going to work. I grabbed onto the rope and pulled as hard as I could to lift myself out, but I had always had the upper body strength of a goldfish and I wasn't exactly pumping iron up until what was to be my last day.
I only had one last thing I could do.
*sigh* "MOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"
"YES, HONEY?"
"I NEED YOUR HELP!"
"CAN IT WAIT? I'M KINDA DOING SOMETHING!"
"NO, MOM, IT CAN'T WAIT."
"FINE! I'LL BE THERE IN A SECOND."
Christ this was going to suck. I could hear it already. Mom's footsteps worked there way up the stairs, slowly progressed towards my room, and suddenly there she was.
"Oh my gosh Jeffery ohmygosh!"
Immediately she was understandably frantic, but that didn't make her any less annoying than usual.
"Mom, I'm fine, I just need you to cu-."
"Oh my Jeffery, my Jeffery, oh my Jeffery."
"MOM! I'm fine! You need to cut the ro-."
"Why didn't you tell me?! Why didn't you ask for help!?" she sobbed.
At this point I got angry. "Are you *kidding* me!? I tried so many times to get help and you brushed them off as teenage attention seeking! The school councilor warned you three times!"
At this point my mother's frantic wailing had died out once she realized I was going to be fine. Now she was getting defensive.
"Now that's not fair, Jeffery! You know that I was under a lot of stress when the councilor talked to me. I didn't have time to worry about other things!"
"My major depression wasn't important enough for you to take ten minutes out of your damn selfish life to ask how I was feeling?! You're unbelievable! No wonder I just tried to kill myself."
"Jeffery! That is no way to speak to your mother!"
With that, my mother turned on her heels and slammed the door behind her. I, however, was still hanging from the light fixture.
"... DAAAAAAD!!!"
"ASK YOUR MOTHER!" | Gasping and thrashing, the tight noose choked him. The more he moved, the more his neck went red raw and burnt; the more it burnt, the more he thrashed. It went on, and on, until he finally found the appealing sway he was hoping for, back and forth along the bottom floor of his house, the rope attached to the curving balcony above.
In his mind, he swore. Beneath him Mr. Squiggles the brown-and-white ragdoll stared up at him with wide blue eyes and meowed constantly. He was hungry. He was always hungry. It would just be another thing to do, he supposed, if he could get down.
Thankfully he wasn't completely stupid. Hanging, his neck too strong or his luck too great, that flicker of hope as he jumped seemed to have kept him alive. In his ears blared the music from his phone, the last sweet reminder of life he loved...now, turned, to Blurred Lines. He shivered and jerked again, only serving to send pulsations of pain spreading through his body.
God's bollocks, how did that dreadful song get in here?
If only to live to shut it off, he would do just that. Prodding his fingers through the noose, a barrier between rope and burning red flesh he flexed and flailed his other hand to his phone. The first grope served to pull at his shirt, the second his belt, the other a wave at the door watching him in his struggle, Mr. Squiggles below now leaping to attack his feet and missing by a few feet, yet not disturbed by the task at hand; his master had become a toy.
Finally he managed it. Grabbing the headphones and pulling them out, one yank, two yanks and a final third, successful one pulled it into his slowly dulling finger's grasp, the blood draining from them and into his head. With that task complete, he turned off the dreadful song and took a moment to...do something, anything.
I saw the blinding light. I'm not dead. Is it that I am immortal, am I lucky, am I cursed to drop from here and let that fat-pawed creature eat me?
As it turned out, he was immortal. He went to look at his phone as best he could and his head jerked to one side, lopsided, his spine dreadfully broken. The man sighed. It was a terrible day.
Mother would be a terrible idea to phone. What would she say, "You fool! You idiot! You could have landed on the cat! At least do it from a tree in the park, or from a bridge; you'll probably get a park or the bridge named after you then!"
No, not her. His father? Most likely drinking. His brother, who always thought that suicide was fascinating? No, no, he'd probably have him go to hospital to check out his neck that, oddly, began to lose its sense of pain. It would have to be Jim.
Fumbling his way through the short-list of phone contacts, he pressed Jim's name and squirmed to raise it to his tomato-coloured ears.
"Hey bud!" the friendly voice spoke. "You alright? Heard you were all depressed and I was on my way over. You're not doing something weird, are you?"
How could a jelly-necked immortal respond to that? It was a terrible joke that sprung to mind but, as he was so proud of his dad-jokes and terrible dad-dancing, he replied as his mind knew best; "Oh, just...haaarghg-ing around! Oh, b-hiiighghght-t my tongue. C-come...around!"
"On the way already, bud. Hold on. I'll bring a couple drinks over to make you feel better."
"Th-aaarghgnk-kuh you!" and paused, squinting somewhat. "Some ice too, a big bag of it."
"See you soon!"
Have you ever seen the face of someone who finds out not only you hung yourself but survived it, broke your neck, and found out you was immortal? Jim shrieked like a girl and slammed the door shut, took two steps forwards and promptly passed out, banging his head onto the radiator by the wall.
"Ji-hrrhghgnh-m! Oh...b-balls...b-better...call John..." |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | Have you ever dreamed of being immortal? Have you ever imagined how you would discover your immortality? I haven't and I sure as hell didn't expect to find out after a botched attempt at suicide. Now I'm swinging from a fucking rope and I CAN'T GET FUCKING DOWN. Ugh, I never knew rope itched so much. Maybe I should have used wire? Then my head would have been cut off and I wouldn't be IN THIS FUCKING SITUATION.
Jesus Christ I swear I will do whatever it takes to be good just get me off... oh wait, my phone is in my pocket. Shit, I can't even see the screen. Thank God my parents are stingy and never got me a smartphone, I wouldn't be able to dial anyone. Ok, speed dial 1...
"Hello, Barry's Pizza, may I take your order?" Um... no. Speed dial 2...
"You've reached Telephona Erotic-" Speed dial 3...
"Hello?"
"John! Thank God, ok listen I-"
"Hah! Got you, its just my voicemail. Leave a message retard. *beep*" That bastard, as soon as I get out of this noose I swear to GOD I will do something crazy. Whatever. I have more suffocating matters to attend to. Speed dial 4...
"Baby? Is that you?" Shit... fuck it whatever.
"Hey mom. Uh... funny situation I'm in right now. Could you...um...come over and help me out real quick. It's a bit of a long story so I'll explain when you get here."
"Hon, I can't come over. Your father and I are in Hawaii, I thought you knew? Are you ok? You sound like you're not breathing well? Have you been running?"
"Uh, yeah. Running. Its no problem, I'll call someone else. Thanks anyway, bye." Well shit. I didn't put any names under the other numbers. Damn... Well I am a little hungry. And thirsty.
"Hello, this is Barry's Pizza, how can I help you?"
"Hello, this is Carter. I would like to order a large pepperoni pizza with a large Dr. Pepper, please, to be delivered at this address." | Gasping and thrashing, the tight noose choked him. The more he moved, the more his neck went red raw and burnt; the more it burnt, the more he thrashed. It went on, and on, until he finally found the appealing sway he was hoping for, back and forth along the bottom floor of his house, the rope attached to the curving balcony above.
In his mind, he swore. Beneath him Mr. Squiggles the brown-and-white ragdoll stared up at him with wide blue eyes and meowed constantly. He was hungry. He was always hungry. It would just be another thing to do, he supposed, if he could get down.
Thankfully he wasn't completely stupid. Hanging, his neck too strong or his luck too great, that flicker of hope as he jumped seemed to have kept him alive. In his ears blared the music from his phone, the last sweet reminder of life he loved...now, turned, to Blurred Lines. He shivered and jerked again, only serving to send pulsations of pain spreading through his body.
God's bollocks, how did that dreadful song get in here?
If only to live to shut it off, he would do just that. Prodding his fingers through the noose, a barrier between rope and burning red flesh he flexed and flailed his other hand to his phone. The first grope served to pull at his shirt, the second his belt, the other a wave at the door watching him in his struggle, Mr. Squiggles below now leaping to attack his feet and missing by a few feet, yet not disturbed by the task at hand; his master had become a toy.
Finally he managed it. Grabbing the headphones and pulling them out, one yank, two yanks and a final third, successful one pulled it into his slowly dulling finger's grasp, the blood draining from them and into his head. With that task complete, he turned off the dreadful song and took a moment to...do something, anything.
I saw the blinding light. I'm not dead. Is it that I am immortal, am I lucky, am I cursed to drop from here and let that fat-pawed creature eat me?
As it turned out, he was immortal. He went to look at his phone as best he could and his head jerked to one side, lopsided, his spine dreadfully broken. The man sighed. It was a terrible day.
Mother would be a terrible idea to phone. What would she say, "You fool! You idiot! You could have landed on the cat! At least do it from a tree in the park, or from a bridge; you'll probably get a park or the bridge named after you then!"
No, not her. His father? Most likely drinking. His brother, who always thought that suicide was fascinating? No, no, he'd probably have him go to hospital to check out his neck that, oddly, began to lose its sense of pain. It would have to be Jim.
Fumbling his way through the short-list of phone contacts, he pressed Jim's name and squirmed to raise it to his tomato-coloured ears.
"Hey bud!" the friendly voice spoke. "You alright? Heard you were all depressed and I was on my way over. You're not doing something weird, are you?"
How could a jelly-necked immortal respond to that? It was a terrible joke that sprung to mind but, as he was so proud of his dad-jokes and terrible dad-dancing, he replied as his mind knew best; "Oh, just...haaarghg-ing around! Oh, b-hiiighghght-t my tongue. C-come...around!"
"On the way already, bud. Hold on. I'll bring a couple drinks over to make you feel better."
"Th-aaarghgnk-kuh you!" and paused, squinting somewhat. "Some ice too, a big bag of it."
"See you soon!"
Have you ever seen the face of someone who finds out not only you hung yourself but survived it, broke your neck, and found out you was immortal? Jim shrieked like a girl and slammed the door shut, took two steps forwards and promptly passed out, banging his head onto the radiator by the wall.
"Ji-hrrhghgnh-m! Oh...b-balls...b-better...call John..." |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | "Dude, I can't understand you. I think there's a problem with the line. Text me!"
The line went dead. I really should have seen that coming. Speech requires breath, a resource I was at that time severely lacking. I tried to think of how I could explain this through a text but nothing seemed appropriate. There's no social etiquette for cutting your brother down from a wooden support in his basement. After five minutes and only coming up with "Cut me dwn pls kthx" I decided that I was going to have to rely on good old fashioned shock value. He was going to need a picture. Snapchat seemed like the best bet. I didn't want this ending up on some weird suicide fetish site on the internet or something equally humiliating.
"Message sent"
Come on, you know I'm going to message you, check your damn phone.
"Message delivered"
Oh thank god. Immortality apparently didn't mean immunity to pain and everytime I moved the rope rubbed my neck.
"1 screenshot"
YOU SICK FUCK! You think your brother killed himself and you take a fucking screenshot?
About 15 minutes later I heard footsteps hammering across the floor above me, the basement door slam against the wall as it flew open and my brother bound down the stairs.
Hysterical laughter was not the first reaction I was expecting from a man seeing his only sibling dangling from the ceiling, but after 10 minutes of it the novelty was gone. By the time he started cutting me down I was throwing punches at him I was so annoyed. This was when he discovered that he could spin me.
The rope finally snapped when he was half way through and I tumbled to the floor, dizzy, humiliated and pissed off beyond any reasonable measure.
"YOU THINK I'M DYING AND YOU SCREENSHOT THE FUCKING PICTURE? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!"
"Well bro" he giggled, "That's easier said then done. Follow me, we're going to go talk to Mum and Dad" | Probably a bit darker than what you were expecting but here we go!
I'm sure I would've let out the typical drawn out movie 'gasp' had I not been holding my entire body weight on my windpipe. There was no joyous rebirth, no revelation that I had been given a second chance to renew a wasted life. Only instantaneous and overwhelming horror.
I had no time to grasp what had happened. There was a brief moment of complete confusion before survival instinct kicked in and I began convulsing uncontrollably, my body trying desperately to undo what my mind had already done.
It was no use, you don't usually accommodate immortality into a suicide, had I known I would have perhaps tried incineration rather than hanging, I was already a gonner and I'd been alive all of 17 seconds. I spent the last few moments of my morbid rebirth in blind panic, bursting blood vessels straining to escape the cold embrace of death to which I had previously become acquainted. A miracle destined to be extinguished before its revelation, like some sick cosmic miscarriage. The irony is I died in a darker, more horrifying place than when I had first decided to take my life.
That was the second time I died.
I've lost count now, this has become my world, and my tomb. An endless cycle of death and rebirth optimized into one panic ridden minute long experience.
If I could just reach the phone, I could finally end it all. |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | I thought I'd finally found a way to stop fucking things up.
Well, it looks like I fucked that up too.
"Uh... hey! Hey, anyone! Can you give me a hand?!" Silence. "Hey! Somebody help me!!" Still nothing. Looks like I'll be enjoying the sound of swinging on a rope - by my head - until someone nearby comes home from work. Unless...
Though I'd bound my hands behind me, maybe there was a way to get my phone out. I fished around for a few minutes until I got it out. I managed to hit speed dial at random and press **Call** before I fucked things up and dropped it - I prayed to whatever god that it wasn't-
"Hello?"
Shit. It was.
"Uhh... hehe, heyyyy, Karen. What's new?"
"The fuck do you think you doin', callin' me right after we broke up?! I told you, we're done! I never wanna hear from you again, you blundering fuckwad!"
"Wait, Karen, don't hang up!!" More silence. "Uh... Karen?"
"...What do you want?" Good. She hadn't hung up.
"I seem to have gotten myself stuck somehow. Could you, uh, come help me out?"
"Mother of- what the hell were you jacking off into this time?!?" My faced flushed with embarrassment.
"That was *one time*! Look, this is serious. Could you just come back and help me out here? I'm in a pretty bad bind." That's true - my bindings were already loosening.
"Fine, but if you're fucking with me, I'm calling the cops."
Twenty achingly-long minutes later, a key turns in the lock and Karen waltzed in. "Good thing I didn't throw this out when - HOLY SHIT. What the fuck, man?" I cursed myself for not putting on pants before I put on the noose. "I told you if you're fucking with me-"
"I swear, this is serious!!"
"...shit, man. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I... I'm not that good at communicating well."
"Damn right. Listen, lemme see if I can get you down. It's the least I can do."
"Thanks, Karen, I-"
"No really, it's the bare minimum. As soon as you're down, I'm out."
I sighed as she fished through the kitchen for a knife. "What's taking so long?" Karen walked out mumbling, with a kinfe in her hand and a slice of cake in her mouth. Geez, what did I see in her? "Just get me down." She pulled up the chair I knocked over and climbed up, crumbs falling in my eyes. "Hey, watch it?" She glared at me with a look that said *shut up, or I'll shut you up myself.* I shut up.
A few minutes later, she cut through the rope. I fell to the floor, knocking against the stool and hitting the ground *hard*. Groaning, I looked up to see Karen teetering on the tilting stool. Where'd the knife go- aw, shit.
With a thud, the knife slid its way in me, nestled snugly in my chest. FUCK, that hurt. I screamed. Karen fell, looked up, and then screamed at me. This went on for a bit, until...
"Hey, why the fuck aren't you dead yet?"
"Fuck you!" I yelled.
"No, seriously. You're barely even bleeding."
I looked down at my torn, bloodied shirt. Er... my torn shirt. "What the fuck, you're right. How did you - WAIT, GO CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE, YOU FUCKWAD!!"
"Ah, right!! Er..." Karen fumbled her phone and landed on me, driving the blade in deeper. I screamed and pushed her off, blacking out.
---------------------------
I came to in a hospital bed. Karen was nowhere to be seen; instead, a serious-looking man in a suit sat next to me.
"Welcome back, Agent Carlisle."
"What the- Agent? What are you-"
"Calm down, sir. You've just had an accident, remember?"
I looked down at my smooth, stab-wound-free chest. Clearly, that was a lie. Then why did I remember-
"You have an ability the government wants. Somehow, you just survived both a hanging and a kitchen knife to the heart. If you want my opinion, I think you might somehow be immortal. If I'm right - and I usually am - you may have a future working for the C.I.A."
"But- what? Why? I'm the least talented guy I've ever met."
"That is true. But that's the beauty of it, Agent Carlisle!" He leaned in close. "Imagine how much havoc you'd wreak on a terrorist organization as you rise through the ranks. Imagine starting riots as a foreign diplomat. Imagine getting caught by spies and being immune to harm. Imagine -" He leaned back, " imagine being the world's greatest saboteur."
I pondered that. It did sound pretty good. "What are my options? What if I don't want to?"
The man smiled. "Well, your other options is to spend the rest of your natural life being tested in a lab. Judging by your injuries, that'll probably be *very* long time."
Two hours later, I was on a plane headed to an undisclosed training camp, ready to *fuck shit up*.
--------------------------------------------------
"Swing and a Miss"
Daily Short Story 006/100
| Probably a bit darker than what you were expecting but here we go!
I'm sure I would've let out the typical drawn out movie 'gasp' had I not been holding my entire body weight on my windpipe. There was no joyous rebirth, no revelation that I had been given a second chance to renew a wasted life. Only instantaneous and overwhelming horror.
I had no time to grasp what had happened. There was a brief moment of complete confusion before survival instinct kicked in and I began convulsing uncontrollably, my body trying desperately to undo what my mind had already done.
It was no use, you don't usually accommodate immortality into a suicide, had I known I would have perhaps tried incineration rather than hanging, I was already a gonner and I'd been alive all of 17 seconds. I spent the last few moments of my morbid rebirth in blind panic, bursting blood vessels straining to escape the cold embrace of death to which I had previously become acquainted. A miracle destined to be extinguished before its revelation, like some sick cosmic miscarriage. The irony is I died in a darker, more horrifying place than when I had first decided to take my life.
That was the second time I died.
I've lost count now, this has become my world, and my tomb. An endless cycle of death and rebirth optimized into one panic ridden minute long experience.
If I could just reach the phone, I could finally end it all. |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | I swung there on the end of the rope with the overturned chair underneath my dangling feet. At first I just closed my eyes and waited for the blackout to come, but it never did. I generally had the feeling that one gets when they can't go to sleep despite their best efforts. No amount of tossing and turning was going to push me over the edge this time.
I hung for a minute longer before I realized that I just wasn't going to die this way. Now all I had to do was get dow- shit. I was stuck.
When you're preparing to end it all, typically an escape strategy is not on the forefront of your planning. The loop was smaller than I had imagined, so just slipping my head out wasn't going to work. I grabbed onto the rope and pulled as hard as I could to lift myself out, but I had always had the upper body strength of a goldfish and I wasn't exactly pumping iron up until what was to be my last day.
I only had one last thing I could do.
*sigh* "MOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"
"YES, HONEY?"
"I NEED YOUR HELP!"
"CAN IT WAIT? I'M KINDA DOING SOMETHING!"
"NO, MOM, IT CAN'T WAIT."
"FINE! I'LL BE THERE IN A SECOND."
Christ this was going to suck. I could hear it already. Mom's footsteps worked there way up the stairs, slowly progressed towards my room, and suddenly there she was.
"Oh my gosh Jeffery ohmygosh!"
Immediately she was understandably frantic, but that didn't make her any less annoying than usual.
"Mom, I'm fine, I just need you to cu-."
"Oh my Jeffery, my Jeffery, oh my Jeffery."
"MOM! I'm fine! You need to cut the ro-."
"Why didn't you tell me?! Why didn't you ask for help!?" she sobbed.
At this point I got angry. "Are you *kidding* me!? I tried so many times to get help and you brushed them off as teenage attention seeking! The school councilor warned you three times!"
At this point my mother's frantic wailing had died out once she realized I was going to be fine. Now she was getting defensive.
"Now that's not fair, Jeffery! You know that I was under a lot of stress when the councilor talked to me. I didn't have time to worry about other things!"
"My major depression wasn't important enough for you to take ten minutes out of your damn selfish life to ask how I was feeling?! You're unbelievable! No wonder I just tried to kill myself."
"Jeffery! That is no way to speak to your mother!"
With that, my mother turned on her heels and slammed the door behind her. I, however, was still hanging from the light fixture.
"... DAAAAAAD!!!"
"ASK YOUR MOTHER!" | Probably a bit darker than what you were expecting but here we go!
I'm sure I would've let out the typical drawn out movie 'gasp' had I not been holding my entire body weight on my windpipe. There was no joyous rebirth, no revelation that I had been given a second chance to renew a wasted life. Only instantaneous and overwhelming horror.
I had no time to grasp what had happened. There was a brief moment of complete confusion before survival instinct kicked in and I began convulsing uncontrollably, my body trying desperately to undo what my mind had already done.
It was no use, you don't usually accommodate immortality into a suicide, had I known I would have perhaps tried incineration rather than hanging, I was already a gonner and I'd been alive all of 17 seconds. I spent the last few moments of my morbid rebirth in blind panic, bursting blood vessels straining to escape the cold embrace of death to which I had previously become acquainted. A miracle destined to be extinguished before its revelation, like some sick cosmic miscarriage. The irony is I died in a darker, more horrifying place than when I had first decided to take my life.
That was the second time I died.
I've lost count now, this has become my world, and my tomb. An endless cycle of death and rebirth optimized into one panic ridden minute long experience.
If I could just reach the phone, I could finally end it all. |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | Have you ever dreamed of being immortal? Have you ever imagined how you would discover your immortality? I haven't and I sure as hell didn't expect to find out after a botched attempt at suicide. Now I'm swinging from a fucking rope and I CAN'T GET FUCKING DOWN. Ugh, I never knew rope itched so much. Maybe I should have used wire? Then my head would have been cut off and I wouldn't be IN THIS FUCKING SITUATION.
Jesus Christ I swear I will do whatever it takes to be good just get me off... oh wait, my phone is in my pocket. Shit, I can't even see the screen. Thank God my parents are stingy and never got me a smartphone, I wouldn't be able to dial anyone. Ok, speed dial 1...
"Hello, Barry's Pizza, may I take your order?" Um... no. Speed dial 2...
"You've reached Telephona Erotic-" Speed dial 3...
"Hello?"
"John! Thank God, ok listen I-"
"Hah! Got you, its just my voicemail. Leave a message retard. *beep*" That bastard, as soon as I get out of this noose I swear to GOD I will do something crazy. Whatever. I have more suffocating matters to attend to. Speed dial 4...
"Baby? Is that you?" Shit... fuck it whatever.
"Hey mom. Uh... funny situation I'm in right now. Could you...um...come over and help me out real quick. It's a bit of a long story so I'll explain when you get here."
"Hon, I can't come over. Your father and I are in Hawaii, I thought you knew? Are you ok? You sound like you're not breathing well? Have you been running?"
"Uh, yeah. Running. Its no problem, I'll call someone else. Thanks anyway, bye." Well shit. I didn't put any names under the other numbers. Damn... Well I am a little hungry. And thirsty.
"Hello, this is Barry's Pizza, how can I help you?"
"Hello, this is Carter. I would like to order a large pepperoni pizza with a large Dr. Pepper, please, to be delivered at this address." | Probably a bit darker than what you were expecting but here we go!
I'm sure I would've let out the typical drawn out movie 'gasp' had I not been holding my entire body weight on my windpipe. There was no joyous rebirth, no revelation that I had been given a second chance to renew a wasted life. Only instantaneous and overwhelming horror.
I had no time to grasp what had happened. There was a brief moment of complete confusion before survival instinct kicked in and I began convulsing uncontrollably, my body trying desperately to undo what my mind had already done.
It was no use, you don't usually accommodate immortality into a suicide, had I known I would have perhaps tried incineration rather than hanging, I was already a gonner and I'd been alive all of 17 seconds. I spent the last few moments of my morbid rebirth in blind panic, bursting blood vessels straining to escape the cold embrace of death to which I had previously become acquainted. A miracle destined to be extinguished before its revelation, like some sick cosmic miscarriage. The irony is I died in a darker, more horrifying place than when I had first decided to take my life.
That was the second time I died.
I've lost count now, this has become my world, and my tomb. An endless cycle of death and rebirth optimized into one panic ridden minute long experience.
If I could just reach the phone, I could finally end it all. |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | I thought I'd finally found a way to stop fucking things up.
Well, it looks like I fucked that up too.
"Uh... hey! Hey, anyone! Can you give me a hand?!" Silence. "Hey! Somebody help me!!" Still nothing. Looks like I'll be enjoying the sound of swinging on a rope - by my head - until someone nearby comes home from work. Unless...
Though I'd bound my hands behind me, maybe there was a way to get my phone out. I fished around for a few minutes until I got it out. I managed to hit speed dial at random and press **Call** before I fucked things up and dropped it - I prayed to whatever god that it wasn't-
"Hello?"
Shit. It was.
"Uhh... hehe, heyyyy, Karen. What's new?"
"The fuck do you think you doin', callin' me right after we broke up?! I told you, we're done! I never wanna hear from you again, you blundering fuckwad!"
"Wait, Karen, don't hang up!!" More silence. "Uh... Karen?"
"...What do you want?" Good. She hadn't hung up.
"I seem to have gotten myself stuck somehow. Could you, uh, come help me out?"
"Mother of- what the hell were you jacking off into this time?!?" My faced flushed with embarrassment.
"That was *one time*! Look, this is serious. Could you just come back and help me out here? I'm in a pretty bad bind." That's true - my bindings were already loosening.
"Fine, but if you're fucking with me, I'm calling the cops."
Twenty achingly-long minutes later, a key turns in the lock and Karen waltzed in. "Good thing I didn't throw this out when - HOLY SHIT. What the fuck, man?" I cursed myself for not putting on pants before I put on the noose. "I told you if you're fucking with me-"
"I swear, this is serious!!"
"...shit, man. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I... I'm not that good at communicating well."
"Damn right. Listen, lemme see if I can get you down. It's the least I can do."
"Thanks, Karen, I-"
"No really, it's the bare minimum. As soon as you're down, I'm out."
I sighed as she fished through the kitchen for a knife. "What's taking so long?" Karen walked out mumbling, with a kinfe in her hand and a slice of cake in her mouth. Geez, what did I see in her? "Just get me down." She pulled up the chair I knocked over and climbed up, crumbs falling in my eyes. "Hey, watch it?" She glared at me with a look that said *shut up, or I'll shut you up myself.* I shut up.
A few minutes later, she cut through the rope. I fell to the floor, knocking against the stool and hitting the ground *hard*. Groaning, I looked up to see Karen teetering on the tilting stool. Where'd the knife go- aw, shit.
With a thud, the knife slid its way in me, nestled snugly in my chest. FUCK, that hurt. I screamed. Karen fell, looked up, and then screamed at me. This went on for a bit, until...
"Hey, why the fuck aren't you dead yet?"
"Fuck you!" I yelled.
"No, seriously. You're barely even bleeding."
I looked down at my torn, bloodied shirt. Er... my torn shirt. "What the fuck, you're right. How did you - WAIT, GO CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE, YOU FUCKWAD!!"
"Ah, right!! Er..." Karen fumbled her phone and landed on me, driving the blade in deeper. I screamed and pushed her off, blacking out.
---------------------------
I came to in a hospital bed. Karen was nowhere to be seen; instead, a serious-looking man in a suit sat next to me.
"Welcome back, Agent Carlisle."
"What the- Agent? What are you-"
"Calm down, sir. You've just had an accident, remember?"
I looked down at my smooth, stab-wound-free chest. Clearly, that was a lie. Then why did I remember-
"You have an ability the government wants. Somehow, you just survived both a hanging and a kitchen knife to the heart. If you want my opinion, I think you might somehow be immortal. If I'm right - and I usually am - you may have a future working for the C.I.A."
"But- what? Why? I'm the least talented guy I've ever met."
"That is true. But that's the beauty of it, Agent Carlisle!" He leaned in close. "Imagine how much havoc you'd wreak on a terrorist organization as you rise through the ranks. Imagine starting riots as a foreign diplomat. Imagine getting caught by spies and being immune to harm. Imagine -" He leaned back, " imagine being the world's greatest saboteur."
I pondered that. It did sound pretty good. "What are my options? What if I don't want to?"
The man smiled. "Well, your other options is to spend the rest of your natural life being tested in a lab. Judging by your injuries, that'll probably be *very* long time."
Two hours later, I was on a plane headed to an undisclosed training camp, ready to *fuck shit up*.
--------------------------------------------------
"Swing and a Miss"
Daily Short Story 006/100
| I swung there like a fucktard, dangling from the inside of my closet. I thought about what was going on. The doorknob that I tied the other end of the rope on to didn't break. Being a short woman, standing at barely 5"4, I was far from the floor. So.. it should have worked. I stopped breathing. And yet I am conscious. That must mean that I am alive, in some way or another, without breathing. I reached for my phone and thought about asking Siri why I'm still alive. Instead, I scrolled through my address book and thought about who I could and who I should call to help me down. I was able to just touch the top of the chair I jumped off with my feet, in order to breathe a bit, so I could talk. The sensation of breath was dizzying, like I had felt air and discovered the sense of smell for the first time. I listened to the phone ring as I thought about what to say. What could I say to explain the situation I was in? Thankfully, the person that picked up the other line didn't need explanations.
"Hello."
"Heyy" I said, phrasing it almost like a question. "What are you doing right now?"
"Buying dildos, you want one?" Asked Holly. I didn't know if she was joking or not.
"I'm not sure I need another one. You should come over. I think I need some help." I said to her. I knew that she would not say no to me.
"Yeah girl I'll be right there." I heard the uplifted tone of her voice as the phone clicked.
Holly and I had an interesting relationship. She used to be in a group of friends that I had fallen out of contact with a long time ago. She functioned as my drug dealer, my fuck buddy, and I functioned as her confidant and emotional crutch.
Ten minutes later Holly burst in the door and called my name. I told her I was in the closet and I could practically hear her eyebrows wiggle. She opened the door and I exhaled quickly in my breath before my air was cut off again. She cackled maniacally as I hung there, staring at her. I knew I looked pathetic. She cut me down and sat down on my couch with me. She took out her medium sized bong from her big tote bag she carried around everywhere. We lit up, and after we got decently stoned, she looked at me.
"You okay?" She asked,
"Nah." I said. There was no point in lying to her.
"Wanna talk about it?"
"No." |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | I swung there on the end of the rope with the overturned chair underneath my dangling feet. At first I just closed my eyes and waited for the blackout to come, but it never did. I generally had the feeling that one gets when they can't go to sleep despite their best efforts. No amount of tossing and turning was going to push me over the edge this time.
I hung for a minute longer before I realized that I just wasn't going to die this way. Now all I had to do was get dow- shit. I was stuck.
When you're preparing to end it all, typically an escape strategy is not on the forefront of your planning. The loop was smaller than I had imagined, so just slipping my head out wasn't going to work. I grabbed onto the rope and pulled as hard as I could to lift myself out, but I had always had the upper body strength of a goldfish and I wasn't exactly pumping iron up until what was to be my last day.
I only had one last thing I could do.
*sigh* "MOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"
"YES, HONEY?"
"I NEED YOUR HELP!"
"CAN IT WAIT? I'M KINDA DOING SOMETHING!"
"NO, MOM, IT CAN'T WAIT."
"FINE! I'LL BE THERE IN A SECOND."
Christ this was going to suck. I could hear it already. Mom's footsteps worked there way up the stairs, slowly progressed towards my room, and suddenly there she was.
"Oh my gosh Jeffery ohmygosh!"
Immediately she was understandably frantic, but that didn't make her any less annoying than usual.
"Mom, I'm fine, I just need you to cu-."
"Oh my Jeffery, my Jeffery, oh my Jeffery."
"MOM! I'm fine! You need to cut the ro-."
"Why didn't you tell me?! Why didn't you ask for help!?" she sobbed.
At this point I got angry. "Are you *kidding* me!? I tried so many times to get help and you brushed them off as teenage attention seeking! The school councilor warned you three times!"
At this point my mother's frantic wailing had died out once she realized I was going to be fine. Now she was getting defensive.
"Now that's not fair, Jeffery! You know that I was under a lot of stress when the councilor talked to me. I didn't have time to worry about other things!"
"My major depression wasn't important enough for you to take ten minutes out of your damn selfish life to ask how I was feeling?! You're unbelievable! No wonder I just tried to kill myself."
"Jeffery! That is no way to speak to your mother!"
With that, my mother turned on her heels and slammed the door behind her. I, however, was still hanging from the light fixture.
"... DAAAAAAD!!!"
"ASK YOUR MOTHER!" | I swung there like a fucktard, dangling from the inside of my closet. I thought about what was going on. The doorknob that I tied the other end of the rope on to didn't break. Being a short woman, standing at barely 5"4, I was far from the floor. So.. it should have worked. I stopped breathing. And yet I am conscious. That must mean that I am alive, in some way or another, without breathing. I reached for my phone and thought about asking Siri why I'm still alive. Instead, I scrolled through my address book and thought about who I could and who I should call to help me down. I was able to just touch the top of the chair I jumped off with my feet, in order to breathe a bit, so I could talk. The sensation of breath was dizzying, like I had felt air and discovered the sense of smell for the first time. I listened to the phone ring as I thought about what to say. What could I say to explain the situation I was in? Thankfully, the person that picked up the other line didn't need explanations.
"Hello."
"Heyy" I said, phrasing it almost like a question. "What are you doing right now?"
"Buying dildos, you want one?" Asked Holly. I didn't know if she was joking or not.
"I'm not sure I need another one. You should come over. I think I need some help." I said to her. I knew that she would not say no to me.
"Yeah girl I'll be right there." I heard the uplifted tone of her voice as the phone clicked.
Holly and I had an interesting relationship. She used to be in a group of friends that I had fallen out of contact with a long time ago. She functioned as my drug dealer, my fuck buddy, and I functioned as her confidant and emotional crutch.
Ten minutes later Holly burst in the door and called my name. I told her I was in the closet and I could practically hear her eyebrows wiggle. She opened the door and I exhaled quickly in my breath before my air was cut off again. She cackled maniacally as I hung there, staring at her. I knew I looked pathetic. She cut me down and sat down on my couch with me. She took out her medium sized bong from her big tote bag she carried around everywhere. We lit up, and after we got decently stoned, she looked at me.
"You okay?" She asked,
"Nah." I said. There was no point in lying to her.
"Wanna talk about it?"
"No." |
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | Have you ever dreamed of being immortal? Have you ever imagined how you would discover your immortality? I haven't and I sure as hell didn't expect to find out after a botched attempt at suicide. Now I'm swinging from a fucking rope and I CAN'T GET FUCKING DOWN. Ugh, I never knew rope itched so much. Maybe I should have used wire? Then my head would have been cut off and I wouldn't be IN THIS FUCKING SITUATION.
Jesus Christ I swear I will do whatever it takes to be good just get me off... oh wait, my phone is in my pocket. Shit, I can't even see the screen. Thank God my parents are stingy and never got me a smartphone, I wouldn't be able to dial anyone. Ok, speed dial 1...
"Hello, Barry's Pizza, may I take your order?" Um... no. Speed dial 2...
"You've reached Telephona Erotic-" Speed dial 3...
"Hello?"
"John! Thank God, ok listen I-"
"Hah! Got you, its just my voicemail. Leave a message retard. *beep*" That bastard, as soon as I get out of this noose I swear to GOD I will do something crazy. Whatever. I have more suffocating matters to attend to. Speed dial 4...
"Baby? Is that you?" Shit... fuck it whatever.
"Hey mom. Uh... funny situation I'm in right now. Could you...um...come over and help me out real quick. It's a bit of a long story so I'll explain when you get here."
"Hon, I can't come over. Your father and I are in Hawaii, I thought you knew? Are you ok? You sound like you're not breathing well? Have you been running?"
"Uh, yeah. Running. Its no problem, I'll call someone else. Thanks anyway, bye." Well shit. I didn't put any names under the other numbers. Damn... Well I am a little hungry. And thirsty.
"Hello, this is Barry's Pizza, how can I help you?"
"Hello, this is Carter. I would like to order a large pepperoni pizza with a large Dr. Pepper, please, to be delivered at this address." | I swung there like a fucktard, dangling from the inside of my closet. I thought about what was going on. The doorknob that I tied the other end of the rope on to didn't break. Being a short woman, standing at barely 5"4, I was far from the floor. So.. it should have worked. I stopped breathing. And yet I am conscious. That must mean that I am alive, in some way or another, without breathing. I reached for my phone and thought about asking Siri why I'm still alive. Instead, I scrolled through my address book and thought about who I could and who I should call to help me down. I was able to just touch the top of the chair I jumped off with my feet, in order to breathe a bit, so I could talk. The sensation of breath was dizzying, like I had felt air and discovered the sense of smell for the first time. I listened to the phone ring as I thought about what to say. What could I say to explain the situation I was in? Thankfully, the person that picked up the other line didn't need explanations.
"Hello."
"Heyy" I said, phrasing it almost like a question. "What are you doing right now?"
"Buying dildos, you want one?" Asked Holly. I didn't know if she was joking or not.
"I'm not sure I need another one. You should come over. I think I need some help." I said to her. I knew that she would not say no to me.
"Yeah girl I'll be right there." I heard the uplifted tone of her voice as the phone clicked.
Holly and I had an interesting relationship. She used to be in a group of friends that I had fallen out of contact with a long time ago. She functioned as my drug dealer, my fuck buddy, and I functioned as her confidant and emotional crutch.
Ten minutes later Holly burst in the door and called my name. I told her I was in the closet and I could practically hear her eyebrows wiggle. She opened the door and I exhaled quickly in my breath before my air was cut off again. She cackled maniacally as I hung there, staring at her. I knew I looked pathetic. She cut me down and sat down on my couch with me. She took out her medium sized bong from her big tote bag she carried around everywhere. We lit up, and after we got decently stoned, she looked at me.
"You okay?" She asked,
"Nah." I said. There was no point in lying to her.
"Wanna talk about it?"
"No." |
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[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | “Hey, boy. BOY.” I can hardly breathe, but the shouting still sets me to swinging, and I spin around in my noose like a wind chime. “Hey, c’mere and let me down. I’ll give you whatever you like.”
“I heard about you, mister. Plus, they even got a sign.” He points to a nearby hand-painted wood sign that reads *Anyone caught attempting to free the prisoner will hang beside him.* “You’re not getting out of there.”
For three days, I’ve been dangling here, being pushed around by the wind. My hands around bound behind my back, watching the world spin one way and the other as the rope spins tight, then loose. If I was able to speak clearly, I would tell the child the story of the Lion and the thorn, but right now all that would come out now is bubbles and gasps. I had changed my mind. I didn’t want to be killed after all.
I had walked into the local constabulary, and shot whomever I could find there. They returned fire, and miraculously, I survived. Not the miracle someone who was trying to kill themselves was hoping for. So they caught me and placed me in shackles and chains, to await execution. I waived my rights, all of them. No attorney, plead guilty, request the death penalty. Luckily, people will defend their public figures and I was to be made an example of. I was to be hung in the town square. From the neck. Until dead.
I knew I was immortal, at least I knew in the same way that every 17 year old knows they are immortal, but ten seconds after the hangman pulled the lever and my feet found the free air, I knew for sure that death would elude me. Like a mirage or the end of a rainbow.
*The criminal is to be hung from the neck until dead.* Very clear language. Usually the entire show lasts only a few minutes. Well, if you don’t include the pomp of the speeches and reading and letting the town condemn you. As though you were taking the fall for all of their crimes. The fall is heavy through the trapdoor even without the weight of a hundred people’s guilt.
They were kind enough to take the black bag off of my head, even if they only did it so they could check my pupils. They reacted, so I was still alive. *…hung from the neck until dead.* So here I spin, possibly forever, or at least until the gallows rot. I wonder if they would let me go then…
| If only i could just....reach....that.......Uhhhhh. It's been 3 days now. The worst part of hanging by your neck is the little hairs that get caught in the rope and pull. That really hurts. I've tried shouting, but it turns out you need air in your lungs to get a good blast of noise to come out of your mouth. with the noose only getting tighter and my windpipe all but closed I gave up on anyone else finding me after about 3 hours. since then I have been trying to wiggle and squirm myself loose. I've tried pulling open the knots and even pulling myself up using my arms, but I was never any good at rope climb at high school. I fell asleep sometime after midnight on the first night. It was actually quite a pleasant sleep but i woke up with such a crick in the neck. I guess eventually the wood will rot and i'll drop to the floor. how long does it take for wood to rot? maybe the rope will go first? No, i'll be insane by then. Immortal but insane. Maybe the bank will find me when they take the house? how long after I stop paying the mortgage does it take for a repossession? then what? they break down the door, find me hear like this. "What are you doing?" - "Oh nothin' just hangin'" - hahahaha. "Hangin'". Maybe I can swing, yeah, swing. where? there. the stairs. if i can swing then I can get my legs onto the stairs. maybe I can walk myself into a better position. WAIT. What's that noise? someones knocking. quick quick, deep breath, concentrate.......Hhhhhh.....shit try again......Hhhhhhh. shit shit shit. balls. they're going now. crap. what was i doing? oh yeah right. Swing. ok. hear we go. |
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God and Lucifer give up on their eon long grind, and decide to take a break. However, they cannot just abandon their jobs completely, so they need to find suitable replacements from members of the human race. This is their story.
| [WP] God and Satan decide that they are just tired of it all, and need to find suitable replacements. | “BOOM. You ready?” Satan kicks the door open, and throws a beer at God.
God sits hunched over his desk, with pages and pages of handwritten notes in front of him. The beer can sails through space and winds up in orbit around a black hole for a moment before being sucked in.
“Dude, weak.” Satan runs up and looks over God’s shoulder. “Are you still working on that replacement thing?”
“Yeah, it’s really hard.”
“You’re omniscient.” Satan flops down in God’s beanbag chair and his tail rips it open. He opens two more beers with his horns and gets disappointed when God doesn’t see.
“I just don’t want to pick wrong. All the humans on earth have such promise to be a kind, loving and forgiving God. I just want to make sure that they are the *most* kind, loving and forgiving God. What about you? Did you find a replacement?”
“Uhh…” Satan points at the earth with one of his beer bottles. “That guy.”
“That’s the ocean.”
“Look who’s back to knowing everything. Fine then, whoever is closest.”
“There’s a woman out sunning herself on a boat about 175 miles away. She is the closest.”
“Yeah, her.”
“What’s her name?”
“God, it doesn’t matter. It is so easy to be Satan. Literally anyone would do it.”
“No, people are good. They will be kind to each other.”
“No, absolute power corrupts absolutely. It’s awesome. Any one of these people will corrupt and be the devil in like, 5 seconds. You watch. Except don’t, because we got places to be.” He motions out the door to his custom Hyundai convertible with the surfboards sticking out of the back.
God looks up from his paperwork. “Hey, can I pick Jesus?”
“As long as you mean some Mexican guy. Otherwise that’s you.” Satan takes a swig of beer. “You’re Jesus, Jesus is you. Also, you’re both this bird that’s the holy ghost. Didn’t you pay attention in Sunday school?”
“Nah, I rest on Sunday.”
“For the love of you, PICK.”
“Fine.”
Satan moves and looks at his pick. It’s the same girl suntanning herself on a boat.
“Looks good to me. Let’s boogie.”
“Right on, Satan, right on.”
| "So tired. So extraordinarily tired. I am so tired." The thought repeated over and over again. Millennia of intricate rules, delicate balances, imperceptible nudges here and there, the joy when everything went to plan, the even greater joy when serendipity created greater things that were never even part of the original plan, the sorrow when things went wrong even though all the rules were followed. Thy will be done.
Another old soul approached. They were attuned, the two of them. Chaos and order. Good and evil. Darkness and the light. Their names abound, yet neither really knew what to call each other. After all, it was never necessary. Words were never needed between the two. They just knew. They both knew that they were tired. They both knew that it was time to take a break from their tedious battle. They both knew that the other could not be trusted.
"Hail," spoke one.
"Greetings," replied the other. Words were not needed, but words were spoken, as if to symbolize the temporary nature of their agreement. "I have brought my representative."
"As have I," came the response. There was a pregnant pause. Both knew why the other had come. Both knew what the other had brought as representative. But now that words had been spoken, an invisible force demanded that more words be uttered. "What have you brought?"
"What have *you* brought?"
"I have brought slug."
"I have brought cat."
"Thy will be done," they both spoke in unison. And disappeared.
The cat ate the slug.
"Meow" |
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | Tears came rushing to the brim of her eyes, as she tried hard to fight them back. Luckily, she was the only customer there this early, so no strangers could witness her meltdown. Rachel, the barista, looked at her with concern, "Are you okay? Did I mess up your order?" Meghan smiled meekly as she walked out the door, "No, no, it's fine. Just allergies." Once she got outside, she walked until she knew that she was out of sight, stopping at a patch of spruce trees. She stared for a minute at the drink in her hand. "One Double Chocolate Chip Frap with soy for me, and Meghan, what do you want?" Her mom would ask as they approached the Starbucks counter. It had been their Saturday ritual: Starbucks and shopping... Sometimes they would see a movie. Every Saturday for god knows how long. That is, until... Meghan's fenced-in tears released all at once, with an aching cry. "Mommmm," she wailed as she collapsed on the pine-needle-covered ground. She clutched the mistaken drink like it was a sacred relic, the last surviving piece of her beautiful mother. It had been a month since Meghan got the phone call from the hospital. A car crash. The roads were slick from rain. It was dark, and her car hit head-on into a tree. She didn't make it. The frappuccino's whipped cream had melted a bit and was slowly leaking onto Meghan's hands, but she made no effort to clean them. Tears streamed down her face, but again, she did not try to wipe them. She was tired of having to play strong, answer "I'm okay" when people asked how she was doing. She needed to break, and stay broken. "I can't do this without you," she whispered to the September sky. "I miss you." | She hands me the cup and I can already tell she has fucked it up. I look at her name tag and as sarcastically as I can tell her "Thank you for getting my order correct BRITTANY. She knows she fudged it but we go our separate ways. I sat down at a table in the back not wanting to show the other patrons how upset I was that the barista had given me the wrong drink. I had the first sipped and remember thinking, "not bad" when a man in a red ball cap sat down next to me. He had on a nice suit but it seemed dirty and the faint smell of BO wafted over me as he sat down. I already felt uneasy because there were two or three other open tables and he decided to sit down next to me. He slides a small box across the table with a note on it and his phone rings. He picks it up and only says Double Chocolate Chip Frap with Soy has the package. He then gets up and and walks out. I am still trying to wrap my mind around what just happened when the box begins to smoke. I open the note and read it aloud thinking it might help me process the information, "The barista has the code". I open the box to find what looks like a bomb with a 30 second clock connected to a small keypad. I run the box to the barista and scream at her to shut it off. Her look of pure fear shows me that she doesn't know what the hell I am talking about. The timer beeps 3......2......1....... The bomb goes off, but it is less of an explosion and more of a fiery ball of molten liquid. I am watching the baristas hands and arms melt in front of me. Her clothes have become so hot they are melting to her body. She looks up at me right before her eyes explode and says "I'm sorry I got your order wrong". A manager runs in from the back yelling her name, "BRIT!, BRIT!, BRITTANY! Oh god nooo. Not my pregnant wife!" At this point I pass out and don't remember anything until waking up with handcuffs on my hands and feet in the back of a cop car. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | After realizing you get the wrong sort of drink, you ask to the man in anger 'What the fuck is this?!" You look up at him, only to realize Batista is serving you. (Probably typo by op for Barista... Batista is a big buff character in wwe.) You start to feel your sweat come from your skin as you slowly walk back, shaking... He lifts you up from your collar, then rips his shirt off showing his big buff abs and defined muscles. You are turned on for a second, then realize the situation you are in. After throwing you on the ground he yells "DONT INSULT MY FUCKING DRINKS!" At this point you are frantically running to the door as bystanders watch in shock, he grabs your foot, drags you back, and punches you hard across... Left, right, left, right, until you roll away wher proceeds to smash your head repeatedly against a wall. Slowly, you lose all strength in your body, and everything starts to turn dark...
You wake up in Hospital with a few family members. This is where you take your last breath.
Edit 1: I'm not fixing the grammar. | She hands me the cup and I can already tell she has fucked it up. I look at her name tag and as sarcastically as I can tell her "Thank you for getting my order correct BRITTANY. She knows she fudged it but we go our separate ways. I sat down at a table in the back not wanting to show the other patrons how upset I was that the barista had given me the wrong drink. I had the first sipped and remember thinking, "not bad" when a man in a red ball cap sat down next to me. He had on a nice suit but it seemed dirty and the faint smell of BO wafted over me as he sat down. I already felt uneasy because there were two or three other open tables and he decided to sit down next to me. He slides a small box across the table with a note on it and his phone rings. He picks it up and only says Double Chocolate Chip Frap with Soy has the package. He then gets up and and walks out. I am still trying to wrap my mind around what just happened when the box begins to smoke. I open the note and read it aloud thinking it might help me process the information, "The barista has the code". I open the box to find what looks like a bomb with a 30 second clock connected to a small keypad. I run the box to the barista and scream at her to shut it off. Her look of pure fear shows me that she doesn't know what the hell I am talking about. The timer beeps 3......2......1....... The bomb goes off, but it is less of an explosion and more of a fiery ball of molten liquid. I am watching the baristas hands and arms melt in front of me. Her clothes have become so hot they are melting to her body. She looks up at me right before her eyes explode and says "I'm sorry I got your order wrong". A manager runs in from the back yelling her name, "BRIT!, BRIT!, BRITTANY! Oh god nooo. Not my pregnant wife!" At this point I pass out and don't remember anything until waking up with handcuffs on my hands and feet in the back of a cop car. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | **MAN:** Excuse me, I think there's been a mistake. I ordered the double choc--
**BARISTA:** Sorry, that's for the man behind you. He has the same name as you. Here's your soy bullshit, Jebediah! And here you go with some non fat milk contraption other Jebediah.
**MAN:** Thanks. (turns) (walks towards door) (slips on puddle of spilt half and half) ARRRRRGH! MY LEG!
**BARISTA:** Whoa! You can see bone sticking out!
**MAN:** I'm hurt!
**BARISTA:** Does anyone here know CPR?
**MAN:** CPR? CALL A FREAKIN' AMBULANCE!
**BARISTA:** Hey! Anyone got a phone?
**MAN:** MINE'S ON THE FLOOR RIGHT THERE COVERED IN BLOOD DEAR GOD CALL FOR HELP!!!
**BARISTA:** So sticky! OK, just gotta swipe it open and... uh-oh.
**MAN:** HURRY UP!
**BARISTA:** There's a text here from your wife. She says she's leaving you.
**MAN:** DON'T CARE! CALL THE GODDAMN AMBULANCE!
**BARISTA:** Yes, we need an ambulance for Jedediah. No, the other one. The non fat guy, not Jebby Soy. (laughs) Yeah, uh-huh. Hey, they say they're already at your house.
**MAN:** WHAT?
**BARISTA:** The twins are dead. They were playing on the roof and snapped their neck when they fell off.
**MAN:** OH MY GOD!
**BARISTA:** But they're sending another ambulance for you, right after the clean off the front of the one that ran over your dog.
**MAN** Duke is dead, too?
**BARISTA:** Yes, but he was already dead when the ambulance ran him over. He got shot by your neighbor.
**MAN:** WHAT????
**BARISTA:** I can hear the siren now. It should be here in a-- oh, Jebby Soy. What's that? Oh, right! I get those mixed up all the time. I made two soy drinks and no non fat one.
**MAN:** I DIDN'T EVEN GET THE RIGHT COFFEE?
**BARISTA:** Whoops!
*END SCENE* | She hands me the cup and I can already tell she has fucked it up. I look at her name tag and as sarcastically as I can tell her "Thank you for getting my order correct BRITTANY. She knows she fudged it but we go our separate ways. I sat down at a table in the back not wanting to show the other patrons how upset I was that the barista had given me the wrong drink. I had the first sipped and remember thinking, "not bad" when a man in a red ball cap sat down next to me. He had on a nice suit but it seemed dirty and the faint smell of BO wafted over me as he sat down. I already felt uneasy because there were two or three other open tables and he decided to sit down next to me. He slides a small box across the table with a note on it and his phone rings. He picks it up and only says Double Chocolate Chip Frap with Soy has the package. He then gets up and and walks out. I am still trying to wrap my mind around what just happened when the box begins to smoke. I open the note and read it aloud thinking it might help me process the information, "The barista has the code". I open the box to find what looks like a bomb with a 30 second clock connected to a small keypad. I run the box to the barista and scream at her to shut it off. Her look of pure fear shows me that she doesn't know what the hell I am talking about. The timer beeps 3......2......1....... The bomb goes off, but it is less of an explosion and more of a fiery ball of molten liquid. I am watching the baristas hands and arms melt in front of me. Her clothes have become so hot they are melting to her body. She looks up at me right before her eyes explode and says "I'm sorry I got your order wrong". A manager runs in from the back yelling her name, "BRIT!, BRIT!, BRITTANY! Oh god nooo. Not my pregnant wife!" At this point I pass out and don't remember anything until waking up with handcuffs on my hands and feet in the back of a cop car. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | I went to starbucks this morning. I was on my phone and not really paying attention to the ba*r*ista who was serving me. What I got was not what I ordered. I turned around and started complaining loudly. That's when I realised that I was being served by WWE wrestler Ba*t*ista. His face got screwed up. He grabbed me and lifted me over his head and threw me down on the table and then poured the wrong coffee down my throat. | She hands me the cup and I can already tell she has fucked it up. I look at her name tag and as sarcastically as I can tell her "Thank you for getting my order correct BRITTANY. She knows she fudged it but we go our separate ways. I sat down at a table in the back not wanting to show the other patrons how upset I was that the barista had given me the wrong drink. I had the first sipped and remember thinking, "not bad" when a man in a red ball cap sat down next to me. He had on a nice suit but it seemed dirty and the faint smell of BO wafted over me as he sat down. I already felt uneasy because there were two or three other open tables and he decided to sit down next to me. He slides a small box across the table with a note on it and his phone rings. He picks it up and only says Double Chocolate Chip Frap with Soy has the package. He then gets up and and walks out. I am still trying to wrap my mind around what just happened when the box begins to smoke. I open the note and read it aloud thinking it might help me process the information, "The barista has the code". I open the box to find what looks like a bomb with a 30 second clock connected to a small keypad. I run the box to the barista and scream at her to shut it off. Her look of pure fear shows me that she doesn't know what the hell I am talking about. The timer beeps 3......2......1....... The bomb goes off, but it is less of an explosion and more of a fiery ball of molten liquid. I am watching the baristas hands and arms melt in front of me. Her clothes have become so hot they are melting to her body. She looks up at me right before her eyes explode and says "I'm sorry I got your order wrong". A manager runs in from the back yelling her name, "BRIT!, BRIT!, BRITTANY! Oh god nooo. Not my pregnant wife!" At this point I pass out and don't remember anything until waking up with handcuffs on my hands and feet in the back of a cop car. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | When you date someone for a long time, every little action and nuance becomes an ornamentation you remember. It somehow becomes engraved in your character. As if its now a part of your being. Anyone who has been there knows how literal this feels, and how terrifingly sad it is once they've left you.
Me and my ex were Starbucks fanatics. It's funny in retrospect, but sad to think of how nostalgic that place is now. I always try and avoid the one location we always went to, until one day I just couldn't avoid it. It was either be late and ruin my day or just get my frikken Caffe Vanilla Light Frappuccino (I know, its the Starbucks disease to have multo worded orders). I figured, it's been like three years, I doubt I'll fall to the floor is pain and sorrow upon walking in.
It was a bit eerie, but I made my way to the counter. Everything was fine, ordering was like at any other location. My autopilot got everything out efficiently and I stood to the side waiting for my order.
But when it came I knew that wasn't my order. A sense of anxiety started to creep into my as I recognized the drink.
"Excuse me, I didn't order this."
"I'm sorry, didn't you ask for the Double Chocolaty Chip Creme Frappuccino?"
My heart sort of dented as I realized what I'd done. As if it were a second nature, and if somewhere in the back of my mind was a repeating record, I without a second thought order their drink. They always used to order it and I thought about each word everytime and admired how elaborate it was. I started laughing a bit because I knew what this meant. No matter how much I thought that I had made them a distant memory, they were still somewhere in my subconcious. This impending thought and feeling of it "never ending" overwhelmed me and I started to cry a little. Akwardly and meekly I apologized and left without the drink. Sitting now in my car I did something I never let myself do, just cry and cry until I couldnt anymore.
I came here to be on time. In a different kind of irony, I feel like I came here too soon. | She hands me the cup and I can already tell she has fucked it up. I look at her name tag and as sarcastically as I can tell her "Thank you for getting my order correct BRITTANY. She knows she fudged it but we go our separate ways. I sat down at a table in the back not wanting to show the other patrons how upset I was that the barista had given me the wrong drink. I had the first sipped and remember thinking, "not bad" when a man in a red ball cap sat down next to me. He had on a nice suit but it seemed dirty and the faint smell of BO wafted over me as he sat down. I already felt uneasy because there were two or three other open tables and he decided to sit down next to me. He slides a small box across the table with a note on it and his phone rings. He picks it up and only says Double Chocolate Chip Frap with Soy has the package. He then gets up and and walks out. I am still trying to wrap my mind around what just happened when the box begins to smoke. I open the note and read it aloud thinking it might help me process the information, "The barista has the code". I open the box to find what looks like a bomb with a 30 second clock connected to a small keypad. I run the box to the barista and scream at her to shut it off. Her look of pure fear shows me that she doesn't know what the hell I am talking about. The timer beeps 3......2......1....... The bomb goes off, but it is less of an explosion and more of a fiery ball of molten liquid. I am watching the baristas hands and arms melt in front of me. Her clothes have become so hot they are melting to her body. She looks up at me right before her eyes explode and says "I'm sorry I got your order wrong". A manager runs in from the back yelling her name, "BRIT!, BRIT!, BRITTANY! Oh god nooo. Not my pregnant wife!" At this point I pass out and don't remember anything until waking up with handcuffs on my hands and feet in the back of a cop car. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | Lieutenant Batista getting fired from Miami-Metro, having to work at Starbucks hearing you bitch about your drink and then leaping over the counter and beating your ass sounds funny and tragic. | She hands me the cup and I can already tell she has fucked it up. I look at her name tag and as sarcastically as I can tell her "Thank you for getting my order correct BRITTANY. She knows she fudged it but we go our separate ways. I sat down at a table in the back not wanting to show the other patrons how upset I was that the barista had given me the wrong drink. I had the first sipped and remember thinking, "not bad" when a man in a red ball cap sat down next to me. He had on a nice suit but it seemed dirty and the faint smell of BO wafted over me as he sat down. I already felt uneasy because there were two or three other open tables and he decided to sit down next to me. He slides a small box across the table with a note on it and his phone rings. He picks it up and only says Double Chocolate Chip Frap with Soy has the package. He then gets up and and walks out. I am still trying to wrap my mind around what just happened when the box begins to smoke. I open the note and read it aloud thinking it might help me process the information, "The barista has the code". I open the box to find what looks like a bomb with a 30 second clock connected to a small keypad. I run the box to the barista and scream at her to shut it off. Her look of pure fear shows me that she doesn't know what the hell I am talking about. The timer beeps 3......2......1....... The bomb goes off, but it is less of an explosion and more of a fiery ball of molten liquid. I am watching the baristas hands and arms melt in front of me. Her clothes have become so hot they are melting to her body. She looks up at me right before her eyes explode and says "I'm sorry I got your order wrong". A manager runs in from the back yelling her name, "BRIT!, BRIT!, BRITTANY! Oh god nooo. Not my pregnant wife!" At this point I pass out and don't remember anything until waking up with handcuffs on my hands and feet in the back of a cop car. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | Starbucks Batista
http://imgur.com/65k9noU
Starbucks Batista leaned over the counter and handed me my chocolaty beverage. He must have sensed my dissatisfaction because he looked at me with the most intense "fuck off or i will eat you" type of vibe...after a few seconds of uncomfortable staring he proclaimed "Basketballs....don't hold grudges" and that was that. | She hands me the cup and I can already tell she has fucked it up. I look at her name tag and as sarcastically as I can tell her "Thank you for getting my order correct BRITTANY. She knows she fudged it but we go our separate ways. I sat down at a table in the back not wanting to show the other patrons how upset I was that the barista had given me the wrong drink. I had the first sipped and remember thinking, "not bad" when a man in a red ball cap sat down next to me. He had on a nice suit but it seemed dirty and the faint smell of BO wafted over me as he sat down. I already felt uneasy because there were two or three other open tables and he decided to sit down next to me. He slides a small box across the table with a note on it and his phone rings. He picks it up and only says Double Chocolate Chip Frap with Soy has the package. He then gets up and and walks out. I am still trying to wrap my mind around what just happened when the box begins to smoke. I open the note and read it aloud thinking it might help me process the information, "The barista has the code". I open the box to find what looks like a bomb with a 30 second clock connected to a small keypad. I run the box to the barista and scream at her to shut it off. Her look of pure fear shows me that she doesn't know what the hell I am talking about. The timer beeps 3......2......1....... The bomb goes off, but it is less of an explosion and more of a fiery ball of molten liquid. I am watching the baristas hands and arms melt in front of me. Her clothes have become so hot they are melting to her body. She looks up at me right before her eyes explode and says "I'm sorry I got your order wrong". A manager runs in from the back yelling her name, "BRIT!, BRIT!, BRITTANY! Oh god nooo. Not my pregnant wife!" At this point I pass out and don't remember anything until waking up with handcuffs on my hands and feet in the back of a cop car. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | I sat in my chair eying the drink I had not ordered, but I had to forgive the mistake as I choked back tears. In the soul crushing realization that "The Animal" Dave Batista was reduced to serving at Starbucks. It had not been so long ago that he was part of Evolution with Triple H and the Nature Boy Rick Flair. Now I look upon this once veritable mass of fury as he quietly slinks behind the counter to his dark fall from the public eye. A single tear drops from my cheek. | She hands me the cup and I can already tell she has fucked it up. I look at her name tag and as sarcastically as I can tell her "Thank you for getting my order correct BRITTANY. She knows she fudged it but we go our separate ways. I sat down at a table in the back not wanting to show the other patrons how upset I was that the barista had given me the wrong drink. I had the first sipped and remember thinking, "not bad" when a man in a red ball cap sat down next to me. He had on a nice suit but it seemed dirty and the faint smell of BO wafted over me as he sat down. I already felt uneasy because there were two or three other open tables and he decided to sit down next to me. He slides a small box across the table with a note on it and his phone rings. He picks it up and only says Double Chocolate Chip Frap with Soy has the package. He then gets up and and walks out. I am still trying to wrap my mind around what just happened when the box begins to smoke. I open the note and read it aloud thinking it might help me process the information, "The barista has the code". I open the box to find what looks like a bomb with a 30 second clock connected to a small keypad. I run the box to the barista and scream at her to shut it off. Her look of pure fear shows me that she doesn't know what the hell I am talking about. The timer beeps 3......2......1....... The bomb goes off, but it is less of an explosion and more of a fiery ball of molten liquid. I am watching the baristas hands and arms melt in front of me. Her clothes have become so hot they are melting to her body. She looks up at me right before her eyes explode and says "I'm sorry I got your order wrong". A manager runs in from the back yelling her name, "BRIT!, BRIT!, BRITTANY! Oh god nooo. Not my pregnant wife!" At this point I pass out and don't remember anything until waking up with handcuffs on my hands and feet in the back of a cop car. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | "Hey... It's me Dom, today wasn't so good, It looks like they are letting me go after all. I'll be home soon, I'm in the coffee shop where we sat the first day we met, it's a Starbucks now, it still does our drink if you can believe that? I'll never forget how hot I was when I walked in that day, card missing and not enough change to buy a cold drink, yet there you were hand out stretched with the last money you had on earth, offering it to me. We bonded over that Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino, it was just a short year later it was my turn to hold my hand out to yours instead, but with a ring. Anyway, I had better go darling, the drink is nearly ready. I miss you honey."
After the automated voice thanked me for leaving her a message I go to place my phone back in my pocket, stealthily wiping my eyes clear of the collecting tears with my sleeve, lightly moistening the old worn fabric of my coat, the same coat I'd worn that day we had met, five years ago in fact.
"Sir?" I look up and see the Barista smiling at me. "Here you go sir" she chirps, handing me my coffee. I try to say thank you but the words simply stick in my throat, I manage a half smile and walk over to table by the window where we sat all those years ago, placing my coffee down before I sit, careful to not spill its contents lest I spoil my memories of this pace with anything bad.
I sigh, I've been doing it a lot recently, this sigh though... I feel strangely content, relieved even. I hated that job, good riddance in all honesty. I never had the courage to quit, I guess now I don't have to.
I take a sip of the coffee, the chocolate taste biting my tongue. It's not our coffee. It's... not... The tears come back again, but this time I make no effort to wipe them clear, not now, not this. This was supposed to be the same as before, I lose my self in the tears, I never even hear her approaching.
"Sir?" The voice of the Barista, but now subdued .
I look up at her, concern on her face.
"Why did she have to die?" I ask, the contents of the plastic coffee cup slowing pooling on the floor around me.
| She hands me the cup and I can already tell she has fucked it up. I look at her name tag and as sarcastically as I can tell her "Thank you for getting my order correct BRITTANY. She knows she fudged it but we go our separate ways. I sat down at a table in the back not wanting to show the other patrons how upset I was that the barista had given me the wrong drink. I had the first sipped and remember thinking, "not bad" when a man in a red ball cap sat down next to me. He had on a nice suit but it seemed dirty and the faint smell of BO wafted over me as he sat down. I already felt uneasy because there were two or three other open tables and he decided to sit down next to me. He slides a small box across the table with a note on it and his phone rings. He picks it up and only says Double Chocolate Chip Frap with Soy has the package. He then gets up and and walks out. I am still trying to wrap my mind around what just happened when the box begins to smoke. I open the note and read it aloud thinking it might help me process the information, "The barista has the code". I open the box to find what looks like a bomb with a 30 second clock connected to a small keypad. I run the box to the barista and scream at her to shut it off. Her look of pure fear shows me that she doesn't know what the hell I am talking about. The timer beeps 3......2......1....... The bomb goes off, but it is less of an explosion and more of a fiery ball of molten liquid. I am watching the baristas hands and arms melt in front of me. Her clothes have become so hot they are melting to her body. She looks up at me right before her eyes explode and says "I'm sorry I got your order wrong". A manager runs in from the back yelling her name, "BRIT!, BRIT!, BRITTANY! Oh god nooo. Not my pregnant wife!" At this point I pass out and don't remember anything until waking up with handcuffs on my hands and feet in the back of a cop car. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | I shuffled away from the funeral, sniffling and trying to dry my eyes. Every Sunday, for the past ten years, I had gone to the home where my thankless and thoughtless parents had left my grandfather, and picked him up. I didn't always have gas money, and more than once I tried to hide my embarrassment when I saw him looking at my change engine light.
"Donny," he would say, "let me get this." And I would let him. I think it made him feel good, to be able to buy me the coffee I wanted. We would sit, him with his cup of straight black coffee, and me with my Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, and talk about our lives. He had the best stories. Sometimes our barista would sit down and have a chat with us. Gramps would flirt with her, and she would humor him. The halcyon days.
Then things started to get bad. Maybe once in a while, Grampa would forget her name. Or forget mine. Or forget where we were. He'd call me Thomas, and ask when the L.T. was gonna be back with the new orders. I would tell him the war was decades ago, and he would laugh it off. The normally-deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes would become just a little deeper, and I would try to forget.
And yet, we continued our pattern. Every Sunday, him with the black, me with my frappucino. The same order. The baristas came to know us, and to have that order ready when we walked in. Our table was always clear, always clean. It took on the cadence of ritual, and like all good rituals, provided comfort and security in a world that was slowly devolving around us, slipping away like the gossamer cobwebs of memory from my grandfather's failing grasp.
Then came the day when I knocked on that cheap, plywood door at the home, and there was no answer. The heart-thudding walk to the office. Trying to play it cool while I asked whether my grandfather might be in the rec room. The resigned look in the orderly's eyes. The listless way he jangled his keys to open the door.
The horrible, peaceful scene within.
The funeral had been worse. My false, teary-eyed parents accepting condolences like johnny-come-lately vampires. The alligator tears and bored looks at wristwatches. Sorry Granddad's death has inconvenienced you. Wouldn't want you to miss your football games, Dad.
I couldn't take it. After the graveside service, on this Sunday of all Sundays, I needed my ritual. I needed my comfort.
Luckily, it was a familiar barista. "Hey Jen," I said, sweeping in, bedecked in the black of mourning. "Get me the usual."
"Sure thing, Mr. Don," she said, and busied herself behind the counter. I sat at my usual table, staring forlornly at the empty seat across from me, willing time to reverse its inexorable flow to a time when the world wasn't missing its light.
Jen brought me my cup. I twisted it in my hands, feeling the cardboard buckle slightly under the pressure of my hands. I lifted it to my lips, stopped, and lowered it. "To you, Gramps," I said, a glass raised to empty air. After a limitless moment had been swept away, I again pressed the plastic rim of the cup to my lips, and drank.
The flavor of the Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, is indescribable. One might as well assume he could explain the shimmering iridescence of a field of violets, waving in the wind, to a child blind from birth. It contains the sweetness and the bitter, the airy lightness and heavy creaminess that defines, for me, the appropriate taste of coffee. It is comfort reduced to a draught and poured for me by angels.
But the brew that basted my lips was foamy, chocolate-flavored, and granular, as if it contained shavings of chocolate. Beneath it all was the harsh, vegetal crispness of soy. I spit it out, the effluvium landing on the seat, my grandfather's seat. I dropped the cup. The table, our table, sat mutely as the lip popped off and dark, brown liquid began to run across its surface, following the infinitely mutable fractal pathways of chaos. I stood, too quickly, and into the person behind me. I heard her shout in alarm as her laptop fell from the table onto the ground. There was a sickening, crunching sound of impact.
Tears clogging my sight, I turned to flee. Straight into Jen. Hot coffee splashed between us. She yelped in pain and cursed. Her manager, thundering above the din, "Jennifer! That is not work appropriate language! Get your things and *leave*. If I've told you once, I've..."
I could not hear him as I burst through the door and into the parking lot. Quiet winter sun above me, cold air stinging my nose, I fumbled with my keys at the door of my car. Glass crunched beneath my feet. Glass? I looked. My window lay shattered, papers strewn about the inside of my car. A gaping maw where my stereo used to be. Who steals a stereo from a mid-90s Civic? Honestly?
I sat in the pile of shattered glass chips on my seat, and wondered why anyone ever even bothered. I cried then, cried at a time when I thought all my tears had been given to an unfeeling world. And a snippet of conversation not a month gone wormed its way into my brain.
"Don," my grandfather said across a gulf of time and loss, "sometimes life is shit. But that's OK. If life weren't shit, you could never appreciate a good moment."
The other door to my car opened. Jen sat down.
"Hey, someone got your order mixed up. Here's your actual coffee."
She got up to leave. I put a hand on her arm, restraining her.
"Sorry about your job," I muffled around sobs.
"Sorry about your grandfather. Don't worry about the job. I graduate in a month and already have something cool lined up. And my boss was a jerk, anyway."
"I'm glad," I sniffled.
"C'mon, we're getting out of here," Jen said, putting my keys in the ignition and turning it on. "If you're up to it, I'd like to say goodbye, properly, too." | She hands me the cup and I can already tell she has fucked it up. I look at her name tag and as sarcastically as I can tell her "Thank you for getting my order correct BRITTANY. She knows she fudged it but we go our separate ways. I sat down at a table in the back not wanting to show the other patrons how upset I was that the barista had given me the wrong drink. I had the first sipped and remember thinking, "not bad" when a man in a red ball cap sat down next to me. He had on a nice suit but it seemed dirty and the faint smell of BO wafted over me as he sat down. I already felt uneasy because there were two or three other open tables and he decided to sit down next to me. He slides a small box across the table with a note on it and his phone rings. He picks it up and only says Double Chocolate Chip Frap with Soy has the package. He then gets up and and walks out. I am still trying to wrap my mind around what just happened when the box begins to smoke. I open the note and read it aloud thinking it might help me process the information, "The barista has the code". I open the box to find what looks like a bomb with a 30 second clock connected to a small keypad. I run the box to the barista and scream at her to shut it off. Her look of pure fear shows me that she doesn't know what the hell I am talking about. The timer beeps 3......2......1....... The bomb goes off, but it is less of an explosion and more of a fiery ball of molten liquid. I am watching the baristas hands and arms melt in front of me. Her clothes have become so hot they are melting to her body. She looks up at me right before her eyes explode and says "I'm sorry I got your order wrong". A manager runs in from the back yelling her name, "BRIT!, BRIT!, BRITTANY! Oh god nooo. Not my pregnant wife!" At this point I pass out and don't remember anything until waking up with handcuffs on my hands and feet in the back of a cop car. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | After realizing you get the wrong sort of drink, you ask to the man in anger 'What the fuck is this?!" You look up at him, only to realize Batista is serving you. (Probably typo by op for Barista... Batista is a big buff character in wwe.) You start to feel your sweat come from your skin as you slowly walk back, shaking... He lifts you up from your collar, then rips his shirt off showing his big buff abs and defined muscles. You are turned on for a second, then realize the situation you are in. After throwing you on the ground he yells "DONT INSULT MY FUCKING DRINKS!" At this point you are frantically running to the door as bystanders watch in shock, he grabs your foot, drags you back, and punches you hard across... Left, right, left, right, until you roll away wher proceeds to smash your head repeatedly against a wall. Slowly, you lose all strength in your body, and everything starts to turn dark...
You wake up in Hospital with a few family members. This is where you take your last breath.
Edit 1: I'm not fixing the grammar. | I hate being that customer. I remember my days working at starbucks. I know how awful those people can be. The scary thing is that I have to be. It isnt being picky, and its not to be cool. Since the accident when my heart stopped, any tiny amount of caffeine can literally kill me.
Double chocolatey chips are one of the few drinks here that I can get with absolutely no caffeine. The reason its called "chocolatey" and not chocolate is that there is too small of an amount of cocoa in the Starbucks mocha... its literally caffeine free.
I should have been paying attention when I picked up the cup, but all it took was one sip. I fell to the floor gasping for air and and writhing in pain. My face began to turn blue. If it hadnt been for the fire chief in for is daily quad iced skinny vanilla, I never would have survived.
Im not going to raise a fuss, like I said, ive been there before. The barista even came to apologize in the hospital. I know the feel bad and it was an honest mistake, I just hope they learned to be more careful. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | **MAN:** Excuse me, I think there's been a mistake. I ordered the double choc--
**BARISTA:** Sorry, that's for the man behind you. He has the same name as you. Here's your soy bullshit, Jebediah! And here you go with some non fat milk contraption other Jebediah.
**MAN:** Thanks. (turns) (walks towards door) (slips on puddle of spilt half and half) ARRRRRGH! MY LEG!
**BARISTA:** Whoa! You can see bone sticking out!
**MAN:** I'm hurt!
**BARISTA:** Does anyone here know CPR?
**MAN:** CPR? CALL A FREAKIN' AMBULANCE!
**BARISTA:** Hey! Anyone got a phone?
**MAN:** MINE'S ON THE FLOOR RIGHT THERE COVERED IN BLOOD DEAR GOD CALL FOR HELP!!!
**BARISTA:** So sticky! OK, just gotta swipe it open and... uh-oh.
**MAN:** HURRY UP!
**BARISTA:** There's a text here from your wife. She says she's leaving you.
**MAN:** DON'T CARE! CALL THE GODDAMN AMBULANCE!
**BARISTA:** Yes, we need an ambulance for Jedediah. No, the other one. The non fat guy, not Jebby Soy. (laughs) Yeah, uh-huh. Hey, they say they're already at your house.
**MAN:** WHAT?
**BARISTA:** The twins are dead. They were playing on the roof and snapped their neck when they fell off.
**MAN:** OH MY GOD!
**BARISTA:** But they're sending another ambulance for you, right after the clean off the front of the one that ran over your dog.
**MAN** Duke is dead, too?
**BARISTA:** Yes, but he was already dead when the ambulance ran him over. He got shot by your neighbor.
**MAN:** WHAT????
**BARISTA:** I can hear the siren now. It should be here in a-- oh, Jebby Soy. What's that? Oh, right! I get those mixed up all the time. I made two soy drinks and no non fat one.
**MAN:** I DIDN'T EVEN GET THE RIGHT COFFEE?
**BARISTA:** Whoops!
*END SCENE* | I hate being that customer. I remember my days working at starbucks. I know how awful those people can be. The scary thing is that I have to be. It isnt being picky, and its not to be cool. Since the accident when my heart stopped, any tiny amount of caffeine can literally kill me.
Double chocolatey chips are one of the few drinks here that I can get with absolutely no caffeine. The reason its called "chocolatey" and not chocolate is that there is too small of an amount of cocoa in the Starbucks mocha... its literally caffeine free.
I should have been paying attention when I picked up the cup, but all it took was one sip. I fell to the floor gasping for air and and writhing in pain. My face began to turn blue. If it hadnt been for the fire chief in for is daily quad iced skinny vanilla, I never would have survived.
Im not going to raise a fuss, like I said, ive been there before. The barista even came to apologize in the hospital. I know the feel bad and it was an honest mistake, I just hope they learned to be more careful. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | I went to starbucks this morning. I was on my phone and not really paying attention to the ba*r*ista who was serving me. What I got was not what I ordered. I turned around and started complaining loudly. That's when I realised that I was being served by WWE wrestler Ba*t*ista. His face got screwed up. He grabbed me and lifted me over his head and threw me down on the table and then poured the wrong coffee down my throat. | I hate being that customer. I remember my days working at starbucks. I know how awful those people can be. The scary thing is that I have to be. It isnt being picky, and its not to be cool. Since the accident when my heart stopped, any tiny amount of caffeine can literally kill me.
Double chocolatey chips are one of the few drinks here that I can get with absolutely no caffeine. The reason its called "chocolatey" and not chocolate is that there is too small of an amount of cocoa in the Starbucks mocha... its literally caffeine free.
I should have been paying attention when I picked up the cup, but all it took was one sip. I fell to the floor gasping for air and and writhing in pain. My face began to turn blue. If it hadnt been for the fire chief in for is daily quad iced skinny vanilla, I never would have survived.
Im not going to raise a fuss, like I said, ive been there before. The barista even came to apologize in the hospital. I know the feel bad and it was an honest mistake, I just hope they learned to be more careful. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | Lieutenant Batista getting fired from Miami-Metro, having to work at Starbucks hearing you bitch about your drink and then leaping over the counter and beating your ass sounds funny and tragic. | I hate being that customer. I remember my days working at starbucks. I know how awful those people can be. The scary thing is that I have to be. It isnt being picky, and its not to be cool. Since the accident when my heart stopped, any tiny amount of caffeine can literally kill me.
Double chocolatey chips are one of the few drinks here that I can get with absolutely no caffeine. The reason its called "chocolatey" and not chocolate is that there is too small of an amount of cocoa in the Starbucks mocha... its literally caffeine free.
I should have been paying attention when I picked up the cup, but all it took was one sip. I fell to the floor gasping for air and and writhing in pain. My face began to turn blue. If it hadnt been for the fire chief in for is daily quad iced skinny vanilla, I never would have survived.
Im not going to raise a fuss, like I said, ive been there before. The barista even came to apologize in the hospital. I know the feel bad and it was an honest mistake, I just hope they learned to be more careful. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | Starbucks Batista
http://imgur.com/65k9noU
Starbucks Batista leaned over the counter and handed me my chocolaty beverage. He must have sensed my dissatisfaction because he looked at me with the most intense "fuck off or i will eat you" type of vibe...after a few seconds of uncomfortable staring he proclaimed "Basketballs....don't hold grudges" and that was that. | I hate being that customer. I remember my days working at starbucks. I know how awful those people can be. The scary thing is that I have to be. It isnt being picky, and its not to be cool. Since the accident when my heart stopped, any tiny amount of caffeine can literally kill me.
Double chocolatey chips are one of the few drinks here that I can get with absolutely no caffeine. The reason its called "chocolatey" and not chocolate is that there is too small of an amount of cocoa in the Starbucks mocha... its literally caffeine free.
I should have been paying attention when I picked up the cup, but all it took was one sip. I fell to the floor gasping for air and and writhing in pain. My face began to turn blue. If it hadnt been for the fire chief in for is daily quad iced skinny vanilla, I never would have survived.
Im not going to raise a fuss, like I said, ive been there before. The barista even came to apologize in the hospital. I know the feel bad and it was an honest mistake, I just hope they learned to be more careful. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | I sat in my chair eying the drink I had not ordered, but I had to forgive the mistake as I choked back tears. In the soul crushing realization that "The Animal" Dave Batista was reduced to serving at Starbucks. It had not been so long ago that he was part of Evolution with Triple H and the Nature Boy Rick Flair. Now I look upon this once veritable mass of fury as he quietly slinks behind the counter to his dark fall from the public eye. A single tear drops from my cheek. | I hate being that customer. I remember my days working at starbucks. I know how awful those people can be. The scary thing is that I have to be. It isnt being picky, and its not to be cool. Since the accident when my heart stopped, any tiny amount of caffeine can literally kill me.
Double chocolatey chips are one of the few drinks here that I can get with absolutely no caffeine. The reason its called "chocolatey" and not chocolate is that there is too small of an amount of cocoa in the Starbucks mocha... its literally caffeine free.
I should have been paying attention when I picked up the cup, but all it took was one sip. I fell to the floor gasping for air and and writhing in pain. My face began to turn blue. If it hadnt been for the fire chief in for is daily quad iced skinny vanilla, I never would have survived.
Im not going to raise a fuss, like I said, ive been there before. The barista even came to apologize in the hospital. I know the feel bad and it was an honest mistake, I just hope they learned to be more careful. |
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | I shuffled away from the funeral, sniffling and trying to dry my eyes. Every Sunday, for the past ten years, I had gone to the home where my thankless and thoughtless parents had left my grandfather, and picked him up. I didn't always have gas money, and more than once I tried to hide my embarrassment when I saw him looking at my change engine light.
"Donny," he would say, "let me get this." And I would let him. I think it made him feel good, to be able to buy me the coffee I wanted. We would sit, him with his cup of straight black coffee, and me with my Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, and talk about our lives. He had the best stories. Sometimes our barista would sit down and have a chat with us. Gramps would flirt with her, and she would humor him. The halcyon days.
Then things started to get bad. Maybe once in a while, Grampa would forget her name. Or forget mine. Or forget where we were. He'd call me Thomas, and ask when the L.T. was gonna be back with the new orders. I would tell him the war was decades ago, and he would laugh it off. The normally-deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes would become just a little deeper, and I would try to forget.
And yet, we continued our pattern. Every Sunday, him with the black, me with my frappucino. The same order. The baristas came to know us, and to have that order ready when we walked in. Our table was always clear, always clean. It took on the cadence of ritual, and like all good rituals, provided comfort and security in a world that was slowly devolving around us, slipping away like the gossamer cobwebs of memory from my grandfather's failing grasp.
Then came the day when I knocked on that cheap, plywood door at the home, and there was no answer. The heart-thudding walk to the office. Trying to play it cool while I asked whether my grandfather might be in the rec room. The resigned look in the orderly's eyes. The listless way he jangled his keys to open the door.
The horrible, peaceful scene within.
The funeral had been worse. My false, teary-eyed parents accepting condolences like johnny-come-lately vampires. The alligator tears and bored looks at wristwatches. Sorry Granddad's death has inconvenienced you. Wouldn't want you to miss your football games, Dad.
I couldn't take it. After the graveside service, on this Sunday of all Sundays, I needed my ritual. I needed my comfort.
Luckily, it was a familiar barista. "Hey Jen," I said, sweeping in, bedecked in the black of mourning. "Get me the usual."
"Sure thing, Mr. Don," she said, and busied herself behind the counter. I sat at my usual table, staring forlornly at the empty seat across from me, willing time to reverse its inexorable flow to a time when the world wasn't missing its light.
Jen brought me my cup. I twisted it in my hands, feeling the cardboard buckle slightly under the pressure of my hands. I lifted it to my lips, stopped, and lowered it. "To you, Gramps," I said, a glass raised to empty air. After a limitless moment had been swept away, I again pressed the plastic rim of the cup to my lips, and drank.
The flavor of the Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, is indescribable. One might as well assume he could explain the shimmering iridescence of a field of violets, waving in the wind, to a child blind from birth. It contains the sweetness and the bitter, the airy lightness and heavy creaminess that defines, for me, the appropriate taste of coffee. It is comfort reduced to a draught and poured for me by angels.
But the brew that basted my lips was foamy, chocolate-flavored, and granular, as if it contained shavings of chocolate. Beneath it all was the harsh, vegetal crispness of soy. I spit it out, the effluvium landing on the seat, my grandfather's seat. I dropped the cup. The table, our table, sat mutely as the lip popped off and dark, brown liquid began to run across its surface, following the infinitely mutable fractal pathways of chaos. I stood, too quickly, and into the person behind me. I heard her shout in alarm as her laptop fell from the table onto the ground. There was a sickening, crunching sound of impact.
Tears clogging my sight, I turned to flee. Straight into Jen. Hot coffee splashed between us. She yelped in pain and cursed. Her manager, thundering above the din, "Jennifer! That is not work appropriate language! Get your things and *leave*. If I've told you once, I've..."
I could not hear him as I burst through the door and into the parking lot. Quiet winter sun above me, cold air stinging my nose, I fumbled with my keys at the door of my car. Glass crunched beneath my feet. Glass? I looked. My window lay shattered, papers strewn about the inside of my car. A gaping maw where my stereo used to be. Who steals a stereo from a mid-90s Civic? Honestly?
I sat in the pile of shattered glass chips on my seat, and wondered why anyone ever even bothered. I cried then, cried at a time when I thought all my tears had been given to an unfeeling world. And a snippet of conversation not a month gone wormed its way into my brain.
"Don," my grandfather said across a gulf of time and loss, "sometimes life is shit. But that's OK. If life weren't shit, you could never appreciate a good moment."
The other door to my car opened. Jen sat down.
"Hey, someone got your order mixed up. Here's your actual coffee."
She got up to leave. I put a hand on her arm, restraining her.
"Sorry about your job," I muffled around sobs.
"Sorry about your grandfather. Don't worry about the job. I graduate in a month and already have something cool lined up. And my boss was a jerk, anyway."
"I'm glad," I sniffled.
"C'mon, we're getting out of here," Jen said, putting my keys in the ignition and turning it on. "If you're up to it, I'd like to say goodbye, properly, too." | I hate being that customer. I remember my days working at starbucks. I know how awful those people can be. The scary thing is that I have to be. It isnt being picky, and its not to be cool. Since the accident when my heart stopped, any tiny amount of caffeine can literally kill me.
Double chocolatey chips are one of the few drinks here that I can get with absolutely no caffeine. The reason its called "chocolatey" and not chocolate is that there is too small of an amount of cocoa in the Starbucks mocha... its literally caffeine free.
I should have been paying attention when I picked up the cup, but all it took was one sip. I fell to the floor gasping for air and and writhing in pain. My face began to turn blue. If it hadnt been for the fire chief in for is daily quad iced skinny vanilla, I never would have survived.
Im not going to raise a fuss, like I said, ive been there before. The barista even came to apologize in the hospital. I know the feel bad and it was an honest mistake, I just hope they learned to be more careful. |
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | After realizing you get the wrong sort of drink, you ask to the man in anger 'What the fuck is this?!" You look up at him, only to realize Batista is serving you. (Probably typo by op for Barista... Batista is a big buff character in wwe.) You start to feel your sweat come from your skin as you slowly walk back, shaking... He lifts you up from your collar, then rips his shirt off showing his big buff abs and defined muscles. You are turned on for a second, then realize the situation you are in. After throwing you on the ground he yells "DONT INSULT MY FUCKING DRINKS!" At this point you are frantically running to the door as bystanders watch in shock, he grabs your foot, drags you back, and punches you hard across... Left, right, left, right, until you roll away wher proceeds to smash your head repeatedly against a wall. Slowly, you lose all strength in your body, and everything starts to turn dark...
You wake up in Hospital with a few family members. This is where you take your last breath.
Edit 1: I'm not fixing the grammar. | I sipped my drink and sat on the park bench. The one on Signal Hill that overlooks the city. I always appreciated the aesthetic balance between the ladies walking their little white dogs in the foreground, the trees rustling in the breeze a short way further down the slope, and the cars rushing amongst the buildings in the distance like so many ants. I wonder what a renaissance painter would have done with such a scene. I'm no artist so I guess my appreciation of this little view will be lost to the wind. I brushed a bug off the lid of my drink and took another sip.
I don't get a chance to come here much any more. Between slogging away trying to pay for an apartment in an area of town where I don't have to fear for my life and fighting horns-locked with my wife in an ugly divorce there hasn't been much time for idleness. I like the way the branches twist in the breeze, a nice change of pace from the straight lines of hallways and cubicle walls. I took another sip.
At first the child support payments didn't help my situation any, but I didn't mind too much because for all her faults my wife loved our kids too. The money would go to their quality of life and happiness. I miss Addy and Katie so much. Their bright squinty smiles when they were babies I can still bring to mind perfectly if I close my eyes. There, linger on it. Eyes closed but not to blackness, a bit of an orange hue through the eyelids from the sun. Take another sip.
I didn't get to see them much when they were in town, but now that my wife has remarried and moved out of state I don't think I'll ever get to see them but maybe once a year. Once every other year. And then what? Ah, I'm trembling a bit. Here we go. I didn't know how much of my happiness was contained within simply kissing them on each of their little foreheads every night. A random hug around the belly every now and then, head pressed against my chest. It's killing me. Another sip should do it. A long gulp, there you go. I rubbed idly at my neck to relieve some of the constriction.
I ordered my usual drink this morning, a Starbucks Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no-fat milk. A bit frou-frou I know, but the tiny pleasures are all I have left. I always watch the barista with an eagle eye because of my rare disease. I saw it happen. He accidentally shuffled the order around with the woman behind me who ordered the Double Chocolatey Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy. My jaw slacked open and I let out a subdued "uh" as I was about to correct him but a feeling washed over me. It was like the Universe was telling me it was time. An end to the pain. An absence of happiness is better than a presence of unhappiness. Just let it slide, easy. It will look like an accident. Your drink got switched up and you accidentally ingested the soy-chocolate combo that gives you a life-threatening allergic reaction. Hand shaking, another sip.
I looked up at the clouds, eyes tearing up a bit from both physiology and emotion. I miss you so much right now my sweet angels! But soon I will miss nothing. I dropped the cup. The breeze feels nice. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | **MAN:** Excuse me, I think there's been a mistake. I ordered the double choc--
**BARISTA:** Sorry, that's for the man behind you. He has the same name as you. Here's your soy bullshit, Jebediah! And here you go with some non fat milk contraption other Jebediah.
**MAN:** Thanks. (turns) (walks towards door) (slips on puddle of spilt half and half) ARRRRRGH! MY LEG!
**BARISTA:** Whoa! You can see bone sticking out!
**MAN:** I'm hurt!
**BARISTA:** Does anyone here know CPR?
**MAN:** CPR? CALL A FREAKIN' AMBULANCE!
**BARISTA:** Hey! Anyone got a phone?
**MAN:** MINE'S ON THE FLOOR RIGHT THERE COVERED IN BLOOD DEAR GOD CALL FOR HELP!!!
**BARISTA:** So sticky! OK, just gotta swipe it open and... uh-oh.
**MAN:** HURRY UP!
**BARISTA:** There's a text here from your wife. She says she's leaving you.
**MAN:** DON'T CARE! CALL THE GODDAMN AMBULANCE!
**BARISTA:** Yes, we need an ambulance for Jedediah. No, the other one. The non fat guy, not Jebby Soy. (laughs) Yeah, uh-huh. Hey, they say they're already at your house.
**MAN:** WHAT?
**BARISTA:** The twins are dead. They were playing on the roof and snapped their neck when they fell off.
**MAN:** OH MY GOD!
**BARISTA:** But they're sending another ambulance for you, right after the clean off the front of the one that ran over your dog.
**MAN** Duke is dead, too?
**BARISTA:** Yes, but he was already dead when the ambulance ran him over. He got shot by your neighbor.
**MAN:** WHAT????
**BARISTA:** I can hear the siren now. It should be here in a-- oh, Jebby Soy. What's that? Oh, right! I get those mixed up all the time. I made two soy drinks and no non fat one.
**MAN:** I DIDN'T EVEN GET THE RIGHT COFFEE?
**BARISTA:** Whoops!
*END SCENE* | I sipped my drink and sat on the park bench. The one on Signal Hill that overlooks the city. I always appreciated the aesthetic balance between the ladies walking their little white dogs in the foreground, the trees rustling in the breeze a short way further down the slope, and the cars rushing amongst the buildings in the distance like so many ants. I wonder what a renaissance painter would have done with such a scene. I'm no artist so I guess my appreciation of this little view will be lost to the wind. I brushed a bug off the lid of my drink and took another sip.
I don't get a chance to come here much any more. Between slogging away trying to pay for an apartment in an area of town where I don't have to fear for my life and fighting horns-locked with my wife in an ugly divorce there hasn't been much time for idleness. I like the way the branches twist in the breeze, a nice change of pace from the straight lines of hallways and cubicle walls. I took another sip.
At first the child support payments didn't help my situation any, but I didn't mind too much because for all her faults my wife loved our kids too. The money would go to their quality of life and happiness. I miss Addy and Katie so much. Their bright squinty smiles when they were babies I can still bring to mind perfectly if I close my eyes. There, linger on it. Eyes closed but not to blackness, a bit of an orange hue through the eyelids from the sun. Take another sip.
I didn't get to see them much when they were in town, but now that my wife has remarried and moved out of state I don't think I'll ever get to see them but maybe once a year. Once every other year. And then what? Ah, I'm trembling a bit. Here we go. I didn't know how much of my happiness was contained within simply kissing them on each of their little foreheads every night. A random hug around the belly every now and then, head pressed against my chest. It's killing me. Another sip should do it. A long gulp, there you go. I rubbed idly at my neck to relieve some of the constriction.
I ordered my usual drink this morning, a Starbucks Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no-fat milk. A bit frou-frou I know, but the tiny pleasures are all I have left. I always watch the barista with an eagle eye because of my rare disease. I saw it happen. He accidentally shuffled the order around with the woman behind me who ordered the Double Chocolatey Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy. My jaw slacked open and I let out a subdued "uh" as I was about to correct him but a feeling washed over me. It was like the Universe was telling me it was time. An end to the pain. An absence of happiness is better than a presence of unhappiness. Just let it slide, easy. It will look like an accident. Your drink got switched up and you accidentally ingested the soy-chocolate combo that gives you a life-threatening allergic reaction. Hand shaking, another sip.
I looked up at the clouds, eyes tearing up a bit from both physiology and emotion. I miss you so much right now my sweet angels! But soon I will miss nothing. I dropped the cup. The breeze feels nice. |
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | I went to starbucks this morning. I was on my phone and not really paying attention to the ba*r*ista who was serving me. What I got was not what I ordered. I turned around and started complaining loudly. That's when I realised that I was being served by WWE wrestler Ba*t*ista. His face got screwed up. He grabbed me and lifted me over his head and threw me down on the table and then poured the wrong coffee down my throat. | I sipped my drink and sat on the park bench. The one on Signal Hill that overlooks the city. I always appreciated the aesthetic balance between the ladies walking their little white dogs in the foreground, the trees rustling in the breeze a short way further down the slope, and the cars rushing amongst the buildings in the distance like so many ants. I wonder what a renaissance painter would have done with such a scene. I'm no artist so I guess my appreciation of this little view will be lost to the wind. I brushed a bug off the lid of my drink and took another sip.
I don't get a chance to come here much any more. Between slogging away trying to pay for an apartment in an area of town where I don't have to fear for my life and fighting horns-locked with my wife in an ugly divorce there hasn't been much time for idleness. I like the way the branches twist in the breeze, a nice change of pace from the straight lines of hallways and cubicle walls. I took another sip.
At first the child support payments didn't help my situation any, but I didn't mind too much because for all her faults my wife loved our kids too. The money would go to their quality of life and happiness. I miss Addy and Katie so much. Their bright squinty smiles when they were babies I can still bring to mind perfectly if I close my eyes. There, linger on it. Eyes closed but not to blackness, a bit of an orange hue through the eyelids from the sun. Take another sip.
I didn't get to see them much when they were in town, but now that my wife has remarried and moved out of state I don't think I'll ever get to see them but maybe once a year. Once every other year. And then what? Ah, I'm trembling a bit. Here we go. I didn't know how much of my happiness was contained within simply kissing them on each of their little foreheads every night. A random hug around the belly every now and then, head pressed against my chest. It's killing me. Another sip should do it. A long gulp, there you go. I rubbed idly at my neck to relieve some of the constriction.
I ordered my usual drink this morning, a Starbucks Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no-fat milk. A bit frou-frou I know, but the tiny pleasures are all I have left. I always watch the barista with an eagle eye because of my rare disease. I saw it happen. He accidentally shuffled the order around with the woman behind me who ordered the Double Chocolatey Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy. My jaw slacked open and I let out a subdued "uh" as I was about to correct him but a feeling washed over me. It was like the Universe was telling me it was time. An end to the pain. An absence of happiness is better than a presence of unhappiness. Just let it slide, easy. It will look like an accident. Your drink got switched up and you accidentally ingested the soy-chocolate combo that gives you a life-threatening allergic reaction. Hand shaking, another sip.
I looked up at the clouds, eyes tearing up a bit from both physiology and emotion. I miss you so much right now my sweet angels! But soon I will miss nothing. I dropped the cup. The breeze feels nice. |
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | Lieutenant Batista getting fired from Miami-Metro, having to work at Starbucks hearing you bitch about your drink and then leaping over the counter and beating your ass sounds funny and tragic. | I sipped my drink and sat on the park bench. The one on Signal Hill that overlooks the city. I always appreciated the aesthetic balance between the ladies walking their little white dogs in the foreground, the trees rustling in the breeze a short way further down the slope, and the cars rushing amongst the buildings in the distance like so many ants. I wonder what a renaissance painter would have done with such a scene. I'm no artist so I guess my appreciation of this little view will be lost to the wind. I brushed a bug off the lid of my drink and took another sip.
I don't get a chance to come here much any more. Between slogging away trying to pay for an apartment in an area of town where I don't have to fear for my life and fighting horns-locked with my wife in an ugly divorce there hasn't been much time for idleness. I like the way the branches twist in the breeze, a nice change of pace from the straight lines of hallways and cubicle walls. I took another sip.
At first the child support payments didn't help my situation any, but I didn't mind too much because for all her faults my wife loved our kids too. The money would go to their quality of life and happiness. I miss Addy and Katie so much. Their bright squinty smiles when they were babies I can still bring to mind perfectly if I close my eyes. There, linger on it. Eyes closed but not to blackness, a bit of an orange hue through the eyelids from the sun. Take another sip.
I didn't get to see them much when they were in town, but now that my wife has remarried and moved out of state I don't think I'll ever get to see them but maybe once a year. Once every other year. And then what? Ah, I'm trembling a bit. Here we go. I didn't know how much of my happiness was contained within simply kissing them on each of their little foreheads every night. A random hug around the belly every now and then, head pressed against my chest. It's killing me. Another sip should do it. A long gulp, there you go. I rubbed idly at my neck to relieve some of the constriction.
I ordered my usual drink this morning, a Starbucks Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no-fat milk. A bit frou-frou I know, but the tiny pleasures are all I have left. I always watch the barista with an eagle eye because of my rare disease. I saw it happen. He accidentally shuffled the order around with the woman behind me who ordered the Double Chocolatey Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy. My jaw slacked open and I let out a subdued "uh" as I was about to correct him but a feeling washed over me. It was like the Universe was telling me it was time. An end to the pain. An absence of happiness is better than a presence of unhappiness. Just let it slide, easy. It will look like an accident. Your drink got switched up and you accidentally ingested the soy-chocolate combo that gives you a life-threatening allergic reaction. Hand shaking, another sip.
I looked up at the clouds, eyes tearing up a bit from both physiology and emotion. I miss you so much right now my sweet angels! But soon I will miss nothing. I dropped the cup. The breeze feels nice. |
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | Starbucks Batista
http://imgur.com/65k9noU
Starbucks Batista leaned over the counter and handed me my chocolaty beverage. He must have sensed my dissatisfaction because he looked at me with the most intense "fuck off or i will eat you" type of vibe...after a few seconds of uncomfortable staring he proclaimed "Basketballs....don't hold grudges" and that was that. | I sipped my drink and sat on the park bench. The one on Signal Hill that overlooks the city. I always appreciated the aesthetic balance between the ladies walking their little white dogs in the foreground, the trees rustling in the breeze a short way further down the slope, and the cars rushing amongst the buildings in the distance like so many ants. I wonder what a renaissance painter would have done with such a scene. I'm no artist so I guess my appreciation of this little view will be lost to the wind. I brushed a bug off the lid of my drink and took another sip.
I don't get a chance to come here much any more. Between slogging away trying to pay for an apartment in an area of town where I don't have to fear for my life and fighting horns-locked with my wife in an ugly divorce there hasn't been much time for idleness. I like the way the branches twist in the breeze, a nice change of pace from the straight lines of hallways and cubicle walls. I took another sip.
At first the child support payments didn't help my situation any, but I didn't mind too much because for all her faults my wife loved our kids too. The money would go to their quality of life and happiness. I miss Addy and Katie so much. Their bright squinty smiles when they were babies I can still bring to mind perfectly if I close my eyes. There, linger on it. Eyes closed but not to blackness, a bit of an orange hue through the eyelids from the sun. Take another sip.
I didn't get to see them much when they were in town, but now that my wife has remarried and moved out of state I don't think I'll ever get to see them but maybe once a year. Once every other year. And then what? Ah, I'm trembling a bit. Here we go. I didn't know how much of my happiness was contained within simply kissing them on each of their little foreheads every night. A random hug around the belly every now and then, head pressed against my chest. It's killing me. Another sip should do it. A long gulp, there you go. I rubbed idly at my neck to relieve some of the constriction.
I ordered my usual drink this morning, a Starbucks Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no-fat milk. A bit frou-frou I know, but the tiny pleasures are all I have left. I always watch the barista with an eagle eye because of my rare disease. I saw it happen. He accidentally shuffled the order around with the woman behind me who ordered the Double Chocolatey Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy. My jaw slacked open and I let out a subdued "uh" as I was about to correct him but a feeling washed over me. It was like the Universe was telling me it was time. An end to the pain. An absence of happiness is better than a presence of unhappiness. Just let it slide, easy. It will look like an accident. Your drink got switched up and you accidentally ingested the soy-chocolate combo that gives you a life-threatening allergic reaction. Hand shaking, another sip.
I looked up at the clouds, eyes tearing up a bit from both physiology and emotion. I miss you so much right now my sweet angels! But soon I will miss nothing. I dropped the cup. The breeze feels nice. |
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | I sat in my chair eying the drink I had not ordered, but I had to forgive the mistake as I choked back tears. In the soul crushing realization that "The Animal" Dave Batista was reduced to serving at Starbucks. It had not been so long ago that he was part of Evolution with Triple H and the Nature Boy Rick Flair. Now I look upon this once veritable mass of fury as he quietly slinks behind the counter to his dark fall from the public eye. A single tear drops from my cheek. | I sipped my drink and sat on the park bench. The one on Signal Hill that overlooks the city. I always appreciated the aesthetic balance between the ladies walking their little white dogs in the foreground, the trees rustling in the breeze a short way further down the slope, and the cars rushing amongst the buildings in the distance like so many ants. I wonder what a renaissance painter would have done with such a scene. I'm no artist so I guess my appreciation of this little view will be lost to the wind. I brushed a bug off the lid of my drink and took another sip.
I don't get a chance to come here much any more. Between slogging away trying to pay for an apartment in an area of town where I don't have to fear for my life and fighting horns-locked with my wife in an ugly divorce there hasn't been much time for idleness. I like the way the branches twist in the breeze, a nice change of pace from the straight lines of hallways and cubicle walls. I took another sip.
At first the child support payments didn't help my situation any, but I didn't mind too much because for all her faults my wife loved our kids too. The money would go to their quality of life and happiness. I miss Addy and Katie so much. Their bright squinty smiles when they were babies I can still bring to mind perfectly if I close my eyes. There, linger on it. Eyes closed but not to blackness, a bit of an orange hue through the eyelids from the sun. Take another sip.
I didn't get to see them much when they were in town, but now that my wife has remarried and moved out of state I don't think I'll ever get to see them but maybe once a year. Once every other year. And then what? Ah, I'm trembling a bit. Here we go. I didn't know how much of my happiness was contained within simply kissing them on each of their little foreheads every night. A random hug around the belly every now and then, head pressed against my chest. It's killing me. Another sip should do it. A long gulp, there you go. I rubbed idly at my neck to relieve some of the constriction.
I ordered my usual drink this morning, a Starbucks Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no-fat milk. A bit frou-frou I know, but the tiny pleasures are all I have left. I always watch the barista with an eagle eye because of my rare disease. I saw it happen. He accidentally shuffled the order around with the woman behind me who ordered the Double Chocolatey Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy. My jaw slacked open and I let out a subdued "uh" as I was about to correct him but a feeling washed over me. It was like the Universe was telling me it was time. An end to the pain. An absence of happiness is better than a presence of unhappiness. Just let it slide, easy. It will look like an accident. Your drink got switched up and you accidentally ingested the soy-chocolate combo that gives you a life-threatening allergic reaction. Hand shaking, another sip.
I looked up at the clouds, eyes tearing up a bit from both physiology and emotion. I miss you so much right now my sweet angels! But soon I will miss nothing. I dropped the cup. The breeze feels nice. |
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | I shuffled away from the funeral, sniffling and trying to dry my eyes. Every Sunday, for the past ten years, I had gone to the home where my thankless and thoughtless parents had left my grandfather, and picked him up. I didn't always have gas money, and more than once I tried to hide my embarrassment when I saw him looking at my change engine light.
"Donny," he would say, "let me get this." And I would let him. I think it made him feel good, to be able to buy me the coffee I wanted. We would sit, him with his cup of straight black coffee, and me with my Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, and talk about our lives. He had the best stories. Sometimes our barista would sit down and have a chat with us. Gramps would flirt with her, and she would humor him. The halcyon days.
Then things started to get bad. Maybe once in a while, Grampa would forget her name. Or forget mine. Or forget where we were. He'd call me Thomas, and ask when the L.T. was gonna be back with the new orders. I would tell him the war was decades ago, and he would laugh it off. The normally-deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes would become just a little deeper, and I would try to forget.
And yet, we continued our pattern. Every Sunday, him with the black, me with my frappucino. The same order. The baristas came to know us, and to have that order ready when we walked in. Our table was always clear, always clean. It took on the cadence of ritual, and like all good rituals, provided comfort and security in a world that was slowly devolving around us, slipping away like the gossamer cobwebs of memory from my grandfather's failing grasp.
Then came the day when I knocked on that cheap, plywood door at the home, and there was no answer. The heart-thudding walk to the office. Trying to play it cool while I asked whether my grandfather might be in the rec room. The resigned look in the orderly's eyes. The listless way he jangled his keys to open the door.
The horrible, peaceful scene within.
The funeral had been worse. My false, teary-eyed parents accepting condolences like johnny-come-lately vampires. The alligator tears and bored looks at wristwatches. Sorry Granddad's death has inconvenienced you. Wouldn't want you to miss your football games, Dad.
I couldn't take it. After the graveside service, on this Sunday of all Sundays, I needed my ritual. I needed my comfort.
Luckily, it was a familiar barista. "Hey Jen," I said, sweeping in, bedecked in the black of mourning. "Get me the usual."
"Sure thing, Mr. Don," she said, and busied herself behind the counter. I sat at my usual table, staring forlornly at the empty seat across from me, willing time to reverse its inexorable flow to a time when the world wasn't missing its light.
Jen brought me my cup. I twisted it in my hands, feeling the cardboard buckle slightly under the pressure of my hands. I lifted it to my lips, stopped, and lowered it. "To you, Gramps," I said, a glass raised to empty air. After a limitless moment had been swept away, I again pressed the plastic rim of the cup to my lips, and drank.
The flavor of the Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, is indescribable. One might as well assume he could explain the shimmering iridescence of a field of violets, waving in the wind, to a child blind from birth. It contains the sweetness and the bitter, the airy lightness and heavy creaminess that defines, for me, the appropriate taste of coffee. It is comfort reduced to a draught and poured for me by angels.
But the brew that basted my lips was foamy, chocolate-flavored, and granular, as if it contained shavings of chocolate. Beneath it all was the harsh, vegetal crispness of soy. I spit it out, the effluvium landing on the seat, my grandfather's seat. I dropped the cup. The table, our table, sat mutely as the lip popped off and dark, brown liquid began to run across its surface, following the infinitely mutable fractal pathways of chaos. I stood, too quickly, and into the person behind me. I heard her shout in alarm as her laptop fell from the table onto the ground. There was a sickening, crunching sound of impact.
Tears clogging my sight, I turned to flee. Straight into Jen. Hot coffee splashed between us. She yelped in pain and cursed. Her manager, thundering above the din, "Jennifer! That is not work appropriate language! Get your things and *leave*. If I've told you once, I've..."
I could not hear him as I burst through the door and into the parking lot. Quiet winter sun above me, cold air stinging my nose, I fumbled with my keys at the door of my car. Glass crunched beneath my feet. Glass? I looked. My window lay shattered, papers strewn about the inside of my car. A gaping maw where my stereo used to be. Who steals a stereo from a mid-90s Civic? Honestly?
I sat in the pile of shattered glass chips on my seat, and wondered why anyone ever even bothered. I cried then, cried at a time when I thought all my tears had been given to an unfeeling world. And a snippet of conversation not a month gone wormed its way into my brain.
"Don," my grandfather said across a gulf of time and loss, "sometimes life is shit. But that's OK. If life weren't shit, you could never appreciate a good moment."
The other door to my car opened. Jen sat down.
"Hey, someone got your order mixed up. Here's your actual coffee."
She got up to leave. I put a hand on her arm, restraining her.
"Sorry about your job," I muffled around sobs.
"Sorry about your grandfather. Don't worry about the job. I graduate in a month and already have something cool lined up. And my boss was a jerk, anyway."
"I'm glad," I sniffled.
"C'mon, we're getting out of here," Jen said, putting my keys in the ignition and turning it on. "If you're up to it, I'd like to say goodbye, properly, too." | I sipped my drink and sat on the park bench. The one on Signal Hill that overlooks the city. I always appreciated the aesthetic balance between the ladies walking their little white dogs in the foreground, the trees rustling in the breeze a short way further down the slope, and the cars rushing amongst the buildings in the distance like so many ants. I wonder what a renaissance painter would have done with such a scene. I'm no artist so I guess my appreciation of this little view will be lost to the wind. I brushed a bug off the lid of my drink and took another sip.
I don't get a chance to come here much any more. Between slogging away trying to pay for an apartment in an area of town where I don't have to fear for my life and fighting horns-locked with my wife in an ugly divorce there hasn't been much time for idleness. I like the way the branches twist in the breeze, a nice change of pace from the straight lines of hallways and cubicle walls. I took another sip.
At first the child support payments didn't help my situation any, but I didn't mind too much because for all her faults my wife loved our kids too. The money would go to their quality of life and happiness. I miss Addy and Katie so much. Their bright squinty smiles when they were babies I can still bring to mind perfectly if I close my eyes. There, linger on it. Eyes closed but not to blackness, a bit of an orange hue through the eyelids from the sun. Take another sip.
I didn't get to see them much when they were in town, but now that my wife has remarried and moved out of state I don't think I'll ever get to see them but maybe once a year. Once every other year. And then what? Ah, I'm trembling a bit. Here we go. I didn't know how much of my happiness was contained within simply kissing them on each of their little foreheads every night. A random hug around the belly every now and then, head pressed against my chest. It's killing me. Another sip should do it. A long gulp, there you go. I rubbed idly at my neck to relieve some of the constriction.
I ordered my usual drink this morning, a Starbucks Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no-fat milk. A bit frou-frou I know, but the tiny pleasures are all I have left. I always watch the barista with an eagle eye because of my rare disease. I saw it happen. He accidentally shuffled the order around with the woman behind me who ordered the Double Chocolatey Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy. My jaw slacked open and I let out a subdued "uh" as I was about to correct him but a feeling washed over me. It was like the Universe was telling me it was time. An end to the pain. An absence of happiness is better than a presence of unhappiness. Just let it slide, easy. It will look like an accident. Your drink got switched up and you accidentally ingested the soy-chocolate combo that gives you a life-threatening allergic reaction. Hand shaking, another sip.
I looked up at the clouds, eyes tearing up a bit from both physiology and emotion. I miss you so much right now my sweet angels! But soon I will miss nothing. I dropped the cup. The breeze feels nice. |
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | After realizing you get the wrong sort of drink, you ask to the man in anger 'What the fuck is this?!" You look up at him, only to realize Batista is serving you. (Probably typo by op for Barista... Batista is a big buff character in wwe.) You start to feel your sweat come from your skin as you slowly walk back, shaking... He lifts you up from your collar, then rips his shirt off showing his big buff abs and defined muscles. You are turned on for a second, then realize the situation you are in. After throwing you on the ground he yells "DONT INSULT MY FUCKING DRINKS!" At this point you are frantically running to the door as bystanders watch in shock, he grabs your foot, drags you back, and punches you hard across... Left, right, left, right, until you roll away wher proceeds to smash your head repeatedly against a wall. Slowly, you lose all strength in your body, and everything starts to turn dark...
You wake up in Hospital with a few family members. This is where you take your last breath.
Edit 1: I'm not fixing the grammar. | The Batista handed me my drink stone faced. She knew my mother died drinking a Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy because she was the one who served it to her. Why must you be so good, Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy, WHY!?!?! |
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | **MAN:** Excuse me, I think there's been a mistake. I ordered the double choc--
**BARISTA:** Sorry, that's for the man behind you. He has the same name as you. Here's your soy bullshit, Jebediah! And here you go with some non fat milk contraption other Jebediah.
**MAN:** Thanks. (turns) (walks towards door) (slips on puddle of spilt half and half) ARRRRRGH! MY LEG!
**BARISTA:** Whoa! You can see bone sticking out!
**MAN:** I'm hurt!
**BARISTA:** Does anyone here know CPR?
**MAN:** CPR? CALL A FREAKIN' AMBULANCE!
**BARISTA:** Hey! Anyone got a phone?
**MAN:** MINE'S ON THE FLOOR RIGHT THERE COVERED IN BLOOD DEAR GOD CALL FOR HELP!!!
**BARISTA:** So sticky! OK, just gotta swipe it open and... uh-oh.
**MAN:** HURRY UP!
**BARISTA:** There's a text here from your wife. She says she's leaving you.
**MAN:** DON'T CARE! CALL THE GODDAMN AMBULANCE!
**BARISTA:** Yes, we need an ambulance for Jedediah. No, the other one. The non fat guy, not Jebby Soy. (laughs) Yeah, uh-huh. Hey, they say they're already at your house.
**MAN:** WHAT?
**BARISTA:** The twins are dead. They were playing on the roof and snapped their neck when they fell off.
**MAN:** OH MY GOD!
**BARISTA:** But they're sending another ambulance for you, right after the clean off the front of the one that ran over your dog.
**MAN** Duke is dead, too?
**BARISTA:** Yes, but he was already dead when the ambulance ran him over. He got shot by your neighbor.
**MAN:** WHAT????
**BARISTA:** I can hear the siren now. It should be here in a-- oh, Jebby Soy. What's that? Oh, right! I get those mixed up all the time. I made two soy drinks and no non fat one.
**MAN:** I DIDN'T EVEN GET THE RIGHT COFFEE?
**BARISTA:** Whoops!
*END SCENE* | The Batista handed me my drink stone faced. She knew my mother died drinking a Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy because she was the one who served it to her. Why must you be so good, Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy, WHY!?!?! |
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | I went to starbucks this morning. I was on my phone and not really paying attention to the ba*r*ista who was serving me. What I got was not what I ordered. I turned around and started complaining loudly. That's when I realised that I was being served by WWE wrestler Ba*t*ista. His face got screwed up. He grabbed me and lifted me over his head and threw me down on the table and then poured the wrong coffee down my throat. | The Batista handed me my drink stone faced. She knew my mother died drinking a Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy because she was the one who served it to her. Why must you be so good, Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy, WHY!?!?! |
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | Lieutenant Batista getting fired from Miami-Metro, having to work at Starbucks hearing you bitch about your drink and then leaping over the counter and beating your ass sounds funny and tragic. | The Batista handed me my drink stone faced. She knew my mother died drinking a Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy because she was the one who served it to her. Why must you be so good, Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy, WHY!?!?! |
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | Starbucks Batista
http://imgur.com/65k9noU
Starbucks Batista leaned over the counter and handed me my chocolaty beverage. He must have sensed my dissatisfaction because he looked at me with the most intense "fuck off or i will eat you" type of vibe...after a few seconds of uncomfortable staring he proclaimed "Basketballs....don't hold grudges" and that was that. | The Batista handed me my drink stone faced. She knew my mother died drinking a Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy because she was the one who served it to her. Why must you be so good, Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy, WHY!?!?! |
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